The day lily died before I could finish painting it

And other reflections on time

I’d love to do a series of posts leading up to the release of my novel-in-stories, SEX OF THE MIDWEST, but I’m wondering, what do people want to know? So I made a poll! If there are other things you’re curious about, comment or just respond to this e-mail.

I just finished a 6-week watercolor class and the main thing I learned is that watercolor takes time. The word our teacher wrote on the whiteboard over and over again was “patience.” Patience is not something at which I excel. The idea that I cannot finish a painting in one sitting and instead have to walk away and leave it undone until it, you know, dries? This reality drives me the tiniest bit insane.

Still, I’ve been working at it, pushing through my discomfort. I am, if nothing else, stubborn. I don’t give up easily. I’ve eased into a new routine. I sit in my chair and write for twenty minutes. Get up and work a little on a watercolor painting. Sit down and write for another twenty minutes. Repeat until exhaustion or cocktail hour.

Yesterday, I was working on a watercolor of a day lily from my backyard. I went out and cut it after lunch and put it in a little vase on my desk. I sketched it out and laid down a first layer of color. Then I went back to my chair and wrote. Then the lily. Then writing. Repeat until around 3:30, which is often the end of my summer work day.

New bloom, dead bloom, unfinished painting. Also, when you use your desk for both writing and painting, it gets kind of messy

The painting wasn’t done by the time I called it quits. I told myself I’d pick back up tomorrow. But when I took one last look at the painting before I went to bed, the day lily had shriveled and died. I guess it really is a day lily, as in it lasts about a day. I could still paint a day lily. There are multiple buds and by the morning, a new bloom had opened. But I wasn’t going to be painting that other bloom. It was already gone. Maybe this time I was too patient. Or maybe I should have taken a picture.

All of this obviously gives me a whole new level of respect for artists like Van Gogh. Granted, irises last a bit longer as cut flowers in a vase, but I see now why he worked so quickly and furiously. He was racing against time. The flower would die. The sun would set. The field would be harvested. The storm would pass. In a world before cameras, the world changes at a pace that is often so much faster than slow, human brushstrokes.

The flower dies too quickly. The painting takes too long. Time never works the way we want it to. Or it works in ways that are hard to explain. I’ve been thinking about time a lot this week, its novelties and caprices.

That watercolor class I took was in Louisville, which is about an hour’s drive down the river. The fastest route according to all the navigation apps is to get to the interstate as quickly as possible. That was not the way I went. I took the backroads, U.S. 42, specifically, which, did you know, runs all the way from Louisville to Cleveland?

In this particular stretch, U.S. 42 runs past horse farms and rolling hills. Eventually, it connects to River Road, which is still closed from the April floods, but when it isn’t, gives you a beautiful view of the river and the city skyline in the distance.

According to the navigation apps, this route adds an extra ten minutes or so to my trip, but it doesn’t feel that way to me. Or at least, those ten minutes are well worth it. When I drive that way, I see horses in the field. One night, one of them was lying down and I thought it might be dead. I see the buffalo that Heritage Farms raises. I see that one house where the cop car is always parked, the same house that has elaborate Halloween decorations in the fall. The little roadside barbecue joint. The fancy private school.

Because it’s high summer and I’m driving home at night, I see the most gorgeous sunsets. Those sunsets alone are worth the extra ten minutes. Those sunsets alone make everything worth it. The money I paid for the class and for the supplies and for the gas and for the dinner I eat at the Jimmy John’s every Monday night and the hours when I could be lying on my couch watching Reds games with my husband and my cats but instead, I’m in the car alone on a summer night, the smells of cut grass and hay fields drifting in through the window as I listen to the scratchy sound of the game on the radio coming all the way from Cincinnati. Which is all to say, sometimes the slow way is better.

Meanwhile, it’s summer and I’m still not teaching, but coming to the end of my sabbatical. My brain has not yet turned to fall classes. The days blur. Sunday felt like a Monday. I have to remind myself that it’s Wednesday. The days are short. The weeks feel long, but then I turn around and they’re gone.

It’s a slow period in the timeline for my novel-in-stories, SEX OF THE MIDWEST. Copy edits are done. The interior design is ongoing. I’m waiting for proofs. I’ve seen some cover designs (they are AWESOME), but that’s also still in process.

In the relative quiet, I feel antsy. I want to see the proofs! I want to have a cover I can share with the world! I want to hold a copy of the book in my hand! I want to add another star to the tattooed constellation on my forearm where I mark each book I publish! I want to be at the big-ass party I’m planning on having here in Madison, celebrating with my friends and neighbors! I want to fast forward to the good stuff, even though I know a lot of it will be hectic and sometimes anxiety-provoking! I want, in other words, to wish my life into fast-forward.

My actual book tattoos and then the one I drew to try out the placement for #5

Instead, I sit in my chair and write. I get up and work on the new lily that bloomed this morning, before it also fades away. I sign up for the intermediate watercolor class, another six weeks of sunsets and late summer drives and garbled baseball. I enjoy this moment, this feeling of anticipation before my book comes out and all the moments in between.

Thanks to all my new subscribers! Since we’re days away from the official beginning of summer, I thought I’d include this throwback from last year, when I started going to water aerobics. This year I get a custom ride in Sandy’s golfcart, which is sweet!