I am fortunate to have a place that travels with me. A place that has traveled with me into each house that I have called home. The unfortunate thing about this place, is that I can never really go there. I can simply imagine myself there. And I do, when life gets too exciting and I need a moment to be still. When I feel as if the world is crumbling beneath my feet, I let my mind take me here. It doesn’t take too long before I come out of it feeling better.
A paint by number project that I got for Christmas when I was fifteen years old. I spent days working on this painting. It started out as a colorless piece of cardboard with a bunch of lines and numbers.
When it was done, I put it up on my bedroom wall. I would sit there and stare at it, imagining myself sitting on the green chair, drinking from that glass of lemonade.
Every time I feel uninspired, I look at this painting. Before I know it, my mind has created things that are hidden in the painting. A little bird in the birdhouse, a couple of bees buzzing around in the flowers. A cat, peacefully napping beneath the chair.
Sometimes, it’s not me sitting in the chair. Instead, it is the heroine from a story I’m working on. That’s when my mind adds a second glass of lemonade as well as a second chair, waiting to be occupied by the story’s hero. Often times, the cat becomes a golden retriever or a black lab lying at the heroine”s feet.
Occasionally my mind will place a small child in the painting, picking a flower for his or her beloved mother. That’s where the cat comes back, playfully rubbing up against the child.
Then life calls me back, and I just smile. For nine years this place has been my mind’s favorite place. It’s always there, ready for when I need some inspiration.