Painting Flowers

Friday night, after a dinner of roasted vegetables covered in fresh tzatziki in a warm pita, Anne and I made our way to SLOMonart to try our hand at painting whimsical flowers.

Our previous foray - her first, my third - had proven three things:

1. Engineer and Virgo brains are frightfully similar.
2. A patio covered with white tables on color spotted cobblestones can also look like a levitating table with white dinner plates floating over a crowd of people if one does not understand proportions and perspective.
3. I don't understand proportion and perspective.

Not one to give up, Anne agreed to attend another painting class. This time a project guaranteed to provide a relaxing evening with wine and chocolate and flowers taking flight from the canvas.

So we did.

And we chatted and painted and I drew inspiration from my floral blouse to paint a picture for Elizabeth's side of the room.

The room hummed with conversation. Music played softly in the background. We chatted, catching up on all that has been going on over the last couple of weeks in that way women have with interruptions and meandering topics.

Time has been pushing me forward into March and nearly April without much time to stop, pause, reflect, collect. It shows no signs of slowing down. Sometimes I want to push the pause button and take a deep breath before hitting play again.

That was Friday night.

A pause.