Ironies and epiphanies

Irony/epiphany #1:

I've long admired Kathy Nida's seemingly effortless genius, the way intricate, surreal sketches are birthed by her brain. How wonderful it must be to let one's hand roam free over the paper while at a soccer game or just after popping a casserole in the oven, and find it has produced flowers growing out of a woman's uterus or a tree which has hands for roots.

I've been trying to find my own voice off and on for mumbly mumble years now. It's an arduous process. At times I've even wondered if I have a voice, something beyond a prepubescent longing to draw an angel-winged Elton John floating on a cloud.

Today, while idly studying the handsome young swim instructors at a local pool, I let my hand fiddle around. Sure enough, it produced something. Something unique, even. I thus discovered that the issue isn't that I don't have a voice. It's that I don't respect the voice and I think it's full of crap.

I suppose that's progress.


Irony/epiphany #2:

I've lived in my current house for sixteen years now. During much of that time, I've been obsessed with shoehorning in plants which are edible, have flowers, or both. The property now has plum, orange, peach, and apple trees, as well as grape vines, a ragtag vegetable garden and herbs snuck in here and there. The front yard is xeriscaped with plants for bees, butterflies and birds.

I was always mystified by a set of trees along the back fence, though. What in the world were they? In the spring they'd put out light pink flowers with red stamens. The squirrels and birds were wild about them, and when I sat under the trees, the buzzing of bees was so loud I could have sworn I had a bee hive.

Recently I identified the trees. They're pineapple guavas. They do exactly what I always wanted, flowering and producing tasty fruit. Too bad it took me sixteen years to realize that fact!