I enjoyed doing the beaver and the newspaper. I did not enjoy painting the trees, with which I have always had absolute and completely inexplicable difficulty, and which almost always results in something like plastic Christmas tree ornaments that got too close to the fire, than anything else. It took me hours, weeks, years to do these trees, over and over again--time in which other people could have created epic novels, books of short stories, or raised small families. These trees are one reason why I spend more time writing these days. "And lo! From his exalted height, he could still ignore the breath-taking panaroma of mist laden forest." There! 45 seconds. Just 45 seconds to do what I laboured in paint for the best years of my life. I tell you, sometimes--
