Artist

Margaret Norman was always very organized. She just felt it was important, all things in their place. Margaret also knew her place in the world: her long-time administrative job at an escrow firm, and, in her tiny home. Forty-nine, happily unmarried, she was satisfied to live her quiet, simple life. Yes, there were a couple of boys, but that was the problem- Margaret didn't babysit. She had no patience with immaturity, no desire to be a fully grown man's nursemaid or mother. Men need one or both, she concluded long ago. Just the way it was, and her life was full enough, she truly believed. But everything changed one very ordinary June day. Everything she knew as her little life changed with a knock on her front door. That day she met the artist. Looking out her window, she didn't see an artist. She learned all of that later. What she saw was an older man- disheveled would be a compliment- spectacles atop his sparse hair, smiling, holding a gas can.

A week later, full tank this time, the artist returned to invite Margaret to lunch, a thank you for helping him out. His charm was natural, the best kind. His conversation lively with laughter. But, he was hopelessly disorganized in his rambling, moving from one topic to another, but she was fascinated with his passion. True, some folks can be too much in the moment, so that moments before and after are forgotten or disconnected. However, he was so engaging, Margaret agreed to visit him at his nearby studio- his home garage converted to workshop. Nothing could have prepared her for what was there: utter clutter chaos. His whole house looked like a big laundry pile. Nothing was in its place. But, the artist's many paintings all around- they were amazing, exquisite! Meticulously detailed scenes all from nature, and unusual ideas. 

Paintings of giant polar bears, curious penguins, fields of pastel summers, or skies of infinite shade. Landscape that came alive with motion and bold color, and formal, individual portraits, sublimely real. Who are those people, she wondered, deeply amazed with his prolific, scattered gallery of work. Margaret was so overwhelmed with the artist's fine paintings, she couldn't at all feel herself also falling in love. She would have claimed it's just the exuberance of joy the art brings- yes, that must be it! But the artist was patient, his own destiny made that very first day at Margaret Norman's front door. He knew he was working on his life-long masterpiece now, it would take time, understanding, an orderly process. As luck would have it, the artist had a very organized mind.