I cannot describe this happiness, this sense of eudaimonia that  overwhelms me when I spend a weekend alone in a place like this, enveloped in silence and residing in a store filled with remnants from my American past. While attempting to sketch and watercolor, I am baptized in memories of a childhood that was accustomed to the SLAP! of a screen door slamming shut the way this one does in the store. As I paint in silence, I can recall the small talk of patrons dropping in for a loaf of bread or quart of milk. A weekend such as this, hours away from the workplace environment that governs my weeks, recalibrates my values.

Thanks for reading. 

I paint in order to remember.

I journal when I feel alone. 

I blog to remind myself that I am not alone. 

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