where the writers are
Old Bookkeeping, New Painting
Painting 1.jpg

 

 

October 1

 

OLD BOOKKEEPING, NEW PAINTING

 

 

What will become of the fine lines I use to divide good news from bad?  How will I handle a life with no screen to keep the silt from shifting across my personal landscape?  A delicate crosshatch had kept little checks in little boxes; now the checks are bouncing randomly, no pattern or restraint.  My old bookkeeping has come to an abrupt end, leaving many questions and much uncertainty.  I lift the green visor from my brow, looking for answers from the periphery.  Taking the long view I put down my pencil and pick up my paints, sling the easel over my shoulder and walk away from meticulous survival.  The fine lines I have now are in my brush strokes and even bad news is somehow good.

 

 

Donate some time.

 

 

*

 

 

Saltbox House

 

Refusing to make reasonable demands

is quite as dysfunctional as making unreasonable demands.

The opposite of an extreme is often twice as crazy

and harder to explain.

 

I open my mouth and dry toast is the reply.

Nothing should be said when nothing can be done

and to do nothing is harder than one might think.

 

I fold my hands but my lap rejects them;

I quiet my mind but my soul objects.

I must let my heart sing

and trust you enough to ask for help.