You know how you enjoy doing things you know you were meant to do . . .
. . . yet you cannot seem to find a fine balance that makes doing all of them equally well . . .
. . . a possibility? Some say "choose." Or "prioritize." I say, "Why should I have to?" Then I end up feeling like a Berd hanging in the sky by a frayed thread, needing to land on a rooftop, only I'm too afraid to let go. Like now. I sit here typing with an eye on the sky, and BOOM! Just like that it rains. After I shut off the sprinkler.
I want to sit here and watch the trees dance with the wind. I don't want to dodge lightning bolts. I want to finish the drawing that's waited a couple of weeks, at least, to be finished. I have so much lovely mail to answer, and I spent at least an hour scanning lots in preparation for this very hour. JC is back in Georgia, so I always have something listed to do after he leaves. The house is eerily quiet after two or three days of doing Houston and Katy with him. We had Mexican food at our favorite restaurant yesterday. I hadn't eaten there since last year. They shrank their menu. Who takes shrimp fajitas off the menu??? The guacamole made table-side is still the best ever, but no shrimp fajitas? Not even their pomegranate margaritas could keep me coming back, seeing as how I cannot drink tequila. (sigh) The day before, we did our thing and ducked into the Black Walnut for a leisurely bite. Every single time I eat a sweet potato fry, I thank Cynthia. Before she tempted me to try them, I thought, "Sweet potato fries? Why desecrate the sweet potato like that?!?" Now it's, Thank you, Cynthia. We stopped by the Paper Emporium too, as I mentioned earlier, but they'd just closed shop. We never made it to the Paper Source or Rice Village. Houston is simply too wide for me. It takes longer and longer to get to where you want to go. There are too many people here these days, and most of them drive like they're sightless. Or never took a driver's course. You should see pictures of roads before there were dividing and directing lines! Thank God for small mercies, yes?
Poor sky looks all bruised now. Rain falls listlessly. Looks like the heavens are depressed and sad. I wish it would pour for a spell. It would feel better if it did. It would eventually end it's pent up pressure, and my shoulder wouldn't swell. I can't have everything. Or so they say.
Where was I? After a long pause . . . I hereby confess that I simply do not remember. It could have not been that important, right? It happens so frequently now that I often take notes of thoughts to share with you here, lest I forget them. Ha! Some days none of those thoughts feel right, so I go with the flow. Or, a scheduled post saves my bacon. I have 30 of those on hand. None fit this moment. So, moving along . . .
I penned a single letter last night while JC watched the game. Like you're surprised. Don't judge me! (sheepish grin)
Did I mention our visit to the Texas Art Supply yesterday? No? I wish you could have joined us. They have the new Strathmore Writing paper! I still have my first pad from way back. It still takes ink just as beautifully.
I could not for the life of me decide on lined or plain, so I bought both. Not sure I'd like the new line, I held back from buying the lovely black portfolio of stationery. I'll get it next time. I tried it for last night's lone letter, and let me tell you . . . Ooh-wee man! I like it, like it, like it, like Mikey likes Chex cereal!
You know I bought envelopes. Strathmore's claim: Strathmore Writing paper delivers the ultimate handwriting experience. Performs beautifully with a broad range of writing instruments including fountain pens." You can't beat that with a stick. Not if it's true. I've used Neenah papers for a few years, and they've never failed. Their product is made in the USA. They also boast of a 24 lb. wove finish, acid free natural white, folder notecards and flat correspondence cards made of 25% cotton.
I've used a dip pen, a fountain pen, and a soft pencil on paper and envelope experimentally. I'm still infatuated. Watercolor and marker trials will happen this week. There's been no bleed through or feathering! How thoughtful: "Calligraphy by Heather Victoria Held." Have you heard of her? There's a hand drawn thistle on two sides of the envelope box. Hmm . . . "Used under license from Mohawk Fine Papers Inc.." Letter writers are so recognized again! Our voices matter. Aren't you proud? Write on!
Greeting cards are forever in fashion. Too often they say what we don't think we can, and there's nothing wrong with that, right? If I could, I would buy this card for every pen friend far enough away that I need a stamp to say hey.
We're always quoting others aren't we? Does anyone ever quote you? One never knows, do one? (quote by Fats Waller.) Such a lovely old card. I forget when I bought it, but it finally has an owner. It's that "build it and they will come" thing working.
Extra postage required There's nothing boring about the way I'm reminded of the need. BTW, the faint blue dots are the ruled lines on the Strathmore stationery. It's really pretty. Much prettier than Rhoda's, but Rhoda fulfills my other need just fine.
More fodder for TT n TO. The Mangler struck again. It didn't eat my homework but it sure took a bite out of Jackie's pretty letter! I had to guess at most of what she said. Frustrating and a little fun, but her stationery is far too pretty for this fiasco. Why me? This happens too frequently. I want the missing parts of my letter, dang it! The USPS usually puts such damage in a plastic envelope with an apology. Now that we've saved their sometimes-sorry-asses, they don't seem to care. They've destroyed entire magazines, ripped thick postcards in half, twisted three-page letters. My list of woes goes on and on. Oh, aww, gee, the pitiful little storm has moved on, leaving in its wake a pretty sky of blues and white clouds. It was a spit fit--not a proper storm. More thunder and lightning than wind and rain. But I'm grateful just the same. It's cooler. Clearly a sign to move on. As in move on to the kitchen.
JC is safe at home in Augusta. I have to turn on a light, set the alarm and cook without doing harm . . . to my hips and thighs.
To write is to brandish might. Is a good thing we don't use swords any more, huh? Keep writing.