One More Ordinary Tuesday

Cedar Valley News
August 21, 2026
One More Ordinary Tuesday
By Dan Larson

I sat this week in a kitchen I have sat in a hundred times, across from a man whose wife of 51 years died in the spring. We talked about the usual things, the ward, the weather, his grandchildren. And then he went quiet, and he looked at the empty chair at the end of the table, and he said, I would give anything for one more ordinary Tuesday. Not a trip. Not a party. A Tuesday. Her at the sink, me reading the paper, nothing happening at all.

I have not been able to shake it, because I know exactly what he means, and I suspect you do too. We do not see the ordinary while we have it. We see it only from the far side of its leaving.

I have been thinking, of all things, about a painting.

On this day in 1911, a man named Vincenzo Peruggia, a handyman who had once helped build the painting’s own protective case, walked into the Louvre in Paris, lifted the Mona Lisa down off the wall, hid it under his coat, and walked out. For more than a century it had hung there, and here is the part I keep turning over. Before it was stolen, it was not especially famous. Admired by people who knew paintings, yes. But the crowds walked past it on their way to grander things. It was simply there, the way the mountains are simply there, the way a beloved wife at the sink is simply there.

Then it was gone. And something strange happened. People came from everywhere, not to see the painting, because the painting was gone, but to stand and look at the empty space on the wall where it had been. They came by the thousands to stand and look at nothing at all. At an absence. At a rectangle of darker wall and four nail holes where the most valuable thing in the room had hung, unlooked at. And two years later, when it was found and hung back in place, the crowds were bigger still, and they have never once stopped coming.

The empty wall helped make it the single most famous painting in the world. Sit with it a moment. It took losing the thing entirely for us to finally lift our eyes and look at what had been in front of us the whole time.

I am a religious man, and I could turn all of this toward heaven, but I do not think I need to. I suspect you already feel where it goes. Every one of us is living in a house full of these paintings we have stopped seeing. The person across the table. The ordinary Tuesday. The knees still carrying us up the stairs. The town out the window. The friend who always answers. We walk past them a hundred times a day, on our way to grander things, certain the wall will always be full.

And it will not always be full. There is the one thing I can promise you. Someday, one by one, the walls of your life go empty too.

So here is my quiet question for your weekend. What are you walking past? Who is at your table right now, ordinary and yours, whom you have half stopped seeing? What would you give, someday, for one more Tuesday of exactly this, the plain morning you may be a little bored by today?

I do not think the answer is to live in fear of losing it all. Fear is no way to live at all. I think the answer is smaller and harder and better. It is to go and look. Today. While the painting is still on the wall. To let your eyes rest on the ordinary faces and the ordinary gifts you have quit noticing, and to see them again, really see them, the way the grieving man would give anything to see his wife at the sink one more time.

You do not have to wait for the empty space to teach you what you had. You can walk into the very room, right now, and look at what is still there.

Go look.

Cedar Valley News has a Facebook group. If you have comments and want to join the conversation, you are welcome. Here is my quiet question for the weekend: who is at your table right now, ordinary and present and yours, whom you have half stopped seeing? Come and tell us. And if we get something wrong, tell us, and we will run the correction. https://bit.ly/40p8jKy

Cedar Valley News is free, and it comes to your inbox every morning, six days a week. If this morning’s fictorial was worth your time, please forward it to someone who would value it. And if someone forwarded it to you and you’d like your own each morning, just reply with the word “subscribe.”

This fictorial is part of the fictional Cedar Valley News series, written by Evan Swensen, Publisher, and Claude Marshall, AI Developmental Editor. The man in the kitchen is fictional, but the history is real. On August 21, 1911, Vincenzo Peruggia, an Italian handyman and former Louvre worker who had helped build the painting’s protective case, stole Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa from the museum in Paris. Before the theft the painting was admired but not widely famous; during its roughly two-year absence, crowds came to view the empty space on the wall, and the theft and its coverage helped make it the most famous painting in the world. It was recovered in Florence in December 1913 and returned to the Louvre in early 1914. Sources include the Library of Congress and the Louvre.

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