The Ark

Whatever floats your boat...


There are times when I sit down at my computer, lay my hands on the keyboard, and thoughts form, words appear on the screen, ideas flow seemingly out of nowhere.

Other times, I stare relentlessly at a blank screen like I’m in a blinking contest. I always blink first. The words just are not there. They do not flow. They do not congeal into productive thought patterns. They do not grace me with their presence at all. It doesn’t matter how long I stare at the screen.

Generally, when that happens, I try to find something to inspire. Or prod. Lately, I have been making jewelry and playing with my new Sony DSLR. While neither of those activities have goaded a decent blog out of me, I have considered the time well spent.

The last time this happened, I went out into the back yard and took some shots of the weeds. I like weeds. Actually, it’s the wild flowers that I like. One year, I bought my mother, who is by all accounts the hardest person on the planet to buy for, a wall hanging. I think it was acrylics on an old piece of wood. Across the top it said “Grow where you’re planted.” Below, was a very simple buy lovely garden of wildflowers.

When I gave this piece to my mother I was quite pleased with myself for about a minute and a half. Until she sat it down on the floor, said she’d find a place for it and forgot about it. Ultimately, it ended up on the wall above the commode in the extra bathroom. That was as good a place as any I thought.

Not long after it had taken it’s rightful spot in the throne room, I caught my daughter looking it over quite closely. I stood there waiting to see what her 10 year old appraisal would be. She turned, looked at me and said, “My teacher said weeds are just flowers growing where people don’t want them to grow.”

I’m not sure if that meant she liked the painting or if she meant that weeds in the bathroom were appropriate.

I didn’t ask.

Views: 7

Comment by Pypermarru1 on December 29, 2010 at 11:03am

Henry Miller would face his typewriter towards a bare wall and force himself to write something every day  That, according him, was one of the reasons for "Tropic of Cancer"

You should try it, might channel your inner Miller - Inspiring vivid, gritty description of French Whores with dirty privates and broken beds.

Or not.  :0)

Comment by NatureJunkie on January 12, 2011 at 7:48pm

... or perhaps she was contemplating the science of hydroponics. ; )

 

A lot of art works received as gifts seem to get consigned to the bathroom. The giver should try not to be offended though. It's the one room of the house where the art is likely to be looked at and contemplated upon for lengths of time that would be unlikely in any other room.

Comment by Dana (scribblers sanctuary) on January 12, 2011 at 10:01pm

Pyper - Actually, I would probably end up with musings of cheeseburgers. That perhaps explains the disparity in writing careers. :c )

NJ - In most cases I would agree with you...I'll take the high road and leave it at that! LOL

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