I am continuing to fool around with quick watercolor renderings.
This week’s photo challenge at the Daily Post asks: “Sometimes, we get caught up in nostalgia, future fantasy, or both, and we don’t embrace the “now.” For this week’s challenge, take a moment to notice your present, and share a photo of it.
Well, this is the “now” of my Christmas Eve afternoon:
I am not the least bit musically inclined. So it’s hard to explain why I had this darbuka drum for so many years. (Truth be told it had something to do with my brief experimentation with bellydancing– but that is the story for another day).
I have been using this drum for the last decade as a decoration in my home and occasionally as a place to park cups of coffee.
A few weeks ago a musician friend of mine invited me to bring the drum to an informal gathering of friends in a garage. My playing with them was a bit tentative since I have never had a real lesson by a proper darbuka instructor, but I muddled my way through with the guitarists, relying on my intuition rather than skill to find the appropriate rhythms for each song.
My playing must have been acceptable because I was asked to bring my drum to a Christmas party last night. We sang about a dozen Christmas carols where, for most of them, I provided the percussion.
I had a lot of fun– so much so that I am thinking about finding a way to be properly trained to play this drum.
I would never have thought that music would ever be a creative expression for me.
I am going to paint today. I am. Really. I cannot remember the last time I painted, but I am going to paint today– unless something derails me. To hedge my bets I’ve gotten out my supplies. I do have things I must do this morning, but as soon as I get home this afternoon, I can start.
One step at a time.
How appropriate is this prompt today? I am unwell at the moment and can speak to this first hand.
When I am sick, the first thing I do is to let everybody in my immediate sphere know about it. I don’t hide it. I am not like some people with whom I associate each day who think it is a sign of weakness to admit they are ill. They come into my space, touch my stuff, and spread their viruses around. No, when I am sick I tell everyone because I am a considerate person and don’t want others to get sick because of me. I phone, email, or text. I whine about it. Loudly. OK, maybe it’s not just so people won’t catch my crud. Maybe I also just want some attention and that’s the fastest way to get it.
Typically, after I make my grand announcement, I just want to be left alone to recover. If I have a cold or the flu, I become revoltingly “juicy” and want the privacy to sneeze, cough, and blow without worrying what other people think. However, I am not foolish. If my illness takes a drastic turn, I am not afraid to reach out to others and ask for help. For example, my current condition caused me some concern and I asked a family member to accompany me yesterday to an urgent care clinic. (I was fixed up quite nicely and am now on the mend)
So for me, being ill is a balance between holding back for the well-being of others, reaching out if it becomes necessary, and having the wisdom to know when each is the right thing to do.
Just when I decided to try a 21 day creative romp, I have been sidelined by a brief illness. I will be fine in a couple of days, but in the meantime I have been contemplating how I order my daily routine which includes writing and arting.
I may be a bit obsessive about organizing my life with journals because I have a number of them. Each one is devoted to a different interest.
Starting at the top left is The Tree of Life journal, a commonplace book of articles on wellness and holistic health issues.
The Raven Book is dedicated to my spiritual journey. How did this journal become focused on spiritual issues? ” Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds!” Luke 12:24
The blue journal is called the Hokusai Journal, named as such for its cover image with the artist’s famous image of a tsunami in front of Mt. Fuji. This is my writing journal, a place to experiment with words.
The passport-sized traveler’s journal on the bottom left is my Bujo, which is short for “bullet journal”. This is my day planner which is small enough to put in my bag.
Finally the open book is my art journal. It is a large paper Moleskine. This one I call The Book of Ladies because of the theme of the collages contained in it.
Having different books for various purposes helps me to achieve my creative and personal goals.
Rain-slick street reflects
Red-green lights, a noodle house
Two lovers, one bowl.
Today’s Daily Post prompt: “Tell us your funniest relationship disaster story.”
You might think I am going to talk about some third rate romantic escapade, some titillating romp with a partner. Well, I will — in a way.
You see, I have this “on-again-off-again” romance with writing, arting, and photographing.
Right now, I totally hate my journal and my paints and my camera. They all sit there mocking me, telling me that I have been a neglectful, unfaithful lover. They confront me with allegations that I have been two-timing them — er, rather, “three-timing” them. They say I would rather paint than write, journal with a pen rather than with a camera. All three accuse me of being some tart who likes to flirt with other past-times like bill-paying work, social media, entertainment, books, and, the most appalling: with REAL PEOPLE.
They would be correct. I have been. I am remorseful. I have failed them all.
So here is what I propose: I am on my winter holiday break for the next three weeks and I vow to engage with one of my lovers each day during this period. Behavior experts say that habits are made or broken in about three weeks. My hope is that by the end of this period, I will be back on track and not stray again from their loving embrace. I may even settle on one of them and enter into a “forever” relationship.
We will see. Something may arise to derail this plan. I may fall in love with skydiving, rock-climbing or gourmet Nepalese cooking.
I am not to be trusted.