FUN!

I am having a real blast with my paints! Experimenting with techniques and creating abstracts is new to me, and I am loving it. There is a real sense of excitement I experience when I look at a completed abstract and try to see if I "feel" or "see" something in the painting and then come up with a title that fits.

And, bingo! I did with each of these three. I especially like that none of them look the same.

(Carnal Cosmos~Watercolor)

(Jellyfish Soiree~Watercolor)

(Filtered Hope~Watercolor)

The fun is mine...mine, I tell ya!

"I did not think; I experimented." ~Wilhelm Konrad von Roentgen


Run your fingers through my soul~

A HOME FOR EVERYTHING

This is a photograph of my daughter's new pet. Do I hear a collective "Awwww, isn't it so adorable" from all of you? Nah, I did not think so. ::grin::

Yep, this snake was a birthday gift to my daughter. One of her friends gave it to her. She was elated to receive it. My first reaction was not particularly a joyful one. I had mucho questions to ask before I knew whether or not to be calm or to wring the neck of her friend.

Calm won...eventually.

Since the death of our poochie near the end of December, my daughter keeps visiting pet stores and The Humane Society. She is on the prowl for a dog. Nuh uh. No way. I am not emotionally ready to replace that little bundle of white fur with another canine. Nor do I want a cat. I have endured a few snit fits from her when I put down my foot and refused to let her bring home any four-legged pet.

And it got me a snake in the house. So much for working around Mom's rules.

My daughter likes Khleo. He slithers around her wrist, up her back (and mine), and basically just travels and winds itself around anything and everything. She tends to him well making sure his aquarium home is the correct temperature and the water in the bowl is kept clean.

I admit I let out a semi-subdued shriek when the daughter told me there was a mouse in my freezer. WHAAAAAAAT? Oh yeah, she said. It is what I am to feed the snake. I told her under no circumstances was I to SEE the mouse. Fortunately, the mice are kept in plastic bags inside of a brown paper bag. All she has to do is heat each bag in warm water before feeding it to Khleo. I refer to them as "boil in a bag" dinners. And I take no part in doing it or observing it. I sure as heck am not going to watch it being devoured.

But, this snake adds to my daughter's happiness, and, in turn, that makes me happy.

I am a softy. ::sigh::

"I've always liked reptiles. I used to see the universe as a mammoth snake, and I used to see all the people and objects, landscapes, as little pictures in the facets of their scales. I think peristaltic motion is the basic life movement." ~Jim Morrison


Run your fingers through my soul~

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

(Acrylics on canvas panel)

A typically busy time of year is the spring, and this year is no exception. I have been lax about posting entries, just as I have been about going on my journal/blog travels to those of you whose words I love reading. Soon, I will go on an around-the-world trip via this computer to visit all of you.

As for this journal o'mine, in recent weeks there have been many times I have wanted to sit down and write and write and write. Much I could say about a number of things, yet I choose not to. Maybe because sometimes saying less is saying more. I do wish our media would at least occasionally adhere to that school of thought.

So, amidst the violent, horrendous, and upsetting occurrences of late, I worked on this painting. 'Tis sometimes my way of escaping the insanity that exists in this world of ours.

For the first time, I painted a picture that was based on a poem I wrote. A poem none of you will read. It is private. For me only. Its words define my existence.

It was an interesting experiment to see if I could make the two one and the same. I think I did it. I hope I did. I feel I did.

And just maybe while you view it, it will make you forget the ugly events for a time.

"Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards." ~Soren Kierkegaard


Run your fingers through my soul~

TOO MUCH

How much is too much?

My mother. Her heart literally broke when Daddy passed away. It is sadly touching that his passing caused her healthy heart to suddenly become a diseased one. When you have had a grand love for almost your entire life, the shock of the loss can do wicked things to that vital organ.

Some people never do understand the power of that kind of love.

Example. My father was in Neuro ICU following surgery to stop the bleeding from his ruptured brain aneurysm. He was connected to every kind of machine imaginable. It was too soon to know whether or not he would be able to speak, move, or understand anything. His condition was listed as critical.

The heart monitor was perched above his head. While holding his hand, it was all too easy to find yourself staring at that monitor. Constantly making sure his heart was staying in a comforting rhythm. Of course, it was usually irregular and a source of worry for us. We took turns holding his hand (his right hand was curled up as a result of the bleed, so we usually held his left). The monitor showed the erratic beats of his heart. How hard it was working to function. We all exchanged worried glances during those times. Yet...

Whenever my mother took hold of his hand, we watched the monitor in sheer amazement and wonder as his heart started to slow down and find a steady beat. This happened time and time again.

There was one male nurse who dismissed our belief that Mom had the ability to stabilize his heart. He was a "by the book" kind of person. If it was not a fact in a book, it did not exist. He said it was just a coincidence. I recall taking hold of his arm as he started to walk away, and I basically got in his face and told him that not all that is real is recorded in any damn book. That sometimes things happen because of love. Through love. He said nothing. But, you know? His demeanor changed after that. He became more open, friendlier, and he shared some of his personal life stories...ones that caused him to want to become a nurse. And he ended up being one of our favorite nurses.

Now, Mom is the one with the faltering heart. The heart that is not just hurting because she lost her beloved husband. It is hurting because it is damaged. A valve is and has been leaking since Daddy's death. She has had several hospital trips to have cardioversions (heart shocking) performed. She had a pacemaker implanted. She is taking heart medicine. Yet nothing is working.

She was scheduled to go into the hospital this past Monday to be monitored while being put on a "big gun" heart medicine and to have another cardioversion. A three- or four-day stay it was to be. The arrangements were made.

I canceled them.

My mother, sisters, doctor brother-in-law, and I all discussed this insanity. It is a quagmire. Are we merely putting a Band-Aid on a gaping wound? Is a second opinion warranted, even though it puts Mom through the stress of starting anew with tests and such? At her age, could she physically handle surgery to actually REPAIR the broken part of her heart? How many cardioversions and medications will she have to go through before she gets relief? Tentative plans are to meet with a new cardiologist. She is grateful we are all so involved in being sure she receives the best of care.

But why doesn't holding her hand in mine fix her heart?

"Sometimes I wish I were a little kid again, skinned knees are easier to fix than broken hearts." ~Author Unknown

BECAUSE SMOOSHY HAPPENS

This is my "smooshy mood" entry. Yes, smooshy is my word for this particular mood. It is a time when I could easily laugh or cry, but always due to something or someone I perceive as loving.

Monday nite, my hubby was still out of town on a fishing trip. My son was working and then with friends to watch the NCAA Championship basketball game. It was girls' nite in the house. The daughter and I. For reasons that I will not go into here, my mind was fraught with memories. Some tender. Some sad.

The daughter and I camped out in the family room to watch THE game on the big television. It was nice being with her. Listening to her remarks. Answering her questions. The outcome of the game was never in doubt. Florida was clearly the better team. Hell, they define what teamwork is all about and what unselfish play is. There is a tremendously sexy player on their team...Joakim Noah. During this season, Joakim has experienced much negativity from various sources. He is an exuberant and vibrant force on the team. His father is the famous tennis player Yannick Noah; his mother is a former Miss Sweden, Cecilia Rodhe. I think he is gorgeous. 6' 11" of yumminess. And I love how he displays his emotions. Florida won the game. I watched as Joakim worked his way up into the stands to reach his mother. The loving embrace they shared (as well as Joakim's obvious tears during the long hug) touched me.

And I cried. Wait. I sobbed. My daughter looked over at me, her mouth ajar. I could not stop crying. It had moved me so much. She asked why I was crying. And my voice was unexpectedly loud as I choked out a response, "Because that's what mothers are for. To give support and love and be there for their kids." She had a smile on her face and came over to me to give ME a hug. Yeah, I am sure she thought I had gone around the bend. I probably had during those minutes.

My son's birthday was today. My one-time infant who is now a young man. That transformation happened when I turned my back for only an instant. I could go on and on about what an incredible kid he is. How his kindness, healthy self-confidence, work ethic, determination, and drive should be bottled and sold. The world could use more people like him.

As has been my tradition with both of my kids since their first birthdays, I wrote his annual birthday letter to tuck inside of his card. It is a journey backward for one year. A recording of the significant and maybe not-so-important events that took place since his previous birthday. The jottings about him as an individual. His qualities and characteristics. It takes me a long time to write. I tend to stop and reflect on each paragraph I write, making sure I have captured on paper what I want and need to say. He has come to look forward to these letters (which are saved). He genuinely absorbs my words and takes them to heart. That makes me feel wonderful...and smooshy.

I will be writing another one for my daughter in about two weeks when her birthday arrives. I suspect I will again experience the smooshiness I felt while writing her brother's letter.

Wedged in between their birthdays is my wedding anniversary. So many years together, but our wedding day is forever etched in my mind down to the finest of details. Another smooshy mood on the way.

I think maybe we all have occasions when this type of feeling prevails. We probably do not all express it in the same ways, but inside it is identical.

And it does us a world of good.

"I believe the greatest gift I can conceive of having from anyone is to be seen by them, heard by them, to be understood and touched by them." ~Virginia Satir

Run your fingers through my soul~