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I’ve always loved Saturdays. As a kid, it meant Pop was home all day, and he’d make waffles, pancakes, or muffins for breakfast. It meant cartoons, visiting my grandparents’ house, no school work.

As a teen, Saturdays took on the meaning of movie night, time with friends, no school work.

As an adult, I reverted to some of my favorite childhood activities: cartoons in the morning and painting shows in the afternoon. Saturdays meant no “real work,” a day when I could paint and be creative.

Now, Saturdays once again mean no “real work.” I’ve set them aside as a day of relaxation and renewal, leaving myself free to draw, write, or play to my heart’s content.

But not too long ago, I lost sight of Saturday. While editing our new novel, writing became work. The freelance graphic design I couldn’t complete during the week spilled over to my weekend, and art became work. Days blended together. I got stuff done, but I didn’t take time to enjoy Saturday…to enjoy life.

A precious jewel of a day

Something else I’ve always loved are marbles. When I was a kid, I thought those swirling, multicolored glass orbs were every bit as beautiful as precious stones. Unfortunately, most of mine came from the same set, all similar shades of drab green and yellow. Very boring. But every so often, I’d come into possession of one that was larger or smaller or more colorful than the ordinary marble. To me, that was a real treasure.

In the book Charging the Human Battery, there’s a story in which the author likens Saturdays to marbles:

I sat down one day and did a little arithmetic. The average person lives about 75 years…I multiplied 75 times 52 and I came up with 3,900, which is the number of Saturdays that the average person has in their entire lifetime…

It took me until I was 55 years old to think about all this in any detail, and by that time I had lived through over 2,800 Saturdays. I got to thinking that if I lived to be 75, I only had about a thousand of them left to enjoy. So I went to a toy store and bought every single marble they had. I ended up having to visit three toy stores to round up 1,000 marbles. I took them home and put them inside a large, clear plastic container…

Every Saturday since then, I have taken one marble out and thrown it away. I found that by watching the marbles diminish, I focused more on the really important things in life.

There’s nothing like watching your time here on this earth run out to help get your priorities straight. ~ From Charging the Human Battery by Mac Anderson

When I let “real work” take over my life, the days become like those old green marbles: all the same size, shape, and color. If I really wanted rainbows of glass when I was a kid, I could have made the extra effort to go out and buy them. But it was easier to just complain a little about my lot in life and enjoy the few bits of beauty that I got my hands on. Much the same way, it’s easier to let work take over the weekends, rather than go out of my way to plan, schedule, and enjoy re-creation time.

Our days of life are precious and brief. Letting a Saturday pass by unnoticed is like dropping a jewel into the trash.

I can’t salvage the ones I’ve missed, but I can surely treasure what’s left. I won’t put a finite number on them—as far as I’m concerned, the only limit on human life is 120 years. But I intend to fill a vase with gorgeous, unique marbles, and keep it close by…to remind me.

So. What are you doing next Saturday?

“Jar of Marbles” photo by DazT

Tags: Inspiration by mousewords
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At the moment, I live at home with my folks and sister. The challenge about this is that it’s hard to find a quiet space for my work or personal time; but the good part is that I can spend one-on-one time with the family I love.

Weekend mornings often turn into “dad and me” time. Dad’s an early riser; I’m usually next. It’s typical for me to walk into the dining area on a Sunday morning and be greeted with the warm aroma of pancakes and coffee, and the sight of my Dad seated at the table with the lights on (no matter how sunny it is outside) and the newspaper and remnants of his breakfast spread out around him. This was the scene that greeted me today.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and drifted over to the table, picking up the career section. The cover story talked about protective parents who need to let go of their college-bound offspring. Not much else there, so as my Dad opened the business section, I peeked over his shoulder. This is a bit of a Sunday ritual–I drink my coffee, he turns the pages. If I’m interested in something, I lean closer or ask him to wait before turning the page. Technically, I’m being a pest, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

My glance idled through a column about one man’s need to let go of an aging parent who tends to make unwise financial decisions. Then my Dad interrupted my thoughts with a comment about the business article he was reading. He closed his remark with diffidence: “Of course, that’s just my opinion.” But his thoughts were right on, as they usually are.

There are times when Dad has a clear perspective on things that I’m either unaware of, or don’t understand. I value his wisdom. By the same token, I know there are subjects that I can explain to him.

Next, we read the trivia column together and started talking about tides. Both of us have a solid knowledge of that subject. We’re on an even field in this respect.

It led us to a discussion of ocean currents. I had never quite understood how they worked, but my Dad was able to explain it clearly to me. Seawater condenses as it gets cold in the north, then sinks. The water moves south, where it gets warmer and rises toward the surface. Eventually, it’s driven north—and the cycle starts all over again.

Suddenly, as I stood there looking over Dad’s shoulder, the puzzle pieces of the past few minutes began to assemble in my mind. My Dad and myself finding common ground and learning from each other. Parents letting go of adult children; adult children letting go of aging parents.

The world keeps changing. Life keeps moving. Yet somehow it always goes back to the place where it started. Like the currents of the ocean.

At some point, it will be my children who are looking over my shoulder; learning from my experience, sharing understanding, teaching me what they know. Looking over my shoulder, and preparing to take their place in the world.

Life flows.

 

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Tags: Family, Inspiration, Journal, Musings, Personal by mousewords
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Saturday morning. I emerge into the dining room. My Dad looks up with a cheerful expression. “Aha!” he says. It’s nice to be appreciated, but before I get a chance to feel too smug, he pulls out the newspaper. Oh, no.

Pop: “What was the greatest gift given to America by France?”

Isaac Asimov’s genius quiz. Groan.

Me: “Statue of Liberty.”

Pop: “That’s what I say, too. Who was famous for crossing the Rubicon?”

Me: “Groan.” (audible) “I need coffee before I can deal with this.”

I continue on into the kitchen. Pop is undaunted.

Pop: “Come on. Who was famous for crossing the Rubicon?”

Me: “Ernő Rubik.”

Pop: “Ernő Rubik?”

Me: (sarcasm) “Oh, wait, he was famous for the Rubik’s Cube.”

Pop: (Brief grin.) “I think it had something to do with Kipling.”

I shrug and pour my coffee.

Pop: “Who ruled Spain from 1939 to 1975?”

Silence.

Pop: “Who was the Soviet leader during the Cuban Missile Crisis?”

I remain silent on this one, letting him have it. He was in the service during the Missile Crisis, after all. Surely he…

Pop: “Gorbachev.”

Me: (Stunned) “Um… Khrushchev.”

Pop: “Ooh, right! Very good.”

Me: “You want to know the impressively intelligent reason I know that answer?”

Pop: “What?”

Me: “When we were growing up, you had that book of political photo cartoons, and Krushchev was in it. It stuck with me.”

Pop grins. Moves on.

Pop: “Who allegedly killed officer JD Tippit?”

I have a vague feeling this is related to the TV show “Dallas.”

Pop: “What country was Leon Trotsky assassinated in?” Silence.

Pop: “During what war did the battle of Jutland take place?” Silence.

Pop: (Looking up at me in disbelief) “Who knows this kind of stuff??”

Me: “What’s worse: knowing it…or not knowing any of it?”

Pop: “We knew the Statue of Liberty.”

Me: “True.”

We continue. We have FAIL. Pop reads the answers. We got the Statue of Liberty right. Oh, and Krushchev. But the Rubicon?

Pop: “Huh. It wasn’t Kipling. Julius Caesar was famous for crossing the Rubicon. I thought he was famous for ‘Nobody sees her like Julius Caesar.’”

Me: (Finally admitting) “I’ve never even heard of the Rubicon!”

Pop: “It’s famous. Julius crossed it.”

Mom walks in the room.

Pop: “Who was famous for crossing the Rubicon?”

Mom: (Blank stare)

Pop: “It’s a river in Italy. Don’t feel bad, I thought it was something Kipling wrote.”

Nobody tell Asimov, okay?

 

Tags: Family, Humor by mousewords
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I’m new to Twitter—only discovered it last month—but already I’m realizing what an amazing tool it is.  Not only to help me meet interesting people, or keep in better touch with the ones I already know; not only to expand my realization of the world and current events, or to give me an outlet for burning off some of the plethora of minutiae-related thoughts that skitter through my brain every day. 

Not only all that, but one of the best things about Twitter is that…it…um…well, hm. 

What was my point again?  I’m fighting this cold tooth and nail, but it seized my thoughts.  Oh, wait—yes.

One of the best parts of Twitter is being able to track my thinking.

Many thoughts run through my head on a minute-by-minute basis. The sunshine sure does look pretty today, makes me feel brighter inside. I hope @susanreynolds is doing well, my heart is heavy for her but my faith is in the Lord’s healing power. I’ve seen Him do as much for others I know. Thank heavens for peanut butter, it really gives me a boost…and the two heels of bread aren’t really so bad together, it makes it kind of like a sweet roll. Oooh, Tree 63’s playing “Look What You’ve Done,” it’s soooo totally awesome. Those lyrics—I wonder that so often myself. What a pretty melody. Okay, I really need to get working on the book—I need a final target date by February, and that’s a lot closer than it seems. Been a couple months since I sat down and wrestled with it, since I’ve been working on the art and charity things. Wondering how I should start—I want to do a word count and recap, but feeling the pressure, wonder if I should fire in with writing first off? No, recap would be better, probably—get a big look at it, “see” it all at once—where it should go, how it should be—I remember working on my sci-fi book five years ago, just being able to “see” the entire thing all at once…not that I knew what all was going to happen, since ideas came as I worked along; but I could see it. It was clear. No matter how I try to push myself to be normal, sometimes I just wake up and realize what it’s like to have brain damage…it’s not the same as it used to be. It’s all furry in my head…I have to squint to see the stories now. LOL, I need brain glasses. Ah, that would be coffee. Coffee’s here, bless my Mom for bringing it in. Love my family—every one of them. But Lord, I wonder when I’ll find “HIM” and we can start a family of our own. I just know my brain will be better, come that day…not being unrealistic here, I just know. There’s something about happiness that makes everything clear. You can think with your heart, not your grey matter. I probably shouldn’t start thinking about that…I get too sobby. But it’s my heart, what should I do, lock it inside so that it can’t feel anything? Numb it like my nerves after the CO poisoning? I get into that habit sometimes…I’m so used to trying to control wild emotional swings after CO, that “emotion” has become something like “headache.” When you get a headache, you take something to make it go away. My body does the same thing with my emotions nowadays. The minute I start feeling something in my soul, my instinct wants to quickly “take an aspirin,” so to speak, to make it go away. Be strong. Steel the heart. Calm down. Think of something else. By all means don’t break down. But heartfelt longings aren’t the same thing as a mood swing. You’re supposed to feel, you know. You need to. So okay, back to square one: Lord, how do I make my day mean something? How do I not wind up wasting time bobbling around aimlessly…okay, aimlessly, that struck a chord. Write the goals down…keep following the plan. “This is my desire, to go deeper into You,” Tree 63 is singing right now, this very moment. “I am always in your heart. I am not my own.” Whoa, Twitter update, @susanreynolds is out of surgery and in recovery…bless the Lord, Hallelujah, as Tree 63 happens to be singing right now. Oh, no, don’t sing A Million Lights right now…Lord. Sob fest. No, wait, don’t turn off the heart, right?? Just grab a Kleenex. Sigh. Yeah, I knew it, crying. Blink, gulp, take deep breath. What was I thinking again? Oh, yes—oh, that melody is so pretty—I was thinking of Twitter. I read through my month’s worth of—Twitter update, @hackerjay, my baby bro, 6-foot-some-odd hunk of guy, but all baby brother to me. ;-) Leaving work now, it sounds like he has Christmas Vacation. We had Christmas at Thanksgiving with him—wondering what he’ll be doing for Christmas Day? Gotta remember to ask. If not for IM and Twitter, I’d never know what’s going on with my siblings. :-) Ah, and there’s @war2d2, other younger brother, chiming in with “Merry Christmahanukkwanzaka everybody.” hehee. We’ll see him and his wife right after Christmas…oh, dang, I still have to get presents for them. Twitter update—good news about @susanreynolds! Praising the Lord wholeheartedly for that. Okay, back to the thought of Twitter…except I just thought of my book….man, I need to get going on that. I just know it will flow when I sit down and do it…get over that hurdle of facing it. Always does. Man, that will be exciting when it’s done! Will I even know what to do with myself when it is??? Uh…yeah…yes, I will. ;-) Good Lord, there’s so much to do….writing, website, promotion…okay, yes, that voice inside just said “and WORKING,” bless it. :-) That means, GET BACK TO WORK RIGHT NOW. Okay, that reminds me what I was posting about to start with…Twitter gives me a way to track my thoughts in print so I can see what I need to change to make better use of my time, and make improvements in my life. Moment by moment, thought by thought, it’s hard to see the big picture. But when all those thoughts and moments are strung together, they weave a pattern and begin to make some sense. It’s not really my pattern…the Lord has a plan that He’s making. I can’t see it minute by minute…well, that’s not true, yes I can. I know the visions He’s given me for what’s in store for my future…I get too focused on my own failings and weaknesses, and don’t see that He can handle it, He can make something beautiful out of my screw-ups…I just need to keep moving, to work at it. But then I get so afraid…I feel so helpless. I don’t know where to go or what to do…

 

And that’s when all the words stop.

 

And He just embraces me in His love.

 

And He tells me everything’s going to be all right.

 

I’ll see it when it gets here. Like Tree 63 is singing: “Something invisible has become so beautiful.” And it will be more beautiful than I can possibly imagine.

So now I’m going to get back to work. And I’ll start thinking again.

 

But a little more quietly now.

 

Tags: Carbon Monoxide Awareness, Faith, Family, Friends, Inspiration, Internet, Journal, Love, Musings, Personal, Writing by mousewords
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I just painted an oil in homage to Bob Ross. Has anyone ever watched his show on PBS? With his quiet voice, charming anecdotes, fanciful perspective, and expert teaching skills, Bob would make a painter out of any artist-at-heart. His sweeping landscapes were distinctive in their misty realism. He made his technique look so easy…and while it was definitely simple, in a sense, and allowed anyone to make a really good-looking attempt on the very first try, it downplayed his own talent. One can readily paint a Bob Ross scene, and be gratified to have it turn out well. But it takes a lot of hard work to paint like Bob Ross himself.

He had only half an hour to go from primed white canvas to completed scene. Bob would begin painting in the background—his technique captured a realistic effect with a minimum of details. A soaring sky, some haze-wrapped hills, a meandering brook. All would appear like magic from his brush. Then he would lay in a few trees—daubs on the canvas that took on the look of a thick grove of greenery. Then maybe he would drop in a bush in the foreground, or perhaps a rolling incline dotted with underbrush. The show’s half hour would be drawing to a close. The painting was impressive, as usual. All done, right?

Nope. That’s when Bob would cast an impish glance at the camera, fan brush poised in hand, and ask, “Ready for our Bravery Test?”

He’d take a breath, turn back to his canvas, and paint a black line RIGHT through his beautiful painting. Through sky, clouds, mountains, trees, and all. As a viewer, one cringes in disappointment—he just ruined a perfectly good painting! But under Bob’s rapid brush strokes, in a few instants, that black line became an amazing evergreen tree. Filled with a personality of confidence and power, the tree dominated the peaceful landscape and made the painting. The picture was beautiful without it. But it was incredible when the tree was added in.

The Bravery Test.

This term has been in my thoughts for some time. So this past weekend, I pulled out my oil paints and Bob Ross videos, and got cracking.

I started with a misty background. Found that it’s not as easy as Bob makes it looks, that’s for sure. But I persevered. I’m an artist, right? I should be able to do this. I’m an acrylic and colored pencil artist who has had limited experience with oils, mind you, but I can troubleshoot. So I did. Had a couple “Happy Accidents” (another of Bob’s terms—there are no mistakes in painting, only “Happy Accidents”), but I got through sky and mountains and hillsides and trees. It looked like a mousewords painting, rather than a Bob Ross…but I was satisfied for the first try.

I pulled out a palette knife and laid in a rocky cliff for my foreground accent, then stood back and took a look at it. It was good.

 

 

It looked okay, and pretty on its own. But it needed a tree, of course—that was my intention from the beginning. Faced with the thought, though, as I stood there looking at the canvas, I realized I could have gone days without doing what I had planned to. Out of hesitation, or just wanting to make sure I was prepared, or that I was experienced enough with the paint, or had practiced enough with my brush. For whatever reason, I was clutching.

But then I remembered—”Bravery Test.” Just be brave.

So I loaded up a brush with dark paint…took a breath…and painted a line right down the canvas. Within a little while, it became a tree…a pretty darn good one!

THEN—I put the brush in the hand of my 19-year-old photographer sister, and told her, “Paint one. Bravery Test.” She gaped at me, but took the challenge. Taking a deep breath, she painted a line down the canvas. That was a bravery test for BOTH of us—my oil was still wet! But soon she had a perfect little tree, tucked in next to my big evergreen. Because, as Bob always said, “Everybody needs a friend.”

So here’s the result—”Bravery Test,” 8×10, oil on canvas.

 

 

Everyone has talent—something that they can do beautifully already. Writing, singing, teaching, dancing, art, technology, parenting, whatever it is. But you may still have a dream or a desire to do something more. Go for it! Be brave! You may not feel prepared, may not feel ready, may not think what you have to offer is “good enough.” But learn from Bob Ross—take the Bravery Test today. Take a deep breath, and dive in, ready or not. There are no mistakes…only “Happy Accidents.”

The result may turn out to be something even more beautiful than you could have imagined.

Tags: Art, Family, Inspiration, Musings, Personal by mousewords
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