We will begin with silent reading.
We will continue with poetry presentations.
There will be some time to work on your Jumble Stories.
Journey projects are due today. We will spend part of the time conferencing about the projects.
I will go over your practice provincial exams.
Any time remaining can be spent preparing for the exam.
On one hand, Hap would appreciate the clarity and intricacies of Andy’s work. So realistic, “Customs couldn’t tell a Warhol … sculpture from the real thing. ” For someone who needs to understand the art to like it, it’s a big plus. There’s no guessing or wondering involved when looking at it, allowing Hap to enjoy the details and beauty. He goes so far to say “it’s not art if [I] can’t tell what it is.”
On the other hand, though, Andy Warhol’s fame and the price tag associated with it would not appeal to Hap. There would undoubtedly be some jaw tightening and muttering under his breath at the sight of the bill. Axel’s fifteen thousand dollar piece of art astounded the man. One can only imagine how much worse some multi-million dollar pieces of art would go over for Hap.
It’s now been three minutes and twenty-seven seconds I’ve been lingering in the living room doorway, unnoticed. Deep breaths go in, and out.
“Mom.” I finally catch her attention. I internally kick myself for sounding like a wimp with my voice cracking. “Could the three of us have a talk: you, Dad and I?” She grimaces and nods, patting the couch.
“What now, Jay?” she replies in a bored tone while I take my seat. Cool leather feels like ice against my clammy back, and sweaty palms.
“Well? Spit it out,” my father adds in from the recliner across the room.