Playing on the rug

It's rare these days that I wake up on a Saturday or Sunday morning with nothing to do. But occasionally I do. And when I do, I flash back to the days in elementary school when a Saturday or Sunday with nothing to do meant I would roll onto my rug and spend the day happily creating.

One day I remember especially was when I was maybe 10 or 11. The sky was sheer white, frozen, and flurries fell outside my window the entire day. There was a corner of my room left open, between my dresser and the wall, and I pulled a box up to it and sat behind it, in the corner. The box became my "desk" and the corner was my office. I spent the day drawing magazines, watching the flurries outside the window that was to my left.

My younger brother sat in his room next to mine and did the same thing. All day, we went to each other's offices and traded magazines. I drew some that I knew he'd go for -- "Pac Mag," about Pac-Man, and the "Tush Times," which included tushey world records and comic strips about a family of buttocks.

I had a tape dispenser on my desk and a little cup of pens, and I was completely happy.

Sometimes I miss such unfettered creativity, knowing I didn't have to worry about being published, that I could just draw whatever I wanted.