On making art and other mistakes…

I leave tomorrow to help make a short film on grief. My ‘job’ is already done; I wrote the script. So next week, I get to be an extra set of hands.

And lots of thoughts are spinning around. What is the point of art? Does the world need to be force-fed more of my grief? Why make anything?

The first hiccup for the film already happened. The camera was sent to me in Gilbert, AZ instead of the set in Hope, Michigan.

Hopefully, Delta Airlines won’t lose a very important piece of luggage tomorrow.

Last night Nick came home, a little teary-eyed, with a contribution. He’d gone to Target and bought a Buzz Lightyear Doll. Nick’s been listening in on our prop discussions, and he said he wanted to add something that reminded him of Nicholas before the pills.

When Nicholas was little, he was terrified of Santa. Although he wouldn’t sit on Santa’s lap, he’d yell across a room what he wanted. One year he yelled something I swear I can hear if I focus hard enough. He yelled, “Santa, I want choo choo set.”

As he aged, he got closer to the crazy bearded guy, but never did sit on his lap. “Buzz Lightyear, please,” he said one year so quietly I’m not sure Santa heard.