Wednesday, May 29, 2013


I've been teaching myself something new. Sketching has always been there for me, but watercolors? Brand spanking new to the medium. So far, I am enjoying the playing around part, but get frustrated when I try to be serious and the painting looks nothing like it does in my head. Really, how could I ever expect some pigment and water carry the weight of all of my expectations?

I went through the same process when I taught myself to knit a decade ago. A wake of half finished, shoddy, asymmetrical projects trailed behind me, until one day, I decided just to give up on knitting the perfect, difficulty-level-10 lace shawl, and make some simple socks to keep my feet warm. Since then, I've knit 98 socks. Now, I could knit in my sleep, and quite often, I do knit without looking so I can watch a movie or read a book at the same time. Don't be impressed, every mother out there understands this type of multitasking is ten percent talent and ninety percent survival skill.

I'm wearied of hearing myself grumble about all of my perceived short-comings, an annoying habit I have fallen into lately.  On the surface I feel as if I have lost all ability to do anything except grouse on the things I don't like about what I am doing. Even my sentences are all Mad Hatter jumbles! But, what is really happening isn't a loss of capability, no, the situation is much more dire. Boredom. Pure and simple, I've been acting like one of my kids, sitting in a room full of things to do and complaining there is nothing to do. Usually, when they announce their utter, mind melting boredom, I mumble something practical, like, "go play with something or whatever."

Time to stop grumbling and go play with paints or whatever.

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