Plein air paintings, studio art and lessons
When it’s too painful to write, it can be easier to draw or paint. In my sketchbook, this is one of the only pages recently that isn’t a painting of a horse crammed into a small wooden crate. I think this means I might need a mental vacation. As if plugged into my psyche, my close friend randomly sent me this link today.
Ford recognized our car as it idled in the parking lot. He raced towards me, half-smiling with uncertainty– was I was in the car? or not? But when I arose from the car, his expression relaxed into a joyful open smile, his stride lengthened, and this all released with a spring the bundled cords of my anxiety. He was happy!!! He rmet me at the fence, and I hugged him, holding him snug even in the hundred-degree heat. Behind him: two tentative little girls. One came forward and tapped my arm, with eyes on Ford, and asked me if it were okay for her to kiss him before he left school. I didn’t give Ford a chance to answer for himself; I was too amused with the cuteness. Another girl stood patiently in line behind her for a kiss, I think. But Ford squirmed out of all this loveliness and bolted towards the gate.
Getting in to the car, he told me this was “the best school ever†and asked to return tomorrow. And then began to eat the peanut butter and jelly sandwich he’d forgotten to eat when he was at lunch.
…and there’s a whole hour of writing I’d love to indulge myself in, to sort of respond to all of this on my own time. But I’m about to pass out. How did I ever find the time to write, months ago? Where is my time going? There’s a black hole in my schedule…
We bought a canoe. We needed a water vehicle and this is the perfect entry-level family waterpod. So we’ve been mapping the aquatic terrain around town and last night we tried putting in at Redbud Island, a popular dogpark not far from home. Only, we didn’t gauge the current well by sight and had a difficult time attempting to circumnavigate the island. Standing at a push against the current, over boulders and eddies, I sweated as Chas fussed and leaned out of the canoe. He wanted to swim off the starboard, and Ford wanted to lean over the starboard to watch Chas, and all I could do was pitch nagging pleas and breathe shallow puffs as I tried holding onto Chas’ lifejacket. I was so afraid of tipping, since we really haven’t practiced rolling safety with the kids.
The rest of the lake felt like satin and reflected the huge pink clouds above. A Chinese duck followed a trail of goldfish crackers left by Chas, who giggled and greeted him with a singsongy “Hi, Dut!†We paddled through a troupe of swans whom I was sure might attack us (for being so rude) but they just watched us compassionately, as if we were lost mental patients, wandering alone and down the lake and shouting out high-pitched nonsense. An annoyed red-tail hawk tracked us as we glided only a few yards beneath him and his cypress perch, taking off for a quiet place once we were too close. Bats, everywhere against the blue twilight and the greasy feeling of sunscreen and sand and sweat between skin and car seats.
…
Ford starts school on Monday. We found a way to pay for the neighborhood Montessori program, decided it would benefit everyone and enrolled him yesterday. I feel like a homeschooling dropout but the only thing that will likely be damaged by this decision is my pride. So while I busy myself preparing for next week, I think I’ll stay on this little blog hiatus another few days. I just haven’t felt like talking much or writing much. It’s time to reflect and be quiet amid the chaos so the boat doesn’t tip over.