Museums and Musings.

Before the world changed forever, I used to take my oldest son, and a notepad to art museums. He'd bring with him a sketchpad and pencils and we'd have to check in at the desk. He'd have to sign a waiver or art permission slip to promise he was not going to expertly forge any of the artwork and sell it for profit. This always made him feel like a real artist.

And so we'd travel throughout the museum until we found a room we both decided we'd liked. And we'd sit on opposite benches - him with his sketch pad and me with my notebook. We'd do this for a time and then move on to another room and another until it was time for lunch in the overpriced cafe.

We'd sit and talk about what we'd done. His sketchpad almost entirely full of different drawings rarely resembling anything on the walls of the gallery. Whereas I'd walk away with 1-2 broken and bad poems and nothing else to show for the day.

I haven't been in 6-7 years. But every time I drive by the Wadsworth downtown, I think about stopping in. And then I remember that I don't carry a notebook anymore and that little boy is now legally a man who hasn't talked to me in months. And then I think, there's a poem in there somewhere and sometimes I try to write it.