Sunday December 28th, 2014

The exercise:

Write about: the tired man.

Not inspired by myself, by the way. Read on to discover the actual source, if you're interested.

Max's cousin and aunt are going back north tomorrow, but we're hopeful that they'll be back to stay come March. They have an offer on their place but it doesn't close until January 5th, so we'll just have to keep our fingers crossed until then.

In the meantime, my sister who is living in Calgary is coming for a visit at the end of January, which means Max will get to hang out with another aunt fairly soon.

Also: thank goodness for Skype.

Mine:

Our favorite coffee house here in Osoyoos has a rotating art collection, displaying various local artists for a short period before moving on to whoever is next in line. I've had a photographer friend and a painter friend both have runs there, which is pretty cool.

Anyway. On a recent visit there were quite a few paintings on the walls of actors in famous roles. A few of Bill Murray from The Life Aquatic, I remember an Adrien Brody, though I can't recall in which role. And, getting back to the point of this, one of Heath Ledger as the Joker.

I can't find the exact pose he was captured in, but it was something like this. Mouth open and looking crazy are the key distinctions here.

I thought Max would find it upsetting or scary or... unpleasant. Turned out, I didn't have anything to worry about when he noticed it for the first time.

"That man tired," he said, standing up on his chair to reach for it. "Go home, go sleep."

I decided that interpretation was just fine, thank you very much. So I might have encouraged it a little bit. Every time he pointed it out. Which was multiple times over the course of two, maybe three visits.

"Yes, Max. That man is yawning, he should go get some sleep."

Then last week we arrived and the next artist in line was on display. I didn't even notice at first. Max, of course, did.

"Where the tired man go?"

"Oh, he's gone, isn't he? I guess he was just here for a little visit."

"Where the tired man go? I find him."

"No, sweetheart, he's not here. Maybe he went home. Or he's in a different store."

Max was having none of it. He was already climbing down from his chair, ready to scour the coffee shop for the missing painting. But first he had to double check the exact spot on the wall where it had been hanging. Which was right beside a table occupied by two women.

"Where the tired man go?" Max demanded of them.

Several times.

I was honestly laughing too hard to explain what was going on to them. I can only imagine what they thought of it all.