big yellow bluebirds of happiness
My old bus driving friend Cindy was down at the Mabana Pottery Studio the other day, throwing a new line of ceramic vessels and testing some new glaze she’d read about on-line. Cindy and I go way back to the halcyon days we both drove school buses that are now vintage. They were then too. Crowns and Bluebirds. Big snub-nosed diesels lumbering down the empty blacktop backroads in search of kids standing out in the rain, hoping we were on schedule.
I guess we both went through our share of itinerant jobs back then, everything from waitressing (her) to stripping furniture (me). We both got divorced, we both tried to find some way to make a so-called living at something that wouldn’t drive us crazy, and we both ended up stumbling into art.
Cindy’s pottery studio was her old barn. She bought an acre over by the South End Marina with her husband before he lost his job at the Onamac Body Shop and started drinking heavily. Kind of a bad combination, unemployment and alcoholism, but not uncommon down these parts. By the time he’d had his second DUI and was a charter member of AA, Cindy had pretty much had her fair share of abuse. She kept the shack and property — he kept his fancy 4 wheel drive pickup truck he loved more than Cindy those last few years. Fair trade, they both figured. Real estate back then was a bit less precious than now, even after this ongoing Recession.
We all travel roads not on the GPS of life, I guess. Cindy and I, well, we must’ve found the same detour, the one that took us down the highways most folks don’t use: Art.
Cindy’s doing fine. Got herself a part-time boyfriend and a job she loves. She’ll tell you the job doesn’t pay, but she’s got an understanding boss, she can pay her bills and she’s happy for the first time in a long time. ‘Art’, she tells me, squeezing my arm conspiratorially as if I didn’t already know, ‘it won’t make you wealthy, but it’ll sure make you rich.’ Who knew us old bus drivers would grow so damn wise….
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