One morning in Okinawa, I woke up on the living room sofa bed looking up at the ceiling (this was probably one of the nights after we invited the "ukulele choir" girls over to spend the night). There was the main light, of course, and the ceiling fan--an absolute necessity for the hot and humid weather of the islands. I could see Daddy's handmade aluminum reflector shades for his mounted pictures...
Wait...I'd passed over those two embroidered pictures in the entrance last year. Mommy had spent hours on them. One was of The Good Shepherd, the other was of Jesus in Gethsemane. She'd complained that besides lines showing borders; individuals more or less picked what colors they thought went in best where. She wished they'd been more specific for novices like herself.
Growing up, I remember thinking my family thought studies in school and even musical abilities ought to be trained, but I didn't think art would be given much time or thought. But I've gotta say, our house was decorated with simpler embroidered works of bunny, kitty, doggie, swan we girls had embroidered. Value was taken in prettying up the home.
Even Daddy. Among all those photos were his color-by-number paintings of the swans and herons (the light reflection makes it hard to see). Altho' I always thought Daddy was of a practical nature, I look at the time he spent on the picture museum--and wonder about the art-loving side that may've been lying dormant under his everyday responsibilities.
When Daddy was getting around to decorating the kitchen area, he'd called me long-distance asking if I could find, with floral background, Romans 10:15 in Japanese. I couldn't. So he made it himself. I found it up on kitchen cabinet panels the next time I visited. "How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel..."
