Sasha’s Christmas 2021

Christmas Day was kind of weird. I was worried about the roads and Don and Carol coming. In the end, we decided they should stay home and come on Sunday instead. So, Christmas didn’t feel like Christmas in spite of the lights and listening to music. 

However, I didn’t even go all maudlin’ or spend most the day in tears over missing Mum like I usually do on Christmas. (She passed Christmas morning 2011.) It just felt like any other day. I did some writing, worked a bit in the studio, posted some photos, had a good lunch of turkey leftovers, and played SS in the afternoon.

 Here’s another weird thing: I woke at 3:30 the next morning to find my fan wasn’t running. I rolled over. The clock was blinking. Evidently the power had gone off. Funny, I usually hear the generator kick on, but I hadn’t.

There was light in the kitchen. I thought Pele must have jarred the table and woke the computer like she does sometime. I fell back to sleep without resetting the clock and didn’t get out of bed until almost 6 a.m. The light was still on in the kitchen. Why was that?

 I went out and found it was the light above the cabinets was on. How did that happen? I seldom even put that one on. I clicked it off and when I turned to go back in the bedroom to prepare for the day, I noticed a light under the studio door. I went in. The light that was on was one I never use. That was bit disconcerting. Is my house becoming haunted? I suppose it had to do with the power going out earlier, but that’s never happened before with odd lights just turning on when power comes back.

So, I wondered, was it Mum saying hello? I wanted more of an assurance… but it didn’t come… yet.

Don and Carol didn’t show up until 2:30. For some reason I expected them to come around noon, 1 p.m. by the latest. They each had a present for me. I opened the box… he’d made two wooden reindeer. They’re adorable!

Carol’s box to me had a mug she’d hand painted and a sparkly silver butterfly. The mug isn’t the type I like to drink out of (I have my favorite), but it’s perfect for the little C. cactus Rachel gave me and adds a bright spot of color on the kitchen windowsill.

I am so thankful, grateful, and feel blessed this year (much needed after the crappy time I’ve been having lately.)

A Quest to Feel Loved

 

Last night in conversation, she said since she found God, she has been filled with an intense feeling of love. (I can’t remember her exact words.) I am glad for her, but my immediate feeling for myself was the pressures of what love entails, the gives and takes, and the fear I’m not willing to give enough or giving more than I get in return. (Does this also mean a part of me believes I’m terrible at love and don’t deserve love?)

Love has been an issue I’ve been in a quandary over for many years. I touch on it from time to time, then can’t find the right words and am unable to really figure it out, so I give up on it. I’ve been so badly damaged by past love that I don’t ever dare to fully trust love again, and I’ve built very strong walls to not let it in.

Oh, how do I explain? Yes, I know how to love. (Or do I? If I really knew how to love, and let myself feel loved, would I be having this issue?) It’s easy for me to say I love Pele-kitty, Leo-kitty, flowers, nature, birds, painting, writing, etc. It’s almost like I shy away from loving people.

But I do love many people. I say, “I love you,” to family and friends, and I truly mean it, and they tell me so in return. But there’s a feel of distance, like something is held back. I hold back. I’m the one who distances.

Part of it is a stupid belief that love (outside of family) and sex are intermingled. I don’t like feeling that way and in trying to figure it out, all I can reason is that, in my younger adult years, that’s what love seemed to mean. I’ve been trying to come to terms with this over for over 40 years. It even seems stupid to feel this way, and probably no one else sees it this way, but I can’t seem to get over this. Is there something within me that by believing this protects me from further hurt?

I want to be loved, to feel love. It’s not anyone else’s fault I don’t feel it. I’ve come so far in being me, accepting myself for who I am, and yes, loving me, but there’s a piece missing. That feeling of truly being loved and the warmth and the comfort it brings about. Logically I know others love me but emotionally I don’t feel loved. (And again, my mind says that’s stupid.)

Is it being alone? But I choose to be alone. I can’t imagine ever living with anyone else ever again. But can’t I live alone and still FEEL loved by friends and family?

 Who knows, maybe by writing about this occasionally, I’ll finally get it.

Oh my, and now I just got this revelation: This issue of not feeling loved escalated after my mum passed away Christmas Day 2011. That was when I was truly alone, and that the only person who really, ever totally loved me was gone.

Reflections on Christmas

Giving – Christmas for my mum was ALL about GIVING! She loved buying things for others. Any time she was out shopping, no matter the time of year, if she saw something she thought someone would like, she’d get it and put it away until Christmas. (I think she started this because Dad was often out of work part of the year and funds were limited.)

Mum was always conscious of making sure Don and I had the same number of gifts (because you know kids count, ha-ha) …. I remember one year, we got 25 gifts each! Don and I were the only two kids in our family, so it wasn’t hard for the aunts and uncles to contribute, too. And those single aunts and uncles always came to our house! Christmas, for us, was THE most special time of the year with lots of gifts, family, and huge meals!

Oh, the Christmas cards, too. I remember so many cards. They were part of the Christmas decorations as Mum, then later me, hung them all around. I loved them. It was fun seeing who would send cards and sending them in return.

How did Mum find the balance all those years? I’m sure buying throughout the year worked because of their limited budget, and I’m betting the money wasn’t always even. Even as a young child, I was aware Dad’s side of the family gave Don more expensive, better-quality gifts than they gave me. I was never jealous, but I wondered. Mum always said it was because Don was a boy, and it was tradition for boys to get more. (Years later when I turned 50, I found out the real reason… but that’s another story.)

That giving was instilled in us. Even when we were kids, Mum would put our names on gifts, so we felt we were giving, too. Then, when we became older and got jobs, we did our own purchasing of gifts. I remember Mum being hurt when all she used to get were things for the house… when she would have liked something personal for herself. That certainly gave me more to think about, especially when it came my turn to receive a toaster or a new set of dishes that everyone used.

Buying gifts has always been difficult for me and has given me much guilt. Not that I didn’t want to give, it was knowing what to give and being able to afford it. I’ve never been a happy shopper. I wouldn’t get into the spirit of giving until the holiday season, then I’d get over flustered trying to make choices. Stupid things bothered me like worrying about wasting money buying something someone wouldn’t like.

Our tradition continued when Don and I became adults and had our own children; I, two and he, one. But times and things changed, and different rules were made. When my kids became adults and had children of their own, they chose to stay home for Christmas.

We still continued to exchange gifts, but as more years passed, more changes came about. I don’t even remember them all, except all the kids (I have 11 grandchildren!) each had to get $50 gifts, and we were told what we could buy and what we couldn’t buy. What happened to surprise? It took all the fun out of giving. Mum felt the same, too. She and I became more isolated. Christmas didn’t mean the same anymore and we stopped exchanging gifts. In the end, it basically became just her and I.

I pulled back even more after she passed… on a Christmas morning in 2011. Her favorite day of the year. Oh, I don’t regret her passing on her favorite day. For her, it was fitting, but how could I ever deal with another Christmas again? My mum… my rock… (I won’t even mention how the next few Christmases were for me.)

However, a couple years ago, I started reaching out again. I sent Christmas cards, sent gift baskets to family and friends. But times are different. The Christmases I knew of the past can never be again. I accept that. I can’t make the old days happen again, can’t bring back those old feelings of comforting, loving joy. I know, people make new traditions. We all make our own choices.

And my choice is to isolate. (Although, if family does show up on Christmas Day, I am overjoyed!) I spend the day alone with lots of tears (even after all these years). My neighbor makes me a nice dinner. Last year I got surprised with visits from family, which was totally wonderful.

However, will I ever be able to talk about any of this with family? I don’t know. My guilt isolates me… and a big part of me wants to stay isolated. Plus, I can’t talk about this without tears falling. I never admitted this before, but I am lonely. OK, most the time I’m too busy to be lonely, but the aloneness sometimes gets to me. It’s not that I want someone here all the time. For the most part, I like being alone, but sometimes, just to have some family time…

It’s hard to feel loved when you’re alone, too, which is another subject, and one I’ve been unable to come to terms with yet.

This year, I’ve added more colored lights to the Christmas décor in my house. The pretty colors help when days are dark and night comes quickly.

Disappointed with Dancing with the Stars

I watched the finale of Dancing with the Stars (DWTS) last night, but last year and this year, I’ve been disappointed.

I’ve been watching DWTS for years. I love the sophistication to ballroom dancing and the costumes. There has always been an elegance and style to the music, too, and I like when the judges comment on keeping to the dance style.

So You Think You Can Dance and World of Dance are shows that can show more variety in dance styles. DWTS is BALLROOM dancing and ballroom dancing is about classiness, refinement, grace, polish, charm… a lot of which is a bit lacking in today’s world and I miss it.

The network is cheapening ballroom dancing. It has become more about ratings, fads, and a popularity contest... which star has the biggest following. I fast forward through a lot. And, here in these days when sexual exploitation is frowned upon, it’s still being presented. Some of the costumes worn by host and women judges are awful; they don’t fit with the show. The low-cut styles with their boobs practically falling out, materials made to look like flesh, so they look half-naked… I don’t get it and don’t like it. (Is this just because I’m old now?)

It's gone from a dance competition with celebrities and professional dancers to part of the show being who can wear the most outlandish outfit between the women judges and the host. (Oh, I miss Tom Bergeron. He was so laid back and funny. Tyra Banks is too loud and over the top. She’s hyped up and yelling all the time. It seems the show is more about her than the dancers.)

And, along with the women and their costumes, the latest trend of the male dancers is to be bare chested (or wearing no shirt at all!) Again, this doesn’t fit in with the elegance of ballroom dancing – unless a particular dance, style, and costume warrant it. But for all the men ripping open their shirts – this isn’t Chippendales! (For me, the thought of touching a sweaty body – ewww!)

The music, too, seems off. I do not like the fast thump, thump, thump of today’s music. All the songs have the same underlying beat and sometimes I can’t see how the dancers are ballroom dancing to those beats. They must all be counting in their heads to get the right footsteps because sometimes their steps don’t match the beat of the songs.

I am sad because for years I’ve enjoyed the beauty and elegance of this show and now it’s been cheapened and is more about outlandishness. Am I alone feeling this way? 

Feeling the Presence of God Thanksgiving Day 2021

I was having a good day yesterday. Sent off some Happy Thanksgiving messages and spent almost two hours in the studio finishing the current painting. (At least, I’m hoping it’s finished – I have to let it sit a couple days.)

It was getting time to have lunch and I was just calling it quits on the painting when I got a phone call. This was one of those times listening on and on about God stuff and Satan taking over the world, and… Arrghhhh!

I let her talk because it makes her feel good. I know she’s just telling her stories, sharing her beliefs, and this religious obsession makes her happy. And this is fine for her and if it makes her happy, who am I to discourage her... and I don’t want to discourage her. For me, though, I just find it depressing and I fell into a hole emotionally. I listened without saying much, (yes, I did talk about some of my stuff), but over an hour later and by the time we hung up, I was totally depressed.

It was 2:30 p.m. I still needed to have my Thanksgiving meal and I needed to do my painting progress writing and photo. My productive day slid downhill.

Suddenly, I felt a Presence at my left shoulder; a shadowy blob, and even though it was a dark, almost-palpable presence, there was a God-like feel to it. But why wasn’t it a white light? (Which I’ve felt and seen before, but I think this was because it was a more, almost solid-like presence and He wanted to be almost physically felt.)

I immediately went into an apologetic mode, but I realized, too, I also get defensive. (Present tense with “get” because it dawned on me, whenever I do feel a spiritual presence, I get defensive. It’s never the right time, I’m too busy, I don’t want to be scared… oh, I have excuses…)

Other times it has felt like different spirits, muses, etc., which sometimes feel male, female, or genderless, but yesterday, this was GOD! (And this definitely felt male, although I believe there is no real gender in the spirit world.) And with my apologies were my defending my beliefs against the man-created religion and not against HIM. And I didn’t want to hear I am wrong because something deep inside keeps telling me I’m not.

It was like I could feel Him smile and a warm ethereal hand was laid on my shoulder, then caressed the side of my face. I felt/heard a gentle “It’s OK. You’re OK.” It felt like I was given a comforting hug. He didn’t make me feel I was wrong and had to change my ways.

But I was still too much in my mind; my defense at what I believe, and having religious opinions shoved down my throat. I have my views of mankind and what history has shown, and all that. There are those of us who walk our own paths… and He allows that… after all, he gave us brains to think and reason. If He wanted us all to just be sheep, He would have given all of us sheep brains.

The Presence faded away, but I was left with a feeling He understands and He’s waiting for me with open arms when my time comes.

Tears fill my eyes as I write this. Yes, I’ve felt spirits before, but this was the first time I’ve ever felt it was really God. Does it change my beliefs? No. Do I feel this is the Christian God? Hmmm… I don’t know as I don’t really know that much about other religions.

I believe Jesus did come, but there were religions and gods way before him. And the way man distorts and uses concepts to control people… Maybe we’ll never know the real truth until our time comes. With so many thousands of years of history, how can anyone determine the real truth, anyway. How much of it is propaganda? Maybe the truth is in our individual beliefs (or group beliefs).

I believe God/spirit does “talk” and come to people. And maybe he sends angels, muses, and other spirits to also help. We all have dreams and visions. Are they interpreted to do good or to control the “flock.”

In my apology, I told Him I don’t want to be in a flock or herd. He smiled. He understood. I AM OK.

It was after 3 p.m. by the time I heated up my dinner… and yes, I stuffed myself. It was a very good meal. (But by that time, it was too late to get the progress work done on my painting.)

So, this Thanksgiving, I was given something very special to be thankful for.

Choosing to be an Individual over Being in a Herd

 

As humans, it seems we’re always choosing, or feeling we have to choose sides. We’re either this or that, belong to this group or that organization, with some being seen as right and others wrong.

This past year it seems the divisions have become more pronounced with political sides and the CDC pushing for herd mentality and there has always been the religious side with the church and their flocks.

But what if you don’t want to be part of a herd or flock? Not every creature in nature is of that mentality. There are those who are individuals living more solitary lives. God gave us brains, so why are we being forced to always follow the dictates of others? Why do we need to be forced to do or think like others if it feels wrong to us?

Even as a child, I didn’t fit in with others very well. Something inside me just didn’t want to do what every other kid was doing or liked. It started a very young age. Girls’ favorite color was supposed to be red, but I chose blue as my favorite.  Girls were supposed to like dolls, but I’d rather be outside playing with my brother’s trucks or off in the woods exploring or building forts and tree huts. When the Beatles became the rage, I chose the Monkees as my favorite group. There was something deep within that had me choosing my own path.

As I grew older, I found myself shying away from the popular trends. I never wanted to be a sheep. I wanted to be a horse – strong, elegant, stately. Yes, horses run in herds, but my vision was of them running free across the plains and doing their own thing.

Unfortunately, that made me an outcast and very shy. I was ridiculed throughout all my school years and even into adulthood. I was the odd person out, last one chosen, when participating in groups and events. Why was I so different? Why didn’t I fit in? Oh, those painful, younger years when I was made to feel there was something wrong with me.

Yeah, there were times when I’d get on a bandwagon with others, but it never lasted long. That something inside me always made me stick to my inner self… even when I didn’t fully know what my beliefs were. All I knew was I didn’t want what others wanted. (I realized, in my later years, I am a lot like mother... wish I could have this discussion with her now.)

It took decades before I learned to be comfortable with who I am… and yes, sometimes there is guilt when I feel I’m not what others want of me. But I can’t be what I am not! That’s the main thought has kept me going all these years.

I don’t have anything against people coming together for a common cause. I don’t have anything against God or higher spirits. It’s the manipulation that sets my Spidey-senses off. Whenever I feel someone or some advertising is trying to shove their beliefs or products down my throat, my entire being balks and I question the ethics, integrity, intent of what it means.

Marketing – whether marketing product or belief is understanding human behavior and knowing how to manipulate the masses. And they have learned to do it well. This has been going since the beginning of mankind. We’ve been manipulated all our lives. Join this group. Be a member of this organization. And I am refusing to play the game. I’m not trusting anyone or anything that I feel is being forced on me.

So… what about those of us who follow our own paths? Does that make us wrong? Whenever something gets too controlling, I feel claustrophobic, and these days, now that I’m a history buff and have a better understanding of the past… I believe my inner eyes are now more open than ever.

I’ve been thinking of this for awhile now but wasn’t quite sure how to write about it. I guess I’m a quiet rebel. I’ve never been one to force my ideas and beliefs on others. Of course, now that I’m older and I’m able to live my life more on my terms, I do have more courage to speak up (write about my feelings).

Today, in reading the Sunday Coffee blog by Eric Rhoads, publisher, he, too, talks about choosing how to live our lives, such as: Doing what you want on your own terms. Not caring what others think. Not following the path we think we should follow. Pursue what you love with passion.

“It's so easy to lose sight of who we really are because the world is always telling us what we should be. We're all too often seduced by shiny objects.

“What if you and I were truly ourselves at all times?

How would we change the way we live?” – Eric Rhoads

God gave us brains to think for ourselves. Logic, sense. Logical is a word that comes up often when I read about current affairs. There doesn’t seem to be much logic nowadays. We’re being told what to do and we’re not allowed to say anything against it, and we’re supposed to go along with whatever they dictate to us.

My Spidey-senses are on high alert.

So, what do I do? Avoid the negativity and hatred as much as I can. Be as wholehearted as I can be. Stick to my beliefs… unless I can be proved wrong (and so far, I’ve not been), be kind, and humble. When I choose to live my life my way, I am content and satisfied.

Starting a New Picture

Duane Wheeler posted a bunch of photos on Facebook, and I was drawn in. So many scenes caught my eye. I asked and received permission to use any I wanted to. I chose four different scenes and printed three versions of each at 5 x 7 inches – edited, black and white, and lightened. (The original tends to be a little dark, which I like, but when painting, I need a lighter version to see details.)

Thank you, Duane. Now which of these beautiful scenes do I paint first? 

The dark sky and mist in the trees in this scene intrigued me so much, I decided to do this one first. I got out drawing supplies to do the initial sketch. It took longer than I thought to do this first drawing. Once again, a scene I thought would be easy has its challenges. Halfway through the drawing I decided I needed to see more detail, so I also cropped two sections and printed new photos. Still, there are some places that’s hard to fully see what’s going on… but I can always fill in with grass. 

A challenge, too, is when the original photo is panoramic. This means the scene must be drawn not using the full sheet (it’s only 5 ½ x 8 ½) or I need to bunch the scene to fit in the aspects I want (which I usually do).

Of course, this is just an initial drawing. Once I actually sketch the outlines of the scene onto the support I'm going to paint on and use pastels, it'll come together.

My plan when I set up for the actual painting is to do the scene more panoramic.

I printed the original photo in 8 x 10 to better see details while painting.

Freedom of Speech – using words wisely

I read an email from Eric Rhoads, publisher, and it led me on another side of the freedom of speech issue which I’ve been writing about a lot. I love what he said here:

“What if we all watched our tongue? What if we held back the temptation to lash out and spew negativity, and instead projected encouragement and belief in others? We would change the world. Your small, seemingly innocent words can have an impact. Words can ring in our thoughts for decades. They can set us on fire or burn us at the stake. How will you use your words today?”

We’ve all said things we’ve regretted. And, too, sometimes it’s not what is said but how it is said. There’s got to be a way where we can freely speak and write about our beliefs without letting our negative emotions take control of our tongues.

This can be extremely hard. My emotions easily take over, especially if I feel my point of view isn’t heard and respected (respected doesn’t necessarily mean agree with). I don’t yell, argue or get nasty. I usually heart-wrenchingly fall apart, crawl into a hole and cry. OK, maybe inside my head my mind is upset and screaming, but I tend to retreat, go into hiding.

What I find happening is, by not being able to speak or write my truths openly, frustration builds, and frustration turns to anger ... and for the first time in my life, I am also experiencing the feeling of hatred. I’ve never hated anybody in my life! Even in my younger life when I was so miserable and felt like everyone was against me, I didn’t hate them.

I don’t like this feeling, and every time I feel it brewing, I pull it back and then just get incredibly sad … not just at myself, but things in general.

The lesson, if I can call it that, is that all this gives me understanding in how and why people lash out in anger and perhaps do things they wouldn’t normally do. I understand; doesn’t make it right or excuse bad behavior, but I understand how it happens. I understand when people are sad and miserable, they are going to be overrun with negative emotion and they will explode. It’s human nature.

Is there a way we can speak freely and compassionately stating our cases? I don’t know. Maybe our humanness will always lend itself to the down sides of emotion. Yes, there are those who are very compassionate and forgiving, but not everyone is that way. Maybe most will always succumb to the need to defend their rights (or what they see as right).

Maybe all we can do is try to use our words wisely and stay positive.

Distracted from the Creative Fires

Or Falling Victim to the Woes of Current Affairs

I look up from my morning writing. The sun lights treetops while the trunks and the hemlocks remain dark. The brook, too, is dark, although the yellow, orange, and brown leaves create colorful blankets on the hill, tops of rocks and in the crevices of the tree roots stretched along the far side banking of the brook.

With the fall of the leaves, I can now see more of the house across the brook with the sunlight reflecting brightly on the white wall of the building. The guy walks his dog along the flat ridge above the brook. Neighbor-kitty, Leo, keeps watch from my deck. Yellow leaves continue to float slowly downward in the wind.

I turn to look out the front windows. The ducks and goose across the street are out in their little field. The ducks love the little puddles left in furrows from last night’s rain. They dip their heads, shake their wings, and wag those cute little tails. The goose keeps a watchful eye. They make me chuckle as do the chickens exploring the edges of the field.

I managed to finish three paintings recently and two more are in process on the easels. However, I find it hard to concentrate these days. The news, current affairs, and constant barrage of what we should and shouldn’t do is like dumping buckets of cold water on my creative fire. Every day I find myself falling into a deep sadness and any motivation turns to wet, soggy, smelly embers.

I go in the studio, pick up a pastel, then end up just staring out the window as I find it hard to get past the latest headline I heard or saw. The (what I call) ugliness is thrown in my face every day. I’m finding myself pulling back farther and farther and avoiding people. My world narrows. I don’t even want to go anywhere anymore.

Lately, my main connection to the world is through Facebook and sometimes that’s depressing, too. I search for something to bring me a bit of hope. Yes, there is some, but with MSM only promoting certain sides, it’s hard to find true honesty. I don’t know what to believe anymore …

Wait a minute, I do know what to believe and it’s not what’s being shoved in my face!

As a history buff, I’m dismayed to discover that what’s happening recently is too similar to what happened in the past – and all we, as Americans, fought against. What happened to our country that we’ve given in to the same promises Stalin, Hitler, Mussolini, Franco, and other dictators promised their people before the axes fell and their true intentions were revealed? What happened to all the ideals the United States was built on?

No, we weren’t/aren’t perfect. We are no longer a united country, but a country divided into races with each race demanding preference over the others. It’s not about equality anymore. It’s not even about us all being human beings. It’s about each race wanting special privileges.

And, as long as the word FREE is thrown in, the sheep will follow.

The Touchy Topic of Suicide

 

The topic of suicide has been coming up quite a bit. There’s the advertising of suicide prevention sites, along with news of the actual acts. One that tore my heartstrings recently was of a young boy who ended his life because of the bullying he was receiving at school.

Suicide is a topic I’ve thought about off and on for my entire life. I was bullied all through my school years. Even in my adulthood there have been time when I’ve been on the brink of deep despair. I’ve walked that sharp knife edge when one small incident could push me over. Somehow, someway, I always found a will to go on.

Of course, I only have the understanding from my personal feelings and beliefs. I’ve talked with others, who, like me, have contemplated ending their life at one time or another but never went through with it. I understand how someone could sink into such despair. I’ve heard the frustration when they feel no one hears them or understands, when they can’t get the help they need, when professionals can’t seem to find what will work for them, and the discouraging expenses in searching for solutions.

Someone once told me people who commit suicide are extremely selfish, that they’re only thinking about themselves and not about those who care about them.

My thoughts go to: How sad is it someone can feel so unhappy, so hopeless, with no way out of the misery? How sad is it they can’t get the support/help they need from those who care for them? How sad no one really listens to them. But how do we really know when someone is falling over the edge?

Who’s the selfish one if you don’t care how miserably unhappy someone is as long as they don’t make YOU uncomfortable? It’s an uncomfortable topic and hard for anyone involved to come to terms with it.

It’s no one’s fault, really. It’s not a black and white subject. Nothing to do with human emotions is black and white. We’re not cookie cutter beings. We may be human, but there’s individuality in all of us.

It’s very hard for people to deal with friends and relatives who are on the brink. How can they tell when someone they care about reaches that edge? What can they say? Are they so busy with their own lives they don’t have time to really listen? It’s uncomfortable dealing with unhappy people no matter how much you might care for them. Too often others’ misery gets brushed under the rug…

It’s not their fault, not anyone’s fault. When someone they care about is suffering, sometimes there isn’t anything anyone else can do. Sometimes it’s hard to tell if the person is just having some hard times. How can anyone tell when someone reaches the desperate, no-hope point?

I’ve only personally known one person who actually did it. I worked with her a short while and heard the defeat in her voice when she felt no one listened or understood what she was going through. I didn’t judge, didn’t find fault, didn’t give all the usual platitudes. I listened and offered what empathy I could. She said she felt I was the only one who truly listened and appreciated I didn’t put her down for feeling like she did. (It was years later, after we no longer worked together, I finally heard she ended her life.)

And are drugs the only solution? Why does society/people always trying to put us in boxes? OK, boxes and categories may work for many people but not all. There are always the ones who don’t fit an exact mold.

I’ve also heard people say God said suicide is a sin. I don’t believe that. I believe God loves and forgives those who end their own lives. Those are the people who really need it the most, and I believe God welcomes them home and surrounds them in comfort.

The Choices I Make

I was thinking yesterday about the book manuscripts never finished. There was the book I was writing on day trips, the one on the trip I took to Florida in 2015, and in 2016, there was the trip to Kansas. Three manuscripts in various stages, along with lots of photos. Then there is the poetry book ready to go but for finishing the design of the front cover. And this isn’t counting the three manuscripts I’ve done the past three years on pastel painting.

There’s something wonderfully joyful about holding a book in my hand that I wrote and had self-published. The first were poetry chapbooks, then a picture book on windows, next was a beautiful book of poetry and pictures, and finally, the solo, 33-day trip to Florida in 2013. I was so eager to publish more.

However, somehow, somewhere along the way, a part of me has been crippled. I just don’t have the energy to go the last mile with these projects and I’m left feeling incomplete. I can’t even begin to describe the hole this has left in me. I am sad. The air has leaked out of my tires, and I’m broken down on the side of the road with no help in sight.

It’s no own’s fault but my own. It’s not that I’m putting myself down; it’s the choices I make on what to work on… or not work on. Yeah, there were people I interviewed in my travels, telling them I was writing a book. Do they remember? Do they care? Have I let them down?

I let myself down. After all, I’m the only one who cares about these books. But I need to be realistic. Do I have the gumption to finish any of them? It breaks my heart to admit I don’t. I still think about them. The books are always in the back of my mind.

I make my choices. I can choose to go over again all my writings, or I can move on to new things. I choose the new.

Morning Musings and More

Three things capturing my thoughts this morning distracting me from my regular routine.

The first was thinking about my aunts and uncles on both sides of my family never having children. My mum and dad were the only two of their siblings who had kids. One of my dad’s sisters had been married a short time but never had children. I wondered if somehow this played a role in how I’ve turned out in my later life. 

It dawned on me, too – I don’t really know my father’s siblings. (We saw my mum’s two sibs more often.) Sure, Dad’s would come for Christmas and exchange gifts, and maybe on occasion we might see one of them another time during the year, but I realize I have no idea who they were as individuals. I just know them by what my parents said.

Yes, I was an adult by the time they all passed, but I was still young and raising my own kids. I didn’t take the time to have conversations to find out anything personal about my aunts and uncle. I wish I could have conversations with them; find out who they really were. Of course, as kids, we don’t think along these lines, but now… 

The next issue is the water problem here. Last spring our water bills doubled and now they’ve doubled again. It’s so disheartening because they’re not solving any problems. The cost is skyrocketing, and we are limited on what we can use. People are wanting to drill their own wells, but it sounds like you need to have over an acre and most of us don’t. The most discouraging is, even if they do finally figure things out, it won’t happen in my lifetime, which means all these final years I’ve had paid an exorbitant amount for what little water I use. 

Then I read Eric Rhoads’ latest email and it led me on another side of the freedom of speech issue which I’ve been writing about a lot. I love what he said here:

“What if we all watched our tongue? What if we held back the temptation to lash out and spew negativity, and instead projected encouragement and belief in others? We would change the world. Your small, seemingly innocent words can have an impact. Words can ring in our thoughts for decades. They can set us on fire or burn us at the stake. How will you use your words today?”

We’ve all said things we’ve regretted. And, too, sometimes it’s not what is said but HOW it is said. There’s got to be a way where we can freely speak our beliefs without letting our negative emotions take control of our tongues.

 

The Division of Humanity

Below is my personal opinion. I’ll admit, growing up in a small town in New Hampshire, I haven’t experienced some of what others have, but I have been treated with prejudice in the past, so I know what it feels like. I read books and watch lots of History Channel, Discovery, and PBS channels. I’ve studied human nature.

I was asked to fill out an income survey recently. There were basically two questions. The bottom half of the form was all about race and ethnicity which also listed various mixed races. I was totally turned off. Not because I think people shouldn’t be proud of who they are or where they came from because we all have a past.

What bothers me is it seems race and ethnicity is being shoved down people’s throats nowadays, and this further divides people. Everyone wants their own specialness (which is often expecting freebies and handouts). I know, in our own ways, we are all special, but, on the whole, we are all people, we are all human beings!

Putting us in certain categories is setting up sides to make one or more sets of people different from the other sides. They’re not even trying to be equal, no matter what they’re spouting. It’s not looking at what’s good for all people, but it’s setting up opportunities for one side to push their agendas onto all others. It further alienates people from one another. (This has been going on for years all.)

One of the sayings touted these past couple of years is, “We are all in this together.” My mind keeps asking, “If we are all in this together, why are groups of people wanting to separate themselves, make one set the ‘enemy’ and others the poor, woe-is-me people?” None of us should be made to feel ashamed of who we are!

Let me be clear, I’m not one side or another side. I look at everyone as human beings and look for the goodness in all. It doesn’t matter to me if you’re black, white, gay, Chinese, Italian… or whatever. It doesn’t matter to me what god or gods you believe in. Are you a good person?

Consider human nature. There are those who always want what others have, and who want to control the masses (by whatever means they deem fit to get their way). History shows us this has gone on since the human race began – no matter what country or what race or tribe of people. Tribes have warred against one another forever, and the “conquered” often turned into slaves – all over the world. And it still happens today.

I don’t believe race and ethnicity should be on any application. If I was running a company and needed help, it wouldn’t matter to me if the potential employee was of color or of a particular religious background. What matters is if the person is a good worker and will get the job done.

I know, it hasn’t always been this way, yet it should. Unfortunately, people are people; some good, some not-so-good. Some people will never change but putting people in categories due to race, religion, gender, ethnicity, etc. escalates the problems causing further dissension.

We can’t change the past. What’s most important is to not hide it but learn from it. Tearing down statues or defacing them isn’t going to solve the problem. Perhaps, instead of erasing history, it’s more important to tell the truth about it … all sides, whether you believe it’s right or wrong … and even if it’s painful.

I’m not saying there hasn’t been a lot of past issues. Life isn’t perfect, nor is it always fair. I believe learning to understand what and why things happened is a huge step towards making changes towards acceptance and tolerance.

Maybe there are no real answers or one true way. Maybe it all comes down to what lies in someone’s heart. What it means to be an honest, decent, respectful, courteous, kind person. Are we asking the impossible?

My answer for myself is to live each day with integrity and whole-heartedness. I’m not perfect, but I try.

Kind Words Can Lift Your Spirits

How often a few simple kind words can lift your spirits.

Nan did this for me yesterday when I was despairing over my latest painting, seeing things I could have done better (or just differently), feeling disappointed to not achieve the exact look I wanted.

I was relating a recent reading on values and color temperature, topics I struggle with. My mind always asks the author, “What do you mean by that?” Unfortunately, with reading material, there’s no immediate answer if he’s not already written it there. But the guilt of not having proper training brings my spirits down.

“Stick to what you intuit, not what others say,” Nan said again… she tells me this occasionally when I fall off the spirited creative horse.

That simple reminder is what I need. The painting is beautiful!

My downfall is when I let my over-thinking brain run rampant and I continually nit-pick and find fault. I worry others will see all the flaws and no one will buy my painting. I start feeling inadequate because I never had proper training and fear other artists will think I’m a fraud.

I know I’m not a fraud! I am an artist! (There are many artists I’ve seen interviewed on “NH Chronicle” or PBS “In the Studio” who say they’re self-taught.) I can’t deny how I work. There’s an unexplainable driving force that seems to take over the moment I stand at the easel. No matter how many how-to or what-to-do-next notes I make, the minute I pick up a pastel, my brain half disengages, and my hand just starts moving.

This doesn’t mean I don’t learn. I pick up tips and pointers, whether in something read or someone offering a suggestion. I think it over, and more often than not, put the advice to good use. It’s exciting.

Double Dipping in the Studio

After the meltdown the other day, I dared to enter the studio today intending to paint. I can’t help it, painting calls me. I thought about working on the new one, but there’s now a fear of goofing it up. However, there was something else also on my mind.

I wonder if artists ever stop trying to make their studios better. The other day, Andy helped put casters on the bottom of the drafting table easel. This way I can angle the heavy table easily to catch certain light. Of course, this meant I had to raise the chair, but it works, and my feet still touch the floor.

I also recently purchased a different clip-on lamp to light up my pastel trays better to help me choose correct color shades. It was the wrong kind of lamp for that purpose but turning it onto the standup easel made a big difference. The light coming from above the painting is much better than the overhead shining down on me and casting shadows from my hands onto the paper depending on how I move.

I turned around and my eyes lit on the (questionable in my mind) painting “Softly Comes the Dawn.” It looks good from a couple feet away, but when I step close... I decided to put suggestions received into play. I did a little, but with all the pastel layers, it’s hard to add any more. I tried to fix the sky where the yellow I’d intended to lightly feather over the blue instead mixed with the blue creating a greenish tinge. Most of the time I’m able to do this as pastels don’t normally blend well together, and usually looks muddy when they do. This green was not so good for sky color. I took the painting outside and sprayed it with Sennelier fixative. Maybe it’ll help when I try to touch up the sky.

I turned back to the standup easel and the newest painting, “Disappearing River.” I’d already been working on values, decided to do more. I also worked on shapes using a yellow-green soft pastel. Something about doing this in the green color helped me see other aspects to determine positioning and layout. Of course, I had to keep reminding myself I can’t be doing any detail yet.

The busy photograph sometimes makes it difficult to see actual detail, but for me, it’s not about replicating the photo but creating an interesting scene. I played around some more with black and a little orange. The shape of the little spit of land jutting out in the distance is giving me trouble. I’m struggling with the shape/perspective/angle. Perhaps this is an are where sitting at the DT easel will help me see this area better.

I feel better about my work today. I can’t help it. There’s something about painting with pastels that feels comforting, even when I’m frustrated. I feel I have to do it, just as I feel I have to write.

The Importance of Kind Words and Understanding

 

I was thinking this morning (when am I not thinking, ha-ha) about the times we need some words of support, a boost to help us out of a funk. This has been one of those weeks where I’ve sorely needed that.

For instance, my emotional state was already in turmoil the other day when I had to make a dentist’s appointment for an issue I’ve been putting off for a couple months while deciding which option to take. I’m a mess when it comes to anything related to the dentist, and with some other upsetting things going on, my mental wellbeing was at rock bottom. When I finally got to a real person after having to listen to automated phone prompts, I crashed.

To hear a real human voice put me over the edge and I just broke down in sobs. I was embarrassed, but she was wonderful, calmed me down, and even told me something about herself which showed me she did understand and that I was not alone. My tears stopped and my mind ceased its spiraling.

Simple, kind, gentle words can be so powerful. They don’t have to be fancy words. You don’t have to be saying anything special. The words don’t have to come from a professional or from someone with status or even highly educated. Just simple, kind words.

There are those who go on and on about God and praying; those who parody what the Christian church has preached for years. If that’s what works for them, I’m happy for them, but that rhetoric doesn’t work for me.

I pray and give thanks every day. I know my prayers are heard, but sometimes I crave human interaction/discussion. Yes, I know I am not alone in dealing with emotional issues, but to have someone say, “I hear you. I’ve been there and this is how I dealt with it,” means the world. To hear them tell a bit of their story, share a moment of their vulnerability, can help me stand tall. If they’ve gotten through stuff, I can, too!

Or, even if they’ve not had a similar issue, just knowing they’ve listened and didn’t brush me off can make a huge difference. We all have struggles, and our problems don’t have to be the same for us to understand one another. What’s the same is we all face challenges in one way or another. We hurt. We suffer heartache. It’s the struggling and trying to get by in life that creates a bond with others… when we can take the time to talk and listen to one another.

I also believe in “God works in mysterious ways.” I know we don’t always hear God speaking directly to us. Most of the time, we don’t get answers immediately, and sometimes, Spirit works through others to get messages to us. Sometimes when we receive an answer, it may not even feel like it comes from God.

For instance, I often call one of my friends, one of my muses. A simple nonjudgmental suggestion from her can light my creative fire. A few kind words can empower me to stand tall and set me off to a bit of inspirational writing. And sometimes, when she is relating an issue she is dealing with (or we just need to rant about a topic), it inspires me to look at some aspects of my life to improve.

This has happened often enough I believe God works through her. I know the words come out of her mouth (or out of her mind as she types an email), but I also believe there is something more at work, something greater than just us. Yes, there are aspects that are our personal stories, but there is more to it, something special.

I’ve been on that end, too. There are times someone has come to me, and words just flow out. I don’t even always remember what I said, but I’ve been told I’ve said what they needed to here… because it’s all said with compassion and care for another human being. I try to surround my words with caring, and I truly believe something greater is helping. We can give simple emotional comfort to each other and trust the higher powers to help.

The Challenge in Pastel Painting from a Photograph

Working from photographs can be a challenge. There is a clarity of the overall photo and in the lines which are difficult to attain with pastel. There’s a vibrance to a photo that cannot be replicated with pastel. (Framed and under glass helps with this.)

Then there’s the fact my eye is often drawn to scenes darker and moodier. To paint it that way makes the painting too dark unless you happen to have the properly lit wall space to show its beauty.

(Original reference photo courtesy: Wanda Santti)

I suppose, too, this could just be another aspect of learning for me. After all, there are always chances to learn.

It’s funny how often I’ll make notes of tips and discoveries, but when I’m at the easel, all those notes, along with any comments I made from the previous progress photo, and thoughts I had on what to fix disappear as soon as I pick up a pastel and turn to the painting. I just start working at whatever feels needs to be done to the painting in the moment.

(Latest progress photo of the pastel painting "Softly Comes the Dawn. And when the original photo is more panoramic than the painting size, the scene gets bunched.)

Am I always pleased? No, and some things do need to be fixed. But, too, how much of it is being picky? I keep saying I’m not trying to replicate the photo, yet is the disappointment because the painting is not exactly like the photo?

I say, too, that I am not a perfectionist, but is there that part of me that strives to have a perfect painting. Well, yes. I want the painting to be stunning and beautiful. I want others to love it and want to buy it.

However, in the end, there comes a time to call it done. I can always look at my paintings and find something I should’ve done differently, but it’s not good to keep second-guessing. I have to force myself to stop, step back, and acknowledge the painting is beautiful. (OK, I do have a list of things to fix.)

You know, maybe it’s like us as people. No one is perfect. We all have our unique qualities and goodness. Perhaps we should look at paintings this way.

Painting, Progress, and Realizations

“Softly Comes the Dawn,” 10 ¾ x 14 ½ in progress using a variety of pastels, unframed.

Original photo reference courtesy: Wanda Santti.

Yesterday, after days of intense stress, I was able to slip back in the studio. I tackled what I’m thinking is an apple tree on the left. The original photo had dark leaves, but with the all the other foliage greens, they don’t show up with the pastel. I want more vibrancy, so I chose a mustardy yellow-green to pick up aspects of the sunrise.

I didn’t like the branches on the right side of the tree and tried to redo, which meant I also had to redo the background behind it. I have too many upright branches.

I worked on background trees, too. I added darks, then used the same color as the leaves of the apple tree to highlight treetops in the back behind the small field. Then I added more highlights to the trees just behind the apple… but I think I did too much. The tops need to be more subtle.

I added darker greens to the fields. Still too early to work the closest foreground.

Oh, I’ve made quite a few notes on what to fix, ha-ha. And, too, once I get to the right-hand side foreground trees, the entire scene will really start coming together.

I realize I can’t match the pastel to the color in the photograph. My paintings tend to come out dark. I, personally, don’t mind as I like the moodiness and the mystery, but I also know, the more colorfully vibrant the painting, the more appealing it is.

How many paintings has it taken me to come to this conclusion? Oh, I’ve kind of known it for a while and have even talked about making my paintings brighter, yet I still ended up with a darker painting. I wonder if it’s how my eyes see.

It’s not my intent to match the photo exactly, but I still strive to recreate the beauty. 

The Struggle of Deciding on a Title – Again

The permission to use this photo came from Wanda Santti in June. In July, I finally started to work on this scene setting it up to be painted, its working title, “Breaking Dawn.”

However, a few weeks into working, I realized I’ve already used that title before, and I don’t want to repeat. I’ve now spent three days playing with words to come up with a fitting title. I’ve tried: In Dawn’s Calming Stillness, Dawn’s Tranquil Light, Vibrant Dawn o’er a Tranquil Valley, Dawn Bursts o’er a Tranquil Valley, Light on a Tranquil Dawn, Explosive Dawn, and Tranquil Valley. Not one of them feels even close to being right.

I work on another project, then the painting calls to me. Should I let myself get upset because I allow myself to easily get sidetracked? I return to the current work, but if I get an idea or a thought comes to me, if I don’t stop to write it down or work on it, it slips away and I totally forget about it, or I can’t recall it when I’m ready to shift gears. So, the interruptions continue to happen.

Yes, it can be frustrating. When there are too many interruptions and distractions, I get confused and lose my way. Where was I? What was I doing? It’s also why it takes so long to finish one project because I’m bouncing around like bees to flowers.

But does that have to be a bad thing? I like that my brain gets ideas. I don’t get so focused and not see other options. Also, doesn’t it show I have a highly active working brain?

I also know there are times when I just have to wait for the right words to come. I can’t force it; that just runs my brain in circles which I’ve definitely been doing. Maybe that’s why after stirring the pot the last couple days, this morning’s calmness allowed the right words to come in: “Softly Comes the Dawn.”

Of course, then my brain immediately jumps to, “Is that what I’ll still feel when I finish the painting?” Wait and see.

Current progress on the painting.

Asking Myself I Write and Paint

"Morning Mist on the River," 14 x 10 1/2 pastel painting on BFK Rives paper. Original photo reference: Jackie Stetser

Feeling a bit duh mentally, I scrolled through FB looking for some spark. Once in a while, I read something to ignite my creativity, whether it’s something someone says, or I see a beautiful picture. Most days, though, it’s just a mindless look-see.

This morning, it wasn’t until I checked my email messages and read one from Eric Rhoads, art publisher, that inspiration ignited in me. He talked about “WHY” (yes, in quotes and all caps). He asked, “Why do I want to get better … and why does it matter?” He said, “’Why’ drives your commitment.”

There was something about his statements that rang true within me, but I wasn’t sure where thinking about this would take me. I haven’t been stuck lately with my art. I’ve been on fire, although this morning, the pull is a bit lackluster.

So, let me start with why. Why do I write? Why do I paint?

Well, the writing is easy. It’s the same old saying I’ve had for myself for over 35 years: “If I didn’t write, I’d die, go crazy, or worse.” And this feeling still holds true today. Writing lets me talk out things when there’s no one to talk to. Writing saves me … emotionally.

Painting, on the other hand, is different. Painting is more physical. OK, writing, too, has some physicality to it in that my hands and brain are working, but painting encompasses more. I stand, I sit, I move back and forth, move across the room to choose pastels if I don’t have the right colors at hand. I walk away, come back.

Painting with pastels lets me get my hands in it. It’s not just using tools to create the painting; I use my fingers to smooth and blend.  I touch the paper, touch the colors. My eyes take the brain into the scene. My entire being gets involved and I’m consumed in those moment – even if it’s just a short 15-20-minute stint in the studio.

But that’s not the only “WHY.” It’s also about sharing the beauty, whether it’s from photos I’ve taken, or scenes others have taken and given me permission to use for inspiration. I feel part of my “job” as an artist is to share beauty (and yes, hope to sell the paintings).

Pastel painting brings me joy. Even on days when my progress isn’t up to par with what I envision, I still love what I do. Yes, I go through periods when the creative flame is mere coals, but then a breeze hits and the flames roar again.

I am not one who is out in the community/world doing noticeable goodwill. I am too much a recluse, so being able to share my beautiful paintings is my way of giving back; my way of doing something good. I am grateful and feel blessed to have this opportunity to create and share.

An End Struggle and a Decision to do New

 

“In Foggy Sunlight,” 9 ¾ x 14 on BFK Rives paper using various pastels

I so wanted to do a good job with this painting, and it’s driving me crazy because I can’t pull it off to how I want it to look. Looking at the original photograph, taken by my friend, Toni Syrmopoulos, who gave her permission for me to use as a reference, the scene looks to be something fun to do.

I started it in August 2020 and called it done/gave up in October. Then on July 4, 2021, I put it back on the easel and for the past couple weeks, I’ve been picking at it. One minute I like how it’s going and the next, I’m frustrated as all heck.

There’s something about this scene that’s calling me, though. Every time I look at the original reference photo, I’m drawn in, and today, July 24, I am seeing all kinds of potential and shapes and dimensions and such that didn’t stand out to me before.

This current painting has been worked too much. To keep working on it, just makes it look muddy. I’ve decided I’m going to totally re-do the scene in a new painting. I can’t help it, I have to do it again, and do a better job. I re-edited the original photo to get a better print… and it is better.  

The updated version of the photo I want to work with.

Changes and Moving On

I found someone to take over the Bradford Neighbors column in the newspaper. I’ve enjoyed writing this column – over 10 years – but I no longer feel a part of Bradford. It’s not always easy to get updated info as I don’t live there now, and I feel guilty for not doing as good of a job as I’d like for the town. I’m so happy to turn this over to someone who lives there.

(Photo: "In Foggy Sunlight," pastel painting still in process. I'm working out how to get the streams of sunlight to work with the shadows.)

Annette said I could start a new column. I was doing the garden column a couple years ago, but that petered out, and this year, I’m not much into gardening at all. My focus is more on my art, so I decided to do a column on being an artist – my way.

After all, how often do you see anyone writing about art in a newspaper? Oh, there will be the usual interviews or articles covering events, but because I love people’s stories and often want to know more, I thought it might be interesting to write about what it’s like to create art, a kind of behind-the-scenes point of view.

This is a bustling artistic community with an abundance of creativity. It’s wonderful to see the different ways people come up with creative endeavors – besides the usual fine art works. I figure writing about being an artist will put a different light on art while also covering a subject that isn’t in the normal realm for a newspaper’s readers. Plus, this will be a break from some of the controversial topics of the times.

I already have a list of 15 topics to cover so far. There will be issues I personally go through in my artistic endeavors, plus I’ll discuss tips, share pointers and sayings, and talk art in general. It’ll give readers an insight into the art scene and hopefully inspire them to find their own ways of being creativite.

I’m not a traditionally trained artist, and although I’ve taken some classes here and there beyond school, I pretty-much learn as I go. I read articles by other artists. I pick up pointers here and there, but mostly, I want to figure out being an artist on my own terms.

Yet, I have questions. I want to understand others’ techniques… especially with styles I don’t personally care for. Which is something I love about art – we don’t all have to do it the same way, and I love that.