No Good Deed Goes Unpunished
Robert Burns had been under my mother's bed for 40 years, and prior to that, it had been in my Grandpa's attic for I guess 60 years, and prior to that, I don't know. Heaving and struggling, I got him out from under the bed and unwrapped him. Yep, it was signed, 9/20, 47 out of 114, G. Zolnay, 1911.
So, I'm thinking, since he weighs about 40 pounds and wants to tip backward, this isn't a good thing to have around the cats, and, since I have no clue about artwork-- having spent my life with my head attached to rocks-- that Mr. Zolnay's art work should be shared, especially since he made our confederate soldier statue that stands on the courthouse lawn. Prominently. And I don't want to hear ONE WORD about this south/north thing. It is what it is...
I didn't know what Robert Burns was made of, but I knew he was HEAVY. Schumann was also under there, but he is a bit more manageable size. Mozart lives in my house. I'm taking Schumann home, but decided to donate Robert Burns to a museum here in my hometown of Owensboro.
Owensboro is a weird place. I lived here the first 30 years of my life, for the most part, and then migrated outward, thank heavens. It is a very closed community, and not interested in any "new" ideas, unless it involves tearing something else down. "We'll just wipe out the old river park and build a new one!", as they cut down the only tree left that the city's founder planted, at the end of Frederica Street. "Oh boy, if we tear out all this medical center, (that was JUST remodeled), we'll have all this land to do something else with." It sits, like a giant rice paddy, in the middle of the city.
At any rate, I decided that Today was the Day that Mr. Burns would go to the Owensboro Area Art Museum. BIG MISTAKE. It was raining, cats and dogs and pigs and chickens. BUCKETS, of a deluge. The "new" art museum is in the old library building, that says, Open to All in the cornice over the old front door. They have, naturally, MOVED the front door to the back of the building. Makes sense, doesn't it? I mean, if you want to go to the art museum, let's go in through a brand new "atrium" on the back...
My neighbor transferred Mr. Burns into the passenger seat of my car, where he set off the seat belt sensor, so I had to buckle him in. We drove downtown, and I parked where I always did, in the front of the building, right in front of the marble cornice that says, "Open to all". There were two school buses parked there, so I really had to park down a ways, in front of the old house that used to have the gorgeous Adam and Eve plants, (yuccas to me and you), but is now a part of the Art Museum. My Grandma played bridge there, on occasion.
I jumped the rapids that was the storm water drainage at the curb, perched on the curb, and jumped the little median to the sidewalk, and trudged up to the Art Museum's "front" door. A small brass plaque announced, "Not an entrance". So, I walked around the side of the building, past various service doors, to the back, and lo and behold THERE was the entrance. By this time, water is running off my hair, down into warm places, dripping off my nose and ears, and I am completely sodden. So much for trying to look nice.
I spoke to the receptionist, who said that no one was there, and that I would have to call back in a couple of hours. So I did, and left a message for the guy in charge. They called me back at 4:30 pm, and I got there by 5 pm. They carried Mr. Burns in for me, and looked him over, and wanted him.
I told them the story of Mr. Burns, attic/under bed, etc. and said, I have no idea where Grandpa got it. None. It has been around all of my life, and I'm 60 years old. Zolnay died in 1949, so I'm going to guess Grandpa got it in the 1930s. I told them I don't want money for it, I wanted to make a donation, but if they decide they don't want him, call me, and I'll come get him, and take him home with me. He can live up under MY bed for the next 40 years.
When I got home, Tommy, our dog, wanted in again. I left him in the back yard, which is fenced with a nice wrought iron fence and brick, and the patio is covered, so I naturally assumed he would sit out there under the patio roof and enjoy the day. Not Tommy! He found the only piece of a mud puddle and rolled in it. I had to rinse him off with warm water, dry him, and then let him in, and then mop the floor because he still managed to leave 5,000 muddy paw prints.
I feel easier knowing that Robert Burns is at the art museum, but worn out with the day... Nothing here in Owensboro is easy. Nothing nothing nothing... If they decide they don't want him, I'll take him home and stuff him up under my bed, and he can live there, in peace.
Hope all of you have a nice day, and hope that none of you wash away...
Thanks for coming by!
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This is the art museum, which was the library when I was a girl... Miss Lucy would have a fit with everyone coming in at the back!
Auld Lang Syne
1788
Type: PoemI found a web site with all of Robert Burns' work. HOLY COW! He was Prolific!
This is one of my favorites...
Good story Dowser. I wonder is the statute talked to grandma and grandpa? Ya think it might have.
Oh the stories it could tell.
Absolutely!! George Zolnay was a prolific sculptor... He is scattered all over everywhere... If you follow the link to him, you can see our statue at the courthouse.
I know, I know. Who wants a sculpture of a confederate soldier? But, for his time, he was pretty neat. I don't know what to do with some of this stuff, except give it to a museum. It is agonizing, some of these decisions...
I told them they could borrow and show the quilt, but I want it back. They had to look it up first. Yeah, right. Be nice, or that's the last thing you get.
Good story Dowser. I wonder is the statute talked to grandma and grandpa? Ya think it might have.
Oh the stories it could tell.
Mr Burns: "Excellent!"
Wrong Burns?
Uh, don't know...
Robert Burns, the poet, from Scotland. Grandma was always fond of Scottish poets, since her grandfather was a Bruce.
He was made of clay and VERY HEAVY. Almost 2' tall, and it was heavy enough to trip the seat belt sensor in the front seat. If I had had a wreck, the entire dash would have been wiped out... The old Adam and Eve plants were along the wall in the front, and that house is where Grandma used to go play bridge with her friends.
Oh...I was doing Mr. Burns from the Simpsons...what can I say....I'm a high school drop out...
I am so media unconscious. I've never once watched The Simpsons...