Skip to main content

aren't lines supposed to be straight?

doodles on the side of a wall, graffiti or art?

little hands scrawl squiggly, wiggles on a page
free, creative marks with no rhyme or reason
this is a pony, this is a cloud
no resemblance can be seen, but it’s there
“aren’t lines supposed to be straight?” comments the adult mind, stuck in a box of rules

We’ve lost the ability to just think, to watch clouds and scribble. Doodling away time – what a waste, not productive to jot and color, and heaven forbid, outside the lines.

Aren’t lines supposed to be straight? Predictable? What about crossing the proverbial line, bending it or careful, wobbling on it? Walk the line, draw the line, but don’t cross the line.

Peek, if you dare to take the chance, at the Alice in Wonderland possibilities on the squiggly side of the line.

nothing straight here, except the lines in the corrugated tin

These thoughts speak strongly to my keen sense of sensibility. By nature I am organized and productive. I find taking idle time to be a little on the disconcerting side, especially when I see dishes that need to be done, an email that needs to be answered, or even a blog that needs to be written. 

I'm a doer in a dreamer’s body.

However, when I sit down with a coloring book (yes, I have coloring books) and begin to fill in the spaces with a palette of pencils I find that it’s more to my liking to not color in all of the spaces, leaving some white, untouched areas. It’s like having a place to stop; letting the blank areas be an inspired rest.

One of my life ambitions is to be mindful. Mindful of people and relationships. Mindful of nature and the seasons. Mindful of how I live my life. And, for me, that means allowing myself to think and scrawl lines that aren’t straight, and leaving some of the page open.

Mindful, creative and full of possibilities –


If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance


Popular posts from this blog

it's holy week

It's Holy Week, and I don't feel very "holy." 

Things are coming apart and are broken. There's a friend whose husband has been dealing with serious health issues for a few years. A family who lost a dear loved one and marriage struggles for other friends. My job is coming to an end. And, heck just don't even bother to watch the news.

It's Holy Week, and why don't I feel "holy?" 

Because I'm consumed by what I see and what's happening all around me. Lives are shattered into mosaic pieces. And, I desperately need the One who controls life and breath and everything else to put the pieces together.

When I think of the word holy, visions of a perfect, devout person comes to mind; someone like Mother Theresa or St. Augustine. They probably didn't feel holy either. Stuff happened around them as well. I don't have a corner on the market for crap going on.

You want to know what holiness is really about? 

Look at Jesus. He was a normal guy …

excellent. how serious are you?

Have you been told you always say something? I have. Evidently, I respond with "excellent" and then ask two questions:

How serious are you? And, what's the vision?
Each could be asked independently of each other or in reverse order, stacked on each other. Answering one leads to the asking and answering of the other. I know, it sounds like a labyrinth conversation.

How serious are you? About a decision, about a change, about a direction or choice? If the answer is some laissez faire something, then nothing will occur. Serious action will not take place, and probably nothing will come of the thought. You see, the degree of seriousness creates movement. Movement, in turn creates a response.

I picture it like the proverbial mousetrap game - the dropped marble starts a chain of events.
What's the vision is directly tied to the serious question. The vision will determine the degree to which we seriously take things. A wishy-washy, obscured view doesn't require much. Howe…

the quiet paradox

I'm a music girl, but I like the quiet. So, I live with this paradox. I see other enigmas in my life - some are trivial, others deserve attention.

Look at society. Our current culture is rife in a quagmire of nonsensical. We say we care and want to love, yet do nothing. Or, worse, we simply yammer on about how "somebody" really should be taking care of this or that. I'm guilty here. No stones are being cast.

Ergo, I turned off the music to sit in the quiet. What can be heard in the quiet is unreal; the birds waking up, the guy down the street is warming his truck, the slight ringing in my ears,  my thoughts. I can hear my thoughts instead of drowning them out with sound. Sound that I normally groove on.

When I hear my thoughts, I'm more aware of the paradox. Even as I sit, the furnace clicks off and the sound of the refrigerator is noticeable; a see-saw invasion to my soul searching and hearing.

My interlude with quiet is ending. The sun is pouring through the w…