If I only had a brain.

When I was a kid I participated in a play.  Third grade I think.  Maybe earlier.  All I can remember is singing the song "if I only had a brain".  You know  - the one that the scarecrow does when he's flopping around, refilling his straw and limberly strutting about.  At least that's how I remember it. 

"I could while away the hours.  Confirrin' with the flowers"

Memories.  They stay forever huh? 

I've been continuing my endless pursuit of outputting mediocre artwork. Confirrin' with my own flowers.  The flower has to be one of the most universally attempted objects to paint.  They have so much going on: color, depth, shadowing, beauty.  Every flower has an interesting perspective.  Like the crocus.  Those little beauties come up first, early in the Spring, and do take my breathe away.  I can remember long ago telling someone my own brief glimpse of life, my outlook:  we are like flowers.  We have a season, a prime, we flower, stand around in the sunshine for a while.  And then fade.  Lose our petals. We too each have an interesting perspective. Some of us have good qualities even.  It's what you do with yourself before the fade thats noteworthy.  Enjoy your days in the sunshine.  Enough rambling. Enough perspective.

I'd hate to be a Narcissus. Spending all my time starring at myself.  Although I've been trying to paint them.    Queen Anne's lace isn't all bad, but it's a weed.  Sure looks pretty cycling past it in the summer though.  A Tulip?  No way.  Classifying yourself as a Tulip is as common as drinking Merlot, and  "I'm not drinking any fucking Merlot" as so poignantly stated in the movie Sideways.

Cheers!  You've just read one of my most twisted efforts to date.  Go smell the flowers.  I'm drinking Pinot Noir tonight, otherwise known as the heartbreak grape.  And, I'm proud to say I was an actor in a third grade production of The Wizard of OZ!