In my studio I feel ease, with the paper out, my workspace clean and organized.  A bit of time given to me from my husband and children to work. It’s Mother’s Day. I had to paint today. A connection to my mom. I imagine we paint in unison, her on some other plane, me here, in this world. I touch the watercolor paper with a brush saturated with paint, I feel the wet, cool, of the pigment go through my body into hers. She is always with me. I connect to my internal landscape hiking up the hill under trees, along poison oak. I envisioned my morning, my Mother’s Day morning last night. I was called to nature, called to my studio. I ponder the time before I was born because my children just can’t understand that there was a time before they were born. That there was a time before I was born, before my mom was born. Now there is a time that my mom is no longer here. And I explain to my children that there will come a time that I am no longer here. I think about what a life means. I think about why we have kids, why we want to leave a person behind that we’ve told all our tales, taught all our lessons, all that we’ve learned. We teach them all the things our parents taught us. I don’t remember ever being told that I would have a daughter when I grew up. My mom never let any fantasies slip about her visions of me and my daughter painting together like my mom and I had done together. Why are we here? Why do we have daughters and mothers and keep reproducing? My mom used to say that good people needed to have kids so that there would always be more good people in the world. To keep the balance. Does good seep out into the world when good people are born? My mom was a good person and her good infected me, I hope I am infecting that good on my kids and that they will be good people and infect the world with good.