living a small, slow life in a small, slow town and loving every minute of it...please join my journal about aging, overcoming c-PTSD, living with chronic illness, and being creative in spite of it all.
“The academic world is shifting. Nobody’s going to go into art. Who wants to pay all that money and then not make a living?” Funny, that…I was just having that conversation with my son the other day. There is a shortage of teachers. And doctors. And nurses. And pharmacists. And….and….who’s going to pay all that money for an education, spend their life struggling to pay off that debt, and have their work and livelihood strictly limited by the insurance conglomerates? I believe that we are experiencing an artistic renaissance the likes of which will rival DaVinci’s time in history. Because why not? What has art to teach us? How could it lead us to freedom? Why is freedom the goal?
Surely you don’t need me to answer that. You wouldn’t be here if you did.
This week I want to take you along to meet some artists. Most of them I do not know personally. I met them the same way you are about to, via the magic of YouTube. How old was I when YouTube began? I’m not sure, but I sure am glad it came along when it did. It has certainly enriched my life and I count it high on the list of things I am grateful for. Since my teen years I have subscribed to magazines and have always been grateful that I was born in such a time as this – when the publishing industry was thriving. Of course magazines, at least the affordable shelter magazines that have inspired me most of my life, have become a rare commodity. Like much in our culture, the cost to produce them has become prohibitive. Along comes a new publishing medium – because we are information addicts, after all. And now that so many of us are learning to live in insolation it is another way to connect. You might be surprised to know that I’ve met wonderful people and had some very meaningful conversations through connections I’ve made on YouTube. People are infinitely creative and resourceful.
You will notice a pattern in the artists I choose to showcase this week. For one thing, they all have grey hair. Perhaps we will visit younger artists soon, but right now I am obsessed with older people like myself telling the stories of how they reinvented their lives. Damn they are strong. They work in different mediums, styles and genres. They are messy and they are wise. You’ll notice they all have a glimmer in their eye. They have a lot to say and aren’t afraid to say it. They aren’t afraid. I like that about them. I want to be more like each one of them when I grow up.
Who said “Remember, ultimately, it will be the artists who save us.”? I did; I said it. You’ll recognize that quote if you’ve known me any length of time. I’ve been saying it for decades, in conversations, on social media, in my writing. I mean it, too. Let me tell you why I believe it is true, and why I think history proves it.
Artists are the truest reporters of the culture they are living in. They have never fit in, and they never will. They observe subtle, often unspoken, patterns. Long before we see them in everyday life. I’m not sure why that is the case. Perhaps by the very nature of the traits that make them artists they are slow moving, intuitive, and sensitive to nonverbal communication. They find ways to communicate that will bypass the obvious, that will sneak in the backdoor of our mind and get the point across before our beliefs have had a chance to object or rationalize. Think of all of Joni Mitchell’s brilliant lyrics. “Richard got married to a figure skater and he bought a dishwasher and a coffee percolator and he drinks at home now most nights with the tv on and all the house lights left up bright.” You instinctively know exactly what is going on.
This vulnerable transparency is true of visual artists; it is certainly true of musicians, and it is true in the healing arts. Where intellect and education will stretch to conjure a solution, a cure…intuition picks up and extends a loving offer: try this. It doesn’t have to make sense. And something inside us, and our body, recognizes the truth of it.
I remember a fever induced dream. Convalescing in my bedroom during a long illness, I looked longingly out the window – and saw a horse walking down the street. Oh, dear, I thought, someone’s horse has escaped. I grabbed an apple from the bowl on the dining table and ran down the stairs and out into the street, extending my arm to lure the horse. That’s when I realized it was wild, ghost-like, not from around here. The horse smelled the apple and nodded for me to eat it, and I woke. I knew I would begin to heal now, and that apples held some nutritional element I needed for that. I’m not sure that has anything to do with being an artist; however I did get right up and eat an apple. An artist trusts their intuition. They inherently know that God, or whatever you want to call spirit or a higher power, is at play in our lives all the time. And the more we honor that the healthier we will be.
Whether history being unearthed on cave walls or Lady Gaga telling us God makes no mistakes and we were born this way, the artists carry the declaration of our existence, of our why, of our “YES, and I will not be denied.” Because as the poet David Whyte reminds, the world was made to be free in.
Scottish artist Jane Lindsay exemplifies what I have talked about in recent posts – making your home uniquely yours, and that it doesn’t need to cost much at all. Look at her beautiful things that delight and amuse her, even when broken and glued together. Maybe moreso broken and glued together, because as she says, she loves things that mean something.
Never mind Jane obviously won the lottery in heaven when they were passing out good skin. She talks about when she turned 50 during her children’s teen years, and now they’re grown…she defies age. Does living the life of an artist in the Scottish countryside have something to do with that? As I’ve been following her for a few short months now, I know that she, too, lives with chronic disease. She sure doesn’t show it. She is gracious and delightful.
Her home is chock full of creative ideas. I’m going to steal some of her quirky sign ideas and make my own. And yes, Jane…we will “s’cuse the mess.”
I went to Amazon and was able to custom order a vintage-style metal sign like the one on her wall. Link here: https://amzn.to/3A91liS Remember that as an affiliate I may earn a small commission on anything you purchase through my blog, and thank you. Here is the book Jane references, The Not So Big House: https://amzn.to/3YueVax If you’re nearby, I’d be glad to lend you my copy. I’ve referenced it for years. I love the bright yellow reading lamp she has in her alcove. I couldn’t find us a yellow one, but I did find a great one with coppery accents, here: https://amzn.to/4d4KhZL. And last but not least, how about those stick on letters under paint with a favorite song or poem line?! https://amzn.to/46ve7UQ Thanks for the inspiration, Jane!
The last few posts, while on a subject close to my heart, were just TCB. If you don’t know what that stands for, don’t take your youth for granted. I’ve not been well enough to write for the better part of a week. And I’m learning a lot, seemingly all over again, about my body and my health now that I am older. I can no longer get away with plowing through like I did the first several decades.
Those closest to me know that a few months ago I was told that I have a rare genetic disease, called ADA (or Adenosine deaminase deficiency) which destroys the immune system. I’d gone through another bout of Lyme and two sets of blood tests, and the doctor’s office called me in for a “consultation.” They wanted me sitting down to explain this anomaly. Apparently they had never heard of ADA either until getting the results back from Mayo and they were quite stumped by my response when they told me: I laughed out loud. A big guffaw. It wasn’t that I don’t take it seriously, but think about it – I’m halfway through my 71st year and they are telling me that I have a rare, life-threatening disease that might kill me – AND that I was born with it! Helllloooooo…..I WON!
Honestly, I suddenly felt like I had superpowers. But it did explain a lot, and I am just beginning to grasp the consequences with this last week, because what I am experiencing may be no more than your common cold. I tested negative for Covid and influenza, which is great to know; I’m not contagious. I was told it probably began as allergies and became a sinus infection, and I was prescribed antibiotics. But the past few nights have been pretty scary. Incessant violent coughing keeps me from sleeping, so I count the minutes on the clock adding them up to make hours, in an attempt to get to morning without having to call for an ambulance. The validating part of this diagnostic information is that I know that I am NOT exaggerating the pain or the seriousness of the symptoms. I record every medication I take at what time. I line them up on the dresser just in case I’m making a mad dash for help, or worse, that my son would be.
And for the record, I freaking hate drama. I do not want to be this person who is always sick and needy. I’m far less afraid of death. So that’s the other thing I do – I write love notes. I document my thoughts and feelings. I’m getting my things in order. I updated my will fast, and bought a final wishes planner called I’M DEAD, NOW WHAT? to record instructions for my only child. Last year my brother died in his sleep after a few days of “feeling under the weather”. He was 62; I was 70 at the time. It is entirely possible he also had ADA, and that a seemingly minor cold or flu was not taken seriously. We’ll never know.
Here’s what I do know: I’m not afraid of dying. It certainly wouldn’t be my choice at this time, but que sera sera…I AM, however, afraid of losing my sense of humor. It’s been elusive this past week. That’s when I know I’m really in trouble. When I become snarky with the people I love. Because when all is said and done…
Get a new toaster already! This one looks good from my Amazon affiliate link: https://amzn.to/46BPdDg, and for God’s sake, get yourself a final wishes planner: https://amzn.to/3LOyp26 Don’t leave it to your loved ones to have to figure out. That isn’t fun or funny.
Let’s go to school with color expert, designer and self-proclaimed hoarder Patrick O’Donnell. Here he shows us his enchanting home, a “typical 70’s ranch” he transformed into a country retreat with paint and wallpaper. He walks us through his 10 Design Rules, including essentials like How to Hide Your Jackie Collins. And Perk Up Your Pelmet. Betcha didn’t know you needed this!
Let’s recreate some of these design elements on a budget! I will be finding a place in my home for this beautiful peel & stick wallpaper: https://amzn.to/4cfIoYV Remember, as an Amazon Affiliate I may earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. And Thank you for using the links here. Now let’s hang this green majolica leaf plate (my favorite) on that wallpaper: https://amzn.to/4fwLdYO. I’ve also hung paper plates and even used them in the back of a shelf to highlight the dishes in front of them. My new favorite are these Caspari paper placemat hung on the wall: https://amzn.to/3YuvBif, layered under white cabbage ware plates: https://amzn.to/4fvhwr2. Now we’re getting there!
Wheat Sheaf, the style of chandelier he has, was popular during the 70’s and usually paired with Duncan Fife or Colonial style furnishings. I’d actually prefer this in our room: https://amzn.to/4d6n35G. That will get us a big impact for a modest investment. If you don’t have an upholstered headboard, treat yourself. They’re great for sitting up in bed reading, which I love to do. And they’ve become much more affordable, like this one: https://amzn.to/4c8gNZW. Again, a great deal of comfort and style for a reasonable investment. And now, you can easily change out your look seasonally with the new stretchy slipcovers: https://amzn.to/3LL1Kuq. We need a good reading lamp and we’re ready for guests. I have this one and I love it: https://amzn.to/46uExpK…Paddy, your room is ready!
sometimes, quite literally. Why are we so afraid to express ourselves? I’ve always been a maximalist. Really, from the time I was a little kid. I was in grade school or junior high when my best friend nicknamed me “the perpetual arranger.” Keep rearranging it until it relaxes you and tickles your fancy.
I have also never had any budget for decoration. I’ve been the thrift queen since high school, shopping at St. Vincent de Paul, garage sales, and the Goodwill for clothes and jewelry and lamps and rugs and cute little chairs. And when I am not wearing the green velvet jacket I don’t hang it in the closet. What a waste that would be. I drape it over the shoulders of a chair. I hang necklaces on a lamp, I pin found feathers and postcards from friends to the lampshade. I’ll drop today’s beach stone finds in the bathroom sink. A friend once asked me how I clean the sink with the stones in the way…and don’t they get toothpaste on them? I responded “they love it.” Who told you the rules?
Hutton Wilkinson says the worst thing a house can be is boring. I couldn’t agree more. Design mentor Alexandra Stoddard calls taupe boring, “…the insidious, evil, creeping taupe.” Taupe. Who needs it? Just say no. Let your house express you. Don’t you want to walk out to your kitchen in the morning and be delighted? Come home from your yearly physical and feel renewed? Let your soul play and sing here – here – where it is for you. One of my life goals is to become increasingly brave and eccentric – and embellish everything. Stand right there a minute…
This has been another tough week. I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired. I try to tough it out, but finally succumb to the exhaustion and call the doctor. I went in again yesterday and am back on yet another course of antibiotics. When I am nauseous and in pain I am impatient and…well, let’s just say less than gracious.
Summer has become my least favorite season for several reasons. One reason is too much activity crammed into the 3 months of warm weather. I prefer cooler weather. And less activity. Quieter. That said, I am blessed to live in a beautiful part of the country (and the world) and summer is busy with visitors. Tourists come from all over the world. Friends and family visit from all over the country. Some have cottages nearby, some rent. My darling nephew came up from Cincinnati in June with his three young girls. They stayed with me in my little one bedroom house. I took the sofa and made the 3 girls camp out on the living room floor next to me. That visit was way too short and absolutely magical. I’m still tingling with delight every time I think of it.
But I was well that week, and now I’m not. It happens that most of my peers, family and friends alike, are retired now. I’m working from home. They are on vacation; I am not. And recently a visiting relative was quite insensitive about bringing that up. Bragging actually, about not having to work in his later years. As if I were not as smart, or had done something wrong. I ignored him, considered the source and all that. The next day I offered a bit of help as they were having to move from hotel to cottage, juggling suitcases and food and outdoor gear. They inquired as to the location of a laundromat and I offered to do their laundry while they went out touristing. I was laying low trying to turn this sinus infection around; I might as well make myself useful. My generosity was responded to with another request. Sadly I have to be reminded now and again that most of my family will take a mile if you give them an inch.
But today after cooking myself some breakfast before taking all the pain medication I can safely take at one time, I caught myself feeling sorry for myself. That’s ugly. I crawled back into bed in hopes of the relief that comes only with sleep…and heard a knock on the front door. Someone knocks on my front door about 3 times a year. I do not live on the way to anywhere (on purpose) and the door is up a flight of stairs, after you’ve managed the 45 degree incline of the driveway. I’m perched high on a hill, also on purpose. The views are great, and more importantly, I’m a destination.
At the soft knock I leapt out of bed, excited. My immediate thought was that it might be a delivery of flowers! Several friends and family members know I am in bed sick and having a hard time. But it was just UPS. The box was heavy and he offered to set it inside the door. I have the kindest UPS driver, Brian, who goes above and beyond. And I was grateful. So was the cat, whose food and litter made up the weight of the box. No, that’s not true – the cat takes me for granted, too. As testament to my being a good pet owner.
And as I shuffled stiffly back to bed, I thought of how odd it was that my first thought was a flower delivery. My mother used to send flowers to me. Always pink tulips on my birthday in March. Often when she knew I was feeling down. Just a little cheer.
But she’s been gone 21 years. In those 21 years I have had exactly one flower delivery. It was dropped outside my door just after losing my sweet little beagle Odie 5 years ago. That came from a dear friend, who has also suffered too much loss and grief. She brought an orchid that is still flowering, and tea and chocolates long gone. How very thoughtful. I have received lovely notes and cards and gifts in the mail from friends, and I delight in sending them occasionally. I wish health and finances allowed for much more of that.
Why don’t we do more thoughtful acts of kindness anymore, myself included? I’m healing now, mentally and emotionally at least, from a lifetime of living with narcissists, with brutish men and defensive women. I’ve had to realize that many of my family were not nice people, albeit I understand their pain and dysfunction. I’ve had to see those traits in myself and work to overcome them. Most importantly, I’ve learned to enjoy my own company. I’m the CEO.
I did lose my patience yesterday. I was short with a dear friend and ornery with my son. All via text, while waiting in an hour long line at the pharmacy. I’m disappointed with myself. I compromised my integrity. Integrity doesn’t allow you to justify bad behavior based on your own needs. I hope I learned something and can do better in the future. My friend and my son were both quite magnanimous about it. My son texted back, “Your feelings are valid. No need for guilt. I love you and I’m grateful for you.” Sometimes words are even better than flowers.
Yesterday’s post seemed a bit preachy about what I don’t want. I beg your patience. What I DO want, and have always wanted, is freedom. Peace of mind. That’s my measurement from here on out for the rest of this incarnation, which I hope will be many more years. As Mimi would say, “good Lord willin’ and the crick don’t rise.” Do I need more exercise to pull that off? I certainly do. So thank you to my dear, dear friends and family who do continue to entice me out to share in activities. I have to pick and choose wisely right now as I am still recovering from a debilitating, albeit invisible, disease. Thank you for not giving up on me.
This delicate balance I seek to find this summer includes what feels like a huge psychological shift. Now in my 7th decade I seem to be just discovering what freedom means – specifically, to think freely. To dig down into the depths of my true being and find out what it is that I really want. Who I truly am. To stop using life energy to flail against what I don’t want. To stop protesting, to stop feeling put upon and pulled at by those around me.
Two or three nights ago now I woke, as I always do, between 3 and 4 a.m. I “heard” the voice in my head, seemingly out of nowhere, stating very clearly: “THERE IS NOTHING AGAINST YOU HERE.” Intuitively I knew that by HERE it meant, in life, on earth, for all time. There is nothing against me. There never has been. And as my old mentor Jack Boland would have said, “therefore, as night follows day…” that means that everything is FOR me.
This concept may take a minute or lifetime for me to grok. I’ll have to get back to you on this…this is what I mean when I say, “on the road to enlightenment, I’m taking the local.” I mean to get it with every cell of my being. Don’t rush me.
Please indulge this idea with me: what if everything is for you? Another long time mentor is Rob Bell. Young as he is, he is onto something. Several years ago I went to listen to him speak in his home town of Grand Rapids, Michigan. He left the evangelical mega church he was pastor of because they wouldn’t let him teach enlightenment. There’s something I might do if you asked – I’d go to hear him speak again. He leads you out – out of the restriction of your personality into your natural state of freedom. He gets it, or as he says, there is no exit strategy here. “This is not an evacuation theology…”
It’s true that I don’t want to go anywhere with you. Because I want to be nowhere with you, as in nowhere = now here.
A Painterly Home 