The lake is mirror calm again today

The world full of blues and grays

A group of talkative fishermen float by

Admiring a catch

After they pass a fish breaks the water

They missed that one

Today the stillness doesn’t bother me

I came to the lake today with a sense of acceptance

Days like this I wish I were an artist

Not limited just to words

To describe what I’m seeing

A speed boat comes by from the other direction

Momentarily marring the stillness

I have missed having the boat this year

They are now requiring a license

And Jonathan has been too busy with work

To take the test

For some reason I have not wanted to learn to drive it

I have enough responsibility on land

But I love being a passenger

Maybe one of the few places in my life

I’m happiest not in control

Control is such an illusion anyway

Why would anyone seek to put someone so ridiculously unqualified

(ourselves)

In charge of the world?

The attempt creates disappointment so often

And like a mist you appear to hold in your hands

It vanishes

Always fleeting

Never real

And what would life be like

If we really could control it?

I think it would be boring

Like a novel that follows a predictable plot line

Never deviating

The good guys always winning

The bad guys always losing

And the hero with nothing to do

Nothing to conquer

And nothing to learn

If I were in control

My kids would never experience heartache

And that would leave them soft

Unprepared and weak

Unable to attempt hard things

I am not a visual artist

But I have always been drawn to art

I am a creator

Whether I create in words, beads, or photos

I love to create

Even when it’s not good

The act of creation is satisfying

Drawn to beauty

Enjoying leaving a little of it in the world

This year I decided to try and learn

Watercolor

As if suddenly using paint instead of a pencil

Would help me learn to draw

Sadly it has not

Though I have enjoyed the tutorials

The process of trying something new

Even if I’m terrible at it

Predictably I’ve started making zentangles

Only because for that particular form of art

It’s hard to make an actual mistake

The abstractness of it very forgiving

When you can cover it with squiggles and lines

I think falling into zentangles may have been due to my desire to control

Making something that looked beautiful

Right away

Rather than something that looked amateur

Childish

I think about the forms of making I do most often

We always joke that everyone thinks they’re a photographer

I’ve learned how much more there is to photography

The technical settings

An understanding of light

And depth of field

Playing with focus and bokeh

Shutter speed and aperture

What started as an “eye” for a good photo

Has led to a lifelong passion

Always learning

Always growing

I love candid photography

Because with people and nature

There are always surprises

The unexpected smile on the face of a child

Their whole face lighting up

An old wrinkled hand

Grasping a small pudgy one

A tiny sweat bee landing on a daisy

Taking a drink from raindrops

Sometimes the moments you catch are magic

Even with all the work it takes to take photos

I think it’s the surprises I love the most

Writing is therapy

Active listening

Giving the world shape through words

The wonder of it

I love the moment you think a thought that seems new

At least to you

The moment that thought

Resonates with someone else

Social media, for all its evils,

Can spark a conversation

Bringing the initial thought deeper

Giving it more meaning

Beading initially came about through teaching history

A subject that was not my favorite

Seeking to find a way to engage students in the Renaissance

Putting them into guilds

So half the class was making

And half the class connecting that making to the time period we studied

Beading, paper crafting, sewing, blackwork (like cross stitch)

For beading, I had to learn how to do it in order to teach it

It takes less skill than sewing

Less time than knitting

Fun to find a shapeless pile of beads

And give them form

I love to work with my hands

I tried crochet but kept losing stitches

Forgetting where I was in the pattern

Finding a pattern too restrictive anyway

Sudden rain forces me inside

I notice the rain making little circles in the water

Before I feel it on my skin

The cottage weather is like this

Calm one moment

Raining the next

The smell of rich, wet earth follows me inside

Coming through the open, screened windows

Not raining so hard yet that they must be closed

No, life would be boring

Without surprise

Without art to capture it

However imperfectly

If we held onto as much control

As we seem to want

Art would be boring too

My beads made to order

An exact pattern of color

My writing flat

My photos dull and lifeless

Life in all its messiness

Sometimes in its madness

A sweet gift from the author of life

Who really knows how to write a good story

In the story He wrote this morning

A black bird landed on the dock

I think it’s a Grackle

Trying unsuccessfully to get a drink of water from the lake

Having better luck landing on the protruding stone

The tiger lilies have just started to bloom,

More and more each day

Raindrops glistening on each petal

I notice the glorious texture of the bark

Of the cottonwood tree

The light hitting the water of the lake

As the sun rises behind the cottage

If I had been on my phone this morning

I would have missed all this

We need to stop trying to grab the pen

Of our own stories

As if we could write a better one

Maybe today I will attempt

Some actual watercolor

Even if it’s juvenile

Which it probably will be

Not knowing what it will look like in the end

That is the best part