When Matchmaking Backfires

I don't know why I was in such a romantic mood this Wednesday. Maybe it was because we were going on a field trip to the Leonardo Museum in SLC, and Mrs. Dorius' class was paying for our class, so it was basically a date. Maybe it was because the boys in my group decided to call our group "Flower Power," since I like flowers, so the date basically started out with me getting flowers. (Below are some pictures of the museum!)

Or maybe it was because the museum worker gave us a presentation on algae, which I am not fascinated by, so thinking about how great he would be with my teacher was a natural defense mechanism.

Whatever the reason, he wouldn't stop waving around his ringless, 28 or 29-ish-year-old hand, and the thought came into my head. My teacher isn't married, and she is great! And he wasn't married either, and he seemed nice. He was smart, and he was good with the kids, and when my teacher, during a pause in his presentation while the kids were running up to the stage to grab a clipboard, went up to him and said jokingly that this class was really going to make him work for his pay, I couldn't help but interpret his inaudible response as a little bit flirtatious.

The game was on.

I leaned forward and tapped Kensie and Emma. They are cute dressers and hair-doers and spent the entire bus ride to the museum giggling. I know how to pick my allies in this game. "Don't you girls think that the guy presenting should take our teacher on a date?" I asked.

They nodded thoughtfully. "I never thought of that," Kensie said.

"But yes!" Emma squealed.

"Do you think he's younger than her?" Kensie asked. We thought about it for a minute and I said I thought they were about the same age.

I laid out the game plan. "Okay," I said, "If we want this to work, we can't tell our teacher. And we have to be really casual. So you two need to go up to him after the presentation and just be like, 'We think you should take our teacher on a date.' Okay?"

Kensie said: "First you have to find out how old he is."

I explained that if I asked how old he was, he would think that I wanted to go on a date with him. So I couldn't. Our operation hit a wall.

Over the next two hours, we kept working on it. In the end, the plan was that we would ask the girl presenting how old the bachelor was. If he was about the same age as our teacher, Kensie and Emma would tell him that he should get our teacher's phone number. We would attend their wedding within a year :)

It was perfect, and everything happened flawlessly according to this plan.

Oh, except the part where Kensie and Emma never worked up the courage to ask the girl presenter how old the guy presenter was.

And the part where they decided instead that he should take me on a date.

And the part where I was watching Team Flower Power go through the interactive displays and the guy presenter came over and started talking to me, and Kensie and Emma saw this and almost peed their pants about it.

And the part where I remembered how frustrating matchmaking can be and vowed never to do it again.

Not until I see another really great opportunity, that is.

Gaga for Van Gogh

Every Tuesday, I walk across Brigham Square and into the JKB, straight up to room 3115 for my elementary school art class. We do all kinds of things in this room, everything from shading practices and still-lifes to watercolors. It is a three-hour art class and, usually, we spend about an hour working on our project for that week. The rest of the time is spent trying to understand the assignment.

My teacher, Sister Bradford, is a lovely lady with straight blonde hair that she wears tied up in a sparkly black scrunchie. Every week, she walks around the class on 3-inch platform shoes and hands out a packet, that describes in all caps how we are to complete that week's assignment. It stresses me out a little. I know it is not the tone that she wants to take, because in real life, Sister Bradford is very sweet and soft-spoken. I just wish I had an explanation for her packets.

This week, a man opened the door for me as I walked in the JKB. I thanked him and then went upstairs. He went upstairs. I walked down the hall, and so did he. Finally, I walked into my classroom, and he walked in right behind me, his black boots clicking with each step.

As it turns out, Sister Bradford couldn't make it to class this week and had a guest artist come in in her place. He followed me to our classroom, waltzed in with his paint brushes and his gouache, and in a matter of minutes, he had the entire class in the palm of his hand.

I don't know exactly how he did it. I put down my bags, left for a few minutes to get a snack from the vending machine, and when I came back, the class was all huddled around a table where the substitute was. He had a palette with three different purples in it, and he had just started demonstrating how to use watercolors. The class was captivated! Not a sound was made as he lightly stroked the paper with his brush. Magically, the watercolors did exactly what he wanted.

We watched as our substitute leaned back, adjusted his beret, and looked over his work with thoughtful eyes. "You see," he said, "It's not so hard. I just kind of lightly tickled the page."

"You tickled it good!" said one of the girls. Our substitute smiled and started swirling his brush in the water, ducking his head. "You can do it, too," he said.

His brush swept over the paper and everyone shuffled forward to try and see better. As we watched, a collection of sighs, oohs, and whispered compliments bubbled up from everywhere in the crowd. "Can you come back when we have to learn ceramics?" several people asked. "That looks amazing!" "I wish I was this good of an artist."

It was as if Van Gogh himself had entered our classroom and taken over. The girls were ecstatic to have such a competent teacher. They unabashedly lavished compliments on him, and I don't think he was really sure what to do with all of them.

Van Gogh took some questions, did a little more by way of a demonstration, and then sent us back to our seats to work on our watercolors there. He walked around, offering advice and encouragement and answering whatever questions people still had.

His presence had a soothing effect on our usually tense class. We chatted about our weekend plans. We complimented one another's artwork. We freely asked whatever questions came to mind.

Van Gogh came over to my table and looked down at my nearly-finished rose. "Wow," he said. "Did you do all this in one class period?" I had. "Do you think I need to do anything else on it?" I asked. "Let's take the tape off," he suggested. I beamed. I pulled the tape off and showed him.

"That turned out really nice!" he said. "I like how you did that. Doesn't that look cool, with the complementary colors? Good work!"

Never have I felt like such a competent artist as I did then. I took my watercolor home and hung it on the fridge :)