All this time, I have been a wilting flower, thirsty for something to be passionate over. And now, I have found two things: William and art classes.
Rachel and I are like giddy school girls in class. Our teacher, Mrs. Pudge (as I call her), wobbles around the room, pressing our fingers down into the clay, yelling at us in her guttural whisper, “Put your soul into it, girls!” So I do.
I pour every ounce of my soul into our creations. Where there are pencils to draw with, I find my heaven. Bursts of color from the tips of paint brushes send me catapulting into the clouds. I can safely escape here. There is no baby, no Henry, and only the great wide open universe. So I create.
Rachel “ohh’s” and “ahh’s” over my pieces. I try to do the same for hers, though I suspect the one thing she is capable of making is very beautiful abstract patterns.
In this gift, I have found alternate worlds filled with fairies and pixies and mythological creatures. My sister would be proud. I must remember to ask Henry for enough extra postage money to send this to her.
Also, I must remember to thank him for the gift of these classes. I already know how he’d most like me to show him my gratitude.