Hello 2015

January 2015 selfie

In classic style I have missed making a big statement at the beginning of the year. Here it is a few weeks in and I have had some time to think about what I might attempt to achieve this year. And let's not forget things happen. I have come to expect this. Sometimes the thing is predicted or suspected, sometimes it's a complete surprise. Since I cannot control such happenings I am dedicated to making good use of change because it seems to be plentiful.  Every change is an opportunity to work harder, try a new approach, change my mind, be happy.

I began 2014 thinking I might die shortly but it turns out I likely have a way to go on this earth. Realizing that, I have made a list for 2015:

Keep on going as I have been only more so

Go to the dentist

Keep thoughts organized through daily journaling

Do more cardio

Use the internet for more productive things than browsing social media

Swear less

3D print a pair of shoes

Write an artists statement

Plant an herb garden

Write 12 letters to 12 people about art making

Consider blurring the line between art and design

See more art/theater/film

Write a memoir

Make more clothes

Travel somewhere in a plane

Celebrate birthdays of friends and family with more gusto

Preserve food

Read more

Watch TV less

Post signs

Embrace my mammalian existence

The First Quilt I Ever Made

The first quilt I ever made took me 10 years to finish. The large squares were chosen from my mother's leftover clothing. She often made our clothes growing up and certainly made her own. All these examples show her simple lifestyle and earthy practicality as well a hint of Asian minimalism. The clothes she made for herself in her early womanhood were practical and sturdy based on her descriptions of them in a letter to her mother around the time she got engaged to my dad, but she made much fancier things as well. I recall a hostess outfit she made in the late 60's that was satin with a high Nehru collar and tiny red buttons down the front that closed with tiny loops. There must have been a hundred sets of loops and buttons. I often wonder where that particular dress ended up. It was long gone by the time she died and I started making this quilt. I am getting ready to make a second quilt for my husband which I hope to complete in less time than this one took. A friend encouraged me recently to make one thing everyday. I think I can do this. I think I can slow my brain down and turn off the chatter and just cut and sew. My mother managed to make things well and often while raising the 4 of us and all the while keeping the chaos of daily life at bay. A fine role model she was.

June Blog

So what happened in June was I had the second surgery to remove my thyroid. The good part. The bad part went in January. It took a long time to get over in the winter. I felt profoundly wounded. I had had a huge scare at the discovery of the tumor  and then it took quite awhile after the surgery to get the results. So then I know something that I didn't want to know, but the good news is that part of me was in a trash heap somewhere. The nut sized cancer stopped dead.

The second surgery was easier. I had an idea of what to expect but the process of healing is still a job. The first 3 days were okay and then I was on my own for a few days which was not ideal. I should have asked for or demanded more help. After 10 days they took the bloodied bandage off and pulled out the sutures. The surgeon exclaimed "this looks great!" patting himself on the back for my benefit.  Somehow the incision site is less painful than the first time and I am grateful for that. In January I did not touch my neck near where they cut into me for over a month, despite knowing that gently manipulating the scar helps to soften the healing tissue. I felt apart from my body. 3 months after the first surgery I could feel connections being remade deep in my neck. Just around the time of the second surgery I was finally feeling normal. So I was more prepared for the second offense but the healing was still work that had to be done. In all it took about 3 weeks to feel okay again. There were real highs and lows during that time but then it all just dissolves little by little and before you know it you're getting up, getting dressed and going about your business like nothing happened. I was fortunate too that two other friends underwent surgery around the same time as me so I was able to help them and also have some really helpful discussions about healing. The surgeon only presents the landscape of the surgery they don't ever discuss in depth the after effects of the anesthesia on memory, the bowel, general outlook. In addition to the aftermath of the surgery I was also getting used to taking daily 2 or 3 Thyroid pills. At first 3 was too many and I felt horrible and jittery and I wasn't sleeping. The surgeon suggested backing off to 2 and that was a miracle.

14 days after the second surgery I awoke one evening, after a good weekend of playing tennis 2 days in a row and I felt so profoundly sad it was alarming. I climbed into bed with my husband and he rubbed my back as I drifted back into sleep. I felt badly about the damage to my body, the irreversible-ness of it all. The news came back, the pathology report was clear. No cancer in the side of the Thyroid they had removed but it was hard not to think, why couldn't I have kept it and used it rather than taking pills for the rest of my life. I felt again like an insignificant wounded animal up against a force much larger than myself and while I was grateful for the care I received it's hard not to feel like a statistic and a board recommended course of action. Am I out of the woods? I think so but the treatment continues, there will be another major test I will have to undergo in September involving Radioactive Iodine and 2 week diet beforehand. I will comply, what other choice do I have?

So all this is to say why I never blogged in June and maybe why the blog has been sparse all year so far. I am fine. I am here. I will prevail.

Diagram of Me

Swirling.
There is a black dot at the middle of an empty page.
It is labeled, Me. It is not me but a representation of me.
Above it I imagined the heading WORK and a long pencil line connecting the two.
Me and work. I am imagining a diagram. A central mark with radiating lines.
Words on post-it notes. Nourishment and enrichment, two different things to Me.
Nourishment I imagine is painting, knitting, sewing. Not food. It sits below Me.
Food is represented by the word FOOD. It is to the right of Me.
Enrichment sits below work but above me. Learning and reading. Worthwhile.
I have another list that could dot the pencil line between Me and Enrichment on the way to WORK.
E-book technology sounds enriching but it stands to the left of Enrichment and lower down,
at the same height as Secret Signage Project to the right of Enrichment but higher than me. I could pull the trigger on that one any day now. HIKING sits to the left of me. It is a dreamy goal waiting for the snow to melt. MAKE SHOES sits next to Nourishment under FOOD. I have tried to hold all these things in my mind, putting them on paper releases the grip of my brain and frees it up to think creatively about the small steps that dot all the connecting lines. Impulses along thin pencil lines
on blank pages in endless notebooks. Journal entries dated and begun and stopped after one written
letter M—R—S. The page abandoned in favor of what? Items from the list that jump out and pull me away before I have a chance to record them or put them into the diagram where they might make sense. Does it count as a list if it never made its way from brain to hand into letter shaped pencil lines. I am thinking differently about the diagram. Rather than the long laundry list of things one must do. The diagram is a celebration of all that it is possible, radiating like a sun, and at it's center is Me, making it all happen. I have resisted lists as they make for messy pages in Sketchbooks but a diagram. A diagram is a thing to behold. As the diagram evolves I develop a deepening understanding for all of the activities I am engaged in and I can see where my practice lies. Working which is the key to my survival can be exactly what I want it to be. Nourishing, enriching, satiating and it's important to keep moving about, vigorously if possible. This is me.

Nothing to report.

Sagittarius

"Don't think the garden loses its ecstasy in winter," wrote the Persian mystic poet Rumi. "It's quiet, but the roots are down there riotous." I think you're like that winter garden right now, Sagittarius. Outwardly, there's not much heat and flash. Bright ideas and strong opinions are not pouring out of you at their usual rates. You're not even prone to talking too loud or accidentally knocking things over. This may in fact be as close as you can get to being a wallflower. And yet deep beneath the surface, out of sight from casual observers, you are charging up your psychic battery. The action down there is vibrant and vigorous.


This seems pretty accurate to me. Stay tuned.

Sketchbook Project Completed

 

The book is a journal of my daily walk. 

And what it feels like to be 49.

  

Thinking about the past.

Keeping an eye on nature.

 

Trying to stay grounded. 

What I think about when I walk.

And the things I see.  

 

And the way I have structured my life in an attempt to be creative. 

 

Front and back ready for packing. 

 

Ready for stamps!

Now that it is done, such as it is. I keep feeling like I want to look at it again and then I remember
it is packaged and going away. It's a strange sensation. Freeing perhaps. If you get a chance to
go and see it as it travels around the US, please let me know how it's behaving with the other
wee books.

Reprieve

The governor of all that is creative has given me a reprieve for the Sketchbook Project I started but did not finish. I needed a fire lit under my ass which came in the form of this message. So on I go, ill feelings be damned.

Resolute

I'm a late bloomer a slow mover despite my long legs which make me appear to be moving around quickly. It takes me forever to get to things, I feel like I have been waiting for something big to happen that will compel me to act and act quickly but it's not really happening. My resolution this year is to finish a couple of major projects that have been hanging around. One is a story about the day my mother died. It's been 15 years and I have multiple drafts, the most recent one I wrote over Thanksgiving break about 3 years ago. I just reread it this morning and I can see where it can be improved. The question that arises for me is when to work on this and when to make it happen. When will I get down to work, when will I stop writing about writing and simply write. Reading the piece is hard, it has flaws, and it is sad for me to read. I think my writing has actually improved a bit in the last few years thanks to this blog and also to all the books I have been reading. I am more critical than I used to be and so I must be careful not to feel like it's all shit and then be left with nothing. Instead I think I have to go piece by piece, word by word and rework it slowly but with an end in mind. If any of you are interested in being a reader, let me know and I will send a draft along for you to read and comment on. Help me out of my writing adolescence. I will get it done and then I can move on to the next project.

New newness

Happy new year to all. As I empty the crumbs from my keyboard while my bowel expands and contracts from overuse I feel positive and quite vibrant despite two weeks of bodily abuse. Even though I felt crabby and forlorn yesterday, bored even, by my limited existence, this morning I am renewed. I have dismantled the Christmas tree and tucked away neatly all the little decorations and this activity has strengthened me even more. Managing ones own chaos is so very good for the soul. Things are not perfect, were they ever? It doesn't matter. I am to forge ahead, keeping busy, keeping it light, keeping it real as they say. I like the new year, sappy as that is. The clean slate, fresh page, new notebookness of it is inspiring.

My Way

Christmas is looming on the horizon. I get near daily reminders from my young protege that the countdown is on, the expectations building. I used to be into buying gifts, long ago in a land called Los Angeles when plastic filled my wallet. I recall distinctly staring into my medicine cabinet at 5 or 6 matching bottles branded perfectly for my particular demographic, cleanser, toner, moisturizer, fixatives. I felt completely complete staring at those frosted bottles with their signature grey tops. I had graduated from the green kind and would soon be onto the next iteration but something happened and I stopped consuming, stopped feeding that internal emptiness with stuff. The cards got paid off and the accounts were closed. I feel no ill will toward the consumer society that surrounds me, my lack of consumption is not a political act I just don't want to buy stuff for the sake of buying stuff. My budgets are pretty tight lately and so I can't rationalize a spending balloon at a time of year when I need things like heating fuel and warm sox. I look around my studio and house and I have mountains of supplies waiting to be put to good use, an excess of raw materials. I like giving gifts and I like making things and I like to keep my hands and brain busy when the nights grow long. This year I have decided to embroider some small pieces for the people on my list who I know already have more stuff than they could extract quickly from a burning house. I do like Christmas and one of the things I like best about it is decorating the tree, hanging all the ornaments that various people have given me over the years. I unwrap them carefully one-by-one from the tissue beds where they have been laying dormant waiting to spark my memory with warm thoughts about their origins. This year as I have done in the past I set about creating those memories for others and in the process I feel full and warm and I am pretty sure that's a valid experience for this time of year.

Here's a finished piece that has already found a home next door with my good friend. She was quite pleased with it and I was too. Mission accomplished.

Validation

I made this for a book cover I was working on but ultimately it was just an excuse to play a little bit with painting on chip board, some collage with lovely green images cut out of Vanity Fair. I made the photo of myself in my office. I like the back view, it is our most unfamiliar view of ourselves and I think represents all we don't know about ourselves. The brown leather suitcase was my mothers. She kept all her important documents in it. I should consider keeping her ashes in this case instead of the cardboard box where they currently reside. So many things to do. I was cleaning the studio tonight, the ritual reclamation of the creative space and the return to it. I made this piece when the weather was still warm and it came out as a burst, unselfconsciously. Because it was not chosen for the book cover, I cast it aside and then due to occurrences this week when I came across it tonight I decided to accept it as a valid creation. I have been reconnecting with some long time ago contacts in my field and that has set me to thinking about the nature of this work I do and helps me to see all that I have done and how to make it better. It's a time of gentleness.

Direction

I am lost in a forest of thoughts and ideas and they all look alike and after a time I realize I have been going in a circle because I am passing the same un-acted upon ideas and having the same negative conversations about why they exist and why I can't make them happen. I looked for a picture of myself today in a trunk in an effort to free myself from the concentric circles I grind into the ground and before I found what I was looking for I found what I needed.

This was the journal my mother took with her to Greece the September before she died. I made it and another one for myself so we would have some small books to document our travels. She was already very sick by then and so she only wrote in it a few times. I wasn't startled as I might have been that the last date she recorded nearly matched today's date. I took it as a sign. It is my discovery so I can attach my own meaning to it. My mother has stayed connected to me even though she is no longer here breathing the air, growing old, she faces no complications and so she has time to encourage me as she always did. I am struggling as I always do and now with the additional weight and confusion of peri-menopause which seems like a dragon I must fight with all the time that breathes fire onto my anxiety level and sparks it ablaze driving me deeper into the woods. I choose to take these small discoveries as moments of salvation where my mother reaches out and taps me on the shoulder and encourages me to move ahead and because I am a dutiful daughter, I do. I try to think of one thing at a time in order to get out of the forest of my mind that I so often get lost in.

The little photo I was looking for will be used in a piece I am making for a show in my hometown at a gallery that my mother was involved with for years. The piece is about who we are based on where we came from. I grew up in a northern town beneath a beautiful mountain with a sparkly blue glacier and everyday it watched me. If I can make the piece and get it off on time I think I will be making some progress in knowing the way out of the darkness I often find myself in.

High Stakes Dressmaking

 Vogue 8813 Marcy Titlon

My very good friend Lois is getting married on Sunday. In typical fashion I could not decide what to wear. I blame a lack of belief in God and the fact that I work at home. Because I don't believe in God I do not go to church so I don't have a closet full of Sunday best outfits that might also do double duty as wedding attire. Because I work at home I tend to wear pretty utilitarian costumes that afford me both comfort and function. I can work, take my daily walk and clean the chicken coop in the same duds. It's ruthlessly efficient but it puts me in a funny spot when I actually need to dress up a little. Another hurdle is the whole body image thing but I won't go down that rabbit hole this morning.

I had a few ideas about what I wanted to wear to the wedding and basically none of it worked. I hate shopping and I did make an effort, I dragged Pearl around the mall and several small shops one afternoon and found nothing but a few very sympathetic saleswomen.

Some months ago Lois gave me a rather nice beaded necklace so I decided to build my outfit around it. I happened on this pattern from Marcy Tilton who I met at Sewexpo in February and I had this green color in my mind. So off I went on Tuesday to town, gave the shopping thing one more try but came up empty handed. I bought the pattern and this lovely green linen and went home. Keep in mind this was Tuesday and the wedding is on Sunday. I have a tendency to leave things to the last minute, I am not sure what the psychological implications of this activity are but I do it often. It seems I need fear to motivate me. I washed the fabric and cut out the pattern on Tuesday night trying not to think about the whole process all at once. I find thinking only about the next step keeps things more manageable. On Wednesday night, while apparently locked in some destructive internal power struggle with my Self I watched TV with Pearl until 10 and then began sewing once she got off to bed. I had to rip out one of the pieces after sewing, notching and pressing it, amazingly it did not discourage my fretful easily put off Self. On Thursday I began sewing at after lunch and continued on until 7. I just kept taking the next step, reading the directions carefully and then rereading them. The dress is allegedly an east to sew pattern but the structure is slightly complicated. It has these crazy huge drapey pockets and the front is smocked.

Smocking detail

For the most part the dress is complete except for the hem and 2 buttons that keep the oversized pockets from looking like saddle bags. I like it but I can also see how I could make it better. My fabric choice was not ideal, a lighter weight fabric would have been better. Will finish it all up on Saturday and despite my best efforts to sabotage myself the eternal optimist in me had a good time making this piece, it was challenging and rewarding and you can bet real money this process will be repeated at some point in the future. I have 2 more weddings to attend this summer so stay tuned.

Be prolific

This is my mantra. Too much of my time is spent second guessing, readjusting, holding dear and it all stops me. Failure is of course the big fear but it occurs to me when I am feeling powerful that making more stuff speeds the rate of failure and clears the way for success, whatever that is.

Yesterday I cut fabric for a garment before coming out to my office. I felt a little cheeky doing it and it made me think about how I prioritize all the things I do in a day. On a scale of 1 to 10, work is a 1, bathing gets a 10 and being creative is somewhere in the 9s. Why the hell is that. Shouldn't my creative pursuits be first? Please discuss.

Next Up

It's been awhile since I thought too far into the future. Caring for an elder means you live in the moment and that is where we have been for the past 8 years. Living day by day, week by week. Today my horoscope says to fantasize about a thrilling adventure you will have one day; and imagine who you want to be three years from now. I am pretty sure I still want to be me but a less worried version. In fact I am less worried these days, work is better and my general outlook continues to improve. I used to worry about losing my ambition and sinking into the couch like lost change. But dammit if I didn't get happier and then I started getting ideas again about doing things and making things and it turned into some kind of medicine for my poor tortured soul. I have actually been toying with a 5 year plan again which I have not done for some time. The last one came around the time of a grand-mal seizure I had in 1991, the same night Rodney King was beaten senseless by the Sylmar police. I lived in Sylmar then, what were the odds? I was stressed out and exhausted. My husband at the time was in the throes of some horrible anxiety disorder that made it impossible for him to leave the house. I lost my drivers license as part of the fall-out of the seizure and the one thing I needed him to do—drive me around—he could not do. I needed a plan so I made one. I concocted it late at night when I lay in bed afraid of falling asleep waiting for my brain to fail me, it involved moving away from my comfy job as an Art Director at A&M Records to create a life that was a mix of what I had known growing up in rural Canada and a car commercial that was playing on TV in 1991 for Isuzu, that involved a guy driving down a mountain side to get his mail. This spoke to me and so the 5 year plan took shape. It actually took about 4 years to realize but let's not split hairs. In the ensuing years things have happened in 4 or 5 year increments. This year marks 10 years that Mark and I have been together and 15 yrs since my mother died. So I am looking ahead. With Eddy no longer what we are planning around in the short term we can turn our minds to what we want to do next and it feels good and light despite the sadness. I have no answers yet, just some broad strokes and loads of ideas that I am not holding onto too tightly, rather I am watching them flip and fly and entice me to keep moving forward, coaxing coaxing.

Grocery Store Confessional

I got into one of those random conversations with a near stranger in the local Trader Joe's that got me thinking as I walked away. The cashier was speaking to the customer on line ahead of me. The cashier was confessing her lack of attendance at the gym where the customer worked. I piped up and said I have to admit I have never had a gym membership. It's true I am not a gym person, I go occasionally but not religiously like some, I prefer my long rather meditative walks. The cashier cocked her head and said well you're lucky, you're naturally slim. I scoffed at this a bit and it got me thinking.

I am tall, at over 6 feet, I am 60% leg. I weigh between 182 and 190lbs depending on what season I am in. I do not consider myself slim, in fact I most often see myself as slightly pudgy. In reality I am not fat. I have a round belly but my arms and legs are long and fairly free of fat. I have a flat ass, I can't sit on hard chairs without my it hurting. I recognize that my perception of myself may not accurately reflect my physical reality but maybe that's a good thing. Honestly I try not to think about my body as I find my size sort of freaky.

I am not going to confess an eating disorder here, I don't have one. What I am realizing though is that I don't see food as convenient entertainment, I see it as a necessity and it's preparation an artful practice that is orderly and logical and subject to much control. I am not a faddist. I am trying to maintain a healthy body and I have strict beliefs about how to do that. I have that quote on my fridge and the fridges I frequent, "Eat food, not too much, mostly plants". I think before I put things in my mouth and there are many things I simply won't eat any longer. I buy whole foods, meat, cheeses, grains, fruits and vegetables. I have fewer and fewer presto fallback foods. I still get that feeling of wanting something naughty like a doughnut or cake, I generally want the bready or the doughy but if I can just think about it awhile in a rational way I can usually easily dissuade myself from the craving.

Consequently I think a lot about food and what I should eat to keep my intake well balanced and interesting. I have the big picture in my head of what I have generally been eating and what I have eaten on any given day. I carry the macro and the micro view around with me, always weighing the findings. Have I had enough beans or grains, enough cold water fish, too much dairy, too much salt, not enough protein? At the moment I am attempting to train myself away from white flour and sugar which when I went at it hard core before Christmas yielded a 5lb weight loss which was a pleasant side effect. More importantly I noticed that my general anxiety was much less severe because my blood sugar levels were more constant, this is what truly motivates me, a feeling of calm.

I have been accused of being controlling and it's probably true but in a world where we have so little control over most things I feel okay about controlling how I am feeling through diet and exercise. I am less concerned about how I look since my view is fairly distorted anyway it's hard to gauge. If I feel good hopefully I look all right and if my 501's fit me that's ideal. It's funny to realize that others make these assumptions about a person's body. If only that cashier knew that I spend my day weighing and considering what to eat making sure never to have too much, denying myself all sorts of things in the name of physical and emotional enlightenment.

Reading and Writing

My main resolution this year is to read more, a lot more. This will mean fewer meaningless blog posts and much less facebooking (thank christ). I bought a Kindle Fire and among the books I have on it is the title shown above. It's a brick of a book so lends itself well to a digital format. I am well into it and find myself reading late into the night and early in the morning. My mind is trained on the story and the time passes without being distracted by my own random thoughts. It feels great I have to say. It's like learning to breath underwater for extended periods and then before you know it you have developed gills and you stop coming to the surface at all. This is what I want, total immersion.

FYI, my goal for this blog is to write less frequent longer posts. I have to develop my ability to write in a more sustained way and develop an idea fully rather than just flit around here and there. Stay tuned.

Day 81

I am not one for wallowing or whining. I have been unable to write because I have fallen into horrendous laziness. I mean to write and I wake up early to do it when the house is quiet but I refuse to leave my bed and then I decide I can write in bed, if that is what it takes, but I don't write much because I know inside that one needs to sit up properly or even stand if possible and somehow I convince myself to stay in bed and an hour passes and I think I need a little nap so I turn over and then I am done. When I wake up the next day and cannot reach the notebook I write in I decide that maybe I should be writing short pieces or god forbid finish the other 9 things I have on the go and the bed feels warm and I decide to get up and be a super mom for an hour and then go to work. Everyday the little emails come from the writing group and everyday they are right on. I don't know the whole the story yet and maybe I don't care but I do because the last time I wrote I discovered a love triangle that was not there before and that was interesting and I felt curious but then the bad me drank 4 glasses of wine and stoked the fire and got under the quilt and fell asleep until the middle of the night and went to bed and read the rest of "War of Art" and realized that my territory is my work, I am happiest there and I just happen to have a lot of it right now and so the story trudges on. It takes me a long time to do things, we know this. Many things I have done and finished and liked took me a long time to do. I might not finish the story in the prescribed remaining 9 days even though I keep telling myself I will suddenly begin to go hard and race to the finish line my pages flying around me. It won't happen that way. I will take a walk each day and find time here and there to write and rewrite and to think about the whole thing in pieces and I will not sling mud at myself and tell myself horrible things about my habits and tendencies, instead I will re read all the emails and be curious about the story and one day it will resolve itself and the whole experience will be framed as positive because it was the first time and I took it on and I kept going.

Not much.

This is all I can safely say. Tuesday I begin writing the novel in earnest and I can't talk about the story to anyone. I have to hold it close to my breast like a sacred object. In the meantime I will try and write about other stuff like the freakish chickens I am raising and our rising sadness about Eddy who is now living in care and knows it isn't right. We're all dying but his case is more acute. To tide you over here is a picture of me with my new love interest.

Untitled

So it's day 13 of the meat bird project and day 24 of the 90 Day Novel. I hope I don't confuse the two. I jut moved the chicks out of their stock tub into a child's swimming pool which felt like pure genius to me as the tractor I have for them felt too big and drafty. The pool offers some additional protection. I had one death yesterday, probably from  a heart attack due to rapid growth. These birds are genetic freaks, their thick post like legs tell the tale. I continue as I am told, to imagine the world of my story, the characters are emerging like slow moving zombies out of the primordial ooze. I am still distracted so I am reading the The War of Art which is all about resistance. It encouraged me to blog today because as we know too well not blogging is akin to becoming constipated. I have issues but I am trying to train my mind away from them and toward the world of the story. It's more interesting.