As promised…

…and I am back today to write another line or two of my story.  We all have one – a story, that is.  While mine currently seems enormously insignificant, I’m going to keep on living it and writing about it anyway.  I know I’m not alone in this struggle called life.  And I am aware that it is not always a struggle.   “This too shall pass” as my Dad used to say.  He stole the quote, but I can still hear him saying it so I’m going to credit him.

Art today…

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I’ve had these little canvases for a while.  I bought them for another project that hasn’t happened yet.  They were just sitting on my shelf and looked lonely.  I’ve started just painting them – and then repainting them – and then layering some more paint.  Now I’ve started sticking on the dried paint scrapings from my desk.  They are becoming quite heavy and textural.

Why?  I don’t know yet.  I suppose they’ll let me know when it is time…

I am not a tidy artist…

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But sometimes, I’m not sure that I’m an artist at all.  But my middle daughter says that I am an artist and she should know.  She will be graduating with her Bachelor of Fine Arts in December.  That makes her for sure a “real artist”.

She tells me to make what I enjoy.  To do what I like to do and not to worry about it all so much.

So I made this recently…

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and yes, those are little plastic chickens on top.  I think it might be a little bit of art therapy.  As I look at it I see little parts of my life reflected.  Some of the “down” moments and quite a few of the hopeful ones.  Art?  I don’t know.

While “doing school” today, my youngest and I stumbled across a poem we both liked.

The Sparrow

 A little bird, with plumage brown,
Beside my window flutters down,
A moment chirps its little strain,
Ten taps upon my window-pane,
And chirps again, and hops along,
To call my notice to its song;
But I work on, nor heed its lay,
Till, in neglect, it flies away.

So birds of peace and hope and love
Come fluttering earthward from above,
To settle on life’s window-sills,
And ease our load of earthly ills;
But we, in traffic’s rush and din
Too deep engaged to let them in,
With deadened heart and sense plod on,
Nor know our loss till they are gone.

It was written by Paul Lawrence Dunbar.  It was a good message for today.  A good message for tomorrow.  Just a simple, good message….

Learning how to tell my own story.

I didn’t plan on posting again so soon, but I was running some errands today and this story started coming together in my head.  So…a couple of years ago I became somewhat obsessed with the idea of minimalism.  I researched the concept, perused endless blogs about simplifying, and wondered at folks who got rid of everything and traveled around the world with all their worldly belongings in a couple of backpacks.   Please don’t misunderstand – I think it all sounds amazing and I admire them for doing so.  I was even envious for a bit.

My own life, in contrast, seems incredibly mundane.   I’d like to be living in a cute little vintage cottage with an English style garden, dressing like an artist in organic cotton and linen.  Oh, and the house would always be clean and tidy because there would be no clutter whatsoever!   In reality, I’m a stay-at-home mom, married 30-something years to the guy I met in college, and living in a manufactured home in a working class neighborhood.  Said home is very “lived-in” because there are a bunch of us living in it.

But, back to paragraph one…I spent a considerable amount of time and energy de-cluttering and organizing our belongings.  There might of even been a bit of nagging and grumbling about other peoples’ stuff interfering with my vision.  I wondered about the possibility of moving into a R.V. and traveling the United States living life with carefree abandon.

The reality is…that story belongs to someone else.  I had a somewhat insecure childhood.  We moved every year of my life until high school – sometimes more frequently.  I was always the new kid in class.  As a result, I’m a homebody, a nester.  And I’m learning to be comfortable with that.  All those travelers need a place to come home to at some point.  There is lots of stuff in my nest because I need to be ready to welcome whoever shows up.

That may be what this blog is about…writing out my own story for you…and for me.