I was inside all afternoon and evening yesterday, so I didn't see the package that came, my Kershisnik art book. I noticed it when I opened all the blinds to let in the sun. I spent the morning reading it and gazing through it. I brought it to my grandparents'. I thought I could show my family what real Mormon art could be like.
My grandpa looked through half the book. "He can be artistic without being particularly beautiful." His hands are shaking and he has trouble turning the pages. I hope it is not Parkinson's. He accidentally gets some chocolate pie on one page and tries to wipe it off. When I get home I clean the glossy pages with a microfiber cloth that I got from a flute dealer. That's the risk of sharing, I guess.
I also brought along a Foxtrot comic book. My cousin Devin read it and said it reminded him of when my little brother would always bring his Garfield books with him when he visited. Devin's brother just left for a mission yesterday, and Devin looks a little sad, but he laughs when he reads the book. I think that a good book can be therapeutic. Especially good comic books. We watch Meet the Robinsons and I wonder what my future family will be like.