Sweet Greta went to the ER this week. I stayed back with Fiona that had strep and tried to remain calm. I cooked, showered, cleaned, knitted, sharpened pencils and finally turned to paint.
Like a breath of air in my tight lungs.
Painting is like meditation for me. It is a soothing rhythm, the soft color changing a surface, coating it and transforming an object into something better. Magic.
The act of painting is a gift that works for me more than medicine, more than tea, more than a fluffy magazine or a nap. God gave me a solution for pain and stress.
Greta came home for an hour and then had to return to the ER and was eventually admitted. Lying in her hospital bed and holding her hand was probably the only relief better than paint.
Greta is all things sweet in the world.