I admit I am ridiculously competitive but I don’t know how some people have 18 points or something like that already. No, they have 27 points. I have written each day this month and I am being trumped. I don’t get it. Oh, well. Creative and competitive are my watch words and I had to start writing like some insatiable, starving “give me more words!” freak for words kinda gal which I guess describes me pretty darn well after all.
So, my psalm study continues to delight me.
David is so bold in his insistence (an overused word this month!) He wrote, “Answer me when I call to you!” as if he was speaking to a child, someone under his thumb rather than vice versa. Could I ever be so bold? Especially with God? I don’t see how, I don’t think I could. I wallow and waffle and flummox with God. Will I make him mad? Last week it was “is my voice offensive to him?”
I am bold enough to smile and wave to the guy in the on-the-way to restoration red Ford truck that ambled by again, rumbling this morning. He was smoking his cigarette again. It must be that whole romance-bad-boy thing. I morph into a soap opera teen ager when he drives by. It is funny. Would make a good scene for a movie. Middle aged woman, writes and watches youngish, but not too youngish, cigarette wielding, car restoring man.
I am like the Ford, perhaps, on the way to restoration.
Be merciful to me and hear my prayer! (David continues). Give it to me, God. Do what I say, God. And David was after God’s heart so his earnestness was well received. Intriguing.
When I was pregnant with Sam, I declared God my husband and Samuel’s father. That was the loneliest time of my life, undoubtedly. No wonder I don’t want to return to it.
Then, the words from Anais Nin – “I will not be a tourist in a land of images, just watching images passing by which I can not live in, make love to, possess as permanent sources of joy and intimacy.”
I love her words, I get her words. May I also never be “just a tourist” in a land of anything, the theater, the writing world, the space of entrepreneurs, none of it.
I checked in Samuel who was showering and helped him with his Gillette, the male smelling soap that reminds me of my father-smell with that after-shave in the red packaging. Some ship on the front. What was it called? I wonder if he still uses it. An annual Christmas gift. I remember Ed Arroyo, who I worked with eons ago – he wore it, too.
It is odd how I still feel slight twinges of jealousy over my siblings. Jeff, his closeness, brings him more time. It nets him time and attention I can’t have. I can’t change it so most of the time I am glad they have some one close but other times, sad it can’t be me or especially my children. I get jealous because Joe’s kids and Sue’s kids seem to know them better. I think of Kat, never having a formal made by Mom and that makes me sad. Can’t change it, why should it bother me that my nieces had countless dresses and costumes crafted by Mom. I need to get over it. But feel it? Still.
Honor it, like everything else. Honor it without attachment.
On my front porch I kept hearing the sound of a sheep, bleating. Bahhhhhh. Bahhhh. She sounds sort of worried. “What am I doing here?” I bet the smells are strange. Perhaps my neighbor, Mr. Pumpkin head, has a baby sheep for one of his many children.
Too late for sunrise this morning. I wanted to photograph the sunrise over the river water that wasn’t there just last week. I missed it. Need to be about thirty minutes earlier.
Gold rays greet the water
at just the right angle
twice per day. Today, I missed it.
Gold rays = sun’s spot light = sun’s arrow? Not sure, but fun to play.
Ok. Artist Statement or Vision, rather.
I am an artist who loves her children, her community and her art very well. I love exceptionally well. My art is my expression of soulfulness and offers another legacy alongside my most important creative project: my children. Whatever I create is divinely inspired. The voice of God is my art coach and teacher. I seek and allow daily discipline, activity and goal reaching to further my art and my gift of bringing light, hope and joy to many people who find connection and “something deeper” in my art without even knowing what that is or where it comes from, they simply know its presence.
(Yay, I feel it. And I passed 750 words. Hooray!)
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