Pretty Packages

Years ago, I rented a small apartment in an old house. One day I was invited to a party by a fellow tenant. He was nice enough, but rather square. I accepted for lack of anything better to do. Plus, I was new in town and I didn't know too many people. The party was hosted by one of his co-workers, who was from India. It was in honor of his new wife, who had just arrived to America. She was beautiful. I was entranced, yet more so intrigued by the whole arranged marriage.

Along with all her mystique, she brought with her several gifts from her country to share with the guests.

I sat on a couch between my square neighbor and another computer geek trying to digest the whole concept. It was her first time in America. She didn't know a soul, not even her new husband. I was scared for her.

On the coffee table a beautifully wrapped box of colorful candies caught my eye. The hostess gestured for me to try one and within seconds the arranged marriage wasn't the only thing I was trying to digest. How was I going to swallow this hard concoction that tasted rather fishy?

She was watching and waiting eagerly for my response. I waited until she glanced away, quickly spat the candy back into the wrapper , and hid it deep within the couch cushion.

When she glanced back, I smiled and lied. Her country's candy was delicious!

I thought I was in the clear until a little dog came out of nowhere and began pawing at the cushion. It happened all too fast.

And there it was, my lie.

My lie exposed

chewed, spat, and hidden away.

I was so ashamed.

Years have passed since. I am more cautious now for I am aware that some things wrapped in beautiful packages may taste fishy.

It's okay to refuse them, but if you accept them, you better be prepared for the consequences.

Waiting For My Denouement

It was always to my understanding that in order for a drama to reach it's conclusion or denouement, there had to be some sort of climax. The denouement was that quiet time when one realized all the intricacies of the plot.

Right now I am stuck in a drama impending a climax. I am wondering, though, if it is possible to skip the climax and reach the denouement?

~FIN

A Pledge To A Sunflower

You were the only one facing my direction in a sea of others.

I made sure of it.

It was like wishing I may and wishing I might, that you were really the first and only star before I made my wish.

So I made a wish, which was more like a pledge.

A pledge of allegiance to you for being different,

for having the courage to face a different direction,

and be yourself.

A Not So Subtle Sign

There are some signs in life that need no explanation. They're

placed right in front of us, unavoidable, and most often lacking in originality.

I find that the most obvious ones, usually go unnoticed. By time you realize it was a sign, you've made an illegal u-turn and caused a major accident.

At what point do you turn back and is it safe?

Should you wait for another sign?

I believe in signs.

I often wonder if I look too intently for them, thus avoiding the reason

they were placed there in the first place.

Flowers For Chickens

Flowers For Chickens

36 x 48

acrylic on canvas

This painting was inspired by a little drawing that my student gave me. He is 8 years old and is so very creative. I just loved this drawing, so I asked him if it would be okay to copy.

It was quite challenging. I truly wanted to maintain the whimsical innocence that he had in his drawing. It was a fun painting; I was actually sad when I finished it.

I feel a series coming on!

One of my favorite quotes by Picasso says it well.

"Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up."
— Pablo Picasso

Friend Shapes and Training Wheels

I've never felt the satisfaction of having a circle of friends. I am always envious of a group of women appearing to enjoy each other's company. But, truthfully, I am most comfortable one on one in a friendship. Introduce a third friend and it gets tricky. It then becomes a triangle of friends, an uncomfortable shape compared to a circle. One point is further from the two and usually that point is me.

I know it's childish for a middle-aged woman to find herself feeling this way, but I am thinking that feeling like the "third wheel" may not be such a bad thing, after all.

The idiom, "feeling like a third wheel" refers to one that feels left out or useless. Since wheels work in pairs, a third wheel is not needed.

Or is it?

I got to thinking about this and remembered my training wheels on my first bike. That white metal apparatus with a little black wheel on each side. The whole thing just seemed so flimsy.

As I remembered, only one wheel actually touched the ground.

I'd like to think of this as the "third wheel", quite useful when it came to assuring me that I wasn't going to crash.

So the idiom isn't exactly true.

I have no idea what that fourth wheel was for. I bet if you really felt left out or useless, you could call yourself a "fourth wheel", hopelessly spinning, never touching the ground, and only there for appearance.

Fortunately, training wheels are only temporary. Unfortunate for my "third wheel" analogy, though. Gradual adjustments are made as the rider becomes more stable.

A day will come when the training wheels are no longer needed and can be removed.

One of the many rights to passage of childhood memories.

So at the moment feeling like a "third wheel" is quite enjoyable.

I know it's not forever and I can be supportive.

But really,

I am just along for the ride.....

The Red Umbrella

I recently heard that if you concentrated long enough on something, you could actually slow down the passage of time. Buddhist monks practice this deep focus while meditating. The study went on to stress the importance of "staying in the moment" .

I thought about this as I waited in line at my little town's post office. I began to focus on the clerk's methodical questions and his snail-like movements.

Time was slowing down, it was Zen-like, and I was getting very sleepy.

It is true what they say about small towns. People tend to move slower. I am not complaining.

I'd still be in line talking to the lady with the red umbrella, if my husband weren't with me that day.

She said that her grandson makes fun of her for carrying the umbrella when it's not raining.

"It's for sun protection", she boasted. Her face was riddled with bloody scabs and I found myself focusing on the red umbrella. I felt the Zen-sation returning and her words slowly slipping further and further away.

I once had an uncle who had a large portion of his nose removed due to sun damage. It was hard not to compare him to The Great Sphinx of Giza. Because of this, I always felt uncomfortable around him.

I would wager that having a visual mind is equally as harmful as ultraviolet rays, but I'm not a good gambler.

I never will forget the time when my grandmother returned from the doctor's office with her face looking very much like the umbrella lady. It was horrific!

At this point, John was pulling my arm to leave.

There was no more time left to stay in this moment.

As we drove home, I wondered what was the benefit of staying in that particular moment and the only conclusion I came up with was that

if you choose to stay in a moment, make sure you're protected from the sun.