Here We Go Again

   I'm taking a printmaking class. Yes, yes, I know what you must be thinking: "Here she goes again." And as that thought swirls around in your mind, I have to admit that you have a point.

   It is true that most of the things in my life happen either on a whim or because I don't know what I'm doing. Writing? It sounded like a good idea. Painting? I was bored and trying something new. Judo? I wanted to be a ninja, and so I found a ninja class. Japanese Language class? I needed another class and everything else was basically full. Dance? I just... like it. And of course, the most surprising thing: aviation.

   You may well wonder why my interest in aviation was surprising. Well, all throughout my childhood I was afraid of basically everything, including ladders and heights. So, when I announced that my dream job involves cruising around the wild blue yonder, it came as a bit of a shock to my friends and family. I still remember when I told my Mom about it... *cue flashback music*


   "Hey look. You want to learn to fly?" I said, as we passed the local airport with its sign proclaiming: "Learn To Fly!" to passersby.

   She laughed.

   "I actually kinda think that would be cool."

   Her eyes were huge, and, as she turned to look at me, they stated quite clearly, "Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?"

   Anyways... after the initial surprise was over, she became (as always) very supportive. Though she still clings firmly to her belief that any aircraft with less that eight seats is a rattling, flying death-trap.
 
   "She may have a point," said the Pessimist.

   "But, (as a dear friend once pointed out to me), if I it is my time to die, then I will certainly do it. It might as well happen in an exciting way. ...That was a misquote, but the basic idea is still there as it was told me, and I have not forgotten it," returned the Optimist, gazing wistfully up at the clear blue sky.

   The Pessimist rolled her eyes and said, "You're going to kill me some day."

   Anyways. All of that to say that I am taking a printmaking class. I wasn't entirely sure what that would entail until I went, but it sounds pretty spiffy.

   My Instructor is a semi-greasy, well-tattooed, bearded hippie. And he's a pretty funny guy. In other words, his class will be fun and relaxed.

  The Optimist simply beamed as she was told about the copper plates she would use and the wood that she could carve into a reusable picture, "I'll be an illustrator! Just like they used to do... making monotypes and carvings and plates to print. Just think what I can do with a Victorian era theme. Imagine the illustrations based on Sherlock Holmes stories!"

   "I can't wait," yawned the Pessimist, "Another exhibition of your inner geek. Because that is just what the world needs."

   But the sarcasm was lost on the Optimist.