ReinventedVoices

I don't know that I will write much in here, but I felt like simply saying that I got a studio space in 2015, and had my first art show in October of 2015. My health settled down so that I could more or less establish some work patterns.

I just thought I would show you a few of the paintings I finished along the way.


This is called "Night for a Moondance."

I named my show for this picture, which is about 36" x 25" matted and framed.

I was lucky enough to have my Unitarian Universalist community throw me and opening night, then allow me to have eleven paintings on display for a whole month!


While I did not sell my large paintings, I DID sell five paintings that were smaller! I also had the pleasure of seeing more than 80 people come to my opening night, show them how I do my work and just bask in the joy of it all. This painting is water color on tissues and lace papers. I paint my own papers, and every leaf is a torn bit of paper. The moonstar flowers are three layers thick, and there are parts of this that are about ten layers of paper. The waterfall is the 300 pound watercolor paper.

Anyway, I shifted from writing to painting for now. And I sing with my Thursday night women's spiritual singing circle. I am about to move YET again, back to my hometown of Manchester. I am excited about that because it is also where I share my studio space, and where my spiritual community is.  As those of you who followed me know, I am the last of my family--at least those with whom I was close. I have reconnected with dear Brother Jack's family, and my Dad's nephew Ken. Mostly, though, my friends remain the closest family I know.

I may have to write you all the story of Obsidianna, the REAL Easter Bunny, however. I mean, you all know about the proof of the existence of elves, but you may not realize that the real Easter Bunny is black. My mom taught me this as well, when I was about six or seven. Plus, there is a woodsprite named Verdrianna, who lives on the edge of a forest that borders the yard of a young boy and his little sister. I may need to write of them, too. We'll see. I have learned not to promise, and I do not expect many--if any of you--will read this. I realize my photos of paintings are on my phone and I need to transfer them to upload. That's okay, too.

In the meantime, it has struck me that I owe a great deal of the creative life I tend to lead now to this blog, to people who encouraged me, to the practice of writing my truth in here. I have contact with some of you on Facebook anyway, so that is wonderful. Regardless, if any old followers stop by, please know I am grateful that you read my harder stories. I am grateful that you took the time to tell me you were moved by my story of the hells of hospital stays and other things, and that you also cared about the lighter moments.

I hope to read any blogs that you all have kept up with in here. I suspect many are long-since abandoned. We move on in our lives and that's a good thing. Here is to lives of creativity, joy, growth, and love.

My life is changing drastically ... for a change. I will have to be moving again in August and I do not know where I am going to land. It is a strange place to find myself: about to be far poorer than I knew I would be, having to let go of most of my things or find somewhere to store them, and not know where I will live.

So I have little creativity in me just now. I must say that my  life is rather a roller coaster. Some who have followed my blog might say that's understatement. I want to write. I sit down and I open my blog to write and find my mind a blank mass of panic. I find that when I sit to paint.

This stuff about trying to live in the moment and allow answers to gently show themselves is a lot harder than I like to admit. I panic then I get calm for a few days and accomplish a few things, then I panic again because I don't feel that the things I accomplish take me any closer to answers. I do things I will have to do no matter what.

Anyway, that is an update for those who still check back, who wonder where and how I am. I ride my bike and find the irony in just how powerful my legs are on the recumbent bike to nowhere, or to everywhere... How strong my legs are when they are working.  How strong my legs are when I do not have to be upright to walk. Even when I walk, for those short distances before my back screams for me to stop, my legs are powerful, as are my lungs and my heart. I continue to lose weight a teeny bit at a time. So long as the direction remains the same, I do not focus on that. I focus on the strength, on the power of my lungs to withstand up to two hours at level 14 out of 16, averaging more than 16 mph. And my heart returns to normal within two minutes, sometimes in a minute. I  can sing and sustain notes far longer than I could over a decade ago. For some reason, I have found I am a soprano after about twenty years of being an alto. This is the opposite of how this process normally goes.

But I cannot remain upright appreciably longer for it. My spine is my spine is my spine. The pain interferes or the medication does. Trade offs. I do what I can and it has helped my overall health.

It has not been enough to spare me from impending poverty. Yet others are worse off than I, so I don't ask for sympathy here. Or anything. I think I am simply talking about my life.  Sometimes writing about it makes it real in a different way; oddly enough, it helps mitigate the fear.

It's a strange process and one I may find myself writing about. The sudden need to downsize more than I have, to let go of things that are ALL connected with people in my life--my possessions are about 90 per cent gifts. I hope to join forces with one friend or another, perhaps both one day. But I have such limited funds now, this may not be workable for one or the other. I cannot pay what I thought was certain.

The details don't matter. I had reason to believe my income was secure, that an inheritance was a sure thing. To have both fall through without warning has been overwhelming and terrifying. Yet I cannot help but think of those who suddenly have lost jobs, as one friend is more than likely about to have happen to her. About families with houses they suddenly lose, with children to worry for and about. I am a boomer who was disabled for over half of the years of normal productivity. I DID work my way off of disability twice in my life. I DID do the best that I could and that's why I have what I DO have I guess. Yet we have the messages thrown at us constantly that we are failures if we are poor. Takers, not makers. And there is nothing less valued than a mateless woman over fifty in our culture.

I wish I could find a way to work even ten hours a week for someone who might see value in me. Who might consider me worth even $20/hour to write copy for their company publications, or the website, to help with administrative issues, to use any of the skills I have acquired.

I am not over yet. I want to write a song for us boomers. For those of us who didn't "make it," who have physical limitations but who feel we still COULD contribute. Where do we find jobs that are fewer than 20 hours? I know that there are those jobs out there. They are not likely to be advertised, though. Those are the positions or opportunities found through personal networking, not general.

So I will network. I will try to figure out a way to supplement what is so tiny an income from Social Security. If I earn what is "allowed" for too many months, I would lose a monthly amount that is higher. It is a screwed up system, their "incentives" to work. I took those risks when I was younger, trying to make sure I was earning FAR MORE than what I was paid through disability to make up for the loss of tax-free income. But I am going on 62 now. But I could nearly double my income if I could work just 10-15 hours a week, doing what I know how to do. Tutoring. Writing. Reviewing non-profit administrative documents for accreditation. Advising.

I'm not over yet. I am not over as a  woman; I am not over as a writer and an artist. I do not WANT to be over as a contributing member of our society.

I am, however, afraid. I have faced poverty before, but now it is here. Unavoidable. At an age where I truly don't know how to keep that freight train from running me over. And I know there are millions more in our country like me, who have tried. We may have made mistakes along the way, but sometimes people make mistakes and avoid the consequences. I have been lucky. And I still am. I have many people in my life who love me and whom I love.

It is a lesson in swallowing pride. It is a lesson in learning to be honest at a bedrock level, even if it feels humiliating. I don't like it. I don't want others to feel this way. When someone says, "God doesn't give us more than we can handle," I want to scream at him or her and throw things. a) This ain't from God. b) Sometimes life IS more than we can handle. I don't particularly feel that this holds lessons that will make me a better person, thank you very much. It simply seems like more ICK to have to cope with.

That said?

I'm not over yet. I don't know what the hell that even means just now. But I'll try to get a grip. I will try to find whatever I had to find in the hospital, whatever I had to find when my husband left, when my daughter died ... when my brother died, when my sister died, when I faced losing my house. I will try to find whatever my incredibly strong friends have found when THEIR children have died or they lost THEIR homes or faced illnesses.

They are not over yet either and they probably haven't figured out what the hell that means, either.

So. I guess I will try to write about this latest chapter as I go through it. And I will try to do this living in the moment thing for the next month or two, while I cannot know where it is I am about to land. Several of us have suddenly been catapulted into the air, very, very high--and we haven't a clue, ANY of us, how or where we will land.

I'm already editing here, a moment. I think I keep returning to this "I'm not over yet" thought in its greater context. My very small but scary life is a reflection of far too many lives, I think. And I DO know it is not just women my age who are going through this.  We boomers are a huge segment of the population that contains some of the most affluent people in the country as well as some of the poorest. But, just as other generations don't want to be considered as a lump, I'm finding myself having a visceral response at times. We are about to bleed the economy dry.

Well, some of us would just as soon go on contributing, albeit in a small way. And even if it meant my whole pathetically small Social Security income were taxed again, okay. I don't CARE about that. You know, we do not necessarily want to be side-lined. I know a man who, at just about 60 walked away from a job in a company he helped START because he was so sidelined, and landed a job in the cutting-edge of his field, focused on an area he'd encouraged the backward company he'd been in to explore. It made me so happy to know that his experience and his brain got him there, especially nowadays. But this is an exception, though it shouldn't be.

So I guess I will wade through whatever I am doing, perhaps hoping giving testimony to this small life will resonate with others who may be going through similar experiences. Perhaps someone will think twice about mining the experience of us "elders." I don't know. Or perhaps someone like me won't feel so alone, as I have felt less alone reading other stories.

Perhaps what I am really feeling is "WE'RE not over yet." But all I can write about for now is my own life, and perhaps something truly fine will come out of desperation. It has for others; it can for me. It can for my friends.

In the meantime, I hope you who read this are okay. I haven't been reading blogs much. Panic seems to paralyze at times! I escape in other ways lately. I need to focus, but... we shall see. It's hard to be this vulnerable WHILE something is happening. It's far easier to do that in retrospect. So I'll just see where this takes me for now.

Thanks as always to those of you who read this.  I DO still believe that things can be all right and that an answer or two can and perhaps will present themselves. It's up to me to get myself grounded, in the moment, and at piece so that I can recognize an answer if and when it DOES present itself.

I thought I would share with you the latest IN PROGRESS painting I'm working on, just so you all know that creativity did not disappear from me. I am working on an entry about my friend and me... Gail and me. It is difficult because she is playing "Beat the Clock" with death, and I have known her since I was 17 and we have been more like family than just best friends since we were 19. I am her children's aunt, period. I have settled on writing about that moment for me when I knew we were connected in a way that spoke of family, not just friendship. She needs a kidney AND liver transplant. But first she has to see whether a new drug coming out in a couple of months will destroy hepatitis C. She got that in the days when we played leapfrog in the hospitals, and both had more than twenty units of blood. I was lucky. Gail? Not so much.  And interferon nearly killed her. A lot hangs in the balance in February or March. She is about to start dialysis within the month...

So my attention has been elsewhere, when it comes to time.

Still, without art, without singing, without some outlet for my soul, I could not be what she needs me to be.

ANYHOW...


It has no real title yet. This is what I had about 2/3 of the way through. The top third is just "sketched" so far. The beam is not so yellow in real life, but that's fine.  The foreground has more contrast, with more dark to it.  Perhaps I will snap a picture later today and lengthen this entry. I never tried posting a work in progress. I felt that I was not an ARTIST. Not really. Not like some of you! So I thought it was presumptuous.  But perhaps it isn't so bad to simply show how I am growing, too. I've watched Krista and Carl--REAL artists on your journeys. And neither of you would particularly tolerate my talking about myself that way. The silly mean things we say to ourselves that we'd never even think about others!

Okay. Where was I. Ah. THIS painting...

I did this in response to our pastor's sending a message to the congregation that any artist could read a draft of the book he is working on and, if so moved, create a drawing or painting that could be considered for the book. He writes a great deal about morning and hope. It's a Unitarian Universalist community, so we are connected viscerally to the natural world. It is part of what drew me there.

I've written about mornings on Lake Winnipesaukee, and I had a strong image in my head. Once again, the painting came in a dream, so it has been a long process of laying that image onto paper. I would sit on the screened in parch, deep in the island's shade, and watch the early sun kiss the foliage and branches on the shore, while leaving me in the dappled-dark seat. I could breathe slowly, deeply and simply watch the morning rise toward the house.

I have a ways to go, but it's so much fun to see my dream gradually rise there on the paper.  Anyway, I'm finding ways to breathe deeply and try to find strength inside for the long months that are still ahead.

I hope you all are well. I miss Dave King. I miss him a LOT. I see your name every day as your blog's delivered to my email, Brian, and I think how you must miss him, too.

That's all for now. Yup, this is disjointed. That's okay. My brain's just like that for now! I am so grateful for my friends who are now my family, for my son who is now my friend, for so many bloggers, people in the virtual world who are so very real to me, whom I consider friends because I think about YOUR lives, YOUR successes and trials--just as you  have let me know you think about mine. Love and caring can be very real whether or not we ever meet in person, don't you agree?

Thanksgiving is around the corner... I will be with Gail, Claire, and Adam. I will be with Chuck, Gail's ex-husband, who is walking this journey beside her, too--in his words. "Gail, you and I fight about the stupidest stuff and that won't change. We can't live toether. We are not married and shouldn't be. But we are family. And I can drive you to Yale or wherever you need me to. And I can do laundry and grocery shopping. When it comes time to do those things, I can do them and I will. You are my family." I was there when he said those words and they sure shocked the hell out of Gail and me... but in a wondrous way. That's the other kicker, that people can rise to the occasion when we assume they won't! That they can remind us of all that is right instead of all that is wrong.

Thanksgiving is around the corner.  It has been one of the hardest years in several lives that have had too many hardest years. I will be taking the holiday seriously for the first time in a long time. And Christmas will be more poignant. I will write about that another day.

For now, may you all hold families/friends/pets you love very close and remember Chuck's words, if they are appropriate. I sure will.

Hi, my blogspot friends. Warning. This is probably a profoundly BORING entry... And if any of you have looked at the other blog, don't bother. For now the search for a kidney's on hold.

Blocked, Blocked, Blocked ...
I've been mostly gone this year, I realize, and for reasons that matter. As I've written two of my closest friends have been dealing with life and death issues, and two other friends--the ones I hope to live with--have been dealing with very serious stuff. Now, this does not mean I've been running around like Lady Bountiful taking CARE of anyone. While for Gail, yes, I've been doing a fair amount of driving and attending hospital appointments, and for Paige and Don (Don has kidney failure from multiple myeloma) I have done a fair amount of cooking, it is not the physical demands which have interfered with my writing.

It is my metaphorical heart.  Emotionally, this year is overwhelming. Reaching the part of me that creates has been like reaching through sludge--not very effective.

Plus, now it turns out Gail needs a kidney/liver transplant, so getting the word out to over a hundred people that she needed a kidney, for now, is moot. She has another disease that has affected the liver because it stimulates the kidneys to overproduce creatinin. Surgeons will not risk her life even more by operating at all for now. We discovered this because she was mistakenly called at 2:00 a.m. a couple of months ago and was told, "This is your lucky day! We have a kidney for you!" She'd been on the list just three weeks and the person had been infected with the same disease, but her kidneys were very healthy and she was a near perfect match. We figured that perhaps her liver must not be bad after all. By 6:00 a.m. the surgeon called her back and we found out IN THAT WAY that no, she could not have the kidney. Furthermore she needed a liver and that she was for now, put on the INACTIVE LIST!

It's just been a nightmare for her.

Anyway, writing just did not come. Neither did painting. I could sing and play my keyboard, so that had to do for creative outlets. Contrary to what it may seem, I really do not ALWAYS want to write about unremitting pain and trauma. Actually, in some ways, I really do LIKE my life. My friends. Having different outlets for creativity. I am a very, very lucky woman. And the courage of my friends who have been going through far too much is a source of inspiration to me. They are NOT needy. They keep doing what they need to do to keep going. And they still know how to laugh.

Turns out, so do I. THANK HEAVENS.

Bike Rides to Nowhere ... 
What I have been able to do, though, is work hard on my physical health. I ride my bike to nowhere like a bat out of hell for an average of five hours a week. I log it, just so that I don't let myself slip. I use my free weights, though I want to be able to use more than 10 lb. weights. This, however, is an area in which I will follow the advice of my doctor.

Why, you ask?

In my late twenties I decided that I would get really strong after my first back operation, so I used weights machines which, back then, were not really adaptable to women and no one showed me the proper way to hold myself... I wound up with operation number two. After that, there were places like Gloria Stevens, the pioneer chain that introduced women to exercise and the concept that strong might just be good. I never wanted to be Twiggy. (For you youngsters, she was THE model of the sixties and weighed about a pound and a half. You were supposed to look like a GIRL, not a woman, and have either a boyish cut or long IRONED hair that obscured at least half your face.) I wanted to be the Queen of the Amazons. I know now that mostly I wanted this because of having been raped twice and abused by my brother, but I did not talk about such things then--hell, I blocked most anything like that within twenty-four  hours of the episode. I was an expert at that. Anyway, STILL we were not truly trained in how to hold ourselves and, well, the emphasis still was more on aerobics to "Thriller" and wearing matching wrist and headbands and having torn sweatshirt tops that also matched... with leg warmers.

Being Jeannette, oddly enough, I took that to extremes as well. Contain your surprise.

Operation number three. After that, well, there was a long break in my doing more than getting through the days, the five additional surgeries and raising my kids. I had a brief time in my early forties, after my husband had taken off, when the back symptoms truly abated and I was extremely active. By fifty, however, things slowly disintegrated, hitting their worst when I was 58.

At long last, though, when I hit Sixty last year, something in me snapped back into place. I just wanted to have the rest of me be healthy. Maybe I could not walk, but I sure as hell could RIDE.  So I started on my bike again and in the apartment gym again, a little at a time. For the first four months, I managed about 2.5-3 hours on the bike a week, at about a level 6-8 out of 16, and the weights machines for about 40 minutes a week.

Then, in January of 2013, I upped everything and decided to set myself ridiculous goals. I like ridiculous goals. I am not sure, but I think I like most anything that seems ridiculous. While, I could address this in counseling, I choose not to...

I found that Amazon Queen again. NO, not the boat from the movie. I am 45 pounds lighter and as of yesterday, ten minutes of my 100 minute "ride" were at level 14. The rest were  split between level 11 and level 13.  And I can do my upper body exercises with my ten pound weights far too easily. I have to find something else and probably will start back at the apartment gym. I wish I had the money for a gym, but I don't. Okay, I am getting obsessive and beyond boring there. I have a point, but, as usual, I am meandering toward it and, with a little luck, it will come out. I think it will be fun to be with other people at the gym for the winter. My life can be far too isolated in winter. Eventually, I'll figure out what to do at home to up my strength.

Okay, that's not meandering. That's leaving the river altogether.

 Here's the thing, though.

I am not suddenly in less pain. I cannot walk farther because of any of this.  I had hoped that I would extend my upright time, that the weight loss and tremendously increased strength would do that for me, but, as I feared, it has not. The damage is the damage is the damage.

Or maybe not...

My doctor teared up when I had my physical. No, He teared up because in the last year I have improved every single bloodwork and regular measure of health to put them... Well, he said this, "Your bloodwork, respiration, and blood pressure are better than most patients I have who are forty-five. I have never seen someone reduced their cholesterol by thirty-five points without medication or some special diet." And then I had him do the floppy foot test. He tested my reflexes and, as usual, I didn't have any in the knees or ankles. We laughed. I extended my legs and flexed my feet and smiled at him. He was puzzled. Then he pulled on both feet as he has for the last twenty-five years.

For the first time, I offered resistance in the RIGHT FOOT, not just the left. I held it for a full three seconds. This may seem like nothing to you all, but to him? To me? It means that when the pain gets to my "danger zone," and I know I have about twenty minutes to make sure I get to my car and then another maybe twenty minutes to get to somewhere where I can elevate my legs, I DO NOT NEED MY CANE. I can stand up straight and walk to the car. It's a kinda hinky walk, to be sure. But with every step I can take while standing TALL, I move the wheelchair destiny further away.

His tears spilled over. Just one from each eye, but that was enough. He had not one suggestion to make for the next year. I told him I wanted to lose another forty and, for the first time, he said, "Please. When you lose twenty, come see me again. I am not sure I want you to lose that much. Promise me that when you hit twenty more, you will come in."

I promised him, but I was kind of in shock. He told me he is not worried about my weight now. He is more worried that I will go too far. Gee. I wonder why...

So I make no promises about how often I'm going to be writing in my blog just now. Gail is so sick. Paige broke her ankle in three places so she was home incapacitated with Don, who still gets chemo and has home dialysis... Martha is over her Lyme Disease, which was truly awful and kind of scary to see. And, well, Soph (aka Linda), well, she is in another state and it is not as if she has needed my help at all. She is the strongest person I've ever known, but she has pain every day of her life. You would never know it, though, if you met her.  But, then, you would not know it about Gail, either. They simply carry on.

I just worry is all, which is absolutely NO help to her. It is my calling, I think. Worrying. Seriously, the emotions can gum up one's creativity. But for now? Gail and I are taking off to Northampton and Amherst for a couple of days, just to enjoy the beautiful New England Fall.

I miss writing. I miss reading. But sometimes I guess I simply have to LIVE my life, the bad and the good all mixed in a jambalaya ... which of course, is the point. One way or another, most of this small life I live winds up in here anyway. Happy Autumn Everybody. Hold a good thought for Gail, for Don, for Paige, for Martha, for Linda--for the family I have built of friendships. I am FINE. I have to get out of my own way, wet vac the sludge from my brain and find my creativity again!


**** PS! ****
Read Bruce Coltin's new blog  HE is the one who reminded me to balance the workouts to include the whole body, something I also learned the hard way years ago... He is just a wonderful writer, and I'm finding it fun to read about his passion. And, as I read all the entries, my guess is that I will also LEARN something along the way! Anyway, that's my shameless plug for today.