I am still fumbling with my latest draft of the memoir. It is close to complete but still does not completely hang together. It needs two or three more pieces written to make the story complete as I have imagined it, but those missing pieces are not going to hold the whole thing together.  I don’t seem to have the will to write them. I am not giving up, but the process is stuck right now.

Come to think of it, I am fumbling with way too much right now. I am painting poppies. I finally have an idea for a large watercolor—finally figuring out a way to use the big and lovely paper that Ed gifted me with. Should I have put that paper away as soon as I got it—saving it for a time when I feel . . . . what?. . . competent? . . worthy? . . . at least not wasteful?  It was not his intention to intimidate me with good watercolor paper, but nonetheless, it has. I have shunned the idea of taking some formal lessons, opting for coping online videos and relying on my own ideas. Perhaps it is time to change my plan, but this is not to decide today.

I am having a challenge to read what I want to read and write much of anything. I want the balm of spring!

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