The Tale of the Purple Hippo
This morning in the shower I was thinking about things that were downstairs at my (mom's) house, things that were lost, and I suddenly thought about my purple hippo.
The purple hippo was an art project for Mrs. Richmond's 3D design class my senior year. I needed to fill up elective space (this was before early release), and I liked Mrs. Richmond, so I figured, why not. It ended up being a good class that exposed me to a lot of new art techniques, and I knew several people in there (including Ellen, closedblueyes), so the class was usually lively and fun. One of our final projects was to make animal sculptures inspired by some African (or maybe Caribbean?) carved figurines Mrs. Richmond had seen or found on a trip or something. We didn't have the time/resources/ability to carve anything, so instead we made "skeletons" out of wire and covered them with tin foil, papier mache, and some gel-medium stuff. When they were totally dry (and hard as rocks), we sanded and painted them. I made a hippo and painted him purple with red and orange flowers on his body and stars on the bottoms of his feet. He had black eyes and the most adorable little ears, which I think I painted red inside. I had never made anything of which I was so proud.
I gave the hippo to my mom as a birthday or Mother's Day present, I think, and she just adored him (mostly because he was purple, but also because she always used to sing that annoying "I want a hippopotamus for Christmas" song). He sat in a place of honor on a bookshelf in our downstairs room, our family room, and when I was home and using the computer I would look up at the hippo and smile, remembering that fun art class, my senior year, and how happy my mom was when I gave her that gift.
And then, this morning, in the shower, I felt my stomach sink as I realized that my hippo was probably a big purple pile of mush. I took my time getting dressed, knowing that as soon as I ran out of ways to stall I would have to call my mom and ask her about the hippo. I steeled myself for her answer, prepared myself to cry with her about that stupid hippo whose demise upset me more than the potential loss of childhood Christmas ornaments or my baby books and photo albums (all of which were stored downstairs). Eventually I made the call. Grammy answered and we chatted for a few minutes before my mom got on the line. I asked her directly, and she paused for a minute, and then finally, burst out: "No! It was the strangest thing! Stuff on the same level in other cabinets got wet, but he was fine. He's in a box in the guest room with some other stuff we salvaged."
It's just one small thing, but when I think about everything we have lost, "we" as Coastians and "we" as a family that lost three houses, I am happy to have something to smile about.
The purple hippo was an art project for Mrs. Richmond's 3D design class my senior year. I needed to fill up elective space (this was before early release), and I liked Mrs. Richmond, so I figured, why not. It ended up being a good class that exposed me to a lot of new art techniques, and I knew several people in there (including Ellen, closedblueyes), so the class was usually lively and fun. One of our final projects was to make animal sculptures inspired by some African (or maybe Caribbean?) carved figurines Mrs. Richmond had seen or found on a trip or something. We didn't have the time/resources/ability to carve anything, so instead we made "skeletons" out of wire and covered them with tin foil, papier mache, and some gel-medium stuff. When they were totally dry (and hard as rocks), we sanded and painted them. I made a hippo and painted him purple with red and orange flowers on his body and stars on the bottoms of his feet. He had black eyes and the most adorable little ears, which I think I painted red inside. I had never made anything of which I was so proud.
I gave the hippo to my mom as a birthday or Mother's Day present, I think, and she just adored him (mostly because he was purple, but also because she always used to sing that annoying "I want a hippopotamus for Christmas" song). He sat in a place of honor on a bookshelf in our downstairs room, our family room, and when I was home and using the computer I would look up at the hippo and smile, remembering that fun art class, my senior year, and how happy my mom was when I gave her that gift.
And then, this morning, in the shower, I felt my stomach sink as I realized that my hippo was probably a big purple pile of mush. I took my time getting dressed, knowing that as soon as I ran out of ways to stall I would have to call my mom and ask her about the hippo. I steeled myself for her answer, prepared myself to cry with her about that stupid hippo whose demise upset me more than the potential loss of childhood Christmas ornaments or my baby books and photo albums (all of which were stored downstairs). Eventually I made the call. Grammy answered and we chatted for a few minutes before my mom got on the line. I asked her directly, and she paused for a minute, and then finally, burst out: "No! It was the strangest thing! Stuff on the same level in other cabinets got wet, but he was fine. He's in a box in the guest room with some other stuff we salvaged."
It's just one small thing, but when I think about everything we have lost, "we" as Coastians and "we" as a family that lost three houses, I am happy to have something to smile about.