Calliope squeezed Urania’s knee under the table and gave her a don’t-say-it look. After Paintist penciled flutter and flower on thin sketch paper, Thalia encouraged her to add some color… which she did… and now numerous pages of the sketchbook were water wrinkled.
an excessively cheerful or optimistic person: what I am saying makes me sound like some aging Pollyanna who just wants to pretend that all is sweetness and light.
DERIVATIVES
Pollyannaish | -iSH | adjective
Pollyannaism | -ˌizəm | noun
ORIGIN
early 20th century: the name of the optimistic heroine created by Eleanor Hodgman Porter (1868–1920), American author of children's stories.
Quite a post! Lolligagging here on Labor Day, the effect was that of a batter about to swing at the pitcher's slider. The artistry and color choices of the flower and butterfly were pleasant to the eye. The sheets of soggy sketch paper? Just the thing I'm quite capable of doing. Recognizing ways to prevent that in the future? A good memory jog. Then the slider (Pollyanna) sweeping out of reach, out of my batting zone, brought a "What just happened?" sense to this post.
In a good way, of course. That exchange brought to mind the comment on which wolf we choose to feed. I believe there's an overabundance of negative occurrences to choose from, and Lincoln was spot on with his remark. Some mornings when I'm convinced I need to check the news, that's really a want, a choice. Some mornings I choose not to ingest the day's news. A now-departed good friend decided in his 70's to stop ingesting the news. His point was that there was little, if any, of the events that he could hope to change. He opted for Buddhist readings instead. The quiet mind.
Reap what you sow. You are what you eat (though portion sizes can be a factor). Feed the right wolf. On mornings when I consume most of the New York Times, where I usually find helpful, entertaining, useful articles, I'm sometimes left with a burning in my stomach. (not from the two cups of black coffee I drank as I read) On a good day as I take the good with bad, I look at a troubling headline and, before reading, ask if I can change that. Starvation? I regularly contribute a modest amount to Oxfam. England deciding they can help Ukrainian refugees by sending them to Rawanda? (not a joke) Way above my paygrade. The Gatling Gun firing the steady volley of that sort of news only decreases my joy. As I've aged various health matters serve well enough to nip away at the Joy storehouse. I've heard this quip attributed to Mark Twain: "I'm an old man. In my life I've had many problems. Most of which never happened."
Kitchen sign: “At the end of the day, we are all human beans. And together, we will rice. Lettuce pray… ramen!” 😁
I think your watercolor is delightful, dear ladies, and worth any collateral damage! 💚
"Pollyanna" Always learning...
Pol·ly·an·na | ˌpälēˈanə |
noun
an excessively cheerful or optimistic person: what I am saying makes me sound like some aging Pollyanna who just wants to pretend that all is sweetness and light.
DERIVATIVES
Pollyannaish | -iSH | adjective
Pollyannaism | -ˌizəm | noun
ORIGIN
early 20th century: the name of the optimistic heroine created by Eleanor Hodgman Porter (1868–1920), American author of children's stories.
Such well needed positive thinking can come through the innocents of a child, even though an adult first said it. Love the picture.
Quite a post! Lolligagging here on Labor Day, the effect was that of a batter about to swing at the pitcher's slider. The artistry and color choices of the flower and butterfly were pleasant to the eye. The sheets of soggy sketch paper? Just the thing I'm quite capable of doing. Recognizing ways to prevent that in the future? A good memory jog. Then the slider (Pollyanna) sweeping out of reach, out of my batting zone, brought a "What just happened?" sense to this post.
In a good way, of course. That exchange brought to mind the comment on which wolf we choose to feed. I believe there's an overabundance of negative occurrences to choose from, and Lincoln was spot on with his remark. Some mornings when I'm convinced I need to check the news, that's really a want, a choice. Some mornings I choose not to ingest the day's news. A now-departed good friend decided in his 70's to stop ingesting the news. His point was that there was little, if any, of the events that he could hope to change. He opted for Buddhist readings instead. The quiet mind.
Reap what you sow. You are what you eat (though portion sizes can be a factor). Feed the right wolf. On mornings when I consume most of the New York Times, where I usually find helpful, entertaining, useful articles, I'm sometimes left with a burning in my stomach. (not from the two cups of black coffee I drank as I read) On a good day as I take the good with bad, I look at a troubling headline and, before reading, ask if I can change that. Starvation? I regularly contribute a modest amount to Oxfam. England deciding they can help Ukrainian refugees by sending them to Rawanda? (not a joke) Way above my paygrade. The Gatling Gun firing the steady volley of that sort of news only decreases my joy. As I've aged various health matters serve well enough to nip away at the Joy storehouse. I've heard this quip attributed to Mark Twain: "I'm an old man. In my life I've had many problems. Most of which never happened."
#Antics AND explanations!
Wonder is the beginning of everything. I wonder if water wrinkles might somehow create a texture that otherwise wouldn’t exist?