Something Speaks to Me

For the first time since before I surgery I did squares today. The context is yesterday I felt good enough since surgery to move around and do things, tasks and fun things. But it cost me energy. And this morning I feel reduced, unsteady, slightly dizzy, raw. I did squares as I listened to music and I swear they leaped out and grouped themselves. They spoke to me. This happens. I'm not sure what the message is, but I received it. Sometimes a collage comes together that, when I look at it later, astonishes me. Because connections are there, ones I saw and made, and others I didn't realize even as I glued them down. As I finished the last square, I began to cry. Who knows why. Just grief. Sweetness, and grief. 

Whoo boy. Today I get to see the plastic surgeon and they take off the dressings to examine healing. I'm not ready (but am ready for the drains to come out and shower!).

My son gave me the sweetest mother's day card yesterday. Love love love.

Noticing

Day 5 after surgery feels pretty much like day 1. It's untethered to tasks beyond the bed and bathroom. 

I wrote that last sentence and ran out of steam. Noticing "I" am inside, waving my hand through the ether to grab onto another word only to find emptiness. And feeling flat about that. A state of being powered on but in standby mode.

In this physically diminished state what I've noticed over the past week is the daylong concert of birdsong. I'm unable to pair what I hear with the bird type, but there are at least a a dozen types of songbird singing their hearts out. And of course the wild turkeys and crows, oh my god the CROWS. Those assholes like to get started loudly around 5 a.m. and squawk for at least 90 minutes. At night I hear screeches of Barn Owls, eerie punctuations in the dark. Sometimes I hear Great Horned Owls giving the classic hoot-hooooot. 

When I sit really still, I feel my blood pulsing rhythmically through my body, and I notice the force is enough to shake my head minutely, a small vibration. 

My heart says hi. hi. hi. hi. hi.

Sacraments of the Morning

Sacraments of the Morning

Isn’t it enough
to feel a chill as you rise from a warm
bed, stumble to the bath and with
nimble fingers attend to your body’s
needs, button your shirt, to balance
as you put pants on one leg at a time?

Isn’t it enough
to hear the morning news, the coffee
maker gurgling as you eat your
Wheaties with skim milk, to listen in
the comfort and illuminated safety of
your kitchen as rain rattles the roof?

Isn’t it enough
to inhale the earth’s perfume of wet
dirt, worms, roses and jasmine blooms,
to smell even the faint fumes of the
world’s morning commute as you join
with humanity for the day’s business?

Isn’t it enough
to taste the fresh tender day and
savor the strong bitter brew from
your steaming paper chalice as
you await the train under the shelter 

with others huddled like pigeons?

Isn’t it enough
to observe the blur of cinderblock
fortresses adorned with graffiti, the
lonely artifacts of life strewn across
anonymous backyards, to notice the
window cat watching the morning?

-- Kathryn Harper

“Cold Rain, Warm Colours” by Fred Rune Rahm, CC BY-NC-SA 2.0 

Say Good Morning

What do you do 

when you head into the morning 

to pick dandelion leaves for the rabbit, 

and you meet a

pea-sized spot of joy on a plant?

-Kathryn Harper

The Crows Wait Patiently

Two crows on a bare branch,
one grooming the other
as the nigh spring sun sets;
a breeze makes shadows dance

over the empty bowl.

-Kathryn Harper

Such a Fun Bun

 

I spent this afternoon painting this lil guy in my art journal. I'm in an art/craft/snail mail swap group, and one of the swaps is to paint a whimsical bunny following this tutorial from Painted Willow art. I had a lot of fun playing with it. Once I apply wax seal to protect the paint, I'll cut the paper and mail it as a 4x6 inch postcard. Everyone in the swap is doing the same project, but of course each one will be unique. I'm looking forward to sending this bit of happiness along. 

May As Well Show

Not much to tell. Just showing today's art journal practice.

Feb 26 Art Journal

Every Day Like a Vitamin

I'm 62. My child is 18 and will head off to college this fall. I did the heavy lifting of mothering for 18 years, and while I will always be part of my child's life, they will launch into their own. I have more time, energy, and mental capacity free to use in different ways. Working as a therapist is one project, and I love doing the work. I missed it so much before returning in 2021. 

Another project of mine has been to renovate my life in such a way that I become physically healthier and more fit. Losing weight and regular intense exercise has improved my life so much, particularly my mental health. And goodness knows with the state of U.S. politics, I need to take care of this.

Lately, though, I've noticed I am prioritizing creating daily. It brings such joy and equanimity. It feels as important as eating and sleeping. It puts me in a flow state that enables me to be a decent human being and do good things in the world. But most of all, as I'm getting older, I'm acutely aware that my remaining time is finite and precious. I am going to die. Every day I wake up and put that awareness front and center in my attention, because I want to spend some time every day doing this activity that makes my life rich. When I'm on my deathbed, I want to have no regrets. I want the satisfaction of knowing that I gave myself to life and really engaged.

So every day since January I've been collaging (posted here). And lately I've been making small abstract paintings with watercolor, and converting other painted paper into notecards. It makes me grateful to be alive. And I am grateful to myself that I've made this practice a daily priority.

Noticing

I was cleaning the sink the other evening, and when I pulled the stopper out of the soapy water, this large bubble was attached.

Naturally I whipped out my cell phone to take some photos. I like this one best (despite the shadow of my finger in the lower corner), because the reflective iridescence is beautiful. I see the kitchen windowpane at the top, and other indiscernible objects from the counter. It lasted several minutes; then a subtle shift in the air breached the bubble and *pop*, it was gone. 

I would categorize this as a glimmer -- a moment of fascination and joy. 

Appreciating Glimmers

I've been known to pack away my favorite Ben & Jerry's flavor, Chunky Monkey, every once in awhile. I can pretty much get that any time. However, every year in February I await the return of one of my favorite treats, the Baskin Robbins flavor of the month: Love Potion #31. It's a decadent white chocolate and raspberry ice cream, infused with raspberry swirl, chocolate chips, and little chocolate hearts filled with raspberry. I try to enjoy is several times throughout the month. This is a small joy, a glimmer, that I appreciate returning every year.