The sun will wake me up most mornings, around eight-thirty, I think. I’ll pad my way across the top floor of my renovated warehouse and get my instinctual cup of coffee, the one my partner says is horrible for me but the one I think can only be heaven-sent as it warms my insides. Dressing quickly, I’ll circle my way down the stairs one level into my art studio, a whole floor of pure joy. Observing my latest painting, I’ll flitter a grin across my face and cradle it carefully in my arms as I move another level down to the bottom floor, into The Art Shop. Full of my partner’s and my own creations, smelling deliciously of more coffee, and always decorating the air with soft, happy tunes, I’ll fall in love with it every time I enter. I’ll set the piece, as precious to me as a child, on display, next to the sign that’s been dying for company since the day I put it up. THE YEARLY GIVER: THE ENTIRE COST OF THIS PIECE WILL BE GIVEN AS SCHOLARSHIP TO A COLLEGE-AGE APPRENTICE. HURRY, IT WON’T STAY HERE LONG. I’ll smile, quite broadly. It will be my favorite time of year. And I’ll hurry to hang up the open sign to The Art Shop. Getting here won’t be hard. College, and all the help I can get. Graduate school, perhaps and hopefully. And happiness. Definitely happiness.