48 Color Box of Crayons

Dad read every school book us kids were given when the school year started. My dog never ate my homework, Dad just forgot to put homework back in when he finished... Sometimes he'd scribbled words on the back of arithmetic homework when a crossword puzzle answer came to him. Unfortunately, the nuns liked neatness as well as correct answers. While watching Gunsmoke, his favorite TV show, he'd have a pencil in one hand and a cap pistol in the other. Mom would be busy making shirts or dresses while Dad checked all the homework. School nights were busy nights at our house, and us kids were the remote control back then.  

All homework had to be done by 9 o'clock because Mom took over the dining-room table then to lay out dress patterns. The tomato shaped pincushion was there and the scissors that only she could touch were laid on the table. TV off, homework completed, it was bedtime for us little ones. My older sister, Pat, helped pin material to the dress patterns and Micheal was given an extra hour to read one of his Science Fiction books.

My brother Frances and I climbed the stairs to our room and got in our pajamas. Kneeling next to our beds, we said our prayers and asked God to bless a list of people. We had to ask God for forgiveness for cutting through Mrs. Matthew's yard, making her angry, and for lying about who broke the garage window... I added a request for a big 48 color box of crayons. Turning on the space heater, grabbing my stuffed black sheep, I heard dad closing the steps door. I hoped he would hear my request for the big box of crayons…     

Getting Together To Do Nothing

Sweet corn and fingers dripping with butter. Mom, wiping hands with her soft cotton hankies. The county fair with its antiques and baking contest. Firemen race up ladders, spraying each other with fire hoses. Steam powered tractors bellowing white clouds of smoke, draft horses pulling hay sledges loaded with people . Cousin Maryanne showing her sow in the 4H tent and winning a ribbon. Tom Sawyer straw hats and flat hamburgers smothered in onion, wrapped in soft butternut buns…

My mind is carried to forgotten times as I paint small scenes of a county pasture. Mike and Paul have their own memories inspiring them. Mike, with his camera, looking for just the right milkweed and that Monarch butterfly to land. Paul is doing a small watercolor, as I rush an oil. Mike seems to be very patient with his desire to capture that Monarch. A car slows to check on us, we watch as it raises a tail of dust and turns into the drive of the farm down the road. Mike seems to be napping as Paul and I add to our small challenges. A bumble bee, with its leg loaded with golden pollen, brings Mike back to his task of getting a perfect picture. Our paintings and photos are the reason for the three of us to get together to do nothing. No wild tales to tell, no complaints to share, just enjoying one another presence. I paint my blue sky, capture shadows of drifting clouds, and tone down the greens of the distant trees while widening the wheat field to please the design I need. The bumble bee, safe on film, allows Mike to return to his nap.

Taking care to adjust my brush work, I touch up a new cloud drifting into my vision. The grass brushing against my easel could use a bit enriching on my canvas. With a sure hand, I sign my day's effort and carry it to the car. Paul is completing his second watercolor as Mike dusts himself off and asks if we are done. Sitting in the grass, it is only the sound of crispy apples being eaten and the buzz of a pollen loaded bee, that is heard.