Project Thoughtful Thursday, Week 15

I've been chatting with a friend on Facebook. I said I was going to bed but here I am writing a blog post. For one thing, tomorrow is week 15 of Project Thoughtful Thursday. For the other thing, tomorrow will make five years that my son has been gone. He's been very much on my mind lately. I read about another friend on Facebook who also lost a son, and how he usually takes the day off. When I read that, I asked myself why I couldn't be smart enough to do that for myself.

I have people whose hearts will be with me all day tomorrow. People in my face to face world, and people in my online world. Because of so many horrible things happening lately, most everybody is familiar with the quote where Fred Rogers told him to look for the helpers in times of trouble. On a very individual and personal level, that's what I've learned to do during the harder times of my grief. I'm very grateful for the people who will be holding me in their hearts on this day.

How serendipitous that the card for week 15 would be this Anne Frank quote about all the beauty left around me. It's true, there is still so much beauty. We can get so distracted by the darkness and the sadness and the tragedy.

My angel I'm working on for the painting class is coming along. I have a list of supplies I will be ordering on Friday. Part of the work we are supposed to be doing is listening to the whispers, the words our angels might be wanting us to hear. I think I hear mine saying, "Do not give up."

I'm trying very hard not to. I hope you are too. We need to be here to share our gifts with a hurting world.

Project Thoughtful Thursday, Week 9

I'm late! I went to Houston Thursday afternoon for checkups and didn't bring my laptop. I received good reports from the doctors I saw and I don't go back until January. And again in February. I suppose eventually it will get to where I see everyone in the same three month increments., rather than one doctor this month and another doctor the next month.

I don't usually worry too much about the cancer in between my appointments. But in the week before the time to go in, I tend to get a bit nervous. That usually manifests itself in me overeating or choosing not to pay much attention to my exercise routine. I woke up this morning and realized how relieved I am that everything went well and all the reports were good. Now I'm ready to live again! And hopefully I'll get back to my routines and to better watching what I eat.

Anyway, this week's reminder is, "I have what I need." Truly, I do. And had there been negative reports, I trust that I would have had what I needed then, too.

Be Gentle With Yourself, Week 7

More collages. I'm almost to the end of the 40 day art journal. Tomorrow is day 40. I think I'll take a break for a few days to ponder how I am going to proceed. I'll have to think about the things I've learned by doing this.

I've enjoyed the words, I've enjoyed the images, I've enjoyed the cutting apart and the putting together. I've been a quilter in my past and this feels a lot like that, but working with paper rather than cloth.

I like the feeling of being born by bits, and not all at once. Always, a work in progress. It occurs to me just now that this process of working daily on these small collages, with no real thought of the outcome or of completing a finished project is a metaphor for my life. Each day I do what I can to do the best I can with what I have on that day. I don't look too far ahead but instead try to keep my mind right here in the present. I enjoy the process without thinking too much about the outcome.

I had a counselor type person tell me once that I sure spoke in metaphors a lot. I heard that spoken with a disdainful tone, and for a long time, I tried to nix the metaphor from my speech. I tried to come out and say what I had to say, without trying to couch it in symbolic language. Another thing I've learned from doing this practice for almost 40 days is that I love metaphor and visual symbolism. I have a poet's heart, and I'm not going to apologize for that. Not that anyone is asking me too, save for my own self!

I read an interesting article on Brain Pickings this week (https://www.brainpickings.org/?s=mary+oliver). It was from an essay written by Mary Oliver, something about the third self. In it, the author quoted Mary Oliver, saying, "In creative work — creative work of all kinds — those who are the world’s working artists are not trying to help the world go around, but forward. Which is something altogether different from the ordinary. Such work does not refute the ordinary. It is, simply, something else. Its labor requires a different outlook — a different set of priorities." I'm no Mary Oliver, but I am, on my own small scale, in my own small spot in the world, a creative person, and an artist. The things I do are not earth shattering. They aren't things that will spread very far beyond my own small circle, but they are important, they are my things to do.

Part of my being gentle with myself is accepting that, and not comparing myself to others. I am only here to do what only I can do. Also, maybe I can accept that it is good for the world that I am here?!

Terminal (Project Thoughtful Thursday, Week 6 Writing)

There is a woman in my circle of acquaintances who I do not know very well. She is divorced from a doctor, and the last several times I've been in her presence, she has been talking about how she is redoing a home in the historic district of our city. She was always friendly enough but because I am introverted and somewhat slow to warm up to people I do not know, I did not know her well. I made some assumptions about her. It is no assumption that she is older than I am. My assumption was that she was a woman accustomed to having her own way. I also assumed she probably didn't have much depth to her.

I might have been wrong in my assumptions.

Last week, when I saw her in the group we have in common, she casually mentioned that she really hadn't had many dark times in very many years. And then she added that she was now facing terminal cancer. It is a relatively new diagnosis. She still looks and sound healthy. One would not guess her health is in such a dismal state by looking at her. She talked about how grateful she is, how she has been able to talk to her children and her grandchildren about her illness. She mentioned a few bucket list things she'd been able to do. Those things involved time with her grown children. It sounded to me like there might have been some restoration in those relationships. She is a pretty woman. There was a smile on her face.

When I went over to her after the meeting, she was the one who first offered a hug to me, not the other way around. And she asked me how I was doing with my own health concerns. She radiated peace.

I won't see her at this month's meeting. I'll be in Houston doing all my checkups. I don't know how quickly the disease will progress. We are not friends, only acquaintances. But she is who I thought of when I pulled the card for week 6 of the Project Thoughtful Thursday prompt. She was a healthy woman who probably expected to live to see her grandchildren grow up. Her life was changed in an instant.

Tenacity Takes Many Forms

Here are a few more of the collages I've been doing. It's the 15th day in a row. My tenacious nature is wearing thin. On the one hand, I wonder why doing this consistently, daily, even matters. I question the worth of it. The little collages really aren't worth much. It's the daily doing of the thing that is of value. Just like going to the backboard for tennis practice is not worth much in and of itself. But the repetition of hitting the ball again and again, of feeling how it comes off your racket, and learning how to control the power of the ball and the racket--that's what is valuable. Doing the daily collage, hitting the ball, these practices are a part of laying groundwork.

I'll continue on with them. I am determined to make it to 40 days. And then I will evaluate whether or not I want to continue. But man, the critical and judging voices (in my head) are loud this morning. It's a bright and sunny Saturday in my part of the world. I've had to calm the voices. I wish they'd just shut up and go away. But I think they never will. I'm told this is quite common for artists (for "real" artists, one of my voices is saying, "you're just being dramatical" another voice is saying).

Project Thoughtful Thursday, Week 4

Well, dang. Here is this weeks card, "Tenacious (yes, you)." It's certainly a reminder for me. I hope it will at least cause you to think a bit.

I have been tenaciously sticking with my 40 day art journal commitment. It's been a lot of fun. Here are a few of the ones I've done lately...

I got antsy and started adding paint to the background, along with distress ink, and Pan pastels.

I have a bunch of old photographs (and letters). I figure I should go ahead and use them, and stop holding onto to them like they are precious and irreplaceable. They aren't my relatives.

 It doesn't take much time to do these. They've been somewhat therapeutic for me to work on.

Paradoxes

"Sometimes joy is wrapped in other feelings."

All this week I thought about this. Tomorrow would have been my son's 29th birthday. A friend said today that it must be bittersweet. He questioned his own use of the word bittersweet, wondering if there was any sweetness in the coming day. Yes, there is. I have my happy memories. Our family remembers him as we tell our various stories about him. And, of course, we also wonder about what might have been.

His birthday this year will be on the first day of fall. Tonight I read an excerpt of an article about the paradox of fall, where I read "But if we allow the paradox of darkness and light to be, the two will conspire to bring wholeness and health to every living thing."

Darkness and light, bitter and sweet, joy mixed in with sadness, all are necessary parts of life, aren't they?

Happy birthday, my boy. I miss you more than you could imagine. Come see me in my dreams sometime, okay?

 

An Eventful Adventure (It's Been a While)!

This past Saturday I trotted off to Congregation B'nai Israel (CBI), on Galveston Island for a "Realizing Your Creative Soul" workshop. The facilitator was a woman I discovered when I was perusing the website of the Jung Center in Houston. I was looking for something artsy-fartsy to do.

I went all by myself, as I often do for events like this. I met several interesting people, but for the most part it was a matter of working alone in community. I do wish I'd been a tiny bit more outgoing and had gotten more than just the first names of the women working beside me.

During the morning, we gathered images and words that appealed to our hearts. We were to do this without thinking about it. Once we had images gathered we created what the brochure called "New Reality Boards." I've always loved the cutting and pasting work of doing collages. It wasn't long before I was in a state of "flow" and I was unaware of time passing as I worked.

This is my board. I'd thought I might add a few more things to cover the small blank areas but I'll probably end up leaving it as it is. I chose the green background because it reminded me of growing things. Continuing growth is something I aspire to.

This little girl appealed to me immediately. The words below are a "found poem" of sorts (words below). Gratitude, hope, and grace are such key words for me. In the beginning, the rabbi sang the Hallelujah song. He said some of the words were a little bit different. What I remember was "as long as there is breath, hallelujah." That phrase, that intention, pierced my heart. I cried a bit. Things felt very sacred at that moment. Then we sat down to work. Or play.

We sent our critics (and I also sent my gremlins and judges) over to sit in the congregational chairs while we worked. They weren't allowed into our process. I tried to leave them there but I think one or two of them slipped back into my car when I opened the door to put my board in the back seat.

This is another favorite part of my board. I'm so clever. The "She embraced her story" first said "We embraced her story." I search for the s, h, and e to glue over the "we."

Here are other pieces that spoke to me. "You are not alone" is an old message. I've felt that so much in the last several years. Then there is the small green message, "I am not my diagnosis." No one there knew any of my history. I told no one any of my story. It just didn't seem necessary. That was sort of freeing in an odd way.

This is not a great photo because of the glare, but what I love about it is that phrase, "Just try and kill this." It was an article about growing plants and I've recently become interested again in nurturing house plants. As I've said before, in this period of my life, there is something hopeful about growing things. And with some of the things in this period of my life, I've had to reach down and find that tenacious spirit, the tiny bit sassy spirit that secretly whispers, "just try and kill this." It's not always easy. But always, as long as there is breath...hallelujah.

And finally, this quote from Agatha Christie? Amen, and amen! And hallelujah!

"It's a helluva start, being able to recognize what makes you happy." This kind of adventure (artist's date?) makes me happy (ba-da-boom, Project Thoughtful Thursday, week two response).

Words in the found poem:

Living,

with gratitude and devotion

hope and grace

dream philosophy: live with optimism, renew with hope

create expressions of love

a quest

Gobsmacked by Grief, Again

"Love can only be found through the act of loving."

Paulo Coelho

(I could send a letter to you. But how would I know it had arrived?)

I’d lost, and then found, my planner from last year. I was going through it, just remembering things, and I came across this piece of a quote, “…the intelligence to tell a disappointment from a disaster.” I need more of that “intelligence” (I would call it wisdom). The sentence was in a book called Kayak Morning, written by a father after his daughter’s death. Kayaking in the morning was one of the ways he coped with his grief.

I couldn’t remember if the daughter’s death was sudden and unexpected or due to an illness, and expected. It makes no difference, either way it is hard and you are never prepared.

But here, in my son’s birthday month, I thought about when I was pregnant with him. I was put on bed rest. I think it was somewhere in the middle of July. I was having small contractions and they monitored them from home, from my bed. I questioned the idea that I was having contractions so soon. The nurse laughed and said, “Yes, you can call yourself in labor.” And we joked about the record setting length of my labor. There was nothing for me to do but lie in bed and rest, waiting and hoping I’d not give birth too soon.

And then, because of my wondering about whether the author’s daughter died suddenly, I thought of my son’s death. On the surface, one might say it was a sudden death, or unexpected death. But because of his illness, his dying was like my birthing him—it was an extended (and sometimes scary) process. In the joy, those trials are forgotten. But today, in my sorrow, I remember.

And that's how grief is. You're just bopping along, minding your own business and bam, you're in another space and time, sometimes crying, sometimes laughing, and always, longing for presence, for touch, for one more conversation, just a tiny moment longer, please.

(Could we just sit together a minute, one more time?)

(It is his birthday month, this year will make 5 years, one of his friends posted something on Facebook about thinking of him and the tears falling as she worked, my youngest daughter and I dreamed of him on the same night. This is grief: the memories and tears flow, they mix and mingle with the rest of my life's current. The grief does not consume me. It does add a wash of color here and there, changing the landscape of my life, like the seasons of nature change the landscape of the earth.)

 (If I could find the entrance to get to you, would I enter? 

Truth is, you are not gone. I stand on this shaky ground holding you in my heart.)

(My thoughts on the "You Are Loved" card.)