Friday, January 14, 2011

Before and After

The thought occurred to me that "Before and After" could be a whole series of posts since I tend to think in those terms fairly often. This "before" is Hubert Robert's Grande Gallery of the Louvre where he held the post of "Keeper of the King's Paintings." Evidently he lived at the Louvre (as did several artists in residence) in the basement apartments. Tres chic.





The "after" is Robert's Imaginary View of the Grande Gallery in Ruins. This before and after of order into chaos reminded me of Tyrone who used to work at our lumberyard. Everyone loved Tyrone. He was just the most likeable kind of guy with a smile that could light up a Christmas tree. That bread and butter plate sized gold scorpion that he wore around his neck would have made a great tree topper come to think of it.



Anyway, Tyrone lived to please my husband. Tyrone would do ANYTHING for Mark. It's just that if you were having a perfectly good day that you wanted to run amuck, Tyrone was your man. Any project that he touched was a guaranteed gone-haywire moment. I think Tyrone's photo is next to "haywire" in the dictionary. (Like the way he repaired the lumberyard sign after having backed the truck into it. The sign was a work of art. Abstract art.) But that never mattered too much because, doggoneit, Tyrone always aimed to please and once you looked at the twinkling Christmas tree smile, it was just somehow okay. Tyrone's employment with us was an enjoyable series of sparkling before and after shots.

One Saturday morning Tyrone came out to the house to work his magical mayhem and I answered the back door at 7 or so. Tyrone took one look at my plain Jane no-make-up face, the bedhead hair-do, and my appropriate for floor-scrubbing attire. The ever present smile drained from his face. "You okay?" he asked in his big-hearted-this-is-why-we-love-Tyrone manner. "Sure! I just don't have my face on and I'm going to the salon to get my hair cut in a little bit." And as only Tyrone could do he sighed with relief, "Good. I thought you were sick or somethin'."

Talk about magical mayhem. Why is it that when I go to the salon and give them half of my life savings with the hope of leaving with a greatly improved appearance, I come out looking like I've been coiffed by say, Tyrone? Actually, Tyrone could probably have done better. So I jumped out of the car to greet Mark and Tyrone with my new do and poor Tyrone turned around to look at Mark like, "What's wrong? Is she sick or somethin'?" And Mark looked at him as if to say, "Tyrone, you could have done better with the Black and Decker." Then they both looked at me and smiled like I was Miss America. I miss Tyrone.

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