When I was little I used to feel sorry for the monsters in horror movies.

If people weren’t trying to shoot them, they were burning them or pushing them off of cliffs.

So every Christmas Eve I would sneak treats and food into my room, put them on a plate and shove it under my bed because duh, that’s where monsters hide.

We used to have this little dog Blackie and one Christmas my Mom found him in my room halfway under the bed and from the sounds of it he was busy chewing on something.

She pulled him out and his face was smeared with gravy and frosting. He was chewing on a roll of Lifesavers candies from my Lifesavers Christmas Storybook.

He got loose and dove back under the bed.

She pulled him out again and this time he was dragging the plate with him.

I think most of the turkey was gone, but there was still a lot of goodies on the goodie plate.

Too bad Mom took it, there was still enough on that plate for a couple of monsters and a dog.

My Dad saw my Mom carrying the goodie plate to the garbage bin under the sink and he asked, ” What the hell was that mess.”

My Mom told him where she found it.

I was right behind her giving her the evil eye the entire time.

” Are you crazy?” He asked my six year old self ” what did you do that for?”

I glared at him too and stomped off.

They wouldn’t understand I thought. But had I told them I was leaving food for the Wolfman and the Mummy they probably would have understood.

This is why:

One Christmas I saw my Mom in the kitchen cutting up Turkey and Ham that she had just taken off of the serving platter. She cut it up and mixed in with our dog’s regular dried food.

When I saw her doing that I was surprised.

She wasn’t a pet person for the most part.

I asked her outright why was she giving the dog so much turkey and ham and she said, ” Because it’s their Christmas too.”

We’ve had several dogs over the years and she still does that.

Now days I’m willing to I will bet the Wolfman would have benefitted from her generosity too.

Apparently this dog named Moose, who played the wolf that bites Lawrence Talbot, totally became buddies with Lon Chaney Jr. on the set of The Wolf Man and followed him around wherever he went.

So now I’m 51, I still love my Monsters and at Christmas I have this little plate of treats that I will set up on a high shelf where the dog can’t get it.

I’m a little disappointed when the treats are there the next day, because I was sure, I was positive that the creatures were stirring in my house.

Maybe next Christmas I think as I take the treats down from the shelf.

And then I say what I’ve been saying since I was five years old:

Maybe next year.

DAILY PROMPT

The Artist’s Eye

Is there a painting or sculpture you’re drawn to? What does it say to you? Describe the experience. (Or, if art doesn’t speak to you, tell us why.)

One Summer I decided to learn about art, paintings and sculptures. So I studied the works of various artists-and found I wasn’t partial to any at the time.

Then I took class and ended up at a gallery.

It turned out that even though it was an Introduction class, most of the people in it could have taught the class themselves. Or maybe the ones who didn’t know about art kept their mouths shut because they were intimidated and were able to look really smart.

I’m sure I was coming across as one of the dogs who tilts their head to the side when you talk to them- but what the heck, I was there to learn.

As we went from painting to painting, people in the class took turns impressing each other with their knowledge. It was hard to sort it out, but it sounded like they were saying the same thing.

I finally sucked it up and I volunteered some info about what I saw and wouldn’t you know it? I was looking at the painting I had read about the artist, I scanned the cheat sheet- I mean ” program” they handed out at the door but was told I didn’t understand what what the painting was ” saying”.

From that point it went on.

I had never been called stupid in so many classy big words in my life.

I felt like a door had been slammed shut in my face.

Fine, I thought. That’s just fine.

Pompous jerks- why on Earth would I spend my hard earned money to be called ignorant…excuse me ” a novice…ho ho ho. “

It was years before I went into another gallery again.

It seems fitting that after being banished from the world of art, I should be welcomed back by this painting:

This is Lucifer by Franz Von Stuck.

He was hanging on a wall, in a place of prominence- or maybe it just felt that way on the day I saw it for the first time.

It was funny because people wouldn’t walk up to it and stare- they didn’t walk around it and stand in different spots on the floor to observe it the way you’re supposed to in order to see the painting from different perspectives ( I actually liked learning to do that ).

It was the biggest, loneliest picture in the room- given that I had no idea it was such a famous picture- but I knew I liked it because I understood it and I’m not going to eat it and say I’m wrong.

As I stood there admiring Lucifer, I saw the anger, the loneliness and the defiance of his situation. Maybe nobody wanted to be reminded how easy it is to be in that place. I don’t think anyone wants to be in that situation- and they probably don’t want to be at the receiving end of that anger burning in those yellow eyes.

Some of us have cast aside people we claimed to love, to care about. We have all held someone up and that dropped them to the depths of Hell and watched them burn.

If I were such a person, I don’t think I’d like this picture-because somewhere is someone thinking of you with the same exact look on their face.

I guarantee it.

Now there’s a thought that would scare the Hell out of people.

Since that day I have become a great admirer of Von Stuck. I love his paintings- the stories they tell, and I don’t really care if I’m ‘wrong’ or if I’m not seeing it the ‘right way’.

I’ve gone on to admire other works- but Franz is my favorite because he opened the door to a world that had been closed to me and my life has become a little richer for it.

Karl Wilhelm Diefenbach

As a writer I have learned that good stories take on a life of their own- that when someone reads your work and they see it in their head, you know you’ve struck a chord and your story will live.

It goes out into the world and grows and spawns new ideas and other work.

If you’re an artist, isn’t that what you want?

Or am I not seeing this the ‘right way’?