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!