I have to send an image to Ceres Gallery. It is to represent the work I am showing in the solo show for the brochure.

I hate to commit. The show is many months in front of me. And I may still be working on the pieces until they are sent to the photographer. After the photographs are made, it feels permanent. Website, my print books, future reference.

I remember one of my solo shows here in Atlanta, where I put a tube of cadmium yellow light in my purse. Then upon entering the gallery, where my work had been hung, I walked over to the one of my paintings I felt needing a touch up and I dabbed the paint on with my finger. Cameras and all.

In fact, there were a few wet oil paintings in the show for about two weeks. Until they dried. All because I worked on them, up until the last minute.

Another show, I used a ballpoint pen to touch up a collage. It was during the opening reception and people came rushing over to me, sighing when they saw it was “just me.”

Sending in an image (not this one) feels so permanent. But it will have to do.

Calling those 1 800 numbers to get a credit card balance from a store can be a debilitating experience.

I called the J.Jill Store the other day, asking them to send me an official plastic credit card. So as not to carry around the frayed, dog-eared business card with my card number on it. I do carry around this battered card and make purchases, but I thought it nice to have a real credit card. The kind that other people carry around.

That’s it. That is all I wanted. And the only way to get this was to call the number.

What I heard from the Customer Service (?) Representative on the other end was… oh, and I have to say, that getting to this person was a half hour ordeal. (To digress further, one time I was talking into one of those automated phone “service” devices and I slurped my almost empty Green Tea Frappacino and the recording immediately went into Spanish.) Therefore, you see how well the automated system works.

Back to the Customer Service Representative. She said something to the effect that since I was a valued customer, I was entitled to a special offer.

I kind of got excited about this, thinking that maybe I was entitled to some deeply discounted clothing in their Spring Line.

But what do you expect from someone who roboticly asks you, “Is there anything else I can help you with?” after you tell them you are hanging up on them?

The offer: By paying a few dollars a month on my bill, if I should become infirmed, lose my job or pass away, I will not be liable for any unpaid charges on my J.Jill card. For peace of mind, she said. I said I would get peace of mind if I wasn’t talking to her.

But that’s my peace of mind. Her point of view: J.Jill is always with me. Even facing an oncoming truck!