Do you recognize this? The framed words, not the sunflower.
You know where this is going?
The old message underneath came from a voice in my head. A holdover from youth that always said, "You'd better mind me!" One day in a fit of pique, I quickly sketched in two birds looking down on a great big whale. In unison the two told the whale, "You'd better mind me." And a whale being a whale, paid them no mind. It kept on being a whale, doing whale stuff since no way would it obey either bird on shore, let alone both. And it lived happily ever after.
It just so happened that I glanced at the half finished drawing for what I'll say here and now, purely for drama -- that it was the thousandth glance, as I passed it on my way to another room. Only this time I stopped, picked up a piece of chalk, and . . . No. Truth is I couldn't find the horrible little piece of white chalk that shames the old chalk we used in school. I had to make a detour to my studio, fumble my way through an assortment of possible chalk homes before deciding to just use some of the pastels I haven't used since my shoulder began the long sulk. But at least I knew where they were (drum roll) . . . because boxes of pastels lay in the very last drawer of the map dresser!
Organization is a wonderful thing. Give things a place to be and they'll stay there until you need them. If only. But I feel so good telling you how I knew where those boxes of
colored chalk were. I'll tell the truth and shame the devil too, because of that good feeling: I had to search each of the three drawers, but I knew they were in one or the other.
What was meant to be a quick outline and text layout turned into one or two quick color selections, which meant having to turn on lights. Did I mention it was late? I was searching for a copy of the Upanishads I was positive hid in the bookcase next to the television in the family room, and I can find my way around in there like it's nobody's business. But no one can read titles in the dark, right? One light's okay. Two lights mean three three more bulbs shining, in addition to the first, and everyone in the house will see light under the door. Including Minuet. When Min sees light she wants to come to the party, and lets the whole world know it! She's the best alarm money can't buy.
So. I stopped with a promise to finish today. Unable to find the book I sought, I hied away to my woman's room with four other titles instead, read my fill, and cheerfully called it a night. I wonder why my parents never allowed me to do that? Had they done so, there would have been less ill feelings on all sides. Wow. Now I feel guilty because the light interrupted JC's beauty rest 'cause today's his birthday and he needed sleep . . . I slept in. Selfish me, right? I punished myself for being so inconsiderate though. I didn't finish the drawing as penance And, since we couldn't really go out to celebrate, I drew him a lovely IOU birthday postcard. My Copics went nuts in the humidity so I had to use backups. I know how Diana Ross must have felt needing the Supremes. *grin*
Still no mail In or Out. The same goes for grocers supply trucks too. You'll get no complaints from us though. We're just happy to be here. Happy end of August, y'all! And be good.
P.S. I am not with Charlie Hebdo. I never was and never will be. Satire should never be hateful, mean, harmful, ignorant, mean, hateful, unkind, mean . . . There's an interesting piece in JUSTOR that asks if speech can be an act of violence. Here's a link to an article referenced: When is Speech Violence? Perhaps the people at Hebdo should come to Texas. Perhaps they should meet us. Ours is about as diverse as it comes when we talk of diversity, melting pots, and humanity. Insulting another's religion, politics, culture is pretty much what . . . Words hurt, otherwise we wouldn't use them. We'd go around punching people in the mouth, we'd bomb them, shoot them, lynch them, burn them, gas them . . . Oh. Wait. That's been done. That's being done. And how has any of it been a change for good?
Hatred kills. It kills the person who gives it life first and foremost. Remember how it felt the first time you realized "if looks could kill" I'd be dead? If you can feel the violence behind a stare, imagine the violence behind hateful/harmful words. Ever been shouted at? Hollered at? Screamed at? I have. And I flinched without meaning to. Reflex actions happen without thought. I've flinched in the face of a powerful word like STOP! because I felt it. Tell me you love me and I feel it. Blow in my ear and . . . I'm likely to giggle. Whip me into a frenzy and I'm likely to follow you on a foot chase after Frankenstein's monster. He wouldn't even have to had done anything to me. I'd simply need to be weak-minded and allow ugly words and rhetoric to unleash the darkness that can lurk within everyman.
Goodness me. I just looked up at the title of this post and realize I never told you why I need your help. See what happens when the little mind takes over the bigger mind? Stuff happens. *grin* I want to paint a great wall in our home chalkboard black. A dream of mine that's never seen the light of day is to have a single wall that's all mine. It'll be a chalkboard that I'll draw on and write on and dream on into forever. Or will I? The last time I drew on such space was when I was in high school. I was allowed to draw a huge nativity scene. All the teachers in the district saw it. Mr. Bowser, my algebra teacher let me do it or he asked me to. I forget. But my Sistine Chapel-esque creation stayed put until February when I drew a big pink Cupid and a red Valentine.
So what do you think? Has anyone tried the chalkboard paint? Does it smell? Will you Google "chalkboard wall," investigate, and tell me what you think? I'd be much obliged if you do. And thanks in advance.