Closing time will come for all of us. I said to my youngest daughter, “Jeannie Seeley died yesterday.”
My daughter said, “I’m sorry. Your friend was so young.”
“No, she was my age. You know, she was a friend, not personal, but a western singer on the ‘Old Gospel Hour’ with Bill Anderson.”
My daughter laughed, “Mother, you were so matter-of-fact, I thought she was your friend from the past. You’ve got to get out more. You need a life.”
I have a life. I have a wonderful life. Getting older is not so painful. I live through my writings and my good friends and family who have ended up with me on the last pages before the closing of this old book.
Through my “Artist’s Lane” articles, I’ve made many new friends in this community. They have been so kind to me and are faithful readers. I don’t understand why; maybe we have the same conflicts. We understand each other; our lives are books written in many genres, some thrillers, dramas and even adventures.
Because of 50 years of painting and creating, I now write spiritual lessons about my paintings in my monthly newsletters. I send them to the creative hearts who have honored their artistic gifts. They are some of my most treasured long-time friends.
Through many years of honing my crafts, marathons of writing courses, taking an idea and writing about it, rewriting, editing and more editing, finally a story evolves with a satisfying end.
My days have been like a book. I have sweated, lost sleep, and prayed about problems and unresolved situations, all to end with a good story. I’ve turned over riveting words, sucked out the delicious nectar of a delightful phrase, lived through my painted pictures with few words and kept my focus on the things most important to me.
I’m amazed when I read some of my writings. I ask myself, “Are those my words? Did I really write them?” I have a good editor, Helene Smith, who does a deep dive. She helps me out of the woods, maintains my voice and understands deadlines.
That’s what my good friends have done for me in my daily life. A lot of prayers and editing has gone into this living story of mine.
My favorite way to write is through metaphors, a play on words, a way of saying a nuance of subtle meaning that will bring a laugh, inform or shine a light.
All my words are getting prettier at closing time. I’d like to think they are beginning to look like Hemingway’s. Change takes place in that final edit, when there’s a glow on every phrase and those fallen cuts have ended on the floor, and words worthy of print are left to tell the story. Namely, 70,000 words gathered on 350 pages and combed through with a fine tooth comb.
So many words I spoke in haste, thoughtlessness and out of character of the One I promised to worship. I now bring my thoughts to a resolution — I am who I am, and how God made me and loves me. I have to own up to the harsh, critical and judging words that fall from my lips.
From Mickey Gilley’s lyrics, “If I could rate ‘em on a scale from one to ten, and when tomorrow mornin’ comes, I wake up with a number one, I swear I’ll never do it anymore.”
Gilley has it right. At closing time, the bags under the eyes start to show, the wrinkles deepen on the once pretty face and the bust needs to be cinched up a little higher. The balance is a little tipsy and needs a tighter grip on the dance floor, but, all in all, we’re all getting closer to closing time and looks aren’t so important any more. Only God will think I’m getting prettier.
God, the Master Author, knew what he was doing. My Sweet Al and I have danced through this life together, changed music and lyrics when life called for it. When the last dance is called, I have saved the last waltz for my Sweet Al, the hero of my story.
Final brushstroke: Each night, I close the curtains, tuck my Sweet Al into bed and listen to my television friend, Seeley, on the “Old Gospel Hour.” Songs of Jesus bring a good day to an end and makes for another page-turner in the book.
Send your comment to bettyslade.author@gmail.com.
Views expressed do not necessarily represent those of The SUN.
>