Personal Brushstokes

Throwing a generous handful of cheese into the frying scrambled eggs, I caught reflections of yellow whizzing by in a side window. School buses that were on their way. Musing, I readied a piece of toast. Perhaps some eager students were bounding up the school steps with fresh expectations for the new year. Maybe others were longing for summer days and imagined pulling the sheets over their sleepy heads.

Expectation verses disinterest.

I chose the former.

Getting ready for school make me smile. I also felt a good deal of nervous energy. I remember traveling to the discount center, filling up a carriage with notebooks and pens and a skirt or two (in those days pants of any sort meant detention or expulsion). The best part was acquiring a pair of spanking new penny loafers. Yes, they hurt terribly until broken in. Even though, I couldn’t wait to position a bright penny just right in the slit on the toe. Walking head down, I would admire the copper shine. Then throwing on a light jacket, the brisk fall morning would greet me.

I also looked forward to the all the happenings of the first day. Away from the commotion of home, there was opportunity to see old friends and make new ones, as well as learn interesting things. I can’t say that all the classes thrilled me—would prefer to avoid gym and algebra—but I loved history, science and English. And I have to admit I liked crafting term papers and creative writing exercises.

I wanted to learn then and still do. The yellow buses have triggered this urge, the desire to become a better me. The leaves are beginning to turn color, my jacket is ready. So where to? What clean strokes of color can be brushed on this personal portrait—me? Taking a huge bite of toast, I closed my eyes. I considered usual involvements … wife, mother, counselor, writer, watercolor painter, singer, calligrapher. These roles and pursuits are in place, but how can they be stretched from the lull of lazy summer days?

At first nothing came to mind.

Blank.

Then my eyes twitched as thought upon thought swirled, creating exciting sparks. Fresh, dazzling paint seemed to ooze from my fingertips. Possibilities flowed.

Take a course. No, teach a course. Take an art lesson. Better yet create a lovely painting. Plant a fall garden or volunteer at church. Join a chorale group or finish writing a book.

Beginning as a trickle, the stream became a gushing river.

Adventurous. Stimulating. And overwhelming.

I gobbled up the last bite of the now cold eggs and cradled the coffee mug. So many doings—such a considerable list of activities. I would hope that completing them would produce something of lasting merit. But could all these things make me a better person, an improved portrait? Or was I just spinning my wheels? Perhaps the focus of effort is best seen in the becoming; that whatever action is taken spawns the growth of the inner man or woman. Putting on such virtues as honesty, kindness, and goodness, could qualify the worth of accomplishment gained. This personal portrait could become a fine piece.

Such growth can be singularly embraced. Or it I can be shared; at home, in the marketplace, in the counseling chair. We could look outside our personal thick frames and help each other to become the best living portraits.

Such a decision is quite a challenge … and it is up to each one of us to make this happen.

…and that’s how I live it.

Joseph James, a respected fellow writer, inspired this blog with his poetry. Enjoy his penned poem titled,"Moving Portraits."

Moving Portraits

Each one of us is a moving portrait,

A scene of life as life goes by,

A young girl on the walk,

The glistening sun through her strawberry hair,

The old man on the bench somehow fitting in with the overcast, the grey;

The child skipping about with no destination no thought of why;

The lonely one who cannot enjoy the breeze or the flowers,

Or the melody of life because of the loss of harmony.

See there, across the way, who was that who turned the corner?

Another moving portrait . . .

Joseph James 3/13/98