Not anyone's fool, not even today

I finished the piece I was working on over the past few days. I had to take a photo of it because it's still on the watercolor block (hate to be wasteful of expensive paper!). It's my favorite one so far, but the photo does it absolutely zero justice. That led me to think on a grander scale. If this isn't as good as it is in reality, then maybe … just maybe the things that are wrong for me right now aren't as bad as they really are. Sure, mom is difficult. Her physical needs and dementia are challenges that are becoming more routine and less panic inducing. The boys are so good, so happy. They are flourishing. We have a home. A home that is filled with laughter and love. We are teaching them life lessons every day that mom lives with us. What it means to be family. What it means to give your word and keep it. What it means to do the right thing, even when it's hard.

So my piece of artwork is now my favorite for more than one reason.

First Challenge

I took part for the first time in The Diva's challenge, "Love your curves, baby." Here it is.

I subscribe to the website "I draw and paint." I find that I'm drawn to the artists that have these totally cute daily journals where they toss in a little watercolor picture that fits the entry and a couple of Englishmen who paint the villages and coasts of their homeland. These watercolors are so precise and detailed that I envy the skill and attention to detail.

Hard Day's Night

It's been a hellacious couple of days at work, but I'm thankful for my right-hand gal. We can usually make each other laugh, no matter how hectic the day gets. Working from home is both a blessing and a curse. Yes, you can throw a load of laundry in as you go to/from the bathroom. You can get dinner prepped on your lunch break. The downside is the work is ALWAYS there, calling to you in that sneaky siren way.

I started another Zentangle today. I was cleaning my watercolor palette and had a lot of blues on it. So I kind of made a slurry of it and threw it onto the Zentangle square. As it dried, I realized it looked less like the clouds I had intended and more like the ocean. I've laid the strings down and am starting to fill in the spaces. I like what it looks like so far, but we'll see what tomorrow brings.

For tonight, I'll throw up a Zentangle I did at the request of my sister. She has decorated her apartment in the festive colors that go with the Mexican holiday "Dia de los Muertas," or day of the dead. Rather than grieve the anniversary of the loss of a loved one, they celebrate it, fiesta style!

Finding my way back

We're coming up on the year mark since dad passed away.  On the one hand, I can't believe it's been nearly a year; on the other, it's been a lifetime.  We moved mom in with us at the beginning of December and she's better here.  The boys entertain her (or her outrageous behavior entertains them).  We're finding a new rhythm, the six of us.  It's neither better nor worse (yet), but we're finding our way.  The old house has been sold, the condo is up for sale and we're actively looking for a house that will suit mom's physical needs now and for the future.  The boys aren't thrilled with moving, but truly do understand the necessity of it.

Grief is an odd thing.  The boys feel free to cry when they need to and talk to me about how much they miss him.  Mom doesn't cry, but asks every day why daddy had to die.  My relationship with grief is adversarial at best.  I don't have time to cry.  I don't have time to think about this enormous void his passing has left.  If I get taken by surprise with my own tears, I push them back down and get back to the business of managing all of the things he left for me to do. 

I took up art to try to feel close to him.  I'm not any good, but that isn't the point.  It's a period of time each day that I sit and commune with dad.  I have replaced our early morning coffee and phone call with art time after dinner, when all the chores for the day are finished.  I can hear him in my head, guiding me.  I feel him in my soul, soothing me and whispering that I'm doing what needs to be done.

Finding the right medium was very difficult.  From having no experience at all (other than stick figures), learning to draw, much less paint, has been a frustrating, but amazing experience.  I stumbled upon an art form called "Zentangle," and knew immediately that was what I wanted to do.  What I could do.  So I'll post them as I finish them and start off today with a drawing meant for my grandfather.

If I don't get it out, my head will explode

A year ago dad weighed 186 pounds with a little Buddha belly on his Filipino frame.  That was a few weeks before we found out he had stage IV lung cancer.  The journey from then to now has been something almost beyond my comprehension.  I was this very grounded, very practical, but very silly woman of 47.  Everything that I knew to be true in my life, all of my constants, have turned out to be anything but. 

I've never blogged before.  Writing a physical journal falls by the wayside.  It gets buried beneath the paperwork and schoolwork and newspapers or bills that wind up on the desk in my home office.  I'm going to give this a try.  I'm going to send my pain, frustation and fear as far away from me, into the universe, as I can to get it out of my head.

He lied to me.  My father, my hero, my most treasured friend lied to me.  "They're just going to put a scope down my throat."  He'd been having trouble swallowing over the summer.  Now everything tasted like a mouthful of pennies.  Okay, a bronchoscopy.  Maybe he's got some erosive changes from reflux.  Not a big thing.  Until.  Until the call from Aunt Jean to tell me it wasn't a bronchocsopy that was being performed, but a lung biopsy for a mass found in the left lower lobe of his lung.

The telephone call that came after went like this:
Me:  Hey, whatcha doing?
Daddy:  Nothin.  Reading the paper.
Me:  So how did the test go?
Daddy:  Oh, not bad.  My throat's a little sore.
Me.  Your throat's sore?  From a LUNG BIOPSY?
Daddy:  ........ I didn't want you to worry.

That's the thing.  He never wanted to cause worry or put anyone out by asking for help with anything.  He never wanted anyone to fuss over him, but he gave everything of himself to everyone else. 

So we moved to Cancer Land.  We started radiation therapy immediately.  We started chemotherapy in a dingy office with old recliner chairs, linoleum on the floor and a TV bolted to the wall.  The radiation wasn't too bad, but chemo kicked daddy's ass.  Hard.  The vomiting started almost right away.  I'd steel myself as he was sick then quietly take the basin away, clean and return it.  Mom retreated to the upper floor and stayed there for the next five months. 

That was the beginning of the end.  For him.  For me.  For our family.