Remember how you first entertained yourself? When you were a toddler, I mean. A preschooler.
Remember which things in your young world first shaped who you've become?

An archaeologist unearthing the world that is Lindy would find a stack of people, of loves and loathings, of experiences so deeply intrinsic to my current self, I can't map therm all. I certainly don't remember them all. First memories are, at best, fuzzy memories.
 
We burn early personal memories for a reason, though: First memories give us a template to expand our lives on. In my case, devoted parents and grandparents assured the tiny me I was a being of value. I took it from there, and my second memory involving family is of willful rebellion against my mother, a personally thrilling episode involving a water faucet and new white shoes. That experience also taught me I tolerate pain well.

I learned very early that I liked chocolate and hated mayo, loved super-sonic jet planes, feared snakes of any genus. Nothing in subsequent years changed my mind about those things, although I later added single malt Scotch to the love list and I now accept mayo in tuna salad, but never on bread.

I learned to mind my mother most of the time, my father, all of the time.  Without the benefit of siblings, I learned to play alone before learning to play well with others. Years later, remembering that I was a being of value, I chose wisely and joyfully added Jim to the top of my "love" list. (My retired jet pilot mate doesn't like mayo or snakes, either.)

But before there was a Jim, before airplanes or chocolate or single malt, even before crayons blessed my days, there existed in my world a thin stick of graphite encased in wood: The Pencil, my first best friend. Paper was nice, but, optional. I'm sure the closets in a couple of rent houses still bear my mark.
 
With a pencil, I could go anywhere and never be alone.
 
Speed forward a few years. My favorite jet jock is currently spending his golden years as a volunteer fire fighter in a place where wildfires are as common as covered dish dinners (way too much mayo) and rattlesnakes. This leaves me with large blocks of time on my hands. I'm happy in my own company, but one of the rules of firefighting is that fires never erupt when I want to be alone. Not to mention three long nights a month when these waterhose-wielding wilderness warriors train for proficiency.
 
Also, since we live up in the mountains, we often end up in town together with back- to- back engagements, which inevitably involves one of us waiting in the truck...

Jim escapes into a book. He's so low maintenance that I miss him when he's away.
I don't enjoy evenings spent without my husband. And I sure don't sit still in a pickup truck very well.
My parents would've scolded the preschool me to find something to do with my time.

So, in a flash of inspiration, I dug out my sketchbook. When we were flying, I used to sketch almost daily. Nothing grand. Just people, streets seen from hotel rooms. My toes. Somewhere, I lost the habit, despite now owning an entire case of pencils and several sketchbooks. Re-forming the drawing habit has been like reuniting with a lost love, except easier on one's marriage. Being stuck in town has become an adventure, and the subjects of my pencil intrigue more than views from urban hotel rooms. There's the historic fort, scenic Davis Mt State Park, local Sleeping Lion Mt., all within ten minutes of the firehouse. Interesting faces abound in Fort Davis and Alpine, so faces sketched from my photos help fill the nights and keep the worry level to a dull roar on nights Jim is off in the mountains, fighting fires.
 

SLEEPING LION MOUNTAIN AT THE OVERLAND TRAIL  FORT DAVIS, TX
11" x 14" pencil      Lindy C Severns   2009

I've even found the perfect platform for plein air drawing. I perch on the toolbox in the bed of the pickup, far from the slitherings of any reptilian locals. (It's not the way Monet did it, but it works for me.) Often I have the animals with me, and the truck bed contains the dog while the parrot prances around the railing. Odd is the norm in Far West Texas, so the only stares I draw are from tourists, folks I'll never see again anyway. It isn't the most comfortable seat in the house, but remember, I'm pain tolerant. Time passes too quickly. I race the sunset. I haven't forgotten to pick Jim up yet, but I've been late once or twice.

Funny, the things we forget to remember.


 SPILLIN' THE BISCUITS
12" x 16" pencil   Lindy C Severns  2009      

To see more of my drawings and paintings, or for a virtual vacation in Big Bend country, please visit my website!
lindycseverns.com