Buttercups in Bloom

In my dad's truck, the radio was turned up and he'd be blasting out words to the likes of Eric Clapton, Alabama, The Eagles, and Johnny Cash.  As a teenager, I despised having to listen to his music but the words seem to bury themselves deep within my being because as an adult I can still hear the words waffling up from the unknown places within my brain. The words of Alabama's 'Forty Hour Week' have been floating around in my head for months now as if on a broken record.  If you don't know the song, they give homage to all those living behind the scenes making our world turn.  The truck drivers alone in their long haul, the men and women standing on the floor in a factory working to meet their quota, steelworkers who walk in the clouds, those driving a hammer and a nail in extreme temperatures and so many others who tirelessly do the work of keeping our daily lives moving forward.   For many of our forty-hour workers, their work is dependent upon punching a tim...

I have a confession to make. I absolutely love pens. Yes, I love pens.  From the time I was in middle school carrying my life in my backpack, I have reserved the front pocket for my love of pens. Nowadays my stash of pens is contained in my specific pen pouch within the main compartment of my backpack. My pens vary in color, tips, and styles. Today I have 3 very distinctive pens out on my desk (along with two different color highlighters) and each one has been used for a different task.  Some days I can use the same pen for all the tasks that are before me but then there are days that one pen just doesn't fit or feel right.  Pens glide across the paper in unique ways, at times a gel pen leaves a smudge while a thick felt pen bleeds onto the backside of that in which you are working and at times my .38 tips are just a bit too narrow for others to read with ease.   I'm not an artist by any stretch of the imagination, nor am I proficient in hand-lettering...