Life’s trivia—Christmas is finally over, a forgotten artist, and conspiracy theories abound

 

This is the image of Andrew Taylor Still I copied in paint--or tried to.
Okay, confess: I could not find a free image of Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce.

Life sure is interesting. Today, Jordan took down Christmas decorations in the cottage. That tells you a bit about how hectic life has been around here. But after all, it’s rodeo season. I had truthfully gotten used to the Christmas lights, and now that they’re down, the living area looks a bit bare. Jordan kept the multi-colored lights on pussy willows (sounds a bit garish—you have to see it!) and put my antique lamp on the timer, so I can turn it on and off remotely.

Biggest bonus: she unearthed from the high-up spaces of my closet a wonderful portrait by the late Fort Worth artist Emily Guthrie Smith. It is small, maybe 12 x 15, of a winsome looking young girl—Smith was noted for portraits, particularly those of children. This is not a happy picture, but neither is it sad—more thoughtful. I have no recollection of buying it but I must have felt flush at one time, and I was as I am now intrigued by this face. I vaguely remember that I wanted to use it for a book cover but couldn’t find it.

And therein is the story: I thought I lost this painting for some time and since it’s the only original painting I own, I was disturbed. The kids seemed to have no memory of it, and that collection of things in the closet was far beyond my reach. So I was delighted when she got it down tonight. Along with this one, she got down a charcoal drawing of me done when I was about twelve. It is by an artist, Kurt Frankenstein, who boarded in a girlfriend’s home. Kurt was a survivor of the Holocaust, and his work was tinged with that sadness. My mom didn’t like this charcoal because she said it made me look too old and sad. Jordan has taken into the house to hang in her hallway gallery. The other thing she took in was a primitive painting of a log cabin in a snowy scene. She was surprised when I told her I painted it. The log cabin is the birthplace of Andrew Taylor Still, founder of osteopathic medicine. I painted that and one other, taken from a portrait of Still holding a fibula and studying it, while in Kirksville and exploring what I wanted to do. IN my salad days, I was a great class goer and took classes in painting, sculpture, macrame, and writing. The painting of Still already hangs in the living room in the house, and I’m a bit embarrassed. I hope it’s fair to say I’m a much better writer than a visual artist.

Changing topics, I am alternately amused and disgusted by the buzz over Taylor Swift and Travs Kelce. Seems like those folks who delight in conspiracies can’t recognize outlandish when they see it, and now they are claiming Swift is a psych-op—slang for psychological operations. She is, they claim, an undercover operative for the Biden administration. The thing is that Swift has endorsed some Democratic candidates (including Biden in 2020), she is philanthropically generous, she pays her troupe well and takes care of them—and, she’s a success. Of course, that means she’s an undercover agent.

A Dallas area minister, musician, and writer, Eric Folkerth, published a Facebook column with a whole different take. The problem, he says, isn’t Swift—she’s been a target for conservatives at least since 2020—the problem is Swift and Kelce. Travis Kelce, billed as the best tight end in football, represents the repressed dreams of most middle-aged American men who wanted to be sports superstars and musicians in their youth. Conforming to society, they’ve put away the high school trophies and hung up the guitar, gone to work in a steady job, raised a family, joined a church, become a good citizen. And here’s Kelce, living out his best dream.

I found Mr. Folkerth’s column thought-provoking (look it up on Facebook) but I believe, as someone suggested, he writes from the masculine point of view. The same could be said for women and jealousy—yes, that’s the word—of Swift’s success. Most of us dream of stardom of one kind or another—for me, it was the New York Times bestseller list. The closest I ever came was when they reviewed one of my books favorably. And a friend, older enough to be a mother figure, said to me, “Have you ever considered that you’ve had more success than most who want to be writers?” No I hadn’t, because we always want that spotlight, that stardom. And Taylor Swift is one of the few women, at least in our day, who’ve made that dream come true, especially in show business.

And now she and Kelce are, from all appearances, wildly, madly in love. That once-in-a-lifetime, if you’re lucky, kind of love that just like stardom and sports fame, eludes too many of us. What’s not to envy? For me, they are so ecstatically happy, at least onscreen, and it does appear genuine, that I am delighted for them. And I’m sorry for the slings and arrows of the bitter that have been thrown at them. I wish them, individually and as a couple, nothing but continued success and happiness. If they can hold on to what they have now, they will be fortunate.

But there are those conspiracy theories. You know what, if she were a Biden psych-op (what a strange term), I say more power to her. We need good, successful people on our side.