So, my brother-in-law had an art show in the Hamptons. I am the designated driver for three generations (we are all born and bred city dwellers). I rented a Ford Expedition and I feel like Shirley Partridge carting everyone around. (That reference will really separate the under-40-year-olds from their elders.)
My brother-in-law has been out for a few days installing the show, so my sister (his wife) was part of the caravan.
Three generations, ranging in age from 7 to 88, in one car. Even coordinating rest room stops with each generation’s different “plumbing issues” would have been epic enough. Three people each had a portion of the directions. Sounds like a Dick Cheney staff meeting. No, it was the quintessential “don’t-worry-about-it-I-know-what-I’m-doin’,” but I was the driver and I just followed orders. My dad got us over the 59th Street bridge, my partner got us to East Hampton and my sister had the address of the gallery. That was my sister’s stated rationale for being in the navigator’s seat — the gallery address — but, in truth, my partner was the true navigator although she was relegated to the back with child and father-in-law, G-d bless her.
My sister and I played a game of who caught Dad’s annoying behaviors first because we didn’t have cousin Bernie’s behavior against which to bet. I think we came out about even although at any point one of us was a few thousand dollars ahead.
I think my sister’s purpose in sitting in front with me (other than those already surmised) was to watch the speedometer and keep an eye on the “crazy drivers” as my mother called them. At one point when I accelerated, I wasn’t sure if my sister was putting her foot to the floor as if to compel me to put my foot on the brake. Driving with Mom, you could feel her right foot slamming on the passenger side floor. (I must ask my sister about this.)
Anyway, we arrived at the show after slogging through Route 27 traffic. My father’s interest lasted about 7 minutes. My son’s lasted a good bit longer, I am proud to say. But a 3.5 hour car ride for 7 minutes of viewing, lunch and then a jitney ride home is epic, especially an 88 year-old.
Artistes don’t sell their work in their lifetimes. Since I love my brother-in-law and want him to be financially successful AND live a long time, I set about giving the hard sell to anyone who came into the gallery. After a few hours of trying to hard-sell in this economy, I joined my partner and son with my partner’s extended family, for an epic afternoon and evening. I still need to process that experience before writing.
