Every once in a while I like painting little greeting cards.
They are easy, fun and cheerfully lightweight, providing both balance
and welcome distraction from the weightier things of life and art.
"Today, I want to build a Snowman", I announce to the ocean.
"Well, a Sandman would be more accurate", I immediately correct myself. It's really the Editor speaking. Accuracy is very important to the Editor. Inaccurate sloppy language is an indication of inaccurate sloppy thinking. And inaccurate sloppy thinking coupled with inaccurate sloppy language leads to inaccurate sloppy living. Needless to say, the Editor can't stand sloppiness however you look at it. It's one of the ten deadly sins in his meticulously kept little red book.
Then, for some reason, I proceed with the explanation, as if the ocean needs me to explain everything, or anything at all, for that matter.
"You know, it's winter. It's a very appropriate seasonal activity."
Now it's the Public Relations Manager's turn. The PR Manager is intensely concerned with all things appropriate and suitable, with a discreet emphasis, 'just a touch', she would say, 'of seasonal'. She is a tireless vigilante ensuring we never cross the invisible albeit ever-shifting lines of 'proper'. My PR Manager has the most difficult job because she always wants to tame my naturally color-outside-the-lines, fiercely disheveled, messy messy life. But she is also a very smart lady and knows how to play my Cool-Me persona.
"This would be soooo cool", the PR Manager continues. "We could take a picture of it once we are done and post it on Facebook. People would love it."
It slipped just like that. This people-would-love-it part.
Suddenly there is a wailing of sirens inside my head, a red alert, indicating imminent grave danger.
"Are you telling me we are doing this just to get some 'likes' on your Facebook page?!!! I thought we came here to have fun for fun's sake, not to parade it to the world so we can prove to everyone how much fun we are having!"
But before I could even begin to think of how to respond to this deeply personal betrayal creating uproar inside my mind and heart, I feel a tiny hand slip into the palm of mine, and a small voice overwhelms all the noise with its simple invitation.
"Do you want to go for a walk with me?"