Dance

Yesterday, I traveled Hot Springs to work in the gallery. Hot Springs is a wonderful small town with streets lined with trees.  While driving, two trees captured my attention.  They were intertwined.  I was rushed for time, so I could not stop to capture a quick photograph.  So I attempted to file the image into my memory, which is always dangerous.  Later at the gallery, I quickly sketched the two trees relying on my memory forged from a passing glimpse.

I remember the entwined trees leaned to the right as if dancers bending to a song. The limbs of the trees made very sharp and unexpected turns; apparently the two dancers had a troubled past since broken and damaged limbs are cause of sudden turns.  Regardless of the past, they still danced.  And now, the trees were merged and one could not exist without the other.  

Everyone deserves a chance to dance, to sway to the music, regardless. 

Love

Love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous

love does not brag and is not arrogant

does not act unbecomingly

it does not seek its own, is not provoked

does not take into account a wrong suffered

does not rejoice in unrighteousness

but rejoices with the truth

bears all things

believes all things

hopes all things

endures all things

Love never fails

But now faith, hope, love, abide these three

but the greatest of these is love.

Purple Heart

A few months ago our family received the dreadful news that our son was involved in an attack in Afghanistan. A roadside bomb struck his vehicle.  Information on the attack crawled from Middle East adding to the stress to the nightmarish event. While waiting for news, the family retold funny tales of my son’s……adventures.  Here is one of those tales.

A few year’s ago, my son acquired a job at my place of work.  He had a handicap. He was work challenged. He started and quit many jobs. I hoped this job would be different considering my reputation was bonded to his work ethic.  What could go wrong?

At home I received a call from work from my boss, Gerald.  In a sorrowful voice he said,  “I am so sorry for your loss of your mother. Where do we need to send the flowers?”

Surprised I answered, “My mom!  I did not know my mother died! I need to make phone calls!” 

In a panic I made my first phone call, “Hello mom. I am glad to hear your voice! You are OK!  You are not dead!  I received a call from work saying my mom had passed. I have to make another call…….see you later!”

The second call was to my mother-in-law, “Hello, you are there! I received a call from work saying you might be dead!  I have to make another call. Goodbye for now!”

I returned the call to work, “My mothers are OK! They are living!  What? My son stated his grandmother died and he needed time from work?”

At that moment the puzzle came together. My son needed time from work. A grandparent was the prefect relative for his scheme. They are not too close but close enough for fake bereavement. Some people loss dozens of grandparents.

Highly frustrated, I called my son, “Where in the heck are you….the lake…THE LAKE! You are supposed to at work or a funeral. NOT THE LAKE!” 

It is funny how life flows.  Sometimes children are the cause of endless stress.  Yet occasionally, they do things which are amazing. 

Naps and Wine

I adore the trajectory of the light of fall. It transforms our perceptions of everything. A dramatic change occurs in the sky especially in the morning.  Clouds lose their edges gaining a diffused softness.  Yet the most dramatic change is the casting of long shadows and the extension of the reach of light.  In the fall and through windows, the sun reaches deep into our homes and begs us to take an afternoon nap. 

Frame of mind

This sketch was completed while sitting near a window of my hotel room.  Occasionally, I enjoy experiencing the atmosphere of a late night especially in a city.

When I was a boy in rural Arkansas, our family was deeply poor. Poverty has the power of isolation. It removes children from classmates.  So the open fields, woods, and creeks were my close friends that I shared these friends with my brother.  During our adventures and explorations, occasionally, a visitor would appear: an airplane streaming a trail of white vapor against the sky. I found the visitor amazing.


I often pondered the lives of the people traveling in the planes and I always weaved uplifting tales. The passengers were always traveling to a lost love or a warm reunion. They were never running form anything.

Today when I am in the hotel room viewing a cityscape, I ponder the lives of people traveling in vehicles, walking streets, or sleeping soundly in beds. I prefer to think that they are traveling to a happy greeting or they are peacefully sleeping near their beloved.

Though the truth is hasher than my idealism, I still prefer my silly dreams.  

Prevail

New Friend

This is my new friend.  You wouldn't know but my friend is faded blue. It loves to hang out..............

That was a very very cheap joke. The joke store does not take debit cards and I don't carry a lot of money.

Time

I yanked (A nice way to say stole) this leaf from a friend who is a photographer, Suzanne.  I thought the leaf was amazing.

Your thoughts? I Don't Want to Hear Them

I, Larry, without emotional or physical duress freely attest that I am a messy person. I have the messy gene.  This gene is blatantly apparent when I do anything creative with ink or oil.  Like illegal aliens longing for freedom, paint migrates from my brushes and canvas to my hands. From my hands, paint is transferred to my forehead. Apparently I can’t think without touching my head, and ears.   Yet the biggest victim of migrating paint is my clothing.  Many of my favorite shirts have inkblots or paint smears and I look like a walking psychological test.  Crazy people walk past me and say, “Butterfly!”

So, I have decided on a protective layer of cloth. First, I pondered an apron but the word "apron" has too many womanly connotations.  I am a manly man….cough   I even tried replacing the word “apron” with the word “smock” but smock sounds silly.   I landed on the idea of using a long sleeved large shirt.  Well, technically the shirt is an extra-extra large.  (Kindly keep your thoughts to yourself).  The shirt has to be VASTLY oversized to offer a large area of protection and to fit loosely over my clothing.  That is my story and I am sticking to it.

In other news, I am going on a diet and exercise regiment the very moment I post this blog. 

Jabbering

Recently, I went on a walk in the late afternoon.  I enjoyed a lingering stroll along a dirt road.   

I enjoyed the shadows that were thrown from a thin stand of trees.

But most of all, I enjoyed the endless jabbering of questions from my company. 

Fall

Recently I took a walk through the fields of northern Arkansas and I was disappointed in the fall colors.  The state has had a very dry fall, which depresses the colors.  In dry weather leaves turn from green to brown bypassing yellow, orange, and red.  Yet, I have hope. Today the land is receiving a slow steady rain and the damp air is crisp making a prefect fall day.

On cold wet fall days, we become introverts huddled within protective layers of clothing and walls; the dampness beckons for a reflective outlook.  We ponder the roads, which were taken or ignored.  Yet romantics can embrace reflection too strongly. Romantics could enjoy a cold rain simply for the simplistic pleasure of knowing the rain provides a push for the changing leaves of fall.

Maybe prefect fall days are just prefect fall days. 

20 minutes

Very fall I pluck a changing leaf and sketch it.  The sketch generally takes about one cup of coffee or five 80’s songs or three customers at a coffee shop.

Different shows

Many people are complacent in spirit and they are meant for safe harbors.  In a line, they are tethered to the docks as they softly rise and fall with the gentle waves.  They don’t own a single reckless belief.

Yet some souls are meant for the open seas. Commanding their horizon, they were born to cast their sails to a strong wind.  They have the ability to form uncommon beliefs and uncommon spirituality.

Own a reckless belief…..a belief that is fully yours.  

I kill the will to live

I am a mass murderer and my weapons of mass destruction are garden trowels, fertilizer, water and a sense that plants are endlessly thirsty. The plants, that I ignore, thrive and the plants, that I painstakingly nourish, die a slow agonizing death.

A few years ago, I planted a tree in the backyard. The tree was from my grandfather’s land.   While in its infancy, I mowed the tree with a lawnmower. Also my beloved chocolate lab, Nellie, confused to tree with a chew-toy and she stripped the tiny tree of limbs and foliage.  Today, the tree is biggest and healthiest plant in my yard. 

In the front yard, I planted two trees. I watered the trees during the hot months of summer.  I mulched the trees. The trees have been safe from random dog and lawnmower attacks.  Yet if the trees were patients in a hospital, they would be in critical care.  They are barely clinging to life.

Apparently my love crushes the will to live.  I likely need to take a weedeater to the front two sickly trees.  It is their only hope. 

stay foolish

Yesterday, my wife informed me that Steve Jobs died. She knew that I admired Steve. He was a visionary and a fighter.

On his battle with cancer Steve said, “My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctor's code for prepare to die. It means to try to tell your kids everything you thought you'd have the next 10 years to tell them in just a few months. It means to make sure everything is buttoned up so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes."

As Steve waged a war with cancer he never lost a trait, which I admire the most: fiery romanticism. In a speech Steve said,  “No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be…Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.”

Society is combative with people who dare to walk differently, speak differently, and think differently. Yet, we should have the courage to stray from the well-worn path. There is more danger in endlessly cloning the ideas than forming new ideas, regardless of the claims of foolishness.  So let’s be foolish. Let’s experiment. Let’s shoulder the risk of failure taking paths that others ignore.

On fools and the foolhardy Steve said, “Stewart and his team put out several issues of The Whole Earth Catalog, and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-1970s, and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: "Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish." It was their farewell message as they signed off. Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. And I have always wished that for myself. And now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you.”

I like to end with this: think different. 

Bent, Defense of Dreamers

I have been pondering a painting.  I see it clearly in my mind.  I see a thin stand of young trees.  Young trees, like children, playfully move in random direction for no logical reason other than for joy. Behind the stand of tree, the autumn sun is low casting light, which streams through foliage.  The sun is blinding; it seems to devour a section of the trees. The far background I see a vast field and I see a straight peaceful horizon. 

Robert Frost wrote a poem that perfectly describes my boyhood and my current outlook.  The Poem is “Birches.”  In the poem Frost ponders the bent growth of birch trees within a stand.  Frost knows the likely brutal cause of the bending: ice storms however he prefers his idealistic outlook.  He prefers the cause to be a boy, who lived too far from town for baseball.   Though in the poem Frost defends idealistic romanticism he also uses the poem to recount his boyhood. As a boy Frost was a bender of trees. And so was I.

So, I am going to paint a stand of trees. The trees will be unique, special. They will be bent and turned standing against a straight horizon on a fall day.  And in the vastness of the field, I will place a person.  Viewers of the painting can create any story for the person. My story is that the person lives too far from the lights of town for baseball and he or she is enjoying the freedom and dreams that can only be found in a field.

“One could do worse than be a swinger of birches…..”

Frost

love is

Love is many things. One component of love is the ability of wives to live within a marriage without falling to the desire to poison their husbands.  My wife, who is a good woman, must endure my inability to throw away favorite shirts.

I enjoy t-shirts with inspiring or unique messages and my shirts often gather compliments.  So naturally, I am emotionally attached to my shirts.  Furthermore from my perspective, holes and tattered collars add value.  Why would I discard shirts that are only gaining value?  Shirts are a cloth form of a 401k.

My wife is kind person however her wife’s tolerance has limits. Eventually my shirts decay to a point that tests the foundation of my wife’s sanity and her eyes acquire a t-shirt murdering glint. When I sense her dark nature, I know that I am in danger. However more importantly, I know my tattered shirt is in danger.

Often, my wife decides the best course of action is covert. The offending shirt gets “lost” in the cycle of laundry. When questioned, she innocently responds, “No Honey, I have not seen your red “bazinga” shirt.” Our backyard must be littered with shallow graves for each missing shirt.

Occasionally she takes a direct approach.  My wife’s attack is often surprising and sudden leaving my shirt defenseless.  After a quick scuffle, I am left wondering why shirts are so easily ripped.

Currently, my old green “life is good” shirt is in danger.  I need to devise a plan that will steal a few more months of life. 

Linger

People enjoy reading my sketchbooks. My sister-in-law, Tasha, is always a threat to steal my book and start reading.   Often, I only insert sketches in my book but occasionally I write.  Below are the words from this page of my sketchbook. 

"I adore the word linger. LIngers meant to remain or stay in a place than is usual or expected, as if from a reluctance to leave...to be slow in parting or leaving something. 

Though simplistic the word is seldom used in common conversation. Yet the word bleeds romanticism. 

To linger: to be in love with a person though a parting is on the horizon. 

To linger: to consider the wonder of the early edge of morning while the sun is hidden. 

To linger: to be simply happy or at peace knowing the passing of time will recalculate circumstance. 

To linger: to battle, for a moment, fate. 

Hope

Our children are having children and suddenly our home is overflowing with the noises and lovely chaos that only small infants can create.  The above is a 15 minute sketch of my first grandchild, a boy.  

I hope. 

I hope you have your great-great-grandfather's heart. He symbolizes kindness. 

I hope you have your great-grandfather's hands.  He is a builder, a creator. 

I hope you have your grandfather's eyes. He looks to the fields, sky and dreams. 

I hope you have your father's faith. He thinks he is invincible. 

And as time passes, you will fall deeply in love and you will have a child.  Give to him or her only the best of us. 

The Table

Sorry, I took a few days from writing.  I want to at least write every other day. I get a lot of enjoyment from hammering the keys. 

Today, I went to my pondering place, the local coffee shop, and I discovered a shocking surprise. A young couple was sitting at my table.  Well, the table is not officially mine.  Yet, I proclaim squatter’s rights.

The table is prefect. It is near a window.  During pleasant weather, the window is often open allowing the wind and outside noises to fill the shop.  The table is near the bar but not too close.  The table is near a main area of congestion offering a good line of sight for people watching.  The most important advantage of the table is its lack of popularity. It is almost always unoccupied except for today.

So, what is the proper course of action?  Should I unnaturally stare at the couple until they call the police or leave?   I could telepathically send dire messages of doom if they don’t forfeit the table.

I guess they can have the table just for today.  They seem to be a happy couple and they don’t really deserve negative telepathic messages.  

Cheater Cheater

In one sudden leap, summer has turned to fall and the heat is an oppression of the past.  With the cooler weather, I have a restless urge to explore.  My backpack is on standby. Nellie, my dog, is ready.  My have blank pages and plenty of ink.  So, this week I am going to cross a few fields with my friend, Nellie. 

In my last blog, I wrote about breaking my hand, which was broke last year. I blame Nellie for the break and Nellie places the blame upon me.  Here is the tale and I will let readers place proper blame.

Nellie and I have a love love relationship. She loves me and I love her.  We show our love through a game of chase, which is actually not chase. The game should be called, “Run around a like fool for no apparent reason and in random directions until exhausted.”   I call our game chase because the label makes me feel less stupid.

During a chase session, I paused in middle of the backyard and I decided to surrender the game.   I glanced at the backdoor, which was open. Nellie glanced at the door. I looked at Nellie and she looked at me.  We took another glance at the door. I did NOT start the race!

Nellie is a monster lab topping 90 pounds and though my memory of the accident is not sharp, I do know basic physics.  A beast of a dog and a grown man can’t fit through a door at a dead run at the same time.  Yes, at a full sprint I hit the doorframe shattering a bone in my hand.  The pain was intense.

With an inquisitive tilted head, Nellie looked at me while panting and proudly standing in the house.   In pain I protested my loss,  “Nellie you cheated!”   Not only does she think the break was my fault but she also thinks she fairly won the race. 

My Mad Man Skills

I have good man skills.  I can mow the yard in straight lines and I can carry to trash to the curb without falling and breaking bones.  However recently I did break my hand running around like a fool playing with my best friend, Nellie my lab. 

Repairing broken items is normally categorized as a husband endeavor around our home.  Nellie, yes the dog who caused my broken hand, fell deeply in love with the cabling that provides the phone and net connection.  In the mind of our chocolate lab love is the same as to chewing, shredding, and then destroying. So, our cabling was loved to death.  Instead of calling the cable company, I decided that the repair was my job.

The very blog is evidence that I do indeed have mad man skills in the arena of repair. There is only one problem.  When we get a phone call, we lose connection to the net.

I think that I need to call the cable company. 

No Honor Among Thieves

I steal ideas and I am not apologizing!  I deeply admire wonderfully happy people who seemingly live in a state of carefree happenstance.  They brightly shine and I try to steal their secrets to polish my own life.

Years ago an art professor and I were discussing our love for art magazines.  I discovered that she made a huge event from the arrival and the reading of her favorite magazine.  She would not turn single page until she had peaceful surroundings. Deep within her chair and surrounded by stillness and aroma of coffee, she mined all possible enjoyment from a single endeavor.

Her idea was amazing.  I thought she made Einstein look like a fool. I wondered why she was not running for governor or the president.  She at least needed her own talk show or advice column. 

Stealing her idea, I now harvest enjoyment from a morning cup of coffee.  I attempt to obtain very fiber of enjoyment within an hour…..or two….or three….or a day.

Walk slow and wander a bit. 

And as always, be good to  you. 

Friendship

A friendship can weather most things and thrive in thin soil; but it needs a little mulch of letters and phone calls and small, silly presents every so often - just to save it from drying out completely.  Pam Brown


As always, be good to you and your friends! 

Finder Keeper

My wife is the family radar. She instinctively knows the location of everything.  On contrast, I instinctively don’t know this location of anything. This is my gift.  So on many hectic mornings, I ask for the location of many things.

“Honey, have you seen my shoes?”

They are in the closet, behind the door!”

“And my belt? I just had it!  Where did it go!  Who stole my belt!”

“It is on the corner of the bed! Who would steal THAT belt?”

“Hey! it is a good looking belt! My wallet?  I can’t find it!”

“On the table.”

“Have you seen world peace?”

“World peace is in the third drawer of the dresser.”

“Good we should call the president. While I call could you find the cure for cancer?”

September skies.

Flowing through the grasses and trees the late summer wind assumes the hints of fall. These are the days of remembrance: the days that move my soul. Indeed, the slightest September scent can instantly trigger thoughts of my youth. However the most powerful trigger is the color of a September sky.

With the retreating heat, the sky moves from the hazy dull blue of summer to the brilliant crisp blue of fall. Lovers might praise the golden change of the trees however let’s take a few moments to cast our gaze upward.

We can’t endlessly stand in a state of awe.  We would become annoying to our family and friends.  However throughout the day, we can briefly pause and consider our lot this world.  And in one of these moments, don’t forget to look upward.

As always, be good to you. 

The Art Show and the Homeless Man

I recently had art show.  Throughout the night, I causally walked through the crowd and engaged in many wonderful conversations. I adore discussing art and after the show my voice was raw from use.

After the show I stopped for gas at a near station preparing for a long and late trip home.  At the station, a homeless man approached and asked, “Sir can I ask for your help?”

I have many quirks. One quirk is the inability to say no to the homeless when they ask for help.  In my life, I have never failed to give money if I had money to give. I once lied to a homeless man telling him that I had no money when I did. After walking twenty feet, I felt so guilty that I returned to the man and give money to him.

On vacations in large cities, I give all my money to my wife.  This method is trickery however it works.  Also I do not consider a debit card to be money.  So technically I do not have money, on my person. 

So while pumping gas I ironically and confidently replied to the man, “I am sorry but I don’t have money.

The man pushed, “The people in this town are cruel. I am not from here. I would not waste your time asking for your money.  I need some food. Just a little. Not much at all.” 

With his rebuttal he defeated my gambit, which has been so successful in the past. Showing him my cash barren wallet I continued, “I don’t have money. But when I pay for my gas, I can buy you some food from the station.”

Again he parried, “I don’t want anything from here. I am hungry. Can I please have some real food?”

“Wait here. Let me pay for my gas and I will drive you to Wendy’s which is right down the road.”

So after an art show, a homeless man and I drove to a Wendy's. After Wendy’s I drove him to a shelter.   He liked eighties music. So I found a good radio station that played the classics while we enjoyed the cool night air.   He told me about his life. He is from a farming community in south Arkansas and he is trying for a new start.

A few days later, my wife downloaded the recent bank transactions. Curious, she asked, “Larry did you spend about 20 dollars at Wendy’s?"  

I nodded, “Yes, a homeless guy was really hungry! And wow, He could eat!”

Laughing she said, “You are not kidding; are you?”

Yes I have issues.  But how many people, driving a topless jeep, have drove around town with a homeless guy while listening to “And we Danced” by the Hooters and eating a Wendy's meal?

As always, be good to you! 

Think Different

Here’s to the crazy ones.

The misfits.

The rebels.

The troublemakers.

The round pegs in the square holes.

The ones who see things differently.

They’re not fond of rules.

And they have no respect for the status quo.

You can quote them,

disagree with them,

glorify or vilify them.

About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them.

Because they change things.

They invent.

They imagine.

They heal.

 They explore.

They create.

They inspire.

They push the human race forward.

Maybe they have to be crazy.

How else can you stare at an empty canvas and see a work of art?

Or sit in silence and hear a song that’s never been written?

Or gaze at a red planet and see a laboratory on wheels?

We make tools for these kinds of people.

While some see them as the crazy ones,

we see genius.

Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world,

are the ones who do.

The above is the long version of the "The Crazy Ones" and "Think Different" slogan of Apple in the 1990s 

Welcome to Today

Say hello to today.  Today is not yesterday and it is not tomorrow. So, welcome to now.  Yet just for a moment, let’s leave now and peel away the years. Let’s return to when we were 12.  Are you there yet?  Don’t hurry. I will wait. Can you see yourself at that age?

Now what are you doing?  Maybe you are running on a pier to bravely jump into the water.   You could be at the top of a tree: the prince or princess of all the land. Maybe you were too shy to speak to that special boy or girl.  Maybe you could not stop talking.

Now remember your dreams and your hopes.  Remember the things that made you smile. Well, today is a good day to get started on those things.  It is about time; don’t you think?

As always, be good to you. 

The rise of the fitted sheet

Pastel 8x12  

done as a quickie taking about 15 minutes

Some things take more time

My house is full of magical things.  When I press a button, ice drops into my glass. Seemingly, I have an unending supply of the frozen stuff.   My glass is cleaned by another touch of a button. Running through a magic box even the air in my house stays cool in the heat of summer.  All of these magical devices are amazing!

Struck with a fit of consideration and wanting to impress my wife, I decided to help around the house and try to operate two magical devices in my home: the washer and dyer. 

First every man needs goals in life.. To achieve the goals, men need a clear path or a plan of action.  My goals were simple.  My heroic quests were to clean linen and clean the bathes and bedrooms.  So here is my tale as it actually occurred. No names have been changed to protect the guilty.

It was a dark, stormy day and the workers in the fields paused to consider the threat of…………….wait wrong story.    So after filling the washer with linen, I paused to consider the settings and my main concern was the water temperature.  Do I select cold/cold?  Warm/cold?  Hot/warm?  I decided the hotter the better.  If the washer had the setting “the face of the sun” I would have chosen that.

After washing and drying the linens, the task of making the beds was next.  First at bat were the fitted sheets.  One corner fell in defeat. Satisfied in my victory, I tucked the second corner and then the third.  The last corner is when my plan found difficulty.   When I attempted to tuck the last corner another corner would suddenly spring free.  I made at least six trips around the bed doing a fitted sheet merry-go-round.   With each attempt to fasten the last corner another corner acquired the urge for freedom.  I could not suppress the linen uprising.

Frustrated by the audacity of the fitted sheet, I paused.  Then I jumped back on the line merry-go-round for more fun.  Finally after 20 minutes, I defeated the unruly sheet.  

In the glow of victory, I paused to consider the battlefield and thought, “I think I should select cold/cold next time.”

eye test

Recently I had an eye examine. I am getting older and my peepers are aging with my body.  Apparently eyes are a body part.  My wife, giving moral support, was present during the examination.  The following is a top secret transcript from the examination or interrogation room.

"Sir, please read the smallest line possible"

"Could you change the chart and get bigger letters?"

"OK, how about now?"

"Hmmmmm  B  X  R  T,"  struggling to decipher the images I assumed a trend of letters and said,  "a backwards E!  Yes, a backwards E!"

"Sir, that is a 3."

"OH! a 3!"  in the background I heard my wife groan.

Later I was informed that I am farsighted. I asked if that means I could see the future.

directions

First, I want to offer a fair warning to readers. Today, I might linger until the end of time while beating the keys of my computer. This entry might be long and wade into deep waters.

At this moment rain is cleansing the world outside my window.  Summer’s grip is failing and fall is readying for a visit.   This transition often stirs my emotions through the trigging of memories.  So during this time of year, I am often captured looking backwards through the decades.

I do not consider myself a good artist. I don’t even consider myself a competent artist.  Yet, I have the soul and spirit of an artist and I at least attempt to feebly create. Having an artistic or romantic outlook has massive benefits. Artists are generally a happy lot. However locked with the benefits of a creative spirit are many major pitfalls. One disadvantage is melancholy.  Often, melancholy is a frequent companion to people who create.  Great artists such as Van Gogh and Hemmingway struggled with the visitation of melancholy. 

We should careful with our perspective.  The past can hold powerful lures that entrap and steal gifts from the present.  If we endlessly pounder our past innocence then how can we nourish our current sense of innocence?

Melancholy, especially lingering melancholy, is often the result of a wrong outlook that builds a fortification in the past.  We need an outlook, which builds a temporary campsite in the past: a place where we visit yet not stay.

So, when we remember past friends, events, lost family, or circumstances let’s make sure that we have a proper perspective. Let’s be quick to forgive but quicker to be thankful.  Nothing of importance is really lost unless we purposely place it as lost. 

Outside of true hardships, very moment in time is wonderful with the present standing above all. Always be good to yourself. Have faith. Be friendly.  And, engage life. 

To do list

Yes, I have a bucket list. My long seemingly senseless list contains both the silly and serious.   The website www.43things.com is a terrific site to start and update a life list.  Here are a few items from my list.

Number 17 on my list is “climb a tree.”    Yes, my dexterity will do battle against gravity.  With luck, gravity will decide to take a working vacation the day of my climb.  Throughout my life, gravity and I have not been the greatest of friends and we are not on speaking terms.

Standing tall at number 12 is “Learn how to play the piano.”   I always have the urge to tickle the keys of pianos, which stand unguarded in hotel lobbies.  I simply need to play one song really well and never take requests.  Always leave an audience thinking that you are better, smarter, and more successfully then you actually are. Honesty is overrated.

Rebelling at number 3 is “protest for cause.”  The specific cause is unimportant yet a cause that I actually support would be preferable.  An arrest is bonus points.

At number is “imagine.’   Number18 is “create something beautiful.”  “Sending a message in a bottle” is at 26.

Number 5 is “be more spiritual.”   In my mind spirituality is synonymous with romanticism.  So, my list needs to be completed with a romantic perspective. The message in a bottle can’t be an ordinary message.  The song springing from the piano must be soaring and the tree is not for climbing but ascending

A bucket list must be done properly.