Postcard

Been thinking about enjoyment lately. Good summer subject, eh? The only thing better than thinking about enjoyment might be lounging on a quiet Lake Michigan beach enjoying enjoyment ~ an engaging novel, minted iced tea, cool waves lapping my toes. Or beurre blanc sauce from my entree at a favorite French restaurant, a lovely Cotes du Rhone, dark chocolate mousse with mango coulis ... mmmm. Or even rounding a bend in the road to happen upon a field of sunflowers stretching to the horizon or hundreds of brown sheep with white heads bleating roadside.

Everyone can list his or her delights. Even people who have forgotten how to enjoy life can strain their brains to find former delights. Although they may wonder if they still enjoy those things, with time, their fun-muscle memory kicks in. I'm convinced of this. I will not rhapsodize here about the importance of pleasure in our lives.

I was just wondering why I don't want to take my watercolor paint stuff off the dining table and stash it back in the basement. It's been four days since my niece Bethany and I watercolored a rose and some lemons at that table. Her rose painting is frame-worthy. My lemons are well, lemons ~ literally and figuratively ~ useful for avoiding future mistakes. But every time I pass the table and see the brushes, palettes, and pale violet droplet stains on our water pots, my heart warms to remember sitting at that table with Bethany, playing and painting, creating something, hoping it would be pretty, seeing new colors emerge from swishing other colors together. It's as though the pile of pots, paints, and paper is a postcard we sent home to remind me of our trip last Thursday to a pleasurable place in time. I'm just not yet ready to put the postcard away.