let me paint pictures
of artistry expanding
mom making do here.
if ever you can think of the best that ever was and all you’d really like to hold a candle vigil towards – mom is as good thought and artist as any. It doesn’t matter if your mom was a complete witch straight out of the worst movie ever imagined – giving up on you when you were little with some excuse of you getting a better life elsewhere or your mom was rich as all the stories of society and instillled into you every regret you have for all your life or perhaps as is laudable these days kinda cared making every dream of your life come alive despite any of her personal issues believing in the truth of dreams at that time for her. mom. think about mom for a moment as some of us chase one and other celebrate all they are through theirs. mom. an artist by definition it someone who is good at something… simple enough definition til I point out the audience has a touch of a bias inherant….we like and laud what is our only model of what is good before there ever is any comparison! rigged game really 😉 but let put out that picture anyways immortalized in glass colored upon our memories of the stories of our times.
likely, likely i say as i haven’t any memory of these timesmom blew the budget on little books to read aloud to me so i would have any appreciations of stories in my life… imagine your first days struggling to keep it together yet knowing there must be these things called life and the only way to live it is to instill the experiences of it and see which ones delight. how many times do you think you wanted to scream a lullabye . but i can’t even remember those times… all i have is a little idea of tone… an expectation and somehow like golden books. I’m not particularly smart but i sure can remember much of what i read or what was read to me… so in a way you know i must have liked stories…and anything I am you can see an idea of the bills are due, jobs must be gotten, kids are sick, husband was who he was but leave dad to a point out as it’s mom time 😀 and still the stories were read and a lifetime of reading showing. so,….
even the times i would have struck out on my own divorcing all before in favor of the adventure of independance…. ahhh any of you who knows what it is like to not like all you see or feel at a time or two can smell the disaster of independance too early leading to a fragrant disasster… thank you mark twain or mr stevenson… or you turned out to be a lyin son of a gun otherwise known as a jazz drummer john fitzgerald …adventure within independance well if achieved too soon its not a life… mom has not just one color or story to tell but a rainbow of them so i am at least colorful…and still the lap waits with more to say or a hair brush perhaps of you might just not want to be that way. and yet you know the stories.
another was every time we went out she left her wallet at home…upon marrying she who paid rent unfairly even seemingly early saved ten grand with the help of her mother matching and married another who had a similar stash when that was a house paid for outright at her times… and you’d think the story would land on my ears of don’t be a turd filching from others….. yet you’d be wrong in a way… mom appreciated the outcome even if i would ethically shy away. to have protected one’s self through effort and clever… obviously I never learned to save as good and so the story now leaves a wistful feeling of what for me never was no matter how proud i can be of ethicalities and paying my ways… I never was cleverer. even the lessons of painting my wagon it’s colors me are with a knowledge there is more out thereand it is of a value I might not ever understand.