TOGETHER

Times together can be wonderful ones. The making of memories before your very eyes. Moments captured and cherished.

One of the most painful aspects of losing someone is that there are no more opportunities for new memories to be made. We are grateful for the ones we do have stored in our minds, and we fondly recall the laughter and love. During anguished times, we call upon and cling to those treasured memories like a lifeline.

Having lost my father five years ago (or was it only yesterday?), I have struggled with and fought the fact that I cannot create any new memories with him.

Well, I made a brand new one. ::beaming:: I am beyond excited. I conversed with him throughout it. I felt him with me...guiding me...helping me.

You see, the above painting was one of the very last ones he was working on when his brain aneurysm struck. It left him unable to draw. That painting sat unfinished on his drafting table. Incomplete. The ideas he had for its completion never to be realized by him.

He had to relearn how to write his name, an arduous task in itself. I bought him sketch pads and pencils. I tried to coax that fabulous artistic talent of his to come to the foreground once again. It was sad to see the pain sweep across his eyes at the realization that his brain and hand simply could not work together to once again produce beauty. The pads and pencils were discreetly put away.

I had wanted to finish it. I had no photograph to follow. Nothing to let me know what it was he had planned on adding to the scene. I could only see an unfinished house and an incomplete landscape. The sky and trees were expertly done by him and only needed a few more touches of my paintbrush. And then I began to make it my painting, too. I made the house the way I thought it should be. The color to my liking. Windows how I wanted them. I put a wreath on the front door to add some holiday warmth. A fence along the right side of the barn. Heavy snow atop the house and barn roofs. A driveway once shoveled but quickly succumbing to the falling snow that I added. A soft background of unblemished snow.

We were together again. Working together. Creating together. Being together. Making a fresh memory.

And it was grand.

"What you need to know about the past is that no matter what has happened, it has all worked together to bring you to this very moment. And this is the moment you can choose to make everything new. Right now." ~Unknown


Run your fingers through my soul~

PREMONITION

Whether or not people think premonitions are a bunch of hooey makes no difference to me. I know...KNOW...they are not. I have had enough of them to be able to discern the difference between a seemingly random coincidence and a strong premonition.

Sometimes I am not as sure that coincidences are coincidences at all, but instead milder, kinder, softer premonitions. But, that is not the subject of this entry. Premonitions are.

I get them. And when I do, my stomach churns from the lightning-swift warning. I get an almost violent and overwhelming surge of anxiety. I have been known to jump to my feet from a sitting position when a premonition strikes. My brain races to process the information the premonition has imparted. It all happens within but a few seconds.

Then I am left to determine what I should do about the forewarning I have been given. I COULD ignore it. Ah, but I have learned not to do that. Why? Because they are almost always correct. In some cases with immediate action on my part, I have been able to prevent the "bad" thing from playing out in its grim entirety. I stopped it in its tracks. I could give many examples that just might knock off your socks, but I am not trying to convince anyone to believe as I do. I am simply explaining me...and this peculiar trait of mine.

I have to admit that it stuns me when I see just how accurate the forewarning was. I have cried when all was said and done. Cried from relief that the scenario was altered to conclude with a more positive ending.

Not all of the premonitions that I have require action. Or maybe not instant action. They still deliver a tremendous wallop or a sensation of being physically ill, however.

There is one that has plagued me since December of last year. It has never left me. And it is growing stronger and stronger. I have done all I can to ensure that it does not come to pass, and I will continue to do so. Unfortunately, it is one that limits just how much I can do. I seek new avenues to circumvent its path, and maybe I have made some headway. I just have not been able to stop it. All indications are that it is proceeding, perhaps at a slower pace, but still moving.

The worst part? I already know it cannot be stopped. I feel it. It hovers. It gets pushed back a step or two, then it takes a leap forward...making up its lost ground. It will happen. Nothing will stop it.

And I hate it. I hate that I know it is there. Lurking. Damaging. Winning.

"Have you ever held something beautiful and know that it will eventually die?" ~The Blind Man by The God Machine

MEMORIAL DAY

"These heroes are dead. They died for liberty-they died for us. They are at rest. They sleep in the land they made free, under the flag they rendered stainless, under the solemn pines, the sad hemlocks, the tearful willows, the embracing vines. They sleep beneath the shadow of the clouds, careless alike of sunshine or storm, each in the windowless palace of rest. Earth may run red with other wars-they are at peace. In the midst of the battles, in the roar of conflicts, they found the serenity of death." ~Unknown

A WIN OR A LOSS?

Sometimes it is through losing that we realize we have actually won. Sounds like a contradiction, doesn't it? Well, it goes along with my longtime belief that out of bad comes good.

I have been caught in a bit of a downward spiral situation that managed to steal the essence of me. Swept up in it was my creative muse. Without it, I am hopelessly lost. Good or bad artist, I need to be able to create. Every single day. And I could not. Nothing. My easel was empty. My drafting table bare. No sparkling computer graphics designed. No poems written. I would wring my hands, despairing. The harder I tried to find my creativity, the more it eluded me.

That particular situation I was in the midst of has been resolved. I "lost" if it can be called that, since it was not a game to me. But even though there has been an end to it that is not to my liking, I have come away from it feeling more like the victor. Looking at what exists in my world...my REAL world...I am a winner. I am lucky. How could I not feel that way when I am so loved by my husband, children, mother, sisters, brothers-in-law, nieces, nephews, and friends? Reality smacked me upside the head and knocked some good old-fashioned sense into me. Thankfully. Surely there are things I wish were different, but perfection leaves little left to hope for.

And then there are the online people who I honestly feel I know as though they were here in my neighborhood. Like they are friends who pop into my home and spend time with me. The impact they have on me is a positive one. The emails I received from some of them touched my heart. I wish I could post them here, but they were sent privately. If they had wanted others to read them, they would have written them in the comments section of my previous entry. Suffice it to say, I am so very grateful to all of you for the words of encouragement and advice. You add to my sense of victory.

So yes, in my losing, I see how much I have truly won and had already won.

On a terribly sad note, I only just last nite learned that one of those online people whose heart was as big as Texas passed away recently. Walt. Bonnie's Walt. The brilliant man with the amazing insights into life and human nature is gone. Gone from here, but thriving in a gentler and more beautiful place. We lost Walt, but we all won by knowing him.

This quotation comes to me via Mary. Thank you, dear friend and sister princess.

"When you come to the end of all the light you know and it’s time to step into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things shall happen. Either you will be given something solid to stand on or you will be taught to fly." ~Edward Teller


Run your fingers through my soul~

LOST

Q & A

For my dear red-sneakered Chuckles, I am responding to some questions he has asked me. It is part of a meme that he has over at his blog. He asked for volunteers, and I was game for it! ::thinking about that:: I must have been experiencing a high fever at the time. ::grin::

Okay, here are his questions, followed by my answers.

1. Your art is therapeutic, expressive, thoughtful, and fun, at turns. When do you think that you produce your best art?

When I least expect it. Yep. I never have any idea what will be decent and what will be filed in my WTF IS THIS folder. I probably do the best when I do not overanalyze the beginning of it. I tend to be a perfectionist and used to trying to be so exact. I am slowly learning to loosen up. Happy, sad, mad, bad moods do not seem to affect the painting in any different ways. I think because the painting process itself is good for my soul.

2. What is your favorite medium for expressing yourself?

Eek! Asking me a FAVORITE? I do not think I have one. I like all that I have used; however, there is a freedom I feel when using pastels that I do not get with watercolors and acrylics. Yet, this new abstract series I did was wildly exciting for me, and I used hydrus watercolors to create them.

3. Your dad had a job that kept him on the road for a number of months every year, and featured a number of intensely busy times. At the same time, he is your, and your sisters', hero. How did he balancehis work life with his home life? If he had the same job now, would he be able to be the same father to you?

Quite simply, the man never missed a single event the four of us girls had. He was there for our piano recitals, father/daughter functions, school performances, etc. The Sundays when he was home, we went to church, to the bakery, and then he would take the four of us on special outings like miniature golfing or fishing or just rides along the river. We would go out to dinner on Sundays fairly often, too. Nice restaurants. On our birthdays, the birthday girl had a "date with Daddy." Only the two of them. The birthday gal chose whatever restaurant she wanted, and that was where the two went. Oh, how I loved those special dinners. It was grand to be all alone with him. Not having to share him with anyone else. He knew how to let each one of us know how much we mattered to him.

If he had the same job now, he would still be able to be the same father to us. He would keep no job that would have disallowed it. We were THAT important to him.

Not long before his death, I sat next to him one nite. He was quite ill and was sound asleep. I did not want to leave him. I roamed down the hall to the nurses' station and asked if I could look through his chart. The nurse gave it to me, and I took it back to his room to sift through it. And I read something that I will never forget. It was from a questionnaire that was read to him when he first entered the nursing home, and he supplied the answers. One of the questions asked what he felt was his greatest accomplishment in his life. His answer? His four daughters.

My hero, indeed.

4. How did your mother manage not to go insane?

Hey, she had four adorable daughters to keep her sane! Wait. That should have pushed her over the edge, huh? Mom is a very strong but gentle woman. She is a lady above all, and she was never one to berate or shout at us. She was easygoing enough to handle the times when Daddy was out of town. She also had a strong network of friends that she is still close to today. She was a member in bridge clubs, charity groups, etc., and I think spending time with her peers was a good outlet for her. She is a wonderful woman.

5. You don't often speak of your husband in your blog. This leaves us all wanting to know more about him. Tell us of one annoying but cute habit that he has.

The hubby does read all of my blog/journal entries; however, he is not a big fan of the Internet. Chalk it up to the looney tunes he knows thrive in the online environment under the veil of anonymity.

He is a good man who has excellent morals and values. Very busily involved in church and choir and a Christian rock group. Which leads up to the annoying but cute habit he has. ::shudder:: He plays a mean guitar. He can and does read music, but he usually picks up the chords just by ear. And when he is learning a song, he will play portions...portions, mind you...over and over until I want to scratch out his eyes. It is like hearing the same drip from a leaky faucet again and again. By the time he has learned the entire song, I hate it from hearing the segments repetitively played. (Well, sometimes.)

There, my friend...did I do you proud?

If anyone would like to be the subject of my interrogation, please let me know!

"Who questions much, shall learn much, and retain much." ~Sir Francis Bacon


Run your fingers through my soul~