We waited for the Damen bus.
And waited.
Sunblock was applied.
Waiting.
Lily climbed in and out of her stroller. The only one amongst us successfully self-amusing.
Finally: Bus!
I tried to get a picture of the scrolling LED sign at the fore of the bus that announces the cross-street stops, as our stop simply read "GRACE" in big red blazing letters. Would've been all symbolic and eloquent, no? But here's a tip: Digital pictures of stationary objects on very shaky buses? Usually blurry.
Anyway, here was Richard's story:
One weekday morning, in March of this year, I was out walking. At the corner of Paulina & Grace Streets, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of utter and complete happiness. Truly. I had not felt like that in years and years. I guess I am surprised when I feel content, but this was full-on happiness. The feeling lasted for hours. And I found myself saying, simply, “Thank you.”
I was surprised by the overlap between my story and Richard's; indeed, between mine, Richard's, and a few other stories that people sent me (but I was unable to use this time 'round due to money and time constraints). Indefinable moments of infinite calm. It's a little sad to think that so many of us think of (and recall) these moments as rarified. But I suppose identifying them for what they are makes us what we are: Artists. (And moody ones at that.)
I'd love to think that the installation of the plaques might inspire similar moments of unbridled joy in unsuspecting passersby. I can hope, can't I?
Caution: Moody artist at work
Installing Richard's plaque (after we figured out we could bend it into a curve!)
Photo not taken from shaky bus, but blurry nonethelessIt was decided that the Brown Line train would be the best route to take to Edward's ceremony. Public transport + formalwear = curious stares and smiles from passengers.
I sense an entirely different performance piece in the works...
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