Play-do Art Project and its Demise.

Artists at home.

Blue Sky.

Red Blooms.

Red Berries.

Gradually noticing.

I like to think that I'm a very observant person. I've convinced myself that I'm privy to sights and sounds and smells that others are entirely unaware of. Moss. Mud. Random leaf formations. Horned bugs. Blue birds. Cloud caverns. Cotton drifts.

And then I notice something that I've sped past dozens or even hundreds of times before without noticing. A very large, if partially hidden, camellia bush in which any number of children or chickens or cats could play and hide on a nice day. An overgrown patio laid out in a brick herringbone pattern, creeping with purple-feathered flower-weeds. A stretch of field and forest hidden behind a closer field and forest, only visible if you really look for it or if you happen to be allured by a particularly robust and peach-tinted bank of heavy cream clouds, a bank which happens to drift over the far-away, hidden field and forest, so that, as you follow the clouds, your eyes naturally fall onto the distance, jarring you into the realization that you've never seen it before.

Also sometimes I hear all of the birds singing at once, warbling, whistling, performing, and I think, "Have they been doing that all along? Had I blocked it out?"

At first, I was saddened by the thought that, as observant as I am, I still miss so much of the world around me. On second thought, however, I realized what a blessing it is that I haven't noticed everything, that there are things un-noticed, waiting for my moment of awakening to them. Wouldn't it be terrible if I had nothing left to notice?

New Year's Resolutions...so far so good.

1. Eat breakfast every morning. This was a good idea. Not only do I get that physical nourishment that I need to start the day, which keeps me from feeling ill and achy by lunchtime, but I also have a few minutes of reflection and relaxation at that I really needed. You know, taking a moment to slice the peaches, the grapefruit, butter the bread, sit, listen to music, give thanks. It's nice. I'm enjoying it.

2. Read for pleasure each day. Right now, it's Saving Fish From Drowning by Amy Tan. I've managed to find a little time before I fall asleep each night.

3. Dance or make music each day. This one is for my son because I was worried that I wasn't taking enough time to really have fun with him. Yesterday we turned on Putumayo's Afro-Latino album, and he banged on the drum while I played tambourine. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

4. Paint once a week. This is also for my son because we had so much fun this weekend elbow-deep in primary colors. Literally, elbow-deep. The child painted his own arm, calling it a tattoo. However, it is much too involved an activity to do more than once a week. The rest of the week we'll have to stick to crayons.

5. Cook at least four night each week. This is a money-saver, but also a time-appreciater. As with the slicing of fruits and buttering of breads, there's something relaxing about taking the time to chop and stir. Of course, these don't have to be challenging dinners. Mac and cheese is okay, as long as I'm cooking it myself.

6. Shop only at the grocery store. Another money-saver. I've gotten so reliant on Wal-mart or Target to pass the time, which also results in passing the buck. Back in New Orleans, we'd spend too hot or too cold days at the museum of art or at the aquarium. We don't have those options here. However, the dancing and music-making and cooking may solve my dilemma of finding ways to play indoors.

7. Read at least one professional article each week. If I'm going to grow as a person, I may as well grow as a professional, too. It's good for everybody - me, my kids, and even my family, as I might benefit financially from expanding my knowledge base.

Getting over it.

Ok. Ok. Apparently my last blog entry was "depressing" to some readers. Lo siento mucho. That was the point, I guess. However, as I have a bipolar tendency, my depression was not lengthy and drawn out like the Raymond Chandlers and Nathaniel Hawthornes of the world, nor was it inappropriately short like the Sylvia Plaths. Mine is generally just right.

Once, a friend read my "star chart," one of those astrological things that identifies all of your personal quirks and predilictions just by tracing the exact hour, date, latitude, and longitude of your birth. Apparently, I am perfectly balanced. It may not always seem that way, but the stars never lie. I further believe that my perfect balance seems strange to other, less-balanced souls, who spend more time attempting to be at one extreme or the other.

I don't want to be always happy. It's kind of dull. Feeling sad and alone at times is good for a person. It requires that she looks inward as well as outward, that she prays, that she reads self-help books or inspirational poetry, that she sits for hours examining her life, determining where she went wrong so that she won't go there again. I do like to be happy, though. Don't get me wrong. Let me tell you about my very un-lonely, un-unhappy Christmas.

On Christmas Eve morning, Fain and I went to church and Sunday school and had lunch with friends, which inspired my sense of well-being and belonging. Just that time with caring friends, laughing and talking and enjoying being together.

In the evening, my mom, dad, son, and I went to my dad's mom's house, a tradition just re-instated last year. It excited me all over again to see the awkward, aching attempts of family so long severed, hugging and trying to find something to talk about. I'll be honest; the food wasn't all that I'd hoped for, but the feeling was just what I wanted.

I stayed up late on Christmas Eve, trying to put together toddler toys, decorating, eating Santa's cookies and even finishing off his milk.

On Christmas morning, I was the hostess in my new little cottage. It was wonderful! I had a red and green spread of pre-packaged cinnamon rolls, pigs-in-blankets, and doughnuts, along with coffee and the fixings for mimosas. Bing Crosby crooned in the background.

Fain woke, whimpering and rubbing his eyes until I told him that Santa had dropped off a bag of toys. The excitement crept over him with the dawning comprehension of new material gain. (Quite the consumer already.)He sidled into the living room, which was lit only by the multi-colored lights on the tree. He stopped, cuddly and warm in his vellour red jammies (with footies, of course), and took in the sight, turned to me and said, "Oh my goodness gracious." Did I mention that he's the cutest kid in the world?

While he played, family and friends came and left, eating breakfast, helping Fain make the most of his Diego Rescue Center and drum set, talking, more hugging, toasting. It was like a dream for me. I always wanted to have something like that to offer to people, that feeling of belonging, of warmth, of communion.

After everyone left, it was time to go to my mom's mom's house for Christmas lunch, and the food there was everything that I'd hoped for and more. More family time. Photos. Hugs. Laughter. Just the way that it should be.

That night, after a long nap, Fain and I went to my mom and dad's house to open still more gifts and spend still more time with loved ones.

Even if I had an inclination to feel lonely and sad, I wouldn't have had the time. Which may be the key to my balance. As I told my doctor when he asked if I might have problems with depression, "I don't think that I really have time for it."