The Artist and "normal"...

I went to an artists house today. A bright, colorful woman who shares her little house tucked into the woods with an exuberant golden retriever. Everywhere I looked there were touches of lovely. She was smart and creative and kind. My favorite part of the visit was when I mentioned how much I liked her 1950's metal lawn chair, crusted in ice and abandoned in the yard. She looked at it fondly and said, "I love it, too. But my son tells me I have to get rid of it, that it is a piece of junk." Her eyes filled with sorrow as she looked at me. "My son? He is... normal." I could see this pained her deeply. And it made me smile all day long.