That is tea, and why I love Bob Ross

It's pouring rain, and has been rainy for days. Listening to the Cowboy Junkies helps. I'm pleased every time I hear the lyrics of the Cold Tea Blues, by Michael Timmins:

If I pour your cup, that is friendship
If I add your milk, that is manners
If I stop there, claiming ignorance of taste,
that is tea
But if I measure the sugar
to satisfy your expectant tongue
then that is love,
sitting untouched
and growing cold.
willowing.ning.comI am looking forward to participating in an online course with Tamara LaPorte (aka Willowing).
She has filled the hole left in my heart by Bob Ross. Do you remember him, and his happy little trees? I loved Bob Ross, coming from my grandmother's ancient old television, telling me and her how to use a fan brush, and how to wash oil out with solvents and then beat the brush against the easel.

My grandmother is the one who first handed me a paintbrush and some oils, before I'd hit the age of ten. She took her ducks and ponds and fir trees seriously, and I loved Bob Ross for it. She was a farm wife with no one but him for company. He had lived through aggressive military training, and saw no reason to live in a world that did not have happy little trees in it. Hear, hear!

Willowing has her own version, with whimsy style painting, nonviolent communication, and Byron Katie. It makes me happy. It's that holiday from irony I'm always craving.

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