Who Knows? Maybe That's One Of The Questions They Ask You When You Get To Heaven.

I think I'm going to pick up painting.


It's interesting. I'm not sure why I've never gotten into painting. I really enjoy drawing, writing, and music; those are my premier arts. I've been seriously playing music since high school, I've been writing (in one form or another [and off-and-on, at that]) since probably middle school, and I've been drawing since before I can remember.


So why is it that I'm not really into painting? I mean, I like paintings. I really enjoy going to art exhibits and looking at the paintings and thinking about what the artist was trying to tell me, what I'm supposed to be feeling. Sometimes, with certain paintings, I'll be caught up in the technical bits, wondering how an artist could mix the colours together with such perfection, or how in the world the artist made paint look like light on a mountain. It just boggles my mind.


But, then, if I enjoy looking at paintings so much, why is it that I've never really tried my hand at it? I mean, the last thing I painted was in eighth grade, I believe, and it was terrible. Actually, I think it was okay for an eighth-grader, but whatever.


As I've thought about this more, I've started to come to a realization (and, at that, one that I certainly didn't want to have): I think I've never tried my hand at painting because it requires a lot of you. Doesn't that sound terrible? But I fear it's true. Let's look at the things I have tried, shall we?


I've been drawing for a long time. What does a person need in order to draw? If we stick to traditional conventions (which seems appropriate when we're essentially examining what a three-year-old needs in order to draw), we see that we need paper and a pencil or pen. Maybe a marker. No big deal, right? I could find all of those things right now without even getting up from my desk.


What about writing? Actually, it's pretty much the same for that. I mean, yeah, now I use a computer to write on, but I don't really need to. Writing on good old fashioned paper works just fine. So, that's pretty simple.


Music is a bit tougher because you do need to get an instrument. Without that, you can't really play music, right? But once you have that, that's about it. You don't even really need any training in music; I wouldn't say that I have much real training to speak of.


Painting, though. You need an easel, you need canvas, you need paints and brushes and a room and newspapers, and all kinds of things, and then, even if you get all that stuff, what if your painting isn't even very good? It seems tough to me.


Let me add a little note here: it occurs to me that, if I had developed talents other than those which I have, maybe I would say this about music or writing. I don't know, so it's not terribly relevant, but I think it's relevant enough to be worth mentioning.


Now, the point of this post is not to talk about how lazy I am. It's not to talk about how I'm such a lame human being or anything. It's not even really about how much I'd like to take up painting. The point is basically to improve myself. To think of something I would love to do, and do it. If I'm not doing it, I want to be able to figure out what's holding me back and fix it. Because one day, someone (whether it be a student, a child, or friggin' Saint Peter himself) is going to ask me why I didn't ever paint. I don't want my answer to be "I didn't have time," or "it was just too much work." I'd much rather my answer be "actually, I did."

A Visit From Joshua

Here's a short (really short) story I just wrote. The idea came out of some things that someone said during a class today. I won't go into it too much because I don't want to spoil the story, but I really like it. Again, it's very short, and it might not make a whole lot of sense to everyone, but it makes a whole heck of a lot of sense to me. I might expand it someday.

A Visit From Joshua

The warm smell of banana bread filled the small cottage as the woman hummed and dusted and baked. She rushed around the kitchen, making sure everything was just so, everything in its place. There were dishes to be cleaned and shelved, clothes to be folded and put away, and floors to be swept, and she went about the work happy as can be.

She jumped a little from surprise when she heard a knock at the front door. "Coming!" she called as she hurriedly hung up her apron and made for the door.

"Joshua!" she exclaimed to the well-dressed young man standing on her front step. "How are you doing?"

"I'm doing very well, Misses Patterson. How are you?"

"Oh, splendid, just splendid," she said. "Won't you come in?"
The young man took off his coat and hat as he followed her into the house and she began to tell him about all the exciting things she had been doing since the last time he'd dropped by. "I'm making some bread right now, if you'd like some. Oh, I do wish you'd called, I might have been a bit more prepared."

"I did, actually," he said, "but I only got your machine."

"Oh, that's right, that's right, the telephone hasn't been working properly," she said, a bit absent-mindedly. "I do need to get that fixed, I just haven't found the time."

She led him into the living room, and grabbed a feather duster to clean just a little bit more. "I'm so sorry about the mess in here," she said, "I've just been so busy."

"It's quite alright," Joshua said. "I don't mind at all. So, tell me, how has your family been doing?"

Just as he finished speaking, a timer rang out in the kitchen. "Oh, yes, just one moment," Misses Patterson said, "I've got to run back into the kitchen for just a bit to check on the bread. Please make yourself at home."

She quickly rushed back into the kitchen, and Joshua took a seat on the sofa. He could hear Misses Patterson humming a cheery tune from the kitchen. He looked around at the living room walls, adorned with family portraits that were very old, and not a little bit dusty. The room hardly looked lived-in at all, actually. It looked more like a set piece in a museum, put together as a depiction or an homage to what might be considered an idyllic home.

There was a piece of paper crumpled on the coffee table. and he picked it up to read the hastily-scrawled handwriting across it. It was a note, a reminder to stop by a neighbor's home and say hello.

"How is Misses Grant?" Joshua asked loudly so that Misses Patterson could hear him.

"Oh, drat," Misses Patterson called back. "I knew I was forgetting something. You know, I meant to go visit her the other day, but I just forgot all about it. Dreadful thing, too. She's been terribly ill for a few months now. But I'm sure she's alright. Someone from the church will have gone to visit her."

Joshua set the note down on the table and rested his hands on his knees, waiting for Misses Patterson to finish whatever it was she was doing in the kitchen. "What are you making in there, Misses Patterson?" he asked her. "Could you use any help?"

"Heavens, no," she said, "You just stay right where you are. You're a guest, after all! Besides, it's nearly done. It's an old family recipe for banana bread that is just delightful. You'll love it when it's finished.

After a few more minutes of preparing things, making sure everything was just so, Misses Patterson finally came out of the kitchen with a plate full of delicious-looking banana bread. "All done," she said. "Now let's have that chat!" She offered Joshua a piece of bread.

"Thank you," he said, picking up a small slice and eating a bit of it, "Actually, I'm really sorry, but I've got to be going now. I'm on a bit of a tight schedule."

"Oh, no," she said, crestfallen, "but you've only just arrived!"

"I know, I'm terribly sorry, but I have a lot of people I need to be visiting. And you seem to be rather busy at the moment anyway."

"Well, that is true. I am rather busy," she said as she walked him to the door, "but you will come back again soon, won't you?"

"Oh, I'm sure I will," he said as he put his coat and hat back on. "And thank you very much for the bread. It was quite good."

He started back down the walk and waved to her as he left. "Do come again soon," she called after him. "I do so enjoy our visits."

I don't know if that made much sense to anyone. If you're not thinking the same way about it that I am, then it might just seem like a rather boring scene, where nothing really happens. The way I see it, it's hugely telling of our nature and who we often are. It's a small thing, but it was nice to write and to think about.

I haven't posted on here in quite a while. A lot has changed since then. The biggest thing would be that I moved to Utah, I suppose. But a lot of other things have changed as well. I guess the tough part is to take all these changes and exciting things going on in our lives, like baking banana bread, and making sure that they don't take away from the more important things we should be doing, like visiting Misses Grant or talking with Joshua.