The Flowers Are Coming

Monday, December 22, 2014

I couldn’t ignore it: The field needed flowers. The other way–crisp, perfect, clean, and sterile–a green field without flowers–no place I’d want to be. No place to take off my shoes, sweat under the sun, no place for children to run.

So I’m taking the risk and adding flowers. Childish flowers. The flowers I would have wanted to see and paint as a child, the flowers I still want now. Just the outlines first, then the colors. The flowers are coming with their colors.

Last night a friend in his mid-thirties who still snuggles with a teddy bear asked me, “At what age is it creepy to still sleep with a teddy bear?”  “Oh, you’re well past that age, whatever it is,” I laughed, adding, “Can you keep your eye out for a good bear for me?” If it’s never too late for a happy childhood, by all means, sign me up.

My parents loved me, but childhood was still pretty miserable. Poverty and stress and intergenerational trauma will do that to you. Today I’m much happier.  Today I paint places my little girl self would want to visit, teddy bear in one grubby hand, flowers in the other.

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