At the dining room table I'm attempting to finish that 2 ft. square Iris painting and as I work I'm wondering whether to price it to pay the trash bill, Qwest or to have enough money to buy an easel like the one I've been borrowing from the Senior Center. It would be lovely to be able to do them all but with the economy the way it's been I'm certainly not expecting it. On the other hand it sure doesn't hurt to dream and in the midst of it all there's the work. The simple act of painting makes everything else fade into the background, your troubles become background noise and soon fade so far into the distance that they're mere static. Your breath slows and you've stepped into that other place that people call "flow" and all sorts of other things. I don't worry about what to call it, I just go and leave the rest of the world behind for a while.
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