My life is sometimes too simple. Translate: boring. With no one left to take care of anymore except him, I end up with a lot of time on my hands. I still have plenty to do. My nine-to-five takes up most of Monday through Friday. I cook a meal most evenings. There are dogs and fish and a cat to see about. Housekeeping and gardening and washing take place. But none of that takes all my time. The weekends are usually busy, but not overly. I have time I could spend doing rather than piddling.
But what do I do? What do I want to do? I have some ideas. But, giving myself permission to do what I want to do appears to be the hurdle. I have trouble letting myself do certain things. Things I consider self-indulgent. Somehow, sitting in the chair playing on my laptop surfing Facebook or Pinterest seems okay. Sitting in the backroom trying to work out a problem with paint on canvas or with thread and trinkets does not.
Why? The first action requires little concentration. It is something that doesn’t produce an end product that must be dispositioned. It does not require continued acquisition of materials and supplies. It does not need to be explained. The second action does all of that. Further, the second action forces me to take risks with my skill and ability to bring into reality something I have imagined.
Frivolity in creative pursuit is not something I was encouraged to do. Sewing should produce wearable clothes. Quilting should produce useable quilts. Cooking should feed as many as possible with as little waste as possible. Trimming the crusts from bread was sacrilege. Painting on canvas was an indulgence for wealthier people. Mama did not mean it the way it worked out in my mind. But, it is there.
I put my life on hold a long time ago. I have kept it there in that safe place longer than needed. Getting the children grown, bidding too many loved ones goodbye, trying to figure out and adjust to my physical illness have required a holding pattern for me. No longer on the front lines of life, I would like to play a little. I would like to explore some creative work. I have always written. I have always taken photos. But, I want something more. Dare I take the risk to bear fruit?
Yaupons bear fruit in the dead of winter. Bright red berries on bushes that are as varied in shape as snowflakes. Tenacious. Prolific. Beautiful. Life-giving to feathered creatures. Perhaps, I should hear the lesson. Bear fruit even in winter. Accept my unique sense of the world. Be tenacious. Be prolific. Give life to the feathered beauty of my imagination.