PEARL OF A GIRL (11/07)

Talk about a sea change! Being away from Wimberley for five weeks had me going through more mood swings than a menopausal woman, and had poor John walking on eggshells. However, the minute we drove over the magic pass that leads into Wimberley from San Marcos, I could feel the clouds being lifted. As we stepped through the front door, I had an overwhelming sense of coming home, and couldn't resist shouting "I love you, little house! I'm so happy to see you again!" Then I turned to John and asked "Do you know how much I love this little house?" He replied "Yeah, 'fraid so."

On our way to dinner, we passed my favorite little stone house that looks as if it has been there forever, and I cried out "I just love that old cistern, with its little windmill. Can you take a picture of that for me someday? And that old stone wall. I adore that old stone wall!" After dinner we returned home, and as we turned into the neighborhood, we passed a property that used to be a B&B, and who's current owners happen to keep some goats. When I caught sight of them, I squealed "And those tree-climbing goats, too! I'm just mad about those tree-climbing goats. Could you please get me a picture of one of them some day? I would love to have one hanging in the house." John replied "I promise, you will get your dang goat picture one of these days." Yes, it's good to be home.

Did I ever tell you about Pearl? There's an artist here named Betty Rhodes, who does impressionistic oil paintings. I happened across her work at the Wimberley Square Gallery. Although she does all sorts of paintings, the ones that really grabbed me and wouldn't let go were her paintings of goats. One in particular kept calling to me. Her name was Pearl, and the picture was a close-up of her little face. I really wanted that painting, but unfortunately, the gallery wanted about five times more than I was willing to pay. That's when I started pestering John to take a photo of one of our neighbor's goats for me.

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Since I spend most of my time analyzing and writing about others, especially poor John, I suppose it's only fair that I occasionally turn the magnifying glass upon me and my foibles. For example, I can be notoriously slow on the uptake. Our kids love to tell jokes, then look over at my confused expression, and make that hand motion that implies something swooshing straight over my head. I really hate that hand motion. Also, I frequently miss things that are staring me straight in the face, especially if my mind is elsewhere. On more than one occasion, I have stood there staring at John for a while, then said "You look different today, but I can't put my finger on it. Did you get a haircut or something?" Then he tells me that he has shaved off the beard and mustache that he has kept for over a decade. A friend from college came to visit once. After taking one look at John, she turned to me and exclaimed "You didn't tell me he was bald now!" My reply was "He is?"

I have also been in deep doo-doo on numerous occasions, when I have gone out of town for a couple of days. I would come back, and immediately zero in on the fact that the sink was full of dirty dishes and the laundry hamper was overflowing, but somehow overlook the new flower bed that had been installed or the new computer sitting on my desk. Fortunately, I eventually learned to recognize certain warning signals that helped keep me out of trouble. First, I must pay close attention if John is walking along beside me, then suddenly stops dead still for no apparent reason. If he then stops talking, and begins staring at me intently, possibly with a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, I should begin scanning the area immediately! If I do not spot whatever it is quickly enough, he will develop that nervous twitch, where his head tilts to one side and tries to direct my gaze. If' I'm completely oblivious and miss all these signals, his eyes will widen and his brows will arch up, as if to say "WELL?"

Yesterday was one of those when I completely missed all of John's signals. He even went so far as to tell me to go turn on the little lamp in the corner, before we left for dinner, which was quite out of character for him. I went to the lamp, and then was distracted by an electrical outlet that was dangling from the wall by its wires. I came back towards John, and started to ask him about the outlet, when I realized that he was staring at me with a God-You-Are-Hopeless look on his face. He grabbed my shoulders and marched me back to the lamp, and that is when I started screaming. For there on the wall staring back at me, just above the lamp and dangling socket, was Pearl.

I spent the rest of the evening sitting next to Pearl, just gazing at her precious face. That's when it finally dawned on me, what it must have been that drew me to her in the first place. She is staring back at me intently, head tilted to one side, a slight smirk on her lips, and brows lifted, as if to say "WELL?"