Artistic Therapy

I know I am an artist because I like to make smoothies that match my outfit.

Today I coordinated with cherries, vanilla yogurt, and a banana.

I sat in the sun on a reclining chair sipping my hot pink drink (out of a straw) that matched my light-weight hot pink sweater, and I was comforted.

I needed comfort because hot pink is a trying color for my complexion. It brings out the bags under my eyes, and in general, my face is not perky enough to compete with hot pink.

This last month has been a harrowing kind of month. An analogy may be helpful. Today, on my way to pick up the oldest two from Algebra 1/2, I noticed a flowering tree that I particularly enjoy the scent of. I got excited, for a moment my face matched my sweater in general cheerfulness, I inhaled deeply. I inhaled again. Then I realized that I was in a car, going 60 mph, and the windows were up. The tree was about 1/2 mile behind me when this realization hit.
Ah yes, I am going too fast to appreciate anything!

May is a wild, bronco bucking kind of month. I find I hold on best by indulging in artistic vents.

I have recently put in a large order for tablecloths from April Cornell. Tablecloths which will go on the outside table next to the reclining chairs. Tablecloths which are smattered with large hot pink roses. If you drive by my house in May, you will probably see me sitting there in my hot pink sweater, with my matching drink and tablecloth and sunglasses (did I mention the sunglasses?). Please look the other direction, I will be normal again soon.
Relatively speaking.

Insanity

We all, I believe, have bouts of insanity (some of us are more bouty than others). Friday, for instance. My snotty kids (noses not personality) made it impossible for the friends we had invited over to come over. So I had to come up with Friday fun off the cuff. What do you think I suggested? A walk? A movie? How about a wall mural? As the cat ran through the bowl of paint and careened through the house, the sanity questions arose.

But it turned out lovely and the babes had fun! But we still had time to kill....how about we walk downtown and get Grant's hair cut and then tour the antique store. This too, went well, until the walk home. The hill in front on my house could be labeled "the Bermuda hill" or "the Camas triangle" or something like that for strange things have happened on it. Injury aplenty. Out-of-control bikers careening through our fence, etc. Rose met her fate there Friday; face first. Knot on head, teeth sunk into tongue, blood, screaming.

I went to find some medicine, after I cleaned her up, and came back to Rowan doctoring her. She looked like most people do after spending time with Rowan.

Really, when it comes down to all this excitement or a movie, is there really any choice? Stories are made because we choose to make them. Given the choice I choose insanity.