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Velvet Elvis
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I recently came across a print of a famous portrait of Napoleon Bonaparte by the artist Jacques-Louis David--who I'd never heard of. It depicts the young, pre-Emperor on horseback charging over the Alps on a military campaign, c 1804. It's quite striking, but something that would be more suitable for a museum rather than my modest home. Something about it, however, wouldn't let me put it down. So I got it.
I found myself wondering about the artist. The internet at my fingertips, I looked up Monsieur David and found articles chronicling his life as a painter, a French Revolutionary, and later, an exile. Turns out he was commissioned by Napoleon, and did several images of him during his reign. After his fall, David imposed a self-exile to Brussels, where he died of injuries from being run over by a carriage. His body was buried in Brussels, but, oddly, his heart was buried in Paris.
The internet is an amazing thing...link after link took me to more information, where I learned that Napoleon was in fact on a mule when he crossed the Alps, but requested to be on horseback for the painting. Much more noble and glamorous, I would assume. Each subsequent painting displayed on the websites told a story of the rise and fall of the Emperor--from grand, majestic looking pieces (coronation, throne-sitting) slowly evolving into sad, defeated images (retreating from a snowy Russia, the ship carrying his remains in the dark of night...).
How depressing to think oil and canvas are no longer needed when you can aim and push your finger to document Richard Nixon shaking hands with Elvis.
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Negative
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Looking at a winter storm through the eyes (and language) of a two-year-old puts an entirely different perspective on the event.
Driving from daycare to home in white-out conditions: "It's no, it's no!"
As mommy nearly collides with the nice plow stradling the shoulder and the slow lane of the highway and just over the hill: "Wow, look, no-truck!"
Watching Frosty, built earlier that day, getting buried in 3 foot drifts: "Where no-man?"
After the plows so graciously dumped an 8' high by 10' wide mess smack-dab in the front yard" "Oooooh, das big no-pile!"
While going outside to play in the 8x10 mess: "Mommy, I wearin no-pants!"
So, according to Steven, it sounds as though nothing has happened in the last few days. Nothing at all.