I'm currently sitting at my kitchen table, looking outside at my small back porch.  The sparrows are back. 

 This is the third year that they've decided to build their nest at the top of my porch column.  I can't say I blame them--it is well-protected, has access to the birdfeeders nearby, and lets them make a home just big enough for themselves and their babies, about the size of your two hands together.  But what they don't realize is that when the fledglings take that first flight, it's a very long way down, and there's no soft landing down below.  It gives me anxiety to know the little ones will be growing quickly all Spring, and I might not be around to catch them and put them back safely when the first day of flight school arrives.  It really is a hard lesson in the bird world and for the human world, too.  

Our son was married in January of this year.  He and his lovely bride planned a beautiful day, with their incredibly supportive friends and family to witness their love and commitment to each other.  As part of the rehearsal dinner, I showed photos of his childhood, each one highlighting a stage of his life from infancy to adulthood.  With it was a passage by Australian writer Mia Freedman called, "Your Son Growing Up Will Feel Like the Slowest Breakup You've Ever Known".  It's worth reading, especially if you have a son.  Essentially, she describes how your son is forever evolving into a "new boy" and the previous boy is no longer exactly the one you used to know.  Of course, it's the natural thing to let this process happen with children.   To see our son making his new wife his priority is the way it should be. 

Our daughter is getting married in October.  (Yes, I chuckle, too, when I say this.)  It's going to be a busy year.  But she and her fiancé are very good together.  They're sure of what they want and have also made most of the decisions about the wedding.  Except for a few details and my dress, I think they have it figured out.  

Ironically, the talk of bringing up children and letting them go has me thinking about similarities in painting.  You start with a blank canvas.  You have (high) expectations of how it's going to go with your personal style and standards.  You start with a foundation to give you the basic composition and good values.  Along the way, the painting gives you "happy accidents", frustrations, and aHA! moments.  You persevere and don't give up. 

Before you know it, there is layer upon layer, some of those you can't see but you know are there somewhere!  Before you know it, it feels like it is near completion.  And you step back, and you survey it.  Is there anything more to do?  Will someone love it like I do?  And at some point, it finds a place with someone who appreciates it, loves it, and is thrilled to have found it!  What a great feeling!  One last glance tells you it would be so nice to keep it, but you know it really needs a fresh place to "hang".  And your realize your work is done.