When will I be able to trade my house paints for artist’s paints?

My hands are worn from years of working with tools, from digging in the earth. They have some stiffness most mornings, and I worry about not be able to draw after completing this creative retreat. But art goes on, doesn’t it? As do the feelings that we have for others.

First grade drawings from my mother’s attic…Somewhat like Marc Chagall perhaps?…”It is time to fly.”

This weekend I received a rare gift, some of my first grade classwork. Many papers bore the stamps “Fair” and “Careless.” Why didn’t my teacher see that “It is time to fly” was imaginatively brilliant while “It is time to laugh” and “It is time to play” were hauntingly revealing?

My struggle with energy efficiency

Incandescent light suits my house and me. Its warm amber-like glow says “home” each evening. It draws me in where I always find safety and comfort, and then it somehow makes the darkness of night outside seem much darker. There is rest and security even in a single bulb.