I've been tagged by Jema. Doggone it. Since she cornered me, I am fulfilling my obligation (I'll get you for this, woman.).
If I could be a (better) writer...I would be, no, I should be more disciplined. I'm perpetually late, unintentionally sloppy, and (most recently) extremely uninspired. That said, I believe I'm a much better writer in print than I am on this blog. It is much easier to write for a defined audience numbering in the tens of thousands as opposed to the nameless, faceless, countless e-masses who just happen to click by. However, since my role as an editor/writer increased as of last month, I need to get off my lazy duff and shed some ink. Perhaps a combination of cardio-vernacular, syntactic strengthening, and page lifting is in order. I began last week with Eats, Shoots and Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation and Woe is I: The Grammarphobe's Guide to Better English in Plain English. Both are light, entertaining, and revealing (News Flash: It's perfectly alright to end a sentence with a preposition. How liberating! From now on and as frequently as possible, I intend to.). I highly recommend them to anyone who utilizes language in any way.
If I could be a painter...I'd try to convey with color, light and texture what I attempt to do with words: interpret the beauty and complexities of reality. I am much more intrigued by art that mimics life (forget that meaningless post-modern BS). Currently, I am thoroughly disappointed with (and sometimes disgusted by) the art that garners attention these days. However, there is an artist in the MS Delta whose work I'd love to own: Sylvia Ledoux. Sylvia, whose work is like Monet viewed through prescription lenses, can paint Delta scenes so vivid that one can almost feel the weight of the humidity in the air (I originally cited another artist here as well, but cannot find info on him. Will update if I find it).
If I could be a gardener...I'd grow my own vegetables and herbs. Growing up, my dad had a "garden plot" (aka small plantation) that we kids plowed (remind me to tell you about the time Dad decided to plow with a mule...), sowed, weeded, and harvested every year whether we liked it or not. I didn't know it at the time, but the food we grew allowed us to eat and trade for things we would not have been able to afford otherwise (we was po'). Though we complained loudly and often, it truly was a character-building experience...one I'd like to inflict, er, share with my children.
If I could be a chef...preparing incredible meals from in-season produce from my own garden would be a thrill. Instead of bragging to my family about the great deal I got on this-here pot roast, I could include them in the from-the-plot-to-the-pot experience. When I grew older, I'd pass down my heavily guarded secrets to my grandchildren (and tell them for the seventeenth time about the time their great-grandpa tried to plow with a mule).
Ok, let's see. One more...
If I could be a justice on any one court in the world...well, duh. Read the blog! lol
Since I must tag three more people, lest I meet a fate worse than toenail fungus or death, I chose the next three people who read this...tag, you're it.