I wrote this for Cubits Spotlight, I'd like to share it here with you.
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Little things grab my attention and seem to hold my interest for years and years. I think it must have started when I was very small. Aunt Bett and Granny Ninna always wore aprons and those aprons always had pockets.
The pockets held delightful things, a feather from a bluebird, a tiny seed from a pink morning glory, a white pebble instead of the usual brown ones, a tiny red button, a perfectly formed acorn; I never knew what I might find in their pockets.
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My grandfather had tiny surprises in his pockets too, a piece of gum, a red ribbon for my hair, and sometimes a penny. It was always something, something little that fit just right into a pocket.
I began to love pockets, I wanted them on all my clothes. I started collecting small things, too. My friend Tish and I collected small bits of colored glass we found by the dusty roadside as we walked to and from school; red and blue and green glass from broken bottles, edges worn smooth by weather and time. As we found those wonderful colors, we added them to our pockets; tiny treasures of colored glass.
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Aunt Bett held three white half runner seeds out to me, tiny seeds; she told me to be very careful planting them because from those tiny seeds a big plant would grow. And from the plant there would be many more beans, many more seeds; if I were very careful I’d have enough beans for winter from those three little seeds, and enough seeds for more plants next year. It’s the little things.
One year my mother gave me a tiny elephant, then another one or two. She collected elephants and she knew I loved the tiny ones. I added them to my collection of little things. When I was about 10 we visited Lincoln’s birthplace near central Kentucky. In the gift shop I was told I could have one souvenir. I chose a tiny baby doll, as small as my little finger. It had nothing to do with Lincoln, but it was little and I loved it. Little things.
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I graduated from high school with my best friend. We received tiny medals of excellence, his were in Band and Music and mine were in Art and English. I don’t remember much about our graduation, but I still have our medals; little things that are now more than 50 years old.
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My daughter was born and sometime along the way I found a tiny glass kitten for her. It was little and delicate just like she was. I still have it more than 30 years later. Little things.
I have an angel that a student gave me and a small carved man that came in a gift plant; little things, no more than a half inch tall.
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It’s the little things that matter.
Late one summer Holly, one of my students, saved the fleshy root of a discarded daylily from her parents’ nursery. She brought it to me because she knew I loved daylilies and we planted it together. She told me she hoped it would be purple because at that time, I had no purple daylilies. We lost Holly soon after, her passing left a hole in my heart, but every year I see that purple daylily blooming and I remember. It’s the little things that matter.
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It’s walking with your best friend along a one lane country road in late fall and looking down to find a tiny blue chicory bloom at your feet. It’s the little things.
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It’s seeing the last pink and purple streak in the western sky as a soft spring day comes to an end and hearing your grandson say, ‘Look Nana, God is running out of paint tonight, it’ll be dark now.” It’s the little things.
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It’s Christmas now, and for the life of me I don’t remember every single gift I ever got for Christmas. But I remember that my Gramma Ell gave my cousin and me matching pajamas every Christmas until we graduated high school. And every Christmas night was spent with my cousin, both of us in our matching pajamas. It’s the little things.
I asked Aunt Bett why Christmas colors were red and green, why they weren’t purple or blue or even orange. She said the winter celebration started when all folks noticed the days began to grow longer, long before the birth of the Christ child. To celebrate the longer days they hung a few of their stored red apples on green trees, gifts for the birds and forest animals. The only green trees in winter were the evergreens. I never questioned Aunt Bett’s stories. It’s the little things that matter.
I have a little bell shaped glass ornament that belonged to my Gramma Ell. I used to place it as far up on her tree as I could reach. One year it fell and bounced from limb to limb before I caught it. It scared me because it was the only glass ornament I was allowed to touch; I became much more careful with treasures. The little glass bell still has a place of honor at my house every Christmas. It’s the little things.
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We visited an old woman at Christmas time, a friend of Aunt Bett. She was an unhappy woman, unwell, and to me she seemed very harsh. Aunt Bett said, “You smile at that old woman, Honey. Bet she ain’t seen a smile pretty as yours in a long time, you just go ahead and smile at her.” I managed a smile and that old woman smiled right back at me. She reached into a basket beside her bed and handed me a walnut; I remember putting it in my pocket. Aunt Bett said she hadn’t seen her smile in years. I treasured that walnut. It’s the little things.
I’ve collected only enough little things during my life to fill a good sized pocket; most of them are too tiny to fill up much space, but I have lovely little memories that I store in the pockets of my heart. I’m sure you have those heart pockets, too. I’m also sure you reach down into your heart pockets from time to time and hold your little treasures close, just like I do.
As we gather with our friends and families to celebrate this season, no matter what our faith leads us to celebrate, let’s remember the importance of little things. Life isn’t about big packages. It isn’t about the most expensive gifts. It isn’t about who can do the most for us. It’s the little things that remain with us.
It’s the little blue chicory bloom that struggles to flower for you and your best friend in the frosty fall evening. It's the daylily that bloomed purple because your young friend wanted you to have purple. It's the walnut given to you by an old woman who hadn't smiled in a very long time. It's collecting chips of bright colored glass along a dusty roadside with your friend. It's spending all those Christmas nights with your favorite cousin in matching pajamas. It's having your grown up daughter come into the kitchen in the early morning light singing: "I believe I can fly". It's the note that your grown up son leaves at the end of all his text messages: "Love you, Mom!" It's family, it's friends, it's the love you share with them. In the end, it’s the little things that matter. It's the little things that last longest in the pockets of our hearts.
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Wishing you little things as you celebrate this winter season, little love treasures that you can store in your heart pockets and take out when you need them.
It’s the little things that matter.
~Wishing you love ~
~Sharon
I found this old wooden hand-made trunk in the estate of an older artist friend of mine who had passed more than 15 years ago. The wooden trunk had remained untouched for all that time until I picked it up about 4 years ago. It was a mess. It was in his storage building and it contained cans of linseed oil and other cleaning agents. I threw the old oil cans out and set it in my garage to air out. It was truly a mess. I promptly forgot about it, covered as it became by other garage debris.
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A few months ago my 7 year old grandson told me he needed a new toy chest, but what he really wanted was an old treasure chest for his toys. Nanas are supposed to be magic but I had no idea where to find an old treasure chest. A few weeks ago I happened to be searching in my garage for some other lost item and ran across my wooden trunk.
Four years in the depths of my garage hadn't done a thing to help it. It was still a mess. I dragged it out and cleaned it up. I realized it had layers and layers of old paint on it. I really couldn't for the life of me see a treasure chest when I looked at it, but I started sanding. I remembered that Ethan said he wanted an OLD treasure chest. I wondered if the pitiful old trunk could become a treasure at all but it for sure was old.
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I cleaned and I cleaned and I cleaned. It didn't help much. But I had some ivory colored latex paint. How do I make an old wooden trunk look older? I had a plan to sand it down a lot, even after painting, so I thought the latex might work. I had no idea what the other layers were, oil based or not, only that they were black over gray over brown over some kind of green. Ugly.
So I cleaned then I painted. And I painted. And I painted, then I sanded. And sanded. It looked rather blah, certainly nothing like a treasure chest, but it did look old. Very old.
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My grandson and his dad are big boaters and love the lakes. Seven years old is too old for childish drawings on a toy chest, he'd already outgrown the train on his old one. I thought of the Compass Rose; some may know it as the Nautical Rose, too. So that became my design.
I think it might work. If it doesn't, I am sure he'll know what changes he wants. After all, little boys know that with their help, Nanas are magic.
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This a painting I made for PollyK.
I always paint from the back to the front and so I started with the background. It's less important than the subject, the iris, so I'll only suggest iris foliage but will give it no detail.
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I also start painting at the top, keeps my arm off the wet paint.
It started looking like a very weird blue eyed bird, but that's the beauty of acrylics, you can underlay dark colors yet lighten them as you build up to the true color.
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Sunlight was streaming in when I tried to paint, lower left above; that's not always good because you can't stay true to color. I had to wait for less direct light to finish. Still looks to me like a big purple bird. Sigh.
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Merry Christmas, Polly, my sweet forever friend!
I don't think anything could be prettier than blooms in December. Those who live in warmer climates might disagree, but here in Kentucky where the weather is as varied as the leaves of the chameleon plant on any given day, December is bloomless. To fight the dreaded drearies I try to find something that provides a little color, something frilly and fancy and in your face beautiful.
In other words, I gotta share my Amaryllis just one more time!!
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| Rozetta and Rozetta with Harlequin |
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| Alfresco and on the right tiny Trentino |
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Harlequin and on the right Rock and Roll, so anxious to bloom she didn't even grow a stalk. |
The outside might be drab and dreary but it's pretty colorful inside.
I'm painting a Christmas gift for Vic. Here are the steps I'm taking. It's acrylic on canvas, about 20" x 24".
The drawing was made in pencil, just a sketchy outline so I could paint the background first. I placed a layer of dark blackish green for the background area and after it dried I went back into it and added the suggestion of daylily foliage. No details, just the suggestion of foliage.
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And so, about 25 layers of paint later, Merry Christmas, Vic!
