Trying Something Different

I hadn’t done any floral pastel paintings for awhile and decided I needed a break from landscapes. I chose to do a rose of Sharon and another of magnolias and printed half a dozen photos of various blossoms. I cropped and edited the photos. I often have two or three paintings in process on the easels at the same time.

One thing difficult this time was using photos of individual blossoms to recreate a totally different scene. The first major challenge was arranging the individual pieces onto a sheet of paper. I also decided to use some smaller pieces of BFK Rives paper than the larger landscape scenes I usually do.

I am not confident to draw flowers freehand to get the right dimensions, angles, and shapes. That means I trace the outlines and general shapes using graphite paper. I took a couple of the individual photos and began playing around with arranging a layout. In the end, for the Rose of Sharon, I used four photos.

It was almost like doing a jigsaw puzzle figuring out the layout. With each photo, I had to decide which way to angle it, and which one should go on top or to the left. Would it look better on the bottom? The four photos ended up as this:

I also scribbled in some background coloring to get me started. (The fourth photo eventually ended up being in the lower right corner. 

As for the magnolia photos, I decided to do two paintings, one on white BFK Rives and the other on black. I had six photos and mixed and matched in creating the compositions, and again, it was figuring which photo tracing to incorporate on which part of the paper. Below are the initial layouts for both. Magnolia 1 and Magnolia 2 (sure wish I could come up with more interesting names.)

I used one of the photos for both paintings to make sure I had an odd number of blossoms for a better composition. All three of these photos show the initial pastel work. Once the initial drawings were done, I taped the Rose of Sharon to one easel and the two magnolias to another easel side by side. I figured I’d do these paintings at the same time as the colors will be the same. Adding some color, even in the beginning, helps me see where I’m heading.

There were challenges galore. The biggest issue for me is I prefer sharp lines in my paintings. It’s difficult to get sharpness using soft pastels, even with pastel pencils. Once a soft layer is put down, it’s hard to get a sharp line.

I also found the tracing made the petals a little smaller than I wanted, so I redrew them bigger. Yes, I tend to move lines and change things.

I often tend to be a bit muted in colors. I, personally, like the moodiness, but… So with these paintings, I decided to go at them using brighter colors. After over a month of working on these, I’m calling the Rose of Sharon done. The two magnolias are getting close to being done. I’m still contemplating.

Questioning Leadership

The more I read about WWII and watch other historical shows, the more I’m understanding that no matter what you call it – socialism, communism, fascism, Nazism, bolshevism, etc. – it’s all very similar. (These days I’m not even sure where democracy falls with that. Today’s democracy isn’t what I always thought it was.) These leaders all proclaim their intent of providing and caring for THEIR countries, but their true intent is the same. The ONLY people who prosper are the powerful leaders, the wealthy elite and their cronies. (And in this country, that includes big business/pharma.)

 All these programs and such sound good on paper. Charismatic leaders and speakers make pretty promises to convince the public they care about their people. It’s easy to listen to all those ideals and if the speaker is good, the general public is sucked into believing their schemes. (Almost like being hypnotized. We want good. We want to believe it’s possible. We want to believe our leaders care about us. So, when they promise us the moon, we believe.)

But, if you look back through the history of civilizations, the repetition can be seen. Times, circumstances, technologies, and countries may change, but the similarity in the leadership is interesting. What does that say about anyone in power and the human race?

Look at what many leaders have done to THEIR people before they move on to taking over people in other countries.

People need to start looking at the real intent behind the good-sounding promises. What can these politicians really accomplish with all their promises? What will they be ALLOWED to accomplish? The only accomplishment they really seem to care about is in how many votes they can get. How many promises actually come to fruition once they get elected?

Maybe one of the things when listening to candidates is to consider if what they promise can really happen.

I heard about a joke a few weeks ago. Basically, it was about sports people wearing logos of the businesses that support them and how Biden should wear such a coat. I think ALL politicians should wear jackets or lab-type coats with patches showing all the corporations who pay for their campaigns – which will also show the public where the votes of the candidates will go.

These days, I truly believe politicians only care about their constituents until they get elected. It doesn’t matter to them if they’re telling the truth or not. They’re only saying what they think will get votes.

Once in office, it’s all about power and playing in the big leagues. What can they do to become wealthier, support their corporate sponsors, et al. How to play the political game. Their constituents and general public get left by the wayside.

Reading art articles and how-to books

"Falling on a Calm River," 11 x 19 pastel 
Original reference photo courtesy Tara Holdner

The creative writing muses were at war with one another in my head this morning. Multiple topics were vying for attention. It was driving me crazy. Which topic to I write about first? All seemed to be shouting for attention.

Unfortunately, with so many interruptions, I’m just now getting to it four hours later, although some of the thoughts started last night. So, let me get my thoughts together and stir those muses again.

The night before, I had finished the Pastel Journal with reading Lisa Regopoulos’ article. I am impressed and have actually met her a couple times in person. Last night, I read more in Elizabeth Mowry’s book, “Landscape Painting in Pastel.” Her paintings don’t all speak to me because they tend to be too, what I call blurry, (which the proper term is loose.) But I know a lot of artists paint in that style. For me, I don’t get it. I prefer more realistic lines. Still, I admire and respect both these ladies.

There are many interesting tips and suggestions which might help me. However, I found myself getting a little confused with some of the explanations on how the artists work. Reading doesn’t give all the nuances of what a class would give. And, of course, they’re always promoting taking classes. But I don’t want to take classes.  I don’t want to leave the house, nor will I participate in an online class. (Past group classes haven’t always worked for me because I am adamant about not doing what everyone else does.)

I’ll also admit, sometimes when reading, I’m just in a hurry to get through the text. Part of it is because I am adamant about not doing exactly what other artists are doing. I have taken notes occasionally, but then I never review them. So, I am wondering… what can I do to remember suggestions that interest me?

If I don’t stop reading to take notes, often what I read slips away. Hmmm, maybe I need to read articles many times – like when learning in school and having to study. Maybe multiple readings of the sections that call to me will make them sink in. Rereading could help me fully comprehend what’s being said.

Perhaps I could better copy the suggestions I like to make easily readable printed pages which I can review often. With that, I could also look up terms I don’t fully understand. (Not going to an art school, I am missing some of the basics. Yeah, I’ve picked up techniques and such along the way, but the lack of basics sometimes haunts me.)

For instance, after all this time, I’m still somewhat confused on values… shades of light and dark. A lot of emphasis is placed on values. I feel I’m missing something in my understanding of this topic.

Then, too, here is another time-consuming aspect to take me away from actual painting and writing. But I feel I lose so many good points by not paying better attention to other artists. Then, too, wouldn’t some of those tips help me be a better painter? Not to be like them, but just to strengthen my own talent and style.

  

Being Overcome with Worry

Bright sunlight speckles foliage up the hill across the dark brook; pale yellow on the thick covering of dark green leaves. The foliage currently hides homes on the next road over.

Fallen branches along the brook reach long, bony fingers along the shoreline and onto rocks. Two different fingered branches look to be clasping a big rock as if trying to hold it out of the water. A big piece of log is wedged in the crevice of a massive boulder in the middle of the brook. Every once in a while, a shimmer in the water catches my eye as a bit of sunlight slips through the trees.

I’ve been struggling the past couple of years. I can blame some on the “plandemic” and the constant barrage of bad news, but other life issues have seemed to escalate lately, too. Rising costs, home maintenance, an old body wearing out, etc., seem to compound issues into emotional massive crash and burns.

The Sept. 2 “Sunday Coffee” email from Eric Rhoads on “Worry About Worry” was very meaningful. What? Does he know who I am and what I’ve been emotionally going through? No, it’s not just about me. Many people experience the same things; maybe not exactly the same scenarios, but the similarities show we are not so all alone.

I enjoy Rhoads’ insight and his topics often hit home. I love how he writes – he always starts with wonderful descriptions of the beauty around him. Then he continues into the main body of the current subject. His comments are always on point and helpful. Plus, he often includes personal story to further show how he also experiences some of these issues and how he overcomes them.

Rhoads said, “… experts say depression is often driven by the perfection that others appear to be living.”

That’s what I think, even though I’ve never said it so clearly. And this is one of the reasons I insist on writing about real life, personal life… not telling a fairy tale or only talking about all the wonderful things that happen. I truly believe it’s important to talk about all aspects of life. We shouldn’t have to hide who we are and are experiencing for fear of making someone else uncomfortable.

That said, care does need to be taken with who we admit things to. We can’t admit some topics to just anybody in conversation, but writing speaks to some allowing others to ignore it if it doesn’t apply to them.

Rhoads also said, “If we allow worry and fear to consume us, we make life harder.”

This is something I’m working on as I’ve fallen into that hole. This is also a reason why I can’t listen to mainstream media news. It’s all depressing and leads me to believe there is no help for the country. Lately, it seems the news only has the negative. If I’m not careful, I succumb to only seeing the world as a negative place and there being no hope for mankind.

Then I read about people taking road trips and seeing beautiful places around the country. See, it isn’t all bad news. There are wonderful things out there. It’s sad that I’ve chosen not to go on any more adventures.

It’s almost kind of funny. After daring to go on a solo driving trip in 2013, doing another in 2015, then one to a wedding in Wichita in 2016, I thought I would continue doing a lot of travel and writing travel books. It was so wonderful and fun seeing parts of the country and sites I’d never visited before.

What happened? Why did I stop going places?

It started because of fear. As much as I loved driving, there were moments of intense fear. Traveling alone doesn’t give you anyone to rely on. I’m uncomfortable in heavy traffic and city areas are not comfortable. Sometimes I wasn’t sure what lane I was supposed to be in.

However, the beauty and joy of the sights seen were sometimes breathtaking. Acres of rolling farmlands, incredible heights of mountain ranges with jaw-dropping scenery, crossing rivers over spectacular bridges, and finding spur-of-the-moment places to visit added to the adventure made the journeys unforgettable.

Unfortunately, I gave in to the fear, the stories of violence, road rage, and more. There are the expenses, too, which have risen out of control. Even if I wanted to visit other states, these days, besides being afraid, I don’t feel I can afford to travel anymore. Oh, well. Guess I’ll just concentrate on my art. It works for me.

Choosing Photos for the Next Paintings

My mind runs rampant – in between moments of, “Duh, I don’t know what I want to do,” the creative fires are screaming for me to do something. I want another landscape, but I’ve also been considering doing another floral.

I spent an hour looking through photos. Nothing is perfect, and with florals, I need to use the projector to get proper shapes and dimensions. I am not good at free handing the blossoms and getting all the intricacies.

I also have the photo of Tuli and the one of Leo which I’d printed on plain paper a couple weeks ago. Today, I printed six florals on photo paper. They’re not perfect photos, but hopefully I’ll be able to transfer them to pastel paper. I may try to combine the two magnolia photos to have two blossoms. I might do so with two of the rose of Sharon photos, too.

I’ll have to experiment and play around with creating interesting compositions. This is what I enjoy about painting -- developing vibrant, real scenes using the photos for reference, not to exactly duplicate the prints.

As for the proposed Tuli painting, this is hard because I feel guilty for not doing better when trying to paint Pele. I feel I didn’t do her justice.

I’ve talked before about the kinds of paper. For years, I used BFK Rives paper because I like the smoothness. However, I’ve been trying textured papers the last few paintings. I like the colored backgrounds, but I don’t like the texture. Texture is OK when using darker colors, but I cannot get bright color clarity with lighter shades like whites, yellows, and oranges… the dark of the paper makes a gray, bumpy underlayer to the light colors.

  

Bad Days vs Good Days

This morning’s thinking:

These past few years many things have gone horribly wrong. There have been many, many struggles, days of feeling sad and lots of tears. Do the bad days outweigh the good?

Hmm… maybe it’s because when bad happens, it’s hugely, horribly upsetting and seems to follow me for days and weeks like dark clouds that won’t go away. And because it sticks, it seems to outweigh any good days.

Then when I think about good days – they’re not excitable, jump and down, extremely happy times. Because that’s not me. There are some truly joyful moments, but most days are just simple, good, OK days. Nothing to be truly excited about.

So, does it just seem like too many things go wrong because all the good days aren’t phenomenally good -- meaning the good days don’t stand out? Is it just that most good days are just simple, quiet, everyday days?

It’s kind of like bad times are a loud punch in the gut whereas most good days are quiet, do my work (whatever I happen to be working on at the time) days. I’m not into adrenaline rushes. I’m not one who needs over-the-top excitement, nor do I want that. I like the simple, quiet.

Simple things give me joy – like at this moment as I look out over the still dark brook. My attention is grabbed by a little hint of sunlight sparkling on one limb of a tree, wet from last night’s rain. It lasts only a minute, but as the sun rises higher, more sparkles shimmer on leaves showing of other trees up the hill.

I’ve Made my Life Too Complicated

My life is complicated. Even with not having a full-time job anymore (I’m kinda semi-retired but still feel I’m working most of the day), my to-do lists grow longer. Yes, I get to cross off items almost daily, but more ideas of things to do and topics to write about multiply before I accomplish older projects.

I love to write and do pastel paintings, but my brain is on overload most the time. Do I work on this or that? I’ll start writing about one topic, then other subjects will jump in. I’ll go in the studio to paint and get distracted by cleaning up or wanting to start another painting scene. I just can’t make up my mind and the see-sawing, wishy-washiness causes anxiety.

Flower gardening has fallen by the wayside this summer. The plan to re-paint the deck, front porch and steps have been put on hold until next year because of all the inclement weather. Plus, I can’t deal with the biters out there.

I now have so many lists, my life is getting even more discombobulated. My mind spins and shuts down. Decision making causes even more stress.

This all said, I find life very interesting. Yes, I get discouraged and even depressed sometimes, but for the most part, there’s excitement in delving into topics, sharing thoughts and feelings, and creating colorful paintings. There are many scenes I want to paint and some I’d like to paint again.

Then, too, all the overthinking makes it hard to focus on one task at a time… and it’s exhausting. I know, it doesn’t make sense, but I swear thinking too much can be more tiring than physical labor – then again, that’s another topic as to the issues physical labor causes now. (See how my thoughts pile on.)

I am easily distracted… and if I’m not distracting myself, my Tuli-kitty often wants attention when I’m in the middle of some intense work. Then there are the interruptions with phone calls – scams, marketing, begging, surveys, et.al.

I don’t mind working, and I don’t mind working hard. But I don’t want to feel like I’m working all the time. Yet, it seems the more I try to simplify my life, the more complicated I’ve actually made it.

Maybe I’ve just reached a point in my life where I just can’t do it all by myself any more… but I have no choice. If I want these things done, I’m the only one who can do them. Most of these things are on me, but now, even the things I could hire out to have done, I can’t afford to do so anymore. Such as it is.

Responses to art questions and comments

Two topics from Jason Horejs, of Xanadu Gallery, in his “RedDotBlog, particularly caught my attention. It stirred my own responses.

 “Is Creating Art Hard Work?”

Creating art, for me, is hard work. Sometimes the creative muses are warring with one another as to who’s going to get my attention. I am easily distracted and, these days, if my concentration is interrupted, I lose the desire for other works in progress.

Unfortunately, but really not unfortunate, I have inspirations in many directions. (Unfortunate because I always feel like that bumblebee flitting from one flower to the next. I jump from project to project often before I finish the current one.) On the other hand, it’s exciting to have so many interests.

I am pulled into four main creative endeavors: writing, poetry, photography, and pastel painting. (This is the short list in which my life has evolved around.) I can be busy working on one project when something interrupts and I’m off on another gambit. It can take me a long time to get back to my previous work. Then there are times if I let a piece go too long without attention, I can’t get back into it all. So many new things claiming my attention.

“The Discipline It Takes to Create Art.”

Can I say I fail at discipline? Maybe not. I am disciplined in some aspect, especially my editing for the newspaper. However, with my four main creative passions, it’s sometimes hard to choose one over another. Especially when the muses are all pulling me in different directions.

There’s a part of me that loves this. There’s something exciting about being compelled to create. It’s thrilling when a muse grabs me. There are even multiple avenues with each creative project. I can be writing on one topic, when something else gets my attention. Sometimes when I let the distraction have its way with me, I’ll lose the creative desire on the previous working.

Then there are those times when regular life gets in the way of creativity. Life has been getting to me the last couple years and sometimes I can’t get out of my own way. During those times, discipline to work flies out the window.

Then, too, living alone means all other life aspects is up to me to take care of, so I can’t devote the time I’d like to art.

Maybe it all should be: Creating is hard work because it takes discipline and there are many distractions.

  

Finally Realizing and Accepting Who I Am

While getting ready this morning, I realized I’ve changed with every house I’ve ever lived in. It’s weird. Things I loved or was into shifted with every house, even with this place where I live today.

I think about all the things I was into during my life: writing, poetry, massage therapy, studying different beliefs, playing Native American flute, to name a few. When I lived in the family home in Kensington, I started getting into writing and poetry. I went to massage school. I joined a woman’s support group and led brown-bag lunches and Artist’s Way classes. I got into Tai Chi and eventually became certified to teach.

When we moved to Hampton, I wrote a lot of poetry and left a job I’d worked at for almost 30 years. During the Hampton years and after I moved to Barrington, there were Native American drumming circles, meditation and other types of spiritual searches such as investigating Wiccan, Buddhism, and other. I also got into playing Native American flute.

In Bradford, I continued doing some massage, taught tai chi, and got more into gardening. I continued to write. But I started recognizing things I enjoyed in the past no longer held my interest. Here, I started working as freelance writer then editor of the InterTown Record. I also got into charcoal landscape drawing and became more of a gardener.

Then, when my mum passed, my entire world fell apart. A part of me was ripped away. She’d been my rock, and I became a severed rope end flopping haphazardly in the wind with no connection. In downsizing to move to Hillsborough, a lot of things got thrown away – part of me got thrown away shattering my heart even farther… but it needed to be done.

Hillsborough was about pulling myself together and trying to figure out who I was now. Past passions no longer held me. I gave up massage, tai chi, and flute playing. Charcoal drawing turned into pastel painting (which I love). After a couple of trips, I stopped traveling, then stopped going places at all except to do errands or an interview for the paper or to bring paintings to a show (although the latter is now waning due to expenses.)

Why and/or how has this happened? Have others experienced similar? It’s almost like I become another person with each house/town. Or has it just been leading me to accepting the person I am and have always been on the inside?

So, this morning, while brushing my hair and seeing the flutes in their stand on a cabinet, I was filled with guilt. I haven’t picked one up in over a year or more. And those flutes were not cheap to purchase, and I have many. What does this mean?

Perhaps each house experience was kind of a rite of passage. It seems I’ve always been experimenting to find out what works best for me. (I’m still trying to put these thoughts together, i.e., trying to make sense of it all.) It’s like each situation has helped me further recognize who I am and have always been even when I didn’t realize it.

It’s all about learning to accept who I am and be OK with who I am. Yes, there is always room to grow and learn. I have become stronger in my beliefs. I recognize who I am and there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I stand strong in stating, “I am not a sheep. I AM the odd duck.”

 

Some Thoughts on History

The past few years, I’ve been watching a lot of history shows and reading history books. It’s repetitive, in a way. Times and technology change, but, in many aspects, human beings don’t. There are always those who want to control the masses (to put it simply) and they’ll say and promise anything to get people to follow.

The latest shows I’ve watched parts of are from the series “What Really Happened: America’s Wild West…” It’s an eye-opener, and yet, it’s also a sign of what I’ve been coming to believe and understand for some time.

All our lives we’ve had our history drilled into us – as “they” wanted the U.S. history portrayed – and now, we are learning and hearing more from other sides and stories. How does that old saying go? Something about the conquerors getting to write the history which always portrays them as being in the right.

There is more than one side.

And, all our lives, we’ve been taught that the U.S. is the best country in the world, that our government is the best, and our leaders want the best for American citizens… And I so want to continue believing that, but I don’t anymore.

To see other sides, to start having other truths come out, I have come to the conclusion we’ve been manipulated our entire lives. I’m beginning to think our leaders aren’t much better than leaders in other countries. Men are men. Humans are human with all their frailties.

Oh, I believe many leaders often start out trying to do good for the people they represent, but when the power of control gets hold of them, it all changes. It becomes not about the people in general but about protecting those in power and getting richer from it.

Manifest Destiny – leaders believing they have the God-given right to do whatever they want because they believe they are in the right. They believe their ways are what’s best… and they don’t care who they destroy to get their wants fulfilled.

How many cults and cultures have there been? Someone always thinks they’ve been given some divine right and it always proves to be false. Oh, some benefit, but in the end, most do not.

Leaders create rules for the people they themselves don’t have to follow.

If you’re not pushing your agenda and beliefs on others, they’re pushing theirs onto you.

I don’t know what the real answers are. Yes, there are stories and sides that need to be told. It’s hard to sort it all out.

 

Do MY Work!

 

I have so many projects going on, all in various stages. I can’t help it; I have many interests. I am easily sidetracked by other ideas with my mind jumping from one thing to another with little getting fully finished. Then, I seem to get stuck with trying to make decisions, so much so, I end up giving up and doing something else. Which means more things not complete.

Sometimes, I can’t seem to decide between A and B and the indecisiveness cripples me further. My to-do lists grow into multiple pages, and while I manage to complete small chores, the big ones get left by the wayside.

There’s so much on my mind, I can’t think straight and forget things. I find myself getting frustrated and depressed to the point where I’d spend half my days in tears. I’m my own stumbling block. So, what can I do?

Last month in one of my meditations, I asked the Divine Spirts for help and within seconds, got a clear message: “Do your work!”

And I got it. I have to do MY work! (And MY in this instance is in caps.) Not for anyone else per se, but for me. I have to do it FOR ME and my own wellbeing. MY work for me means finishing my books even if they’ll never get published and doing my paintings even if they’ll never exhibit or sell.

The revelation was an awakening. Do MY work! In that moment, I felt excited and inspired. How wonderful it will feel to finish all these projects. What an accomplishment that would be. No, it won’t matter to anyone else, but it will matter to me.

I must keep telling myself this. If I don’t, I start falling into the same old, same old.  Unfortunately, some of the old issues come up. Do I go with A or B? Overthinking becomes a huge obstacle. Still, I’m plodding along and making some headway. Who knows, maybe if I finish the two travel books, I may feel OK to travel again. Wouldn’t that be awesome!

Am I the Person I Always Should Have Been

… well, partly…  

    "If you are pining for youth, I think it produces a stereotypical old man because you only live in memory, you live in a place that doesn’t exist. I think aging is an extraordinary process whereby you become the person that you always should have been." – David Bowie

    Hmmm, realizing now and acknowledging I am the person I always should have been, is taking me on a new journey. I never liked myself when I was young. I think back on my younger years as a time of unhappiness. This new self-realization helps me understand that, in some respects, I am kind of remarkable because I went against the norm. I was not a follower. (We are not all made to be sheep.)

     In thinking more about this, and remembering my brother saying something about regrets… I can’t say I regret past things because you can’t regret what you didn’t know at the time. If I knew then what I know now, what might I have done differently?

     Working for a newspaper -- (because I now love working for the InterTown Record) but never having read newspapers as a kid, I had no clue. I remember when I was a freshman getting a zero on an assignment to write a review on a newspaper article – needless to say, my parents never got a paper, and I didn’t know how to get one on my own.

     There have been instances in my entire life where something inside me balks at the norm or how others dictate how or what should be done. ‘Course, when I was young, I thought there was something wrong with me because I couldn’t be like others… Why couldn’t I be like the other kids?

     But there has always been something inside me that drove me to be different. I didn’t mean to be, it was just no matter how much I wanted to be like others, I just couldn’t. (See, even today I have trouble explaining it, but I’m beginning to understand it better and embrace it. I have nothing to be ashamed of!)

     In school, art was my favorite subject, along with English. In elementary school, the teachers would sometimes let me stay inside during recess because I was so picked on by others. I’d draw all over the blackboard. (I don’t remember any comments – just that I’d do it.)

     I don’t recall really being taught how to be an artist. I remember being told to do a certain project, but not being given any real instruction. I don’t remember studying the masters or anything like that – except in eighth grade having to write a paper on a famous artist (where again, I didn’t choose one of the more popular.)

     Finding my own way with art was one of the first instances where I remember speaking up for something I created. It was in my sophomore art class, and I still can picture that sculpture in my mind though I can’t remember the material we used, something foreign to me. I’d never made any kind of sculpture and had no idea what to do. So, I made a tall tower with windows carved into the material… (Now I know from watching history shows, it resembled an empty, abandoned relic… maybe why I didn’t get a good grade, ha-ha.)

     What made what I created less artsy than what others did? I told the teacher I deserved a better grade. I’d never spoken up to an adult like that before, but I couldn’t understand how we could be given a grade for something we create? I can’t remember her response, just that I returned to my seat in tears.

     But in looking back at my life, I realize there were many, many instances where I would not follow the crowd. Goodness, no wonder no one liked me, and because I was not like the others, I never felt good enough. However, now I look back and can feel proud that I stood for myself.

     I also realize my mum was something of an oddball. She, too, had her own way of doing things. She, and sometimes my aunt (her twin), would take regular games and recreate them making up new rules. Croquet, Parcheesi, Yahtzee became new games, more elaborated. Croquet became Obstacle Course Croquet using two sets of the game and creating a rambling course around the yard, over, under, and around various obstacles. Parcheesi also became a double game using twice the men and Yahtzee turned into Yap using 10 dice and becoming more like poker.

     Years later, we took Big Board (a takeoff on Monopoly) and made an entirely new board with a parody on local business names. We wrote up our own to-do cards to go with the game… and it could take all day or multiple days to play.

     And, although we played to win, we were not in heavy competition. We played to have fun, not make fun of other players or call them names or wish them ill will. Sometimes we’d even help one another do better, and this attitude is something I’ve carried with me my entire life.

     So, maybe there was something inherited that made me different. My mother certainly wasn’t like other mothers I knew, and my aunt spent 20 years in the army, which made her different. And what was funny, even though they/we made up new games and rules, the rules we made still had to be followed. Interesting. 

On Being Old 9: Sharing stories and responses

I enjoy writing these columns and sharing some of what many of us go through as we get older. Some of it is just about life story, being honest about these struggles, daring to speak up about it and not feel ashamed.

Growing old shouldn’t shame us. Yeah, I know, sometimes I can’t help it. I’m embarrassed when I can’t do something I used to. I hate asking for help for something I feel I should be able to do. I feel bad when I’m gimping like and old person through the grocery store – especially when I see someone who looks older than I zipping up and down the aisles. It’s humiliating if I’m standing in one spot (like at the checkout) and struggling not to grimace in pain. I don’t want people to see me like that… but it’s part of life. We should not be ashamed. We do the best we can.

It is an honor to have others appreciate my writings. I am grateful for the nice comments I’ve received along with suggested topics.

One reader wrote, “Gratitude gets me through the tough spots.” She sent the following random quotes and thoughts on aging:

“Dear old world, you are very lovely and I’m glad to be alive in you.” – L.M. Montgomery

“Whatever the present moment contains, accept it as if you had chosen it. Control of one’s life is only an illusion. Only with accepting the present can we experience relief from negative thought.” – Eckhart Tolle

“There is no death only a change of worlds. The spirit stays alive and wanders about the beautiful places of earth which they loved in their life. The spirits often visit their loved ones to console, comfort or guide them. We are but one thread withing the web of life. Whatever he/she does to the web, he/she does to himself/herself.” – Chief Seattle

“Let us cherish and love old age; for it is full of pleasure, if one knows how to use it.” – Seneca

Sometimes, someone else’s words, while not exactly telling us what to do, offers some insight. Sometimes, their words remind us to slow down and remember it’s all part of life’s process. We can whine about it or just get on with life the best we can. (Sometimes, too, though, the whining can help a little by getting those feelings out.)

While things for me might not be exactly as you experience, there may be enough similarities to remind us we are not alone. And, too, age may not even be a real factor. After all, when does one start feeling old? There are enough differences that some start feeling old at 50 while others are still dancing in their 90s.

What’s important to me is that by being able to openly talk, I can sometimes figure things out for myself. Or some small return comment may give me an “Aha!” moment. Sometimes a comment about a struggle may find someone offering to help or giving a suggestion which helps me take that next step. And, perhaps, a comment I make may give someone else comfort.

More on Sharing Life Story about Dealing with Depression

Once more, in writing my morning pages, I hit on something that drives me to turn to the computer to write what I’d like to share.

I was writing about sharing my depression stories. I know, many people don’t want to hear it. Some people can’t handle listening to these types of issues. Some don’t want to know a friend or family member is having problems. Some believe it’s up to the person to handle it by herself or get professional help.

I’ve heard all the usual comments – all along the lines of “Let it go, get over it.” “Grow a pair…” (Well, I’m not usually told that one, but I’ve heard it said a lot.) The ones I keep telling myself are: “Put your boots on and get to work,” and “Pull up your big girl panties and get to work!”

Whenever I hear those types of comments, it tells me the one I’ve talked to doesn’t want to hear it. It doesn’t mean they don’t care about me. It just means what I happen to talk about isn’t a topic in their wheelhouse. And, I also know, one person’s sadness can easily bring another person down. So, in reality, there are few people to be totally open with. (And with my writing, people can choose to read… or not.)

I don’t expect anyone to solve my problems (unless someday I could come up with a personal assistant to handle things I don’t want to, ha-ha.) I don’t expect anyone to do anything for me (except maybe to just say, “I hear you. I understand.”) I just need to speak and write. That’s my way of getting frustration out of me.

What I realized today, is that by my speaking of my anguish, it’s almost like I’m tossing the issues out of me. I’m cleaning my inner well, so to speak. It’s not to put burden on anyone. It’s getting it out of me!

Yes, I talk to Great Spirit, God, Divine Presence, Mum, whatever good spirit might listen, which is good, but there’s something about telling another human being that takes it to another level. Maybe it’s because, as humans, we all go through crap. Some handle it better. Others struggle.

I also believe this is something along the lines of being witnessed. In the telling, it’s like I’m not so all alone in dealing with issues – even though the bottom line is I am the only one who can solve my problems, and I know that. However, just knowing some other person has heard me, makes me feel better. It’s like letting a breath of fresh air inside me… I can even feel Light in my inner soul.

It’s also important to remember balance. For every supposedly bad or sad thing, there is something to feel joy about – even if it’s just the snow’s melting or the sun is shining today or Tuli is being lovable. 

Sharing Life Stories to Release Depression

Today is one of those days where, by writing about my woes and wondering about life lessons, I had an instance where “something” came through to me. This something doesn’t happen often, but when it does, gladness fills my heart and I feel a reinvigorated.

I have no real name for it and have called it many things: Great Spirit, God, Divine Presence, Spirit Guides, Creative Muses. Maybe someday I’ll know the who, but it usually doesn’t feel like it comes from any one spirit or from any one particular place. Suddenly, I’m just being filled, and I know it’s some kind of message.

“Pain shared is pain halved." Out of the blue, that quote came to me as I sat here in tears while writing about my current depression. It was more than just a thought; it was like the words were spoken directly to me. A simple quote, then the “presence” was gone leaving my mind brimming with words to expand on that phrase and my current emotional state.

Wow, I’d been depressed most the day yesterday and all last night! The whole thing with the scamming and thievery, which is escalating every day, and no one can seem to do anything about it, has put me on the ledge. The sword is getting too heavy to bear. (Is this another aspect of growing old?)

So, I was sitting here worrying about my computer. I'm afraid to do anything, look up anything on Google, FB, place any orders, etc. I’m even hesitant to send emails. Plus, I hate that I can't answer my phone -- I must get two-four scam calls daily.

Lately, I’ve forgotten what it is like to be happy. The negative outweighs the positive by a lot these days. Then I thought about what does make me happy. My only shining lights are a couple of awesome friends, kitties Tuli and Leo, my writing and my painting. (Writing that last line makes me see there is a lot that makes me happy.) However, the dark clouds keep closing in more and more.

And I don't want to have to keep bothering anyone with my woes. So, having that quote come to me lifted me. Came to me as I needed to hear it, I guess... and then I thought: I don't want anyone to have to share even half my pain. And yet, it is this very thing that I feel is one of my purposes in life -- not that I do it a lot -- but it's that anyone can tell me their darkest story and I will listen without judgement and only offer what simple words of wisdom I might have without making them feel they’re wrong by telling. 

For some of us, there are times when a story needs to be told over and over before we can finally let it go or be OK about it. It's about processing our experiences in life. It's a sharing and being witnessed. It's not about having someone "save" us or tell us what to do; it's just being listened to with compassion.

As I’m working on yesterday’s morning pages, and going over how everything seems to go wrong and wondering about the lesson, I thought: What if the lesson is that by my openly talking about my depression, others dealing with similar feelings might not feel so alone?

The sharing can open the door to light. Sometimes, someone else’s words can show us something about ourselves we weren’t acknowledging. Sometimes, having someone else see/hear us and not condemn us for thinking sad thoughts is all we need to put our boots back on and get to work.

The last thing (and something I fear) is always sounding like a woe-is-me person. I just have to balance the writing/talking about the sadness with something positive – like today I wrote a beautiful poem, or I made progress on a painting, or I discovered such and such, or Tuli and/or Leo…

Today, I am happy to have made a breakthrough emotionally. I’ve gained a better understanding of who I am and why.

 

Emotional Self Defense Part 2

This is what stirred in me on Saturday 

Again, writing morning pages, stuff deep inside stirs as I write about Friday.

This morning, I’m hitting on how I feel like all my pulling away from people is to protect myself. I first realized this is what I was doing when Mum was declining and clinging to me. However, now that I’m thinking about this, I’ve been doing this for a long, long time now and not realizing what it was. (And now I wonder, too, if this is what Mum did… in the end, there was only her and I.)

Of course, an old-friend’s words echo back to me as she’d always say, “It’s all about me.” She started that when that term started became popular, but with her saying it, I knew it was a put-down on me and how she felt about me. (She’s always been some kind of a do-gooder, but that’s not who I am. Oh, I want to be good. I’m just not personally into being… drat, I don’t have the words here… one of those… well, I just call them save-the-world-do-gooders, those who run to others’ sides to help them.

The bottom line is it IS all about me! I’ve had to protect myself from a young age my entire life. (Though I never realized that was what I was doing.) Maybe that’s what’s made me what I am, how I am, and who I am.

I’ve never vocally or physically fought back or argued. I’ve never told her how her snide comments made me feel less than and unworthy. I’ve never been able to outwardly defend myself. I just built inner walls and hid… and in many aspects, at least in physical company with others, the walls are getting thicker. I only have a couple people I feel I can be totally safe and open with.

And yes, I do feel guilty about that, but there’s something inside me that creates a volcanic, emotional, overwhelming… fear/anxiety... that makes all my walls come crashing down. I just can’t… go to funerals or do other of those kinds of supports, for instance. And yet, someone can sit one on one with me and tell me their darkest secrets, and I can handle that. How weird.                                               

Maybe it’s because all my life I’ve had to stand strong on some things because I felt so put-down-upon on so much. The few times I’ve tried to put myself out there with groups have been complete failures. I am the odd duck and not a sheep. I don’t fit in with the herds… and don’t want to. 

I’m not calling others wrong. They have the right to their beliefs. I just can’t do and/or participate when my entire being is screaming no. Pulling back and isolating is the only thing I can do to not bend to others’ wills when everything inside me is rebelling. I can’t live to others’ expectations.

Yeah, I’m still trying to figure it out. Maybe part of me always felt… how do I describe it… there’s just been something inside me that slams inner doors shut when I don’t feel safe. So, I need to alienate myself to protect that individualism, my uniqueness.

I’m still learning about it. Is it being selfish? But we don’t all have to be the same. Why do I have to be in the wrong just because I don’t want to be like others?

My mind is whirling around… there’s some kind of a breakthrough close, but I’m not there yet…

Lessons from the Past

The past few days, my morning pages have been interrupted by inner emotional ramblings and I feel I'm reaching a bit of a breakthrough in self understanding. 

The past helps make us who we are and what we are. Yes, there are still choices, but getting a better understanding of the past can help us move past any old hurts. Being able to talk about things to one another helps us also understand one another. That doesn’t mean we have to agree or like, but the stories help in understanding and with understanding comes better tolerance and acceptance.

And yes, there are times when we have to let go the past to move on. Sometimes, though, issues resurface, and when they do, what are the lessons to learn?

When the past pops up, which can drop me back into some extremely unhappy times, I also know I’m on the verge of a breakthrough. I still haven’t quite grasped it yet, but it’s close to my fingertips. I’m understanding myself better which in turn opens me to better understand others. (Too bad I am in my late years when coming to these realizations, ha-ha.)

But maybe that’s part of what wisdom is all about. I am able to release old grudges and hurts because I now have that wisdom of life to help me see how the past has made me who I am, and to accept this is who I am. This is nothing to be ashamed of or feel guilty about. We were not all made to be sheep. If we were, we’d all have preprogrammed robot brains.

The big thing is in recognizing that I have never been a follower, a sheep, part of the herd. Every time I’ve tried, I end up in a crash and burn. There’s always been something inside me that rebelled and refused to jump on popular bandwagons or buckle down to others telling me what I should be doing. That feeling can turn almost into a physical reaction when I’m being pushed towards something my inner being is rebelling against.

And, of course, that has caused tremendous inner anguish, especially when I was much younger and couldn’t fit in with my peers. There has always been some super strong conviction that makes me feel sick when I’m being forced to do or can’t agree to something. Which doesn’t mean it’s wrong, it’s just not right for me.

Unfortunately, those feelings and inner reactions often put me on the outskirts and makes me a loner, never fully belonging to anything. But, every time I sit here in tears over one thing or another, I know there’s something I’m learning.

And what keeps coming forth strongly is: It is OK to me! I don’t have be like everyone else. I don’t have to be a sheep. It’s OK to celebrate being an odd duck and thinking for myself.

When I think thusly, a content sense of something greater settles over me filling me with an inner peace and telling me I AM OK being me.

On Being Old 8 How the Elderly are Viewed

Do younger people just see old people as complainers? Are the elderly seen as curmudgeons? (Think “Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In” and the Arte Johnson and Ruth Buzzi characters.) Does it seem like those oldsters are always finding fault with “young people nowadays?”

I know when I was young I didn’t want to hear some old geezer trying to tell me how I should act. The times were different. There were places to explore, life to live and experience. Who wanted to listen to some old guys talk about “When I was young …?” (But I also have to admit, I didn’t have much contact with anyone over 60 until I was in my 50s.)

Then, when my aunt went into a nursing home and we visited, I was appalled at seeing all these oldsters hunched over in their chairs with hardly any life in them. Or, their wheelchairs in circle with some young thing crowing, “Let’s play ball,” as she’d toss a beach ball to one. (That’s my image of nursing homes … not very appealing for end-of-life days.)

When I first moved to Bradford and saw what was happening at the Mountain View Senior Center, I was excited. What an awesome place for people to get together. There were many programs and groups, and the participants were wonderful, friendly and vibrant.  I told myself when I got older, I’d definitely join.

I tried to get my mother involved, but she wouldn’t go. Now, years later, I understand more. Mum reached the point where she loved people to visit, but she just didn’t have the gumption to go anywhere. Not everyone is highly sociable towards group settings.

I’m that way now. I find myself wanting to stay home more and more. I no longer want to be around groups of people. I’ve turned into one of these curmudgeonly old people. I can easily rant about these “young people nowadays.”

I sometimes wonder what happened to older cultures who respected their elders. When did old people start being locked away in nursing homes? When their children could no longer care for them? (I never want to be a burden on my kids.)

And, what happens at that point, when years of experience and wisdom are not honored or wanted? When no one is willing to listen, what happens to life purpose? When people stop visiting or calling, do the older folks become invisible? Do they feel unappreciated and unloved? Are they only relegated to senior events and centers with some young person providing entertainment to keep them occupied?

I no longer have the energy to do things, go places. And that’s hard being an artist who loves to share her work and participate in exhibits. Besides the lack of energy, there are the aching joints at walking around, dealing with stairs, getting in and out of the car, etc. Standing in one spot while chatting with someone is the worst … or waiting in line at the grocery store check-out.

Then, too, my curmudgeonly ways have me standing my ground on what I believe, ha-ha.

On Being Old 5 Living with Pain

As I get older, pain, in one form another, seems to be an almost always companion. I’m stubborn about running to the doctor’s (haven’t been in over 30 years except for one time when I had strep throat. I ­nd other ways to deal like ibuprofen, Olbas salve, essential oils, ice, etc.) Pain issues may be one aspect of an older person becoming invisible. (Becoming invisible is a topic I’ll talk more on later.)

Pain forces me to stay home, keeping quiet so I don’t sound like a whiner while trying to suck it up and be brave. Also, I fi­nd it embarrassing and humiliating when out in public and struggling to stand without showing pain. However, I think we should be able to talk about these things. After all, it is part of life. We shouldn’t have to be ashamed of being old or feel like we’re being pushed aside or that we no longer serve a purpose. We shouldn’t have to suffer alone or be relegated to being with others just like us. (And don’t even ask me what I think of nursing homes – I’d rather be dead.)

There was a time when elders were appreciated and honored. Some days it’s almost easier to say what doesn’t hurt. I chalk it all up to getting old … except when I do something stupid, like tripping and falling. I’ve been lucky most my life with those types of things. I’ve always had good balance. However, if I’m not paying attention and hurrying …

Like in 2019 when I took a header out on my deck. It happened so fast; I didn’t have time to brace myself (probably a good thing). My foot caught while stepping up, and I fell flat on my stomach, and hard. I saw the deck coming up and can’t believe I didn’t smash my face. What saved me was my chest. The worse injury was to my right knee and foot. The skin in those areas still show bruised areas three years later.

Then, there was a fall last month. That time, though, it was because my foot sunk in mud up to my ankle. The only bruise then was to my ego for taking a short cut across a damp, new grass area of the lawn. Although, any kind of a fall causes some aches and soreness just from jarring the body when momentum suddenly ceases.

The most recent fall was Jan. 23. I’d gone out to shovel the front porch and steps. Coming back inside, my toe caught the stoop and down I went slamming my knee onto the floor (thank God for carpeting). My scream scared the daylights out of Tuli and Leo and the two kitties took off. Thankfully, my momentum carried me forward so the door closed on the snow still falling outside.

I knew enough to lie still for a few minutes mentally accessing the damage then slowly moving little by little. I contemplated how to get up before actually trying to do so. I believe taking this time, breathing and calming down, allows the body and mind to pull together. I eventually was able to stand. I had to use a cane to get around.

As I write this three days later, I am much better, but walking is still difficult. Getting out of bed is still the hardest, especially if Tuli is sleeping with me as I try to maneuver my leg around her.

One of my issues with dealing with bad knees, achy feet, etc., is being short. Now that I’m not able to lift my legs well, I tend to scuff. (Scuffing has always annoyed me and now I’m doing it.) This also means stairs are a major issue, and “building to code” with a 7-7 ½ inch rise makes steps difficult. Both the fall in 2019 and this recent one had to do with a single step up.

With stairs, I have to consider if my knee(s) will hold my weight with the movement as I step up or down. I lean or hold heavily on railings all the time. But now, I also need to consider my other foot when climbing stairs, the foot that might drag behind. This was my downfall (pun intended) on the 2019 fall and now this one. Guess I’m not as attentive on these single step-ups.

One of my goals when moving to this house was to set myself up for my older years. The builder I had insisted on the code for steps. This bothered me because we’re not a one-size-size-fi­ts-all people. What if code sizes don’t work for your personal safety … whether it’s age or body type?

Yes, I understand needs for families, but as an older woman, those rules don’t fi­t me. I need my home set up for my safety, yet all I kept hearing was about selling the house in the future. Hello, I’m living here now. I didn’t buy this house to turn around and sell it. I spent a lot of money making this house fi­t my needs. If, when I’m gone, the next owners need to make changes for their lifestyle, then they can do that.

A couple years ago, I had my back steps and steps to the garage rebuilt to suit movability with a shorter rise and wider tread. What a difference that made! I can easily go up and down these steps and the railings on both sides are sturdy for when I need the extra support. Making my living space work for me gives me peace of mind along with safety. 

On Being Old 7 A Conversation with my Brother

The importance of talking with family continues … 

My brother and I didn’t get along well as kids. I suppose, being siblings, we both thought the other got the more attention – or whatever. However, since we’re much older, we’ve occasionally touched on a topic from our past and life in general.

I am always amazed when he mentions something about our childhood I never knew or realized. And, of course, I say things he never thought about. We agree it’s almost like we grew up in different households. He was certainly treated differently than I. Mum used to tell me he was jealous of me because I was smarter. I used to be envious of him because I felt all the other members of the family treated him better and gave him more things than I ever got.

This is another example telling me how important it is to talk. We saw things differently as kids. We never could have discussed these topics back then without fighting. But now that we have a lifetime of living and experience, we can look back with a more open heart and mind. We need to be able to talk freely; with that, comes a better understanding, and, perhaps, healing from past hurts.

He made a comment about regrets and my mind immediately went to Frank Sinatra’s line, “Regrets, I made a few, but then again, too few to mention …” A few, ha-ha? I try not to have regrets or guilt, but too, working through them helps us grow. The trick is to not let them bring us down, which is one reason to talk about them.

My brother’s biggest regret is his inability to read well. Although he quit school at 16, he still made a good life for himself. He’s always worked hard, had his own landscaping business for years and made a decent wage. It’s sad to hear he’s harbored the regrets of not succeeding in school. He wondered why Dad and Mum didn’t push us harder to succeed. (My reply was that they didn’t know how or even understand why that was important. It was the time and area we grew up in, not that they were bad parents.)

Dyslexia wasn’t a known diagnosis when we were kids. Not being able to read well put you into the lesser classes … not being able to read was seen more like being stupid or too lazy to try. This was a time when any inability at learning subjected you to … not so good times in school. (And when we were kids, terms like “retard” were often used. Oh, how cruel kids could be.)

How brave my brother is to admit these things now. I admire him for having the courage for talking about how it. And, how sad, that in his later years, it still bothers him. It takes courage to talk about believed failings, to admit feelings, to discuss things before it’s too late. It’s not about, “You did this to me when we were kids.” It’s not about finding fault or bringing up past hurts. It’s about coming to terms with one’s own life and gaining better understanding in humanity. These things can stew inside you your entire life.

What does this have to do with being old? Years ago, we couldn’t have had these kinds of conversations. As kids, there was always a sibling rivalry; always that feeling that Mum liked me better and Dad liked him better. (I can hear the Smothers Brothers saying, “Mom liked you better.”) Now we have the wisdom of lives well-lived (which doesn’t necessarily mean easy).

Why haven’t we talked more? Is there fear of the old terms and hurt feelings resurfacing? Is it fear of admitting guilt about some things? Being embarrassed by feelings of failure? Being afraid to be ridiculed … again? Is it because we were taught you didn’t talk about these things?

It’s important to talk. I think about the conversations I wish I could have now with my Mum, Dad and other relatives. I wish I’d known to ask these things years ago; how to ask them. If I had, would they have answered or brushed me off?

There are questions brewing which I’ll never have answers for. I wish they talked more about issues bottled up inside. Perhaps those conversations could have led to earlier understandings of life and family dynamics.

There’s a need for our own stories to come out and be told. The stories help show what we’ve gone through and overcome. They also help others who also struggle to know they are not alone. We shouldn’t be afraid to share those stories. We are who we are. We’ve come a long way. Let’s celebrate that!