I had heard it often times around my grandma’s kitchen table, beneath the wrappings of an aunt’s or neighbor’s birthday. And it seemed to me the ones who said it — “Well, it’s the thought that counts,” — were the ones who sat empty handed. And I suppose it’s ironic, the thoughts of what it actually meant to be thoughtful cluttered my mind. Because I was thoughtful, meaning, I thought, always full of thoughts — I frequently paid too much attention to the situation at hand. 

Take library day at Washington Elementary. When asked if I loved to read, (perhaps by one of those aunts or neighbors who didn’t lie next to me each night clinging to the last words of the most recently checked out book like my mother did), I would roll my eyes like Beezus did when Ramona (the pest) asked her silly questions. And I would laugh to myself because my literary reference was the answer in itself. This, I suppose, could describe a person with an abundance (often too many) of thoughts. 

As abundances often do, the night before library day, those thoughts turned to worry. Would I find another book? Would it have meaning? Would I love it? Would someone else check out the one I wanted? Oh so many thoughts. My mother gave me a system. A solution in my pocket. I could browse, but I would always have a series to go to, Beverly Cleary, for example, the writer of all those Henry Huggins, Ramona the Pest, Beezus, Ribsy books that I loved so well. I didn’t have to think. I could give my mind the rest. Simply go to the shelf and pull out the next one in the series. Brilliant.

I suppose it’s what I do now, in my daily sketch book. I have dedicated this current book to birds. I can sketch anything, as long as it has a bird in it. I don’t have to think. I just do. For these moments each day, I am not burdened by excess of anything. The birds weigh nothing, not on my head, not on my heart, nor in my hands. The joy that this liberty brings each day is priceless. Ever. 

It’s just something for your pocket. To slip beside the dream I hope you carry (my mother taught me that as well).