If Dreams Were Thunder: In Living Color

I've been absent from yeoldeblog for sometime now. This was due to a sudden health incident a bit over two years ago. I've adjusted to the new normal with only the occasional, "O that was stupid" pause to figure out how to get this or that done. I will not bore anyone with details except to confess I avoided confronting a bit of depression by hiding out in good, bad and indifferent e-books. Reading is an excellent addiction, right up there with creating yet another playlist with the perfect balance of energy, amusement, and soul sustaining rhythms. Like my playlists, my reading is eclectic and seldom of interest to anyone, though I do blather on about both if anyone gives me an opportunity.

I've also re-discovered a new hobby. Coloring. Yeah, that's right, in books, in sketch pads, on the desk calendar, on 3x5 and 4x6 cards, on postcards, etc. Although it's supposed to be relaxing and calming, perverse creature that I am, I find it energizing. Creation that moves from black lines on paper to bright and colorful 'art' charges me up. I actually feel buzzed after a certain point, almost high with delight. So, another addiction to add to my list of functional dysfunctions. Learning to work with your flaws while weeding out the crap with a ruthless hand is a Big Plus of Old Biddy-hood, just mentioning.

From Beth Gunnell's Pretty Flower Postcards

So far, I've mostly done postcards for these reasons:

I miss the children who've left home to go forth on adventures in the universe and postcards are a groovy way to say: I love you & miss you! Postcards aren't boring like a long letter of everyday stuff, or intrusive like an ill timed phone call, and best of all, there's no implied guilt for "not writing / calling your mother." It's just a few sentences with a pretty picture on the front, no stress. Since I was afraid of overwhelming them with my new addiction, I added a couple friends to my monthly list. They laugh with me when they get them.
It had been years since I picked up a colored pencil, never mind graphite, brushes, or markers; don't even ask about the state of my dip pen when I dug it out, it's too embarrassing. If it wasn't on a spreadsheet, didn't get the laundry done or the groceries on the table, it wasn't on my to do list. O, I did draw and color and paint when children were little, but once they mastered basic skills, I stepped out of the way and spent the money available on their supplies. I don't regret that, not even a smidge. But it means I've forgotten more than I remember. My muscle memory is a sluggard lounging about with a mojito in some sleazy nook of my chubby body. I needed help to reactivate the fun from the frustration of "arting."
Immediate gratification is a thaing with Old Biddies too, who knew? Postcards are a quick coloring pleasure that is small space friendly. There's enough of a challenge in the size limitations to make it worth doing, but not so much I got discouraged.
Lack of confidence in my skill set and fear of wasting pencils or books. Until I could consistently do postcards that pleased me instead of making me ::sigh::, I wasn't touching the few books I had stashed over the years for someday, when there was time. [that day seldom comes, btw]

For the first 10 or 12 postcards I didn't take a photo. I pitched 3 and mailed the rest away, counting on tactfulness of family and friends. I did finally grab my courage and give it a kick. Did an actual coloring page. It wasn't horrible.

Time went on, like it always does and one rainy day, I searched for a tutorial and OmiGawd a whole new world appeared. Yes, I know, coloring books have been next to, or replaced, the tabloid mags and papers literally everywhere for years. I was a bit focused on providing roof, water, electricity, clothing, and sustenance for my horde of children. I bought some books and coloring cards for them, but it didn't dawn on me that ka-zillions of people were out there coloring their way to contentment and joy.

Of course, there were, still are, scrap book groups at several churches in town but, GoodLawdAlmighty, was that expensive, a mite cliquish, and a horde of children that wanted to cut, paste, glitter and sticker with enthusiasm were not exactly welcome [duh]. There was also some considerable drama regarding the TrueWay of Scrap Booking that caused a schism of biblical proportions, or so gossip trickled down even to me. I don't do drama, gossip, or the TrueWay of most anything. Therefore, it is entirely possible the Tempest in Tiny Town skewered my impression of those coloring books and pencil sets I've seen on shelves, magazine racks, and clearance bins. I'm willing to admit that I might have looked the other way lest I be considered one of the Trouble Makers on either side. Since my children started working out in the universe, I keep a very low profile. Wouldn't be right to weigh them down with my radical, contrary to popular opinion, opinions.

.... I'm digressing, but that's not unusual, it is why I suggest you pack a picnic....

Last drawing I did was 2003. Generic drawing pad and a good ole #2 pencil. So, yeah, it had been a decade and then some

My co-worker and I have been working 10+ hour days for years. We joke about being found by our loved ones, dead at our desks, dehydrated husks in comfy clothes but great hair. Lately the joke has not been very funny. The overtime sure is nice when the hot water tank develops a leak, one of our vehicles develops a cough, or the bathroom suddenly starts sagging and we fear there's a leak - but no! - previous owners cut IN to a floor joist to install a drain line and said joist decided this was the year to protest. Ripping out the entire bathroom revealed this and much expense.

Soooo, up to that episode of real life happens to all, the plumbing addition, I was systematically spending a portion of my overtime money on art supplies. In other words, I was going nutz. At first, no one noticed. I stashed my goodies on a shelf in my room and dreamed of someday, when I had time. Ha! Screw that, after my health incident, I started making time.

I had no idea how much I'd accumulated bit by bit until I started trying to find a place for everything. Pencils, paper, coloring books, More postcard books, more pencils, cool battery operated eraser, More index cards so I'd stop drawing on the paper towels while eating dinner, markers, metallic pencils, glittery and earth tone gel pens, stencils, a compass ForGawdSake, and did I mention coloring books? O, I did. Much of this was purchased furtively and locally from season sale and clearance aisles, but yes, amazon prime is a remorseless enabler! My wish list is positively obese because I've not lost my common sense and frugal ways, it's just that a bit of my sanity is ... misplaced. After all there are only so many supplies I can fit in my small space and only so many books I can, or will, color in my lifetime. It is also possible I don't need this or that to thrive, best to wait a month and see if it really is someday.

Twined with sensibility and life happens is the fact that after our yearly evaluation and yet another slap-in-the-face raise that fast food employees would laugh at, my co-worker and I admitted that all our dedication has meant nothing. Except ... except that our families have been cheated of time that is rightfully theirs, and our lives have narrowed to work, hurry up and do what must be done, and perpetual lack of sleep trying to cram life into too few hours. We've needed a third person in our 2-woman department for about 4 years - but still no one is hired.

So, rebellious women that we are becoming, our post evaluation resolution was: Forty hours/ week, no more, no less, and let the sheit hit the fan where it may. If the powers that be want us to work overtime to keep up, they're going to have to Ask Us. It's a petty decision made by essentially powerless people. I can live with that.

That said, my nutz is now curbed. The obese wish list remains carefully planned out purchases that stay in budget. That's a good thaing in my opinion. Too much nutz when you're addicted to something can lead to an overdose which totally eradicates the Fun Part, again, just my opinion; your mileage may vary.

Last week was our first week of working only forty hours in about six years. Neither of us quite made it. She put in an extra hour for a crisis. I put in an extra hour because she had a PTO day scheduled so of course there was a late in the day emergency. Even so, the week felt like an unexpected vacation compared to what we've been doing. I confess, there were a couple days I wasn't sure if I could legally eat breakfast and dinner at the table instead of the desk.

Don't misunderstand me, I love my job. It is ever changing, never boring, and so focused on tiny details that my little brain is flooded with happy stuff released by my mature glands because minutia is groovy to me. But, there has to be more to life than work, sleep and frantic weekend errands scheduled around a houseful of working folks!

From Hanna Karlzon's Daydreams, 20 Postcards

For me, right now, that more is coloring. Every minute I can squeeze in, there's a pencil in my hand, a youtube on a screen, or muttering about shade, shadow and blends in my sleep. [this was reported to me by my second son as he woke me looking for the keys to load up the laundry since our washing machine decided to need a part that was on back order] I have youtube videos to watch and re-watch till I get the concept, more tutorials of things I want to try, and chats that are downright fun. I'm now skipping most product reviews or flip throughs since I really do have more than enough stuff. With this new work schedule, I have two to three glorious hours before work to color or practice a technique/ skill and still have time to scrub the bathroom and kick laundry mountain.

I'm no Leonardo, nor likely to be, but that was never the thaing for me. I wanted color in my life and a way to communicate with my children and friends that was unique for each person. I wanted bright and bold color melded together in a fashion that pleased my eye and distracted me from gloomy thoughts. I did not want to become a Whinging Old Biddy waiting for death.

My children are all grown. I'm not sure I believed that would truly happen. They are working and living their lives; some here, some far and away. The fact I'm more frequently chasing them to "get the scoop" on their lives, thoughts, and opinions has not escaped my notice. It's not a bad thaing, just a foreshadowing of what's to come. So, having something fun I can do that keeps me energized is what I barely acknowledged at the beginning of this but can't ignore because ... there it is, a new phase of life. Surprise.

The coloring world is full of people that like to share thoughts about Color, Media, Texture of Paper, even :gasp: how to store stuff so it's out of the way but still accessible. Many of them share their knowledge, experience, and happy accidents so others benefit. I've watched some amazing artists. Some talk you through their creations, some speed it up and play catchy music, some even tutor without forgetting it's supposed to be Fun. All of them are extra ordinary folks with real life to balance and a generosity of spirit most churches preach but seldom achieve.

I quietly lurked about, watching, learning, allowing the re-awakening of color and fun in my soul to creep along at it's own pace. In February, I stepped out of my introverted comfy zone and started posting a comment here and there. Some people responded, others scrolled on by; that's pretty much what I expected and it encouraged me. I spoke up in a chat, then in another one. It's a pleasure to exchange words about coloring; pure pleasure. I even opened an instagram account. If I ever figure out how to make phone, tablet and computer interface, I might even post a picture. There's no rush.

This isn't work, or committed single parenting, or a life or death health incident = it's coloring. It reminds me that beauty is all around us and we sometimes need to create a reflection of what we see - or want to see - for that truth to sink in. That others are also creating pockets of fun and beauty; sharing, without begrudging the beholder, is the most hopeful thaing I've experienced in years.

For now, that is enough.