napkin therapy

Last night after work Gina and I took the kids to Pizza Hut. Kelsey (4) was all over the place and Katie (10) wasn't being agreeable about anything. Gina was sitting across from me with a forced smile on her face determined to 'have a good time tonight!'  Pizza Hut was a mad house. The place was packed with tables filled with families with loud happy or disgruntled children. My table was no exception. The noise was unbearable. I had my pen in hand and drew on the napkin in front of me. During that moment, drawing kept me from excusing myself from the table, walking out the door and curling up in a fetal position in the highway.

I have always doodled. I don't have to be freaking out to draw. I can draw when the day is calm or at gun point. I don't know why this is so but I always have. I don't think that I am a great artist but I've gotten pretty good since I was five. I've left a long trail of place mats of napkins on tables down through the years. I have been told that my drawings hang in restaurant kitchens and offices throughout the South.

Things changed a little when I married Gina sixteen years ago. She loved my napkin art and wouldn't allow the little absorbent masterpieces to be left behind. About ten years ago she had the idea to start equipping me with sketchbooks to carry around. She says that the sketchbooks are not mine but hers. All the silly doodles she'll keep for posterity. Gina says that when I die, all my sketches will eventually be worth something. I smile and say wryly, "Good luck with that."

She doesn't understand it when every now and then, I leave my sketch book in the car and use the small canvasses provided by the restaurant. I still use napkins often. There's something about drawing on the napkin texture. The way the ink is absorbed in it's fragile surface. There's no absolute control of the line drawn. It is what it is.

So the napkin saved me last night. A little escape, therapy amid the storm of life. The waitress came with our drinks and set a Pepsi on my napkin in front of me. I didn't look up. I moved the chilled beverage off the five minute masterpiece.

The waitress asked, "Are you an artist?"

I said "No. I just got lucky."