When I was a wee lil' SJG in my very first bedroom, situated way up in the hills of Beverly in the house my daddy told me he built with his own two hands, a claim no one ever disputed, so I went with it, I had the cutest, tiniest table full of crayons and coloring books. Oh, how I loved my petite makeshift office. I'd sit there and color and dream and stare out the window. I was four. I didn't have a lot going on.
On a good day, I can see my desk.
But the thing I remember the most was how incredibly disorganized everything was, what with the broken crayons and pencils and dried out markers and overall mayhem. Now and then, my sweet mommy would surprise me and put the crayons back in the box or the plastic cups and arrange my supplies so brilliantly that I'd stare in awe, marveling at the sense of order. The fact that she could color within the lines was magical enough. But this particular skill of putting things where they belonged was on a whole other level of wonderful. I just didn't inherit this ability. But at least I'm consistent. Some days I can see my desk. Some days I can't find a pen anywhere in the general vicinity.
Color me sentimental
This week, I thought of my dear mommy, gone since 1999, when of all things, the ASPCA sent a coloring book calendar for 2019, for no reason other than to remind me that the year was almost over... and it's still August... and after all these years, I'd like nothing better than to sit down at my tiny little table way up in the hills of Beverly and color with my mommy. Wouldn't that be something?
Mom was a right handed pen and ink artist. As a lefty, I was not allowed near her art supplies. But crayons were allowed and could be found in cushions and crannies throughout the house. Best accessory was the crayon sharpener built into the bigger boxes.
ReplyDeleteI love that your mom was an artist. I love that you're left handed. The sharpener on the box was everything.
ReplyDelete