First, background: Last night some friends of the family stayed here -- my mother's friend D. was part of the team who just won the Nobel Prize in physics (with these guys). He was a post-doc at the U of M when my mother was getting her Ph.D in physics and they have kept in touch. His wife, L., and their kids were also here, and told us about the dinner in Stockholm. They're all smart but rather dull, or maybe I'm not quite at their intellectual level.

Anyway, I couldn't sleep until 4, and when my mother came and woke me this morning it was still dark (the sun rose at 7:51 am today). She said, "You have to come out here, L. wants to buy one of your paintings." I was like, "Mmmm hhmmmm." Wait, what was that? "She says you are really talented, and she wants to buy that painting you have in the bathroom -- she's writing a check for $200." WHAT?

Quick, wake up, Becky. "Are you serious? That painting isn't even that good! No! She can't give me $200 for it, that's ridiculous." My mom said, "Ok, maybe we can get her to give you $100 instead." The clock said 8:00 but it was still dark. "Just come out for a minute, they're leaving now, you should thank her." I said, "I'm not wearing anything, I don't have any pajamas." She said, "Here, just put on this robe." She left the room and I put the robe on and stumbled into the kitchen, blinking in the light.

L. was sitting there, writing a check. For some reason I was so embarrassed, and not because I was naked under the robe and half asleep. L. was trying to tell me how good the painting is, that I should do shows, that I could make money.

I could almost hear the voices of Brian and my father on my shoulder -- not like angels, but like twin motivational speakers -- "Confidence, Becky! Don't undersell yourself! Don't be so modest!" But seriously, the painting is crap. I did it when I was 17. I love it, that's why it's on the wall, but no one else loves it. It's a self-portrait I made without using the color white, and it kind of looks like I'm peering out of a swampy twilight. I was convinced that L. had taken leave of her senses and everyone else was secretly laughing at this bizarre scene.

Really, she was quite giddy and if the whole family weren't so dry, and if it weren't 8 am, I would have wondered if maybe she was on ecstasy or drunk. She kept going on about my "talent" like people do when they're high. She said, "I'll give you $150 because it's not framed, but I'm going to frame it and put it on my wall at home!" I wasn't wearing my contacts so I couldn't see anything beyond 6 inches of my face. My father got out his camera and took a picture of the painting before they left. I kept thinking, please, just make this be over.

Finally they left. I crawled back into bed and fell asleep until noon. When I woke up, I looked on the table. It wasn't a dream, there was a check for $150.

When we were visiting my mother's side of the family in Chicago, my aunt Lisa was talking about my grandmother, who was of the Carpatho-Rusyn ethnic group (that's how they spell it). They lived somewhere in the vicinity of the Carpathian Mountains, which I guess means I'm more Ukrainian or Romanian than Russian. Andy Warhol is the most famous person of this ethnic group, if you care.

Anyway, my aunt Lisa mentioned the "typical Carpatho-Rusyn character," and I said, "What is that?" She said, "Well, you know, like how your grandmother used to be, very modest, didn't want to take credit for anything she did..." That was when we started talking about the phrase "She could cook, but she couldn't serve." I looked on google and apparently the Carpatho-Rusyns are "introspective and stoic."

I kept thinking of that this morning when L. wanted to buy my crappy painting. Why do I want to hide under a rock when people are being nice to me? Oh well. Now I have $150.