Pack a bag with all that I desire for myself and loved ones in the year that follows – a tradition I’ve been celebrating for over 20 years
Red underwear for a year of romance and passion says the Italians
Yellow underwear for health claim the CostaRicans
Mix and match I say
Writing a list of desires and packing them in a bag to walk out into the New Year at the stroke of mid-night with a prayer – an intention in my heart for myself and others packed neatly and carried by my side
A sparkler or popper, firework or two with a piece of dark chocolate and a sip of something sparkling to clink as my love and I greet and love our way into a New Year
2020 – 60 awaits me, I’m half way there – hopefully, healthier and wiser – living my dreams instead of just dreaming them
traveling wherever we would like to go with enough to sustain us and share as we go
When I was young, plans just formed, play just happened, eyes were bigger, hearts and hands opened wider!
Instruments -paper, pen, pencil was best – as long as an eraser was attached at the end. Drawing commenced with my brothers and me – whatever we pleased. Watching Looney Tunes while eating Cocoa-Cocoa Crispies!
What a way to begin a Saturday or Snow Day with chocolate and art at our fingertips!
Art is imagination wide open! A place to explore with paper and pencil, sticks and music by the creek water trickles!
All is possible while looking and listening to one’s surroundings. A piece is created by the art of imagination!
Listening to Joni Mitchell while creating a collage! Two poster boards, magazines, glue, scissors, windows and a jar!
Journal out thoughts – prayers end the day. Then off to bed, dreaming of the next day’s play!
My play days ended far too soon.
However, I still dream of Art on the Side by the light of the crescent moon .
Walking up the sidewalk to a home I used to live in many years ago,
The wooden door swings open and my eyes adjust to what was once familiar, is now quite changed.
As I enter my past home of 18 years, I notice, there are many rooms and hallways.
Winding around a few corners, I stop in what appears to be the center of this elongated home in a narrow room with hardwood floors with white ship lap walls.
The picture-less walls are painted in Navajo White. The room’s contents contain one azure blue two-seater fabric sofa along the right side of the room with a rectangular window above it. There are no curtains. The window frame is thin, black metal.
Just beyond the position of the sofa, is a four-legged antique kitchen table, circa 1960 with a clay red top and a single seam in the middle.
The ceiling, white bead board. There are no rugs on the floor, nothing on the table or sofa. There’s a view from the narrow window of the treetops only and the house is silent.
A friend of mine now lives here. I’m quite surprised at how she has each room designated for a particular purpose. A living room. A writing room. A kitchen. A bedroom, bathroom. I’m asking myself what is this room? It finally dawns on me, this is the waiting room.
This dream of the Waiting Room represents to me a time of introspection, a time to be still, a time to evaluate purpose and direction of life. Is a call to slow down and pause. A time of transition.