No Headaches

I run a weird ship. Because the priceling and I live with my dad and his wife, the only spaces I have are in my room and my garage. I take care of the kitchen, but it’s not my happy place as I don’t enjoy cooking.

Last weekend, I hired someone I know who is just starting their cleaning business. She came in and did a spanking good job on both rooms… so good, in fact, that the kitchen became my happy place.

Don’t get me wrong, I knew what I needed to do. Clean my room, declutter some area, purge purge purge. I started the process, but then life happened and it went on the back burner and…..

I made the call. Help me with my spaces. Please. 

The picture above shows about 1/3 of the crap in my closet. Here’s another  view 

I didn’t think we’d get it done. I Had to make choices:is it useful, does it make me happy?  And does having it on display make my life more serene? Yes, a lot of stuff was cleared out, my art work moved around, just so I can breathe in here again. 

It gets hard to be creative when you’re holding on so tightly to everything. I had insurance bills from 2 years ago, reams of stuff I just didn’t need or want. And some stuff, like the princelings art work went into a file.

After next weekend, when I get the garage done complete with new chairs and a crafting table, I’ll turn that artwork into a scrap book.

Time for me to leave, my lovelies. I feel the urge to put pen to paper. 

My mind is clear.

Here’s a photo of the after

Trust me when I say it had been covered in cords and clutter. It’s now my happy place.

My art collected at Stockton con got a new home, with lots of white space.

Please

How are you doing? She asked. So I proceeded to gripe and whine, not thinking that she had called me.

She doesn’t just call to chat. Even as teenagers, I was the one who could talk on the phone for hours. She does better with eye contact, a shoulder bump….just being there. And yet, she called me.

She told me, after I was done, the words that females dread. We all do. Our hearts stop when we hear the phrase I found a lump.

I babbled. Told her about Planned Parenthood which apparently sucks where she’s at. Told her to check into this and that and all the while my heart had only one prayer.

Please.

Please, God. 

At one point I told her that I didn’t know if I was saying the right things. She said something profoundly true… even just breathing on the other end of the phone would have been the right thing.

She didn’t need my words. She needed my love.

She needed me.

So I will continue calling and texting and pretending to be General Shelton. And I will continue my prayer, my plea.

Please.

Love Never Dies

I know this to be true:

Love remains, even when all that is left is a memory.

Love remains, through the years you should have had together.

Love remains, even as grief changes the very molecules of your soul.

Love remains, as you live your life, alone or with others.

Always, always, love remains.

Love never dies.

Do you ever…. #sketchorama

Do you ever have a project that you’re scared to start? I do. I am.

I signed up for Sketchorama with The New Bohemian Gallery.

I am not an artist.

I am a writer. Who is sometimes inspired by her photographs.

And who got a crazy idea to join in with all the other artists.

The writing is easy. Much of it is done. But do I hand write it? Or print it out and glue it in? That seems like cheating… but I will have to figure out a way to get the photos in the book (I’ve been thinking of trying a clear, matte sticker/label). I feel like I should use my handwriting, as it’s more personal… byt will anyone be able to read it?

I’m doing something outside my comfort level. Much of the writing is done, it just needs to be put into the sketchbook.If only…. If only I could draw. BUt then I’d be an artist of a different stripe.

And yes, I asked first if written words would be ok.

It is.

And still… still I’m frozen. I’ve written the opening page– and I love it. I’ve hand written it in a card and sent it to my Aunt who is magnificently artistically talented . (Hi Aunt Mary!) But actually putting it into the sketchbook? Ummm…

What if I make a mistake?

My sister, another magical artist, says just to do it. That sketch books are meant to be personal. And still I freeze.

But that’s ok. I have a secret weapon— Regina is coming down on the holiday weekend. And I know that if she reads this, before she leaves to go back home that first opening page will be written in the book before she leaves. And as much is already written (going with the theme of water: ocean, river, bay, etc) and some will come new…

But I bet it will have that first page, handwritten, before she leaves.

 

Yesterday, tomorrow’s and today

Yesterday, as I was sitting in my throne crying because of the choice I had to make, I thought to myself… I’ve been to tomorrow. It sucks. Alas, there was no trip to my happy place with good friends, tiny houses and lots ofnlaughter. Instead I slept off a bug that snuck up and attacked me.

But that phrase stuck with me. All day and into this morning.

Who would say that? Would they be in poetry form? Or perhaps… oh my gosh I’m getting an idea for fiction? Can it be true? After so long apart? I know I have another idea, revolving around Face Rock in Oregon….

My imagination is at play, and I am enjoying it. Did it need a rest? Or do I just prefer variety? I think it’s the second one, personally. It’s very hard to peg wynwords down… and I like it that way. A Kaleidescope of crazy imagination that brings me happiness.

Even in the midst of missing out on something I’d been so looking forward to.

Take my lovelies, I’m off to work on a few ideas and sip my sprite.

Tomorrow and Tomorrow

Tomorrow I get to go to my happy place. Santa Cruz, California. I love that town.

I do not love the drive up there. Twisty, winding roads. 

But the city, itself? It’s very bohemian, artsy and I love it.

But not as much as I love the ocean. It recharges me even as it settles my soul. 

So tomorrow and tomorrow’s tomorrow, I will be gone. No internet, no problem. I’ll have my notebook and pens.

Be safe, my lovelies.

Until tomorrow’s tomorrow.

Giving

Sometimes it’s the ones who are hurting the most who give. They fling love and comfort out into the world, even as others deny it to them.

My niece has a whole host of health problems. Because of them, she is in constant, debilitating pain. They run the gamut from her spine to her heart to her intestines to her sinuses and a whole lot that I know nothing about. Somedays, even breathing hurts. 

But I know what hurts more.

There are those who say they love her, and who probably do… that say it’s all in her head. Or are casually cruel: ‘you’re getting fat’. Well, 1. The amount of steroids she’s on swells up her face and 2. Her whole host of medical problems kind of makes it hard to excersize.Her body has turned on her, and so have the people in her life.

And yet. And yet. 

And yet,she is one of my favorite people. We go places together, not alot… but hopefully enough. 

And yet, I know I can call her when I’m having a problem. When I’m lost, I know she’ll help me find my way. And when I’m so frustrated that I’m sobbing, she’ll make me laugh, pick up a ridiculously low priced printer for me and solve the problem.

I called on Sunday, crying because of childcare. My father gave me 12 hours notice that he was leaving on a trip. .. and none of my usual backups were answering the phone or able to help. I had 2 options, if I stayed at the house (which I have to do)…. but they both involved juggling. 

I’m not a good juggler. Things fall, and break, all the time.

So I called her, crying. I only expected her to listen. Instead, she gifted me with a solution. One my son is ecstatic  with, and I am grateful for. I can handle 1 ball in the air.

My heart is easier this week. Her heart… it physically has problems. But the other heart?  It’s bigger than those problems.
Thank you.