Gallery Galumphing

I love to go gallery galumphing. It's great sport. At worst, you get to see a bunch of things you've never seen before (and may never see again). And at best—

Take the other night. Winding around streets, looking for the gallery. Noticing bumper-to-bumper cars lined up for better than a block. Landing. Walking. Elbowing through double doors so big I feel I'm pushing through an iron gate. Exploding into an enormous gallery, long as a tunnel but wider. Throngs of people mill.

I wander the room (so much to see!)

"Mine are the ones with the circles," Rodney says.

At the far end, on a high shelf, I spot it—the item I want to take home. A gorgeous tall ceramic vase blazing a brazen red glaze. Oh, my. It has no price tag, but that's okay. I know I won't buy it. December's only half over, and already I'm way over budget: my son's birthday, the computer's greedy maw, a new plant, an Amy Sadle print, auto insurance, a granny gown, and who remembers what else that seemed so vital at the time. So I plan to carry the vase home in my mind, instead. I let my eyes devour it. I caress its unusual lines, imagine its weight in my hands, watch a brilliant yellow bouquet of daisies and mums explode from its top.

Time to munch down. The hors d'oeuvres look fresh and bountiful. I fill a plate, sit at a small round table, a good strategy: soon we are three.

"How many has Rodney sold?"

"Three, maybe four."

We talk books, clothes, movies. The second Capote movie, "Infamous," is better, they say.

Visitors drop by. A tiny man, proud father of one of the artists. He's pleased that he bought his son, then fifteen, a camera when they moved to Afghanistan. The gallery owner, female, with a Julia Roberts smile. A chap (yes, a "chap") sporting a gorgeous muted orange sweater and a full head of impeccable cinnamon hair and an incredible stream of unexpected patter. Soon we're in stitches.

Then POP full in the face, a camera's flash. We looked up, startled. The woman hesitated, then smiled and waved her camera at us. "I had to take it. You have such great smiles."

Back to the hors d'oeuvre table for quick seconds on red grapes and the magnificent seafood dip. Wending our way out.

Darkness envelopes us like an icy blanket. What a black night! Smiling all the way home, tasting the edge of the dip, envisioning the art, the people, and cradling—in my mind's eye—that marvelous red vase, now mine forever.

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