Getting to Absolute Zero

Written last night:

Dear Friends,
Around here, some people had the day off and some had to work. I decided to take the day off —  to not go to the gym, and never mind that Monday is the hardest class! That had NOTHING to do with my decision to stay home. Not to cook or clean or even paint and draw and read and shop. 

I have been trying to simplify my life, because I feel a debilitating sense of urgency that makes me want to hustle. It’s because I know now for certain that my days are numbered (never mind that I do not know the number), and also that I just plain want to focus on the good things. So it made sense this morning to take a break, breathe, focus, meditate —To remove myself from the urge to DO things. 

Secretly, I thought that by not doing anything, everything would get done. 
But nothing got done.  No checking off my to-do list. I’m not sure this makes sense, but by not doing anything I didn’t do anything. 
It was indeed a relaxing day. Hope you had the same!
Love,
k

Painting flowers while it's hot

Written Monday:

Dear Friends,

Do you ever get to tonight and forget the details of the day?
I can only remember broad strokes: exercise, buy coffee, talk with a new friend, paint. 

Today I learned the term “chemo brain.” Perhaps you’ve heard it; maybe you’ve even endured it. I learned it today from my new friend, a nurse. She said that people getting chemo are often not really themselves for awhile, maybe as long as two years after treatment. You don’t necessarily get a chemo brain, but you might. It’s a small price to pay for staying alive. 

I feel like my brain too shattered when Clark died, and is now reassembling. In some ways I may never be whole again, and in others I might be stronger. A simple example came today - I got a new toaster. But in Tallahassee we had four (yes!) toasters. For some crazy reason I was certain I’d never make toast again, so I gave them all away (you might have one … enjoy it!) My action did not make sense. 

I made many decisions in this fog, and I still am. Some gut knowledge guided me, and it seems to be working out. Thank you for helping me.

Tuesday

It was hot this afternoon. Very hot. I painted flowers.

Love, 

k

\\

18" x 20"

Finally -- I'm worrying about stupid!

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I know I'm getting better because things are starting to bug me, worry me, annoy me.

Like when someone slipped an unsigned note under my door this afternoon: “Please flatten all boxes. Thank you.” And there was a photo of the trash bin, with a box — intact, yes, mea culpa — addressed to me. Grrrrr! Didn’t they have the dignity to sign their name? Didn’t they realize the box was filled with recycling trash? 

But wait! Thankfully, I remembered how nice, yes, nice, it is not to care. To shrug and thank them (I know who it was!) for the reminder. And to go on to pay attention to what is really important.

Who needs to worry that the screws are too short in the closet door, so now it is hanging crookedly? At 3 a.m. it seemed tragic. Today I bought longer screws. 

Not long ago everything worried me — so intensely that in the end nothing really mattered. Pain obliterated details. At least now I’m worrying again. And now I know time’s too precious for that.

Love,
k

You are beautiful

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I’m just wrapping up — yes, I believe I am — just wrapping up loose ends here in my new home. Clearly, this is now home. Not perfect, not ever complete, but comfortably mine. Three rooms full of space, color, memory… My to-do list is finally brief, and this morning I accomplished a few last bits — even got Rosa a good car wash (don’t tell anyone— but it’s just the second she’s had in five months!), and Zing is caught up on his shots and flea medicine — chores Clark used to take care of, and harder than you might think to incorporate into my life. Clark would be happy with the way we’re beginning 2017. 

Instead of New Year resolutions, I’m picking three words to keep in mind for the month, and I will repeat or change them in February. When Clark died in June my words were Purple Couch, Spirit and Beauty. I think Purple Couch is finished for now. I’m keeping Spirit and Beauty and adding another, which I haven’t decided yet. 

I was considering the word beauty as Zing and I walked past the yoga studio around the corner from the vet's office. I was thinking how we are each free to define beauty for ourselves. That seemed like a revolutionary thought. Then I glanced up and saw this sign pasted on the window we were passing: It said You are Beautiful. 

Yes, you are!

Love,

k

Good grief!

Written last night:

 Good things today:

It began with a long, talking breakfast with Patrick. I love talking with him. How great to talk to your kids adult-to-adult! (Let's face it -- At this point, Patrick is much more the adult than I am!)

And my car is here! Patrick took care of the delivery, and drove her to the hotel before noon. Then we swung by a car wash and up and down a few streets to acclimate me to California driving: short blocks, pedestrians who (mostly) obey the lights, narrow lanes, one-way streets, bicycles and motorcycles galore. He turned the car over to me and that is when I got nervous. For practice, I considered taking a 40-minute  drive outside the city through the college town of Davis, and then to Winters, CA  (“You’ll get caught in terrible traffic on the way home.”) or just meandering  the streets of Sacramento for awhile. (“Mom, don’t you think it would be best to practice when there’s very little traffic? Why not go out early tomorrow morning?”) You know, he was right. I’ll learn my way around California soon enough. For the day anyway, Rosa is parked. 

This afternoon my sister Patrice and my friend Janis each gave me a surprise phone call. And I do mean GAVE. Hearing their voices was a gift. I echo Janis, who said that social media is great, but sometimes you just have to hear the voice. 

Also got the American Express card switched to me. It took an hour or more, and that was with everything going smoothly. 

Despite all the high points, now, in the evening, I feel numb and my brain is ringing. This must be stress or anxiety or grief — those professional words that I have come to hate. As a language lover, I believe that you must give things a name -- for instance,  “What you are feeling is grief.” When you name a thing you can deal with it, or so the idea goes. Recently I have read some pieces on grief, and I have been given a book or two. I find I resent having my experience analyzed. Knowing what’s happening, and naming it is supposed to capture life and settle a person down. But no. 

Perhaps this cussedness is also a symptom of grief. 

(Don’t worry! I’m feeling fine now. I just want to tell the complete story; I figure maybe you sometimes feel that way too.)

Love,

          K

Neither dreaming nor awake

Written last night:

Last night when I stirred I was neither dreaming nor awake. I felt Clark standing at the side of the bed; in a moment he leaned down and gently set something by my pillow.  I felt its small heft. And then, when I wasn’t yet awake, I turned, as you can only turn in your dreams, and saw in the covers by my head  a tiny owl, all fluffy and golden, shining and alive. Beside the owl, toward the back of my head, I could feel a bigger weight. It was a golden-red fox, alert and still, looking over me. I felt a great comfort in the shining wash of light, and smiled up at Clark, and he beamed back at me. The owl, which Clark knows I love, was for warmth and kindness, and the fox was protection. Then, just before he left, Clark placed Zing in my arms.  

My 2015

All year long I make a list, noting highlights big and small. 2015 was crescendo and gorge and lots of ordinary changes.

1. In April Clark's brother Rig died.
2. My quilt Beach Dream was in Southern Exposures show at the Ruth Funk.
3. I sold some art -- people LIKE  it!!
4. Turned 70.
5. Vegetables and fish -- eating better, not exactly by plan
6. Kitchen renovation -- a magnetic knife rack in a sunnier room
7. Bud & Angel go -- What, you don't know the names of your vehicles? 
8. Traveled. Visited family in California, Clarkston, Cincinnati and Columbus. Visited NYC for Picasso show.
9. Fell in love with painting. Doing it, I mean.
10. Purse returned by NY taxi driver -- stupid me to forget it. But I'm almost glad I did -- his kindness and honesty revive my hope for 2016.

The Smartest Kids in the World

The Smartest Kids in the World: And How They Got That Way by Amanda Ripley
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Don't we all agree that education in the U.S. could use a fresh take? Amanda Ripley tells us what it's like to be an American exchange student in one of the countries where high schools are "better": Finland, South Korea, Poland.

A couple of months ago her book was much-discussed. Now it seems to be off the radar. But her observations have merit. Here are a few:
1. Ripley says local control is "hard-wired for inefficiency" ( p. 34).
2. Parents who engage kids in talk about big ideas -- movies, books, current affairs with teens especially -- will have kids who are better readers ( p. 108). Parent volunteering at school, on the other hand, does not seem to affect student achievement.
3. Read for pleasure and your kids are more likely to do it too.
4. Take education seriously -- more seriously than sports even.
5.  Make teaching a high-level profession in training, in both respect and pay.
6.  Have hard tests, especially a hard and useful matriculation test at the end of high school..
7. There must be meaningful opportunities for everyone. Equity is essential to good schools.
8. The best way to evaluate a school is not by word of mouth, but by visiting when school is in session.  Are the kids interested, paying attention, working hard? (208).
9. High school graduates  should be able to write an essay, develop an argument, and clearly communicate an idea. But many can't.

You've probably already heard that students work too hard in Korea, routinely studying in private tutoring offices until 9 p.m. before heading home. Ripley also reminds us that Korea and Finland have gone through hard times in recent history. They value education as a way out of that era. Americans, Ripley says, have been lulled by our country's wealth. We don't take education seriously.

I usually get mad at non-educators when they make recommendation, but Ripley keeps to her role as reporter; she doesn't really tell us what to do.


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Storm

Monday Zing! and I were running at Phipps Park, in the low area by the lake bed, and suddenly we were chased by storm clouds. It was sunny when we started, but ...  Just the day before I'd been scared off our front porch by a lightning storm. Still, I have to admit I considered bypassing this wooden viewing tower. I thought we might outrun the storm. However, Zing! persuaded me to be careful, and I'm grateful. Shortly after this photo, we relaxed on the bench upstairs and watched the grasses flatten and the trees bow down. Birds stopped singing and butterflies disappeared. We heard only rain on the wood roof. Lightning. Thunder. It reminded me of being at anchor in our old sailboat the Partnership during one of those wild Great Lakes storms. I loved it. Even Z! put his ears down and relaxed after a while.

It was a long and private time.

Then the rain slowed, the weeds stood straight, and I began to hear birds and swat mosquitoes. As we jogged again along the path, we were confronted by a big spotted tortoise. I've never seen one in this part of the park. Then a deer poked head and shoulders from the protecting trees and seemed to find everything satisfactory. I imagined these creatures were, like Z! and I, quietly exulting for some unknown reason.

Artists who inspire me

People ask which artists inspire, and I usually blank out. But I want to honor those who inspire me.  The list changes as I find my way in art. But for today it's these:

Economy -- Miro

Line -- Bridget Riley

Color -- Hendra Gunawan

Florida Artist -- Miami -- Enrique Martinez Celaya

Subtlety -- Agnes Martin

Humanity -- Caravaggio

Judith Beheading Holofernes

Balance -- Kenojuak Ashevak

See also
http://indiancountrytodaymedianetwork.com/2013/01/13/renowned-inuit-artist-kenojuak-ashevak-walks-146934

Brilliant Ohio artist -- Jenny Holzer

Verve -- Nuria Mora

Favorite classic art -- Winged Victory of Samothrace statue in the Louvre

Favorite contemporary wings -- Book with Wings. Anselm Kiefer. Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth

Social awareness -- JR

More on JR
1. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/in_depth/8091890.stm

2. video about a video on JR
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wFThZIJuH5o


Collage -- Joan Schulze

Mystery -- Peter Doig

100 years ago

Texture --Thornton Dial. High Museum, Atlanta.

Buying, saving, spending time

Life is not a dress rehearsal -- so I've heard.  At 67 I kind of believe it. We die.  Eeek!

Remember that saint who kept a human skull on his desk? The guy who always kept death in mind? Jerome? Really, I don't think they have shown us kids that Caravaggio picture. I prefer the sugar skulls a Mexican student once gave me.

Still, I'm getting careful about how I use my remaining seconds. Making art is near the top. It's like discovering what I was born to do. Which leads me to my rules about time:

Don't hurry.
Go slow.
Do less.

From the Ruins of Empire

From the Ruins of Empire: The Intellectuals Who Remade Asia by Pankaj Mishra
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I am surprised at myself. Why was I so engrossed in this long, complicated book? Because it gives me a little awareness of my world. MY world, yes, and also the world of many who have different values,  relationships to Europe, definitions of the good life. Now I know a little more about the Mideast and the Far East. I taped a map of Asia to the cover of my iPad for reference. This book showed me what I don't know.  Mishra, who is from India, is mostly objective, like someone patiently describing  his home to outsiders. He is not harsh, but doesn't hesitate to explain that in many cases the East does not trust the U.S.  And he shows why.




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Poet Marie Howe

Marie Howe is one of my favorite poets -- I keep her book What the Living Do beside my chair. Here's Krista Tippett's interview with her:

http://www.onbeing.org/program/the-poetry-of-ordinary-time-with-marie-howe/5301

Howe went to a Sacred Heart school and praises the experience. Nice to hear her. It's so hard to explain why I loved (most of) my time at Carrollton, the Sacred Heart school in Miami.  Howe does it for me.

10 things 2012

Already deep into 2013, I remember I never told you my list of 2012's notable bumps and blessings. I've got the list; when something changes me I write it down. Lots is simple, notable only to me -- but who wants earth-shaking? I'm an ordinary woman observing the marks in my life, and no doubt missing many. Enough with the dismissives -- here is my 2012 list:

1. Running belt -- I finally discovered the elastic kind with pockets. I used to run with my phone and keys slap-slapping my stomach. Kind of sloppy. That's what comes from not being a joiner: you find out late what everybody could have told you long ago.
2. Mom's dinner -- We all got together in Columbus to toast Mom's 99th birthday -- several months after the freezing January day when she actually celebrated.
3. Art quilt group -- Turns out there are plenty of us in the area who think of quilts as a starting point for new beauty. We've been getting together once a month.
4. Clarkston in the summer. That's Clarkston, Michigan, where Chris and his family live. We loved visiting when so many Turners were there for Rebecca's high school graduation.
5. Quilt accepted at SAQA. Studio Art Quilt Associates sounds high-falutin' to me. Never thought they'd hang Beach Walk in their Florida show. I loved becoming part of this challenging group.
6. I'm an artist. Yes, that's what I say now.
7. Back to spirit. I don't know why I wrote this, but I did. Spirit made me.
8. Activity is good. I wrote this after realizing that it's actually true. Shocking to someone like me, who even hated being a spectator. (I still do.)
9. Sons: Mark said he is taking charge (with Rachel) of Mom's 100th birthday celebration. Nice.
Sons: got a sweet Mother's Day note from Patrick. Nice.
10. Porch. We added a screened-in porch to the back of the house and now we practically live out there.

Big art at High Museum

I stood right about here, loving this big art by Thornton Dial at the High Museum in Atlanta, when a guard came over and said, "We've got a whole show of his work coming. They're setting it up over there." (She gestured beyond the hall where we stood.) I love the texture and power. It gave me chills. This (I don't remember its name.) is one of several Dial pieces in the Fast Forward: Modern Moments show. We can see lots more in The Art of Thornton Dial at the High through March 3.

On my way to Ohio last week I stopped at the High, just off I-75. I'm glad I did.  Here are other striking pieces I saw:

Mark Rothko

layers of thinned oil paint

on unprimed canvas

detail

Radcliffe Bailey

acrylic, velvet and glitter 

on canvas

American Modern Pitcher

Russel Wright

Steubenville (Ohio) Pottery

(OK, OK -- I was a kid in Steubenville, which is famous for mud and pottery.)

The Shock of the New

The Shock of the New by Robert Hughes
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Robert Hughes died, so I got this book from the library. I didn't know or love Hughes, so this is just about the book, not his illustrious career as an intellectual. Wow! I love this. It's an art history of the 20th century. Hughes loves the beginning -- Impressionism -- and hates the end -- big $$$ for little art. I wish I'd copied quotes; every sentence has layers: art underpinned by history and philosophy -- not to mention Hughes' often funny and always deep-seated opinions. I'd love to see the way it was made into a TV series, but can't find it on Netflix. It costs $80 on Amazon. A used paperback is $22, but I might spring for it.


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Hand stitching

Clark's left-hand fingers were creaking, and he had surgery to fix it. I admire the needlework!

Happy New Year!

This morning Zing! and I walked the foggy beach at St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge. Zing! chased fiddler crabs and I watched fish jump. It was a dreamy beginning to 2012. Clark stayed home and cooked sauerkraut (which was delicious).

As each year goes by, I note things big and small that make a personal difference. 2011 was the year for:

1. Cedar Key
2. French press coffee
3. Ballet
4. Old friends
5. Clark gave me a fine sharp knife.
6. I joined a health club (and one month later it closed).
7. When I had to make a choice I picked the easy way.
8. I sold quilts. Someone loved my quilts.
9. A poem came to me complete in the middle of the night. And I remembered it in the morning.
10. I was walking Zing! and a man drove by, then stopped abruptly and backed his truck to us. He rolled down the window and I swear he tipped his hat. "With all due respect, ma'am, you are beautiful," he said. Rolled up the window and drove away.
11. Wow! Clark and I just switched our daily New York Times and Tallahassee Democrat from paper to iPad. We have cherished our morning coffee and newspaper moments for 30+ years, and were certain we'd be the last to relinquish newsprint. (Maybe we are.)
12. My cousin Mary Jo died. She was the first (in adulthood) of my generation to go.

Poet at a loss for words

My Dyslexia by Philip Schultz


Philip Schultz is telling me what it's like to be one of the students I tutor. He was a terrible student, often in trouble in school. He couldn't read until he was in fifth grade.  No one thought he'd end up a poet -- let alone a Pulitzer Prize winner. He'd been led to think of his predicament as a mix of stupidity and cussedness, with a tinge of insanity.  I've always been the opposite -- what my mom called a "bookworm." I naturally turned to writing and then teaching. Reading teachers are often people like me --  and we can't get inside the skin of people like Schultz. But he found the name for his predicament -- dyslexia -- not long ago. When he decided to start this book he got depressed. Dyslexia had woven itself into his life in deep and painful ways. Reading still gives him pain. But words give him pleasure. I am glad he finally wrote about how this can be.


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Untitled

I finally got moving on this piece -- I am NOT calling it Grief, although the image began with a summer news photo in a graveyard; it had lovely swirling lines like scarves in the wind. When the idea was germinating I privately called it Grief. Then I told people.

"If you have some grief you need to work out, then go ahead," one prominent quilter said to me at the Quilt Surface Design Symposium in June.  Yes, I do grieve ...  but her words didn't sit well. I don't make things for psychological relief. So I paused.

But I kept having dreams and conversations. "Grief is a part of life," said a friend who has lost her brother. "I know that by now. .. The first grief, that one surprises you. After that, it hurts, but you know you'll get through."

I do want to make this quilt. I love it already. Last week Agnes Martin surprised me with the answer: don't think. Trust inspiration. Thanks, Agnes!