Late Blooming

If I followed family tradition, I would be a pilot, gardener, musician and visual artist to name a few. Despite many opportunities and attempts over the years, my genetics are suspiciously absent when it comes to some important aspects to my family history. Or maybe I’m just a late bloomer.

I should be a 4th generation pilot. I think my grandfather ruined that for me when I was 3 weeks old and decided to get the noisiest plane he could find to transport my mother and me from Lubbock to Killeen for the holidays. I paid them dearly for that effort; I screamed the entire way. When my grandmother (an FAA inspector) was teaching my brother to fly, she took me up “just to see” if I had any interest. My response? You guessed it. Poor woman never let me live it down.

Gardening? How simple is that? Anyone can make a simple garden. Ha! I kill cactus, people.Literally but not intentionally. Despite coming from generations of gardening experts, including my father’s relatively recent Master Gardener designation, I can’t keep anything alive. I’ve tried (and I do mean try) herbs, terrariums, pots, succulents with nary an ounce of luck. If they do survive longer than a month or two, the poor plants are decidedly unhealthy and do all sorts of weird stuff like leak sap all over the place.

Music and Art? My lack of talent is not from lack of opportunity or encouragement. My mother and her brother are professional musicians. Both grandmothers, a great-grandmother, my uncle and brother are/were fantastic painters. I even married a creative and had 2 artistically/musically-inclined daughters. After studying piano and singing for most of my life, I can read the notes and have a good ear, but I can’t keep a rhythm to save my life. Tagging along to painting sessions and attending art lessons did not teach me how to draw a stick figure. Harrumph!

For some mysterious reason, I feel the tides changing. For better or worse remains to be seen. Last night, my cousin arranged a painting class for us to celebrate our grandmother’s 105th birthday. Luckily we had wine and the instructor was good enough to say, “Put a square here.” I could do that! Hallelujah!

So after two hours of step-by-step instruction, here is the my interpretation of Cezanne:

Yeah, me! I might actually try this again. Please don’t send me a plant as congratulations, though. I’ve committed enough herbal and floral homicide as it is.

T.

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