Posted tagged ‘paint by number’

“Busyness chokes deep thinking.”

March 9, 2023

The sky is the most spectacular blue this morning. The sun is squint your eyes bright. The breeze comes now and than again and sways the tops of the pine trees. It is in the 40’s, typical for March. The dogs love this weather. Lala lies in the sun looking a bit like the sphinx. Henry sits on the deck surveying his world. They know what to do with the day. They’ll be back in shortly for their morning naps.

When I was in Ghana, my mother sent boxes, the best boxes. I remember the blue boxes of macaroni and cheese. I saved those for Sunday dinner. She sent pizzas in a box and Password and origami and hard candies. Beef jerky was a surprise. In a Christmas box was a paint by number kit. The finished masterpiece became wall art. The origami became a guessing game because I was never good at replicating the pictures. At least the paper was colorful. The best box was sent by air mail so I’d get it before Christmas. My aunt and my mother split the cost. The box had a small plastic Christmas tree, ornaments, cookies cutters, brick looking crepe paper and a Christmas book. Later, my mother told me she went to Woolworth’s for all the Christmas stuff and sent the box by air because boxes going by regular mail took at least three months to arrive. It was too early for Christmas decorations to be out in the store so my mother said she sent the guy downstairs to the store room to find Christmas. He was nice enough to do that and found the decorations for my mother. That was my favorite box.

I hate busy weeks, and I have been out almost every day this week. I hate having to get out of my cozies. I actually had to buy gas. Today is a dentist appointment which adds to my misery. Saturday it is going to be cold, and we have the St. Patrick’s Day parade. Layering may not be enough. To make matters worse I need to be there between 8 and 8:30. I don’t even know if it is light then!

“Poured a cup of hot sepia coffee in a wisteria flowered mug, dandelion sunshine spilling through the periwinkle sky.”

February 3, 2017

Gracie is home. A multitude of tests gave me nothing new. She has a heart flutter, but she has been taking meds for that. That she was dehydrated was the only concrete diagnosis. She is still skittish about the backstairs and wouldn’t go down them this morning so I took her out front. I’m going to try and get her down the other outside stairs which aren’t as steep.

I have decided not to lift 68 pounds again.

We are at the midpoint of winter. Behind us is only a little snow and too warm for winter temperatures. Ahead of us is February with the reputation of often being the snowiest month. It has already started out a cold month. My windshield has been covered with ice every morning. I notice it when I get the papers. In the old days, I would have been out scraping, but not anymore. It just melts.

I used to like to color. I always got a new box of Crayola crayons to start school and another new box in my Christmas stocking and sometimes one in my Easter basket. Crayons almost never got thrown away. I used to keep mine in a cigar box. The crayons were all sizes from almost brand new to stubs with barely enough room for fingers and no paper left to identify the crayon color. They became just blue or green or red and lost fancy names like Venetian Red, Cerulean Blue or Pine Tree. We didn’t have sharpeners for our crayons back then so the tips would blunt and could only be used in big areas. I never used the white. You couldn’t see it, only feel it. Faces got left uncolored. My finished works got more sophisticated as I got older. My young stuff was mostly in the lines and I used basic colors, nothing fancy. My older coloring, when I was 9 or 10, was shaded, nuanced. I’d spent time choosing just the right colors as if my pictures were works of art. My mother always put them on the fridge.

When I was in Ghana, in one of my Christmas boxes, was a paint by number. It was one of my favorite gifts. I took time finishing it as I wanted the fun of it to last. When it was done, I hung it on the wall. It was a vase and flowers, a still life masterpiece.


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