Several years ago, I bought a charming cherubic fountain at an estate sale. At the sale, the fountain was in a small child's wading pool. Thinking it was a little tacky, I opted to bring only the fountain home, not the wading pool. I went to Lowe's, bought a small landscape pool, came home, dug a hole, installed the fountain, and within several hours all the water had splashed off the little cherubs shoulders and the pool was empty.
The next day, I went back to the estate sale, picked up the child's wading pool, came home, dug a bigger hole, re-installed the fountain, and by the next morning the pool was empty.
So I went back to Lowe's, got a bigger better landscape pool, dug a bigger better hole, installed the fountain, bought some goldfish for the fountain, and the next morning, all of the water had splashed out, and sadly there were no more goldfish.
Frustrated by the fountain not working properly, and exhausted from digging so many holes, I planted a tree in the bigger better hole, and set the nonworking charming cherubic fountain in the yard as a statue.
A week ago, Joy and I were shopping at Academy. By the front door at Academy were largish kiddie wading pools for the low low price of $13.88. Oh, the possibilities! Ever hopeful, the excitement built. I thought about buying that wading pool all week long. Maybe my fountain would work after all! Maybe this time the width and depth of the pool would support the water splashing off the little cherubs shoulders. And if it didn't work, at least the neighborhood kids could play in it. One week later (on Saturday) I bought the pool. No way was I going to dig another hole. This time, we set and installed the fountain above ground.
The part of the garden where we put our above ground very tacky child's wading pool juxtaposed with a sweetly charming cherubic statue has been sadly neglected. I spent several hours pruning, raking, re-arranging, and by nightfall two things had happened. The fountain was gloriously working, and my lower back was killing me.
I managed my way through Sunday by popping ibuprofen in large doses, using an icy hot heating pad, and resting on the back massage pallet. By 10 pm, every inch of my body was exhausted. Finally in bed, barely awake, the realization that I hadn't painted all day struck me. It was day 19 in my 21 day quest. Dang it. I would have to start over. It's not that difficult a goal, is it? Is missing one day of painting going to matter? Does this silly quest to paint every day for 21 days straight really matter, even to me? After an angst ridden internal debate, I crawled out of bed, stumbled to the studio, found my inner Marla and finger painted. To speed up the process and reduce clean up time was the reason for finger painting. No brushes to clean. The paints were already on the palette, so no colors to mix. Day 19 is over, and still counting. Whoever wants this painting can have it. In one week all the names of those who want the Day 19 painting will go in my new favorite St Arnold cap, and my daughter Joy will draw the winning name. Remember, it's free.