When the Girls Go Shopping ...
they can't trust me for a minute. I headed straight for my favorite place to find oil paintings when the girls left me alone yesterday. Most of the time when I go there, I don't find anything that I want to buy, but it is the thrill of the search that matters. The owners know me, and as much as they like to see the girls, they like it better when I am alone. Then there aren't two no votes being cast when I see something that I like.
I remember buying an oil painting at that store for Cici's bedroom, long before the girls arrived in America. It is a throwback in time scene with a little girl in a huge hat sitting in her pink ruffled dress with her Brittney spaniel snuggled in her lap. I hung it on the wall in Cici's room, and soon had buyer's remorse. A teenage Chinese girl will never like this painting. There is nothing in it with which she will identify, I realized. But I left it on the wall and it survived all the redecorating that Ping and Cici did after they arrived. Last week I asked Cici if she wanted me to take that painting down. She looked at me with surprise in her eyes and said no, because she loves that painting.
Yesterday I was in luck. The store had an oil painting by an artist whose work I really like. I knew the moment I saw it that I would buy it for the office. It was leaning against the built-in book case in the sitting room when the girls returned last evening. Papa bought something, Cici called over her shoulder to Ping as soon as she walked into the house. Both of the girls chastised me, saying that they should never have left me alone. How much, Papa? Cici's first guess was within a hundred bucks of what I paid for the painting. She has learned from our previous trips to that store.
I have also learned. I knew just how to distract the girls - with a box of Popeye's spicy chicken. Cici told me just two days ago that she thinks this is the best chicken in America. I also know that she and Ping love the legs and wings the best, followed by the thighs. The girls have also learned. Ping set up a wooden TV tray for Cici, who placed her laptop on it next to her little plate of chicken. When they arrived, they had no idea what a TV tray was for, but now they have adapted to its many uses.
It was family time. Ping sat beside me on the sofa and leaned against me, turning her body to face me. I know we were just gone for the day, she said, but I feel like I haven't seen you for a year. I missed you, she said. We should have invited you to go with us. Papa, why do you buy so many paintings? Cici asked. We needed this one for our new office, I told her. It will earn money for us every day by making our office more attractive to our clients. Then one day in the future, it will be worth more money than I paid for it. You can sell it then if you don't like it. Cici will never sell the paintings you bought, Ping said. She will always think of Papa when she looks at them, so she will never let them go. From the smile that played across Cici's face, I think Ping just might be correct.
I remember buying an oil painting at that store for Cici's bedroom, long before the girls arrived in America. It is a throwback in time scene with a little girl in a huge hat sitting in her pink ruffled dress with her Brittney spaniel snuggled in her lap. I hung it on the wall in Cici's room, and soon had buyer's remorse. A teenage Chinese girl will never like this painting. There is nothing in it with which she will identify, I realized. But I left it on the wall and it survived all the redecorating that Ping and Cici did after they arrived. Last week I asked Cici if she wanted me to take that painting down. She looked at me with surprise in her eyes and said no, because she loves that painting.
Yesterday I was in luck. The store had an oil painting by an artist whose work I really like. I knew the moment I saw it that I would buy it for the office. It was leaning against the built-in book case in the sitting room when the girls returned last evening. Papa bought something, Cici called over her shoulder to Ping as soon as she walked into the house. Both of the girls chastised me, saying that they should never have left me alone. How much, Papa? Cici's first guess was within a hundred bucks of what I paid for the painting. She has learned from our previous trips to that store.
I have also learned. I knew just how to distract the girls - with a box of Popeye's spicy chicken. Cici told me just two days ago that she thinks this is the best chicken in America. I also know that she and Ping love the legs and wings the best, followed by the thighs. The girls have also learned. Ping set up a wooden TV tray for Cici, who placed her laptop on it next to her little plate of chicken. When they arrived, they had no idea what a TV tray was for, but now they have adapted to its many uses.
It was family time. Ping sat beside me on the sofa and leaned against me, turning her body to face me. I know we were just gone for the day, she said, but I feel like I haven't seen you for a year. I missed you, she said. We should have invited you to go with us. Papa, why do you buy so many paintings? Cici asked. We needed this one for our new office, I told her. It will earn money for us every day by making our office more attractive to our clients. Then one day in the future, it will be worth more money than I paid for it. You can sell it then if you don't like it. Cici will never sell the paintings you bought, Ping said. She will always think of Papa when she looks at them, so she will never let them go. From the smile that played across Cici's face, I think Ping just might be correct.
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