Courtesy of her grandmother, our daughter Lindsey has a subscription to the New Yorker magazine. For many years, I’ve been jealous of her ability to not only read the articles but also fully understand them. Try as I might, the cartoons are the only things I manage to both read and understand (92% success rate). And, in fact, they aren’t even cartoons. According to Bob Mankoff, New Yorker artist extraordinaire, they are called “drawings. They don’t need to be funny but they do need to be interesting.” Note well-taken.
Last week, I stumbled upon this gem of a drawing. I nodded in agreement and wondered if I should share it with Tim. I put it off for one full day reasoning that he’d be a tad bit offended that I ever thought this way. Then, honesty won out. I flipped to the dog-eared page and had him read it.
Together, we had a good long laugh. It’s true…my happy place is by invitation only. Sometimes I open the gates wide but more often than not, I secretly slip off to this little slice of heaven. And that’s what makes it so wonderfully rich and powerful; it’s deep inside and created, managed and shaped by me! But, if I’m honest, I have to say that sharing what’s mulling around in that happy place with someone special is when the truly creative stuff happens.
I’ll be eternally grateful to artists who manage to capture in image the feelings that resonate with the common man. And maybe someday, in my happy place, I’ll be reading a New Yorker article.