Category Archives: creativity

Sep28

in restless dreams I walked alone

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Oh my goodness, it is the perfect fall morning. The sun is just beginning to dissipate the fog and whiffs of smoke-like dew slide across the valley to my east. Everything glistens. I love this time of year. I’ve taken a little break from writing because I’ve had a friend visiting from out of town. She usually spends much of the summer here, just a mile down the road from me, in her little cottage on the lake. But this year she has not been able to come all summer. Because life has been hard. We are at a certain age. We lose our parents and their siblings, the aunts and uncles of our childhood. We lose siblings. We lose friends. We have health challenges.

I myself am going through another health challenge – physical and mental. As part of a routine check-up my doctor noticed I was a little out of breath. Well, I flunked the pulmonary function test she ordered. Now I will go through pulmonary rehab, which is a good thing. I will gladly work for any improvement in lung capacity I can get.

Louise Hay, who wrote You Can Heal Your Body decades ago and provided a list of all the emotional causes behind common physical symptoms, tells me that lung issues are grief. Yeah yeah yeah…I’ve had asthma and lung problems much of my life, almost as long as I’ve lived with my invisible friend Grief.

And for a combination of reasons, I am conscious of the grief I am feeling now, again. It isn’t new; we’re familiar. We know how to be sad. In fact, I welcome sadness these days. It seems an appropriate response to much of what is going on around and within me. And it means that I am feeling (and not repressing) the truth I am acutely aware of. I don’t want to live with any denial if I can help it; that leads to depression. And depression is harder to manage in winter. The light of summer is fading fast. Hello darkness, my old friend…

…I’ve come to talk with you again. I told my friend that I look forward to winter, and I do, increasingly as I age. I love the quiet. The complete and enveloping quiet you can only know in the middle of a dark, snowy afternoon. With my friend I have talked and cried and laughed and cried some more this week. We have covered a lot of ground. She will leave in a few days. Hopefully life will be a bit kinder to her and we can meet again next summer. It triggers a lot of fear – will life be kinder again? Is that realistic as we get older?

The summer residents and tourists crowd my area – the trails, the beaches, the roads, from May through October. They come from all around the world. We will wait in line at every restaurant and at the post office, the library and the gas station. Life is less convenient six months of the year, but I won’t complain. They’re the reason we have our choice of good restaurants in a rural village. Strangers often share a table in a restaurant during the crowded months, and that is how I met my friend. She and her daughter, visiting from their home in Kansas, were waiting in line in a tiny restaurant.

I was out for breakfast that morning with a family member, and invited the two women to sit with us. We briefly introduced ourselves and slightly scooted away, not wanting to be intrusive. But these friendly people started a conversation. They had flown in the night before and come to the little obscure restaurant for coffee and warmth, as they hadn’t time to grocery shop yet and were quite cold. I asked them if they needed anything (blankets? hats and gloves?) and my new acquaintance, obviously around my age, answered, “just emotional support.” Instant new best friend! Upon leaving I handed her a piece of scrap paper with my phone number, address, and an invitation to lunch at my home the next day, quipping, “and here’s hoping none of us are ax murderers!” Her daughter shot back, “we’re about to find out.” Invitation accepted.

This morning she and I went back to that little restaurant. Meandering across the narrows we saw a pair of great blue herons wading. Two sandhill cranes flew overhead and called out to let us know…to let us know…we are here…we are alive. We see you. I sent them silent prayers for a safe journey . After breakfast we went to a gorgeous show of local art and photographs at Oliver Art Center. I needed that little shot of inspiration to remind me to make some art. Lack of creativity is surely part of why I’m sad….maybe a big part. Could my lack of inspire-ation have something to do with pulmonary stress? Breathe out…breathe in…

“Some people don’t get to live soft lives. We get handed chaos, grief, betrayal, and we have to learn how to bloom anyway. We become the ones who know how to carry others when their world falls apart because we remember what it was like when no one showed up for us. We’re not here because it was easy. We’re here because we didn’t give up.” – unknown

Sep21

until now

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“Enough is abundance to the wise.” – Euripedes

Do you have enough? That is a different computation for each individual; surely we know this much. I am struggling financially in the later years of my life, now moreso than ever. My friends are concerned and petition me to sell my house, invest that equity for some security in the event, or inevitability, of illness. Of the need for long term care. And no, I am not showing signs of dementia – not yet, anyway! My recent doctor’s exam revealed that I am much stronger than most women my age. I’ll take it. I’ve slowed down, and once you do that it’s difficult to get back to your previous pace. I’ve come to terms with that, as I have with my financial limitations.

In a recent post I talked about denial, but I don’t believe that is this. I think, I meditate, I read and study upon my circumstances; I cannot muster a sense of poverty. The bank account, the numbers, say I’m poor by whatever standards economists measure. I don’t feel poor. In fact, quite the opposite. I feel abundant, blessed, overwhelmingly grateful. My body does not seem to harbor any fear. At least not at this time. That could change, certainly…let’s not plan for it. Let’s not project fear, or False Evidence Appearing Real. Let’s not make shit up.

Just this week I heard Elizabeth Gilbert quote an acronym I’m adopting as my new motto: PAUSE: Perhaps An Unseen Solution Exists. Or as the Mad Hatter (or was it Alice?) would advise: always leave room for magic. Carolyn Myss, one of the most respected Christian mystics of our time, would say: always leave room for God. This attitude toward life has been serving me well thus far for over 70 years now. Maybe there is something to it.

Would I like more? You betcha I would. More money to live on and share, more security, less stress. More room to paint and more paints. More flowers in the yard….”more.” “Of what, Eeyore?” asked Pooh. “Everything…” But do I have enough? I do, indeed.

Am I willing to give up my peace of mind and embrace fear? Nah. It’s not my style. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, this morning I found this to share with you. A beautiful artist and writer walks us through her home, built for “every open soul that finds it’s way here.” This 12 minute video has so motivated me. I’m up on the step ladder, singing to the music playing, painting my living room and rearranging all the furniture this weekend, while soup simmers on the stove. It is making me so darn happy. My home, my sanctuary, my altar, my endless source of beauty and inspiration.

May our open souls always find their way, regardless of our circumstances. May we always know we are loved. And may we always know we have enough. Thank you for being here.

Sep3

home is a many-layered thing…

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First journal? Scrapbook? We were kids when we started, eh? With a diary in grade school. So, for me that was the 1950’s. Although I was drawing as soon as I could hold a pencil (per my mother), magazine tear sheets wouldn’t come into being until I was in high school in the 60’s. But once I discovered magazines a whole new world opened up, quite literally. The world became a much smaller place once it was delivered to the mailbox.

It began with Seventeen. Barbie grew up and dressed in Betsy Johnson. But it wasn’t long before art and shelter magazines like Metamorphosis and Architectural Digest and Rolling Stone broadened my horizons. And then The Sun.

Suddenly my life was too small. I couldn’t wait to leave the boring suburbs for real life in the city. Little did I know…I wouldn’t get too far too fast, probably a good thing. Family kept me close and I set aside the acceptance letters to RISD and Parsons and New York School of Design for Wayne State and Center for Creative Studies, known then as Arts and Crafts. It was across the street from the fabulous and inspiring DIA, to this day one of the best art museums in the country. It was my familiar stomping ground as I would often skip high school (I still got A’s & B’s) to spend the day roaming the galleries, dreaming and sketching. Other days you’d find me on the 13th floor of the J.L. Hudson Company, moving from vignette to vignette in the furniture and design department, imagining what I would do with that room.

It had never occurred to me that I would be anything but an artist or a writer. It wasn’t what I did; it was who I was. Fast forward five+ decades and I look back, longingly some days. At the life I sidestepped somehow, too young married and mothering and clambering for survival. The demons were lurking in the shadows, fighting amongst themselves for attention. They were not to be ignored. In retrospect, I wouldn’t trade any of it – but that realization happened just the other day. It’s a process, like me. I’ll have to keep you posted as to when I solidify.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch (has that euphemism become old?!) some things have not changed much. I’m still obsessed with art and music and design. As I said, it is who I am. I was born this way. That’s why I keep insisting that you cannot miss your purpose. You don’t need to search for it; God hardwired it in. You can miss the option of different vocations – but your purpose is not a job. It’s who you are. It’s your calling. And spirit – your spirit – will nudge you toward happiness and fulfillment ceaselessly. Every day every day every day. You will realize yourself one way or another, sooner or later. And you will relax into being. You are whole. And holy. Right here, right now. Try to enjoy yourself already.

Aug24

the reframing

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“Enough is abundance to the wise.” – Euripides

Money has been tight for too long. We’re starting to atrophy over here. Not just physically (the house is falling apart,) but spiritually. Horse and cart issues…so, back to the old drawing board as the saying goes. As I want to practice living curiously, I am exploring what appears to be my poverty. It brings up paralyzing fear, especially in tandem with age and health issues. Talk about scary, wow. As I said to my physician recently: “if you are likely to become old and poor at the same time, you’d better hope you are smart.” I am certainly not alone in this conundrum. Family and friends are all coming to terms with it. It’s a reality of our time and culture now; the elimination of the middle class is almost complete. And make no mistake, the poor will not be welcomed here.

A conversation has opened among us about the shame we are feeling. Because this feels like failure. HOW did I get here? This was not the plan. And it is not for lack of working hard, or giving life and my relationships everything I possibly had to give. I want to be generous and kind; I have never wanted to give up on anyone, no matter how damaged or dysfunctional. While I’ve grown to understand it was not meant to work as I was taught to believe, I appreciate that I had to learn to be selfish. It did not come naturally. I was my codependent Mother’s child, after all. The repressed shame that came with her poverty would eventually kill her – but I loved every molecule of her just the way she was. As she used to say to me, “we’re alright, Sue – the world’s all wrong.”

And so, I will face my shame monster, look her dead in the eye, and open my heart to her. I will give her a seat at the table. We will keep the conversation going as long as need be. Meanwhile, these conversations serve to remind me that money does not define me. There is no denial here – no pretending it wouldn’t help. But my difficulties will never define me. And certainly not the difficulties of someone else’s invention.

“I decided that the most subversive, revolutionary thing I could do was to show up for my life and not be ashamed.” – Anne Lamott

What is wealth, really? What is it for? What would you do with it? What is luxury? Isn’t it all relative? As I age, I am beginning to redefine priorities that I once accepted as given. They aren’t given – they are taught. Now I question everything, and if I accept it as part of me, I accept it unconditionally.

As but one example, throughout my life many have suggested that my obsession with interior design is superficial. Oh, but it isn’t at all. It’s an art form, a genre. Your home is your altar, your inner sanctum; meant to be revered. Done as an honest expression of your spirit, it nourishes health and well being on every level.

I’m particularly drawn to the homes of artists. They are messy, like life is messy. And if you know where to look, and more importantly, how to look – homes are remarkably rich with the beauty of life. They are an endless source of color and inspiration. I used to joke that I am so grateful to have been born in the time of shelter magazines. And many magazines are now online. What a magnificent and endless resource we have at our fingertips.

And here I am, reminded that I would actually rather sit in my comfortable home and watch videos than suffer the hassle that travel has become. It seldom interests me anymore. I love my age. I love the times I live in. I love my life. It doesn’t require money to be healthy and happy. It requires attention.

“Ninety percent of success is showing up and smelling good.” – Cary Grant

Aug23

I live here.

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You know what my problem is? I’m a problem solver. I look for problems. That habit, which might be genetic, is the antithesis of being present. And I seem to prefer problems that are unsolvable.

But something magical, or at least mystical, happened last night while I was sleeping. Because I woke with absolutely no desire for coffee. I woke completely content. I’m not even mad at the cat for waking me. Maybe it’s just that the humidity has let up. Whatever it is, I’ll take it.

“I do not understand the mystery of grace – only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.” – Anne Lamott

The results of last week’s CT scan and bloodwork came back. Good news and bad news: everything looks normal. The recommendation is to call or go to the ER should the symptoms return. Excuse me?! I’ve been sick for a month. Fever, vomiting, pain. Was I imagining that I was sick as a dog? I don’t ever want the symptoms to return! As the Resident Alien would say, “this is some bullshit.”

We all know the medical industry (let’s call it what it is) is broken. The insurance corporations are in charge now. We are pretty much on our own here. That is certainly how I feel today. We have to be our own advocates – and that means detectives. But I don’t think that is necessarily a bad thing. We have to start taking more responsibility for our own health and not being so dependent on doctors to fix us. By the time we are too ill to handle it ourselves, our bodies (and our psyches) have been trying to get our attention for a long time. I know mine has. I wasn’t listening; it would have meant change, less cake and more arugula. Blech.

That said, I insisted on a referral to a gastroenterologist. I’m not waiting to see what happens. I am feeling much better, fortunately. Of course, I’m eating a lot less – and no carbs or sugar, no spices, no fats, no taste of any kind. Having missed a few days of taking my prescription antidepressant when I couldn’t keep anything down, I went ahead and weaned myself off of that. I want to baby my liver, not tax it. I’ll revisit that decision in the middle of the dark winter, but we’ll see. My metabolism certainly seems to be improving.

Now if I could just change that old habit of looking for problems to solve…and all of us here know what that means, right? It means keeping ourselves creating. Living creatively. Allowing for grace. Looking for what might be right with us. That’s where the healing lives.

Aug15

“you’re messy & you talk too much…”

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Terribly neglected, Catlips woke me at 4:30. His bowl was empty. I gave him a quick little spit of his soft food, hit the loo, and headed back to bed. His highness let me sleep until after nine. That felt luxurious. I love waking naturally when my body has decided it is done dreaming for the night. That is one of the greatest pleasures of no longer getting up for work every morning, and I do not take it for granted.

Another of life’s greatest pleasures is coffee. Admittedly, I am an addict. I began drinking coffee around the age of 4 or 5, when I would beg my parents to share this magic elixir. Watered down with lots of cream and sugar I suppose, I was immediately hooked. Anyone who knows me knows that I wish everything tasted like strong coffee…maybe with some milk, hold the sugar. As I used to order it, “blonde and bitter – like me.” Since my hair is white now I can no longer get away with that.

But lately, ill with pancreatitis after passing gallstones, I have not been able to enjoy coffee. I haven’t been able to enjoy much actually. This morning I am feeling better and I am having a cup of coffee. The morning is sunny and cool, the cat sleepy, and life is good. Splendid, in fact.

And I am going to enjoy my coffee while indulging in my not-so-secret guilty pleasure of watching house tours. Bed ridden and searching for entertainment this past month, I’ve been down the interior design rabbit hole. Three weeks ago one of my favorite YT channels featured a writer’s home. I love anything to do with books and writers. Enter the bestselling author, Mary Kay Andrews, “Queen of the Beach read”, as she’s known. She doesn’t drink coffee, but I guess I like her anyway.

I’ve now read 3 of her novels in the past couple of weeks. She is not a literary giant like my favorite authors, Joan Didion and Toni Morrison. But she isn’t trying to be like them; and admirably, she’s a savvy businesswoman. Her stories contain some history and mystery, yes, but are also given to include romance. Romance doesn’t interest me, but we’ll forgive her that also, shall we? They are quick, easy reads, well written and enjoyable when I’m unable to concentrate and need short increments of distraction. But her home, well…that is another story. I’m obsessed.

Now I follow her on IG also. Of course she is a thinking woman, which to my mind means politically liberal. Outspoken and so creative. She reminds me of my southern Mimi, my maternal grandmother, who had a fabulous sense of style. And also of my Mom who had a great wit, such a warm smile, and curly red hair all her life. Mary Kay Andrews and I are the same age. Both animal lovers. Jesus wants her to have nice things. She’s been told she’s messy and she talks too much. Ditto. Let’s not even talk about our china hoarding issues. She speaks my language; we have a lot in common. And I am enchanted by her humor, taste and charm. Unbeknownst to her, she just might be my new best friend.

Find Mary Kay on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/marykayandrews/

And we both have a problem with aunts. Those darn judgey aunts…I don’t usually like commercials – but this one is hilarious!

Jul7

walkin’ my talk…

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For some odd reason, this July 4th holiday has been a wakeup call for me. It isn’t that I didn’t know that it’s the middle of the summer…and sorta the middle of the year…but this year it hit me hard: it’s half over! I’ve never made resolutions at the beginning of a year, but I did have some ideas of how I wanted to make changes in my life. I do have goals for myself, not the least of which is improved health.

My health has not improved. It had been a struggle. I wake most days in quite a bit of pain. Headache, nausea, stiffness and pain in my back and hips primarily. But it moves around. It seems to “settle” in the joints I slept on. I’ve been referred now to a rheumatologist. But there are things I can – and will – do to help myself naturally. Some of them are as simple as getting into a warm shower immediately upon waking. Well, after feeding the cat, of course. It actually helps a lot. But I had gotten out of this habit, drinking coffee and checking emails and watching YouTube videos instead. And putting off a shower until after I had done housework or yard work. And taken some Tylenol. Tylenol is not a good habit.

It isn’t working. Let me rephrase that: I am not working. My body is not cooperating with my plans and my commitment to said plans gets delayed…and delayed. My life is on hold until I feel better. Insert rolling eye emoji here…

Pain is a formidable opponent. So is depression. And they often hang out in the same circles. It’s time for some new companions. Like determination and curiosity…and hope. Where to start when you really just want to go back to bed? Start small. But start. Change a habit, maybe two. Return to the basics of self care. As much as I hate to admit it, I have to go right back to basic basics. I have no long term practice of self care. In fact, I’ve had to figure out what that buzzword even means. I was never taught.

So, I will get right up and into a warm shower every morning. Then I will make my bed. I will drink a glass of water before coffee. In fact, one big change is leaving out the cream and drinking my coffee black. It sucks all the joy out of life, but I can do it for a time. If I don’t put milk in my coffee, it is easy to give up dairy. That comes with some dietary changes, again small, but significant. I’ve pretty much given up sugar already and cut way back on carbs. I don’t buy bread anymore; I do eat some gluten-free pasta.

I’ve been writing intermittently. Waiting for inspiration to strike; it isn’t coming. I will go back to writing daily. Daily. Morning pages for starters. I know this works. WHY don’t I do what I know works??!!!! And then, we WALK. Julia Cameron stresses it constantly. Christ, she’s written books about it. Just fu*#ing WALK already! I had an ah-ha this morning as I headed out the back door – I feel guilty about going for a walk, as though it’s self-indulgent if I’m leaving behind housework and a messy yard. That’s where my energy should go. And there I go, shoulding on myself. There is NOTHING self-indulgent about going for a walk. It’s basic self care.

Jun29

“you’re my friend kind of…”

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“I am restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again…” – Anais Nin

This morning I told a friend that I must have accidentally opened some energy portal – and it has mistakenly been taken as availability by several needy people in my life. Perhaps you have experienced this phenomena. After weeks or months of silence people are all calling all at once, wanting time, attention, and even money. You sent out a psychic signal and they got the message that you might be hangin’ around waiting to hear from them…or some cosmic signal telepathically invited them all to call the same day. Weird.

According to Melody Beattie (Codependent No More) who I respect immeasurably, I am categorically a master codependent. In recovery now! In recovery! Agggghhhhhhhh….a lifelong practice, I’m sure. It was not until I finally – and painstakingly – extricated myself from narcissistic abuse at the age of 60 that I even began to have any appreciation for solitude. Oh, I had been pursuing it all of my life. Literally since childhood. But I would not achieve it until I lived alone, for the very first time, in my 60’s. And now it is precious. In fact, required.

And I am still naive about protecting my solitude. About keeping the demons of narcissism and codependency (yes, they are psychic siblings) at bay. IF there is any smidgen of hope to live a creative life, I must defend my boundaries and channel my inner Hushpuppy. I must face the mythic Aurochs. I gotta take care of mine.

This week was my brother Ward’s birthday. He would have turned 64. That same day my neighbor and friend Hal died; he was my age, 71. He reminded me of my brother. They both understood animals better than people. Soft spoken and kind, in many ways they were too good for this world. I am grieving and sad. I miss my brother. Maybe that was the psychic memo I sent out. But I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am strong and infinitely guided; “blessed and highly favored.”

And so I will keep to myself for now. I apologize that I don’t respond quickly; I am currently unavailable. I will read and draw and “potter” about the garden and hang with my cat. Heal. And carry on.

May12

treat the world like a scavenger hunt

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“God is in the details.” – Mies van der Rohe

Our creativity got hijacked. I would maybe say that differently: mine got kidnapped and held for ransom. However, I am ever more reminded how it does not go away; it lies quietly dormant waiting to be joyously and exuberantly remembered. Treat the world – LIFE – like a scavenger hunt. Because it is.

Susan’s Scavenger Hunt for you today: find these 5 things: 1) something you are proud of, 2) something you would happily do again, 3) five consecutive minutes of peaceful thought, 4) a stream of light where you didn’t expect it, and 5) a gentle sound from nearby.

AND, one extra: find the color of your eyes in something today.