Weekly Penny Positive

I just finished this happy BugBoy.  It’s hard to believe he’s the 90th Penny Positive I’ve made. They save me from myself.

A Slow Leak

Over the past couple of months, I’ve noticed an ongoing shift in my mental weather.  It’s subtle, quiet, not alarming or uncomfortable.  I can only describe it as a slow leak of caring.  I’m not interested in much beyond making my bits of art and maintaining creature comforts.  This I attributed to lung crud overlapping Henry-grief.  It seemed pretty normal to me, and not worth fussing about.

And it’s not completely new.  I go through cycles of pulling back, detaching, giving the Hermit full reign.  In the past, those cycles included some kind of mental anguish or agitation.  Not so now.  I’m curiously uninterested in friends or family, untroubled by minor annoyances.

So, I confessed to my therapist yesterday in the spirit of full disclosure.  And, I think, to make sure nothing else might be going on.  She agreed that sickness and grief were probably in play, and that I was correct in taking it in stride.  Although, she did ask for my promise to call her if thoughts of suicide became a daily occurrence.  That seemed a bit drastic, but Sonya doesn’t know me that well yet, so her caution and concern are actually quite endearing.  I promised.

Today will be another spent on my bed with art supplies, Emmett, and the fifth season of Star Trek: The Next Generation keeping me company (This was the season Michelle Forbes joined the cast as Ensign Ro Laren—Michelle Forbes who stars with Richard Armitage in Epix’s Berlin Station and who seems to be his current amour.  Seven Degrees of Star Trek.).

I will be content, unaffected by other people or the world.  It seems a little weird, but I’m not complaining.i

Temba, His Arms Wide*

After a few days of sneaky depression, the kind of depression that makes it sensible to lie to my therapist about why I cancelled my appointment, I shoved myself out the door with my art supplies.

There’s always a point in The Black when It starts to thin, when a crack seems possible.  If I push too soon, The Black swallows me with doubt, failure, hopelessness.  I’ve learned to wait, to leave the insanity of my thoughts alone.  In The Black, waiting feels like giving up.  It’s not.  It’s just waiting.

At the coffee shop, I felt the crack.  Like a door ajar in the night, a thin line of light cut across my dark floor.  With that crack of light came a flood of gifts.  Real ones.

My friend, Sue, sent me one of her Care Packages full of Entertainment Weeklys, refrigerator magnets, a CD of her favorite show tunes and the most thoughtful piece of jewelry I’ve ever owned.  She had a necklace made from a picture of Henry.  It looks just like him.

Another friend texted to say that since I’ve always supported his music, he’s sending me an early (and secret, shhhh) CD of the songs he’s recorded so far in the studio.  I know he could be bigger than Billy Joel.

My landlord texted to say she sent my worries about the strong mold smell in my sitting room to Management.  They asked her and her husband/maintenance man to come check it out today.  I’m so relieved.  Visions of black mold have been dancing in my dreams.

An artist/teacher I met at The Muskogee Art Guild emailed me to say the drawing class I so dearly wanted to take and couldn’t afford would be covered by a scholarship.  And my friend, Sally, confirmed the date of her birthday party back in Iowa, so I can take a trip back home and take the class.

There are other gifts, but these blinded me.  Light does that when a person has been sitting in the Dark

I’m mindful of standing open-armed instead of denying or shaking off these gifts, receiving and being warmed.

I am full of color today.

*Caution: Star Trek reference.  The following YouTube bit doesn’t relate at all to this post, but I love this guy’s take on said ST:TNG reference.

Moments of a Quiet Life

 

The Monotony and Solitude of a Quiet Life Stimulates the Creative Mind. — Albert Einstein

°

It’s been quiet inside and outside for a bit.  That’s always a gift.

In the space, I’ve been making a lot of cards.  I was called to make a sympathy card for my cousin’s son whose family just lost their dog.  It touched me so that I made more for my Etsy shop.  The words came from all the support and kindness given to me when Henry passed—especially from my friend Sue, who lost her cat, Lucky, last year.  She showed me the path I would be taking with my grief, and I wanted others to benefit.  I love this photo anyway, so I doubly love this card.

I started getting a drippy nose on Friday and thought a head cold was imminent, so I dragged my supplies into bed with me.  Of all the stuff I’ve done in bed (art-wise!), I’ve never made cards.  I keep so much STUFF to choose from, I thought it would be impossible.  But, it was good for me to get up and choose ribbon while pouring more grapefruit juice, wheel my paper box into the bedroom while soup irradiated in the microwave.  I made a dozen cards yesterday while flipping through one bad Netflix show after another.  And after a little fever spike and loading up on zinc, my cold seems to be gone.

I think this is An Oklahoma Gift.  In one of the shows I watched yesterday, someone said you either love the place you live or you don’t.  People who grow to love a place have just learned to ignore the things they still hate.

Is that a bad thing?  Does appreciation for the place where you’re planted have to be pure to be real?

In this quiet space, I can feel my gratitude for nine months without lung crud and the mild winter weather.  In the quiet, I can be thankful for lost cousins and reconnection.  I can use my hands and my stuff in different ways to touch others’ lives.

I’m on a Quiet Adventure.

Art Nesting

I’ve left several art housekeeping projects hanging for months and months, projects that take time and attention, projects that get tedious after a while.  But there’s something in my bipolar wind that wanted to tidy up and get ready for what’s next.

The first goal was to update my card caption list.  After I glean a goodly amount of captions for my cards from old magazines and books, I add them to my Gleans List on the computer and file the cut-out snips in my homemade Glean Rolodex.

A few years ago, I started adding little legends to the list to note which captions might be appropriate for birthdays, sympathy, and especially my zodiac cards.  When I need to make a Pisces card, it’s so much handier to flip through the list and look for the little legend instead of pulling out all my notes about Pisces and finding something that will match.

Either way, it’s time-intensive, and I’d given up on making the legends.  So for the past several months, I’ve taken my astrology notes and marked up a page or two from my list.  I finally finished last week and printed out a new, 38-page list.  Oh, that felt good.

My other housekeeping task is still in progress, but I can finally see a light at the end of this tunnel.

Along with captions, I also keep a file of gleaned letters of the alphabet.  I love to use miss-matched lettering in my journal.  It would be simpler and faster to just hand-letter captions and titles, but I love the psycho-killer look.  Go figure.

I recently cut apart three books on art journaling and harvested a ton of funky lettering.  Like captions, this is an ongoing project, but with so much to “process,” I knew I needed to devote some serious time to getting my letters organized.

Letters, especially the teeny ones, jump like fleas.  I know I’ll find them under the bed, under Emmett, and in my coffee no matter how careful I am.  I need lots of light and my best glasses to snip the letters apart.  Then, I sort them into four different sizes (which gets pretty random sometimes, especially if I’ve been at it a while).  Eventually, I have a dedicated bag in my traveling art studio of letters I can pull out and use quickly.

My last act of preparedness is something new.  Whenever I make zodiac cards, I make just enough background paper for the task at hand.  It’s another time-intensive creative process that I love, and I like making each batch a little unique.  But since my zodiac cards continue to be popular in my Etsy shop, I thought I’d try making more than I need and have some extra on hand.  I’ve made the papers for the Air, Water and Earth signs.  I’ll finish up with Fire today.

I’m not sure what all this tidying is about.  With the holidays behind me and over a month since Henry passed, maybe there’s room in my emotional carpet bag for other things.  Winter feels spacious here.  Knots and clots seem to be loosening.  Whatever it is, I’m thankful for it.  A Good Spell in Bipolarland is always a treasure.  And a little nesting always welcomes the next Adventure.

Once Again, Thankful

I love my blog.  I never came here to do anything except tell my story—whatever that might mean.  I never expected to find deep connections.  I never expected to touch so many lives.  Or to be touched by so many.  The only conditions I placed on my posts were to tell the truth and to wait long enough to know what the truth might be in a given situation.

Keeping this space for almost eight years means it has also become my memory.  Electroshock not only eliminated 2006 and 2007, but continues to burn holes in the process that changes short-term into long-term memory.  I stopped fussing about that long ago.  Being forced to live in the Now is a pretty decent way to live.

As I think about making some sort of journal/tribute for Henry, though, I mourn all the stories I’ve forgotten, all the little details, the ways he, Emmett and I became a family.  So, when I sit down to write about him, I start with what I notice now.  This morning I wrote about how quiet the house is without him.  That thought led to another and another, stitching together fragments of memories into a surprising string of delight and appreciation.

And I come to my blog, where Henry’s stories remain clear and available.  I took more pictures of the cats so I could illustrate those stories.  How grateful I am to have this reliquary!  Who knew how smart I was in 2011 to fiddle around with WordPress?

As Emmett and I rearrange ourselves around and within the space that was Henry, I’ll keep coming here to share our truths.  Today, Emmett is soaking up the morning sun in the Alpha chair.  When I came home from yoga (noticing the silence instead of Henry’s irritated greeting), and saw Emmett basking, I took pictures.  This is an important moment for him, for us, for our life now.

The sun and the silence.  And the Adventure Continues.

(This song by the Wailin Jennys has always felt like Henry to me—his energy, his personality—so I share him with you in a slightly different way.)

My Anti-Hate Campaign…

…Or Training Myself to Grow Where I’m Planted.

In the wilting swamp of summer, with depression and agitation kicking up a Pig Pen Black Cloud, I found myself hating Oklahoma.  What I gained by moving seemed minuscule compared to what I’d lost.

Thankfully, I’ve done this work long enough to know I was not seeing the whole picture. I needed clarity.  I needed objectivity.  I needed to turn the Bipolar Bus around.

So, I started my Anti-Hate Campaign.

I pulled out a blank journal and started making A Plan—to be specific, to separate my “hates” into piles, and to brainstorm ideas on how to make changes.  I approached this journal like any other, painting and collaging the pages with care, using colors I love, letting the art of the process lead me.  Loving the journal itself encouraged me to pick it up and tackle the next phase.

I found that most of the “hates” I labeled unmanageable carried some seed of change, either in my perception or in a sideways action.  The state’s poverty and poor education system overwhelmed me, so I noodled about becoming more informed about specific problems.  I subscribed to the Tulsa World and looked for speaker forums to attend.  As other ideas come, into the journal they go.

The cooler weather brought all kinds of physical and mental relief.  I came back to ideas I’d had in April about making my duplex into a place of sanctuary and inspiration.  I rearranged my sitting room, painted and hung a screen door to be used as an Idea/Celebration Board, and found the perfect, Feng Shui-enhancing poster of Wonder Woman.

Outside, I asked permission to create a rock garden between the edge of my cement patio and the privacy wall.  I spent a satisfying day leveling ground and hauling rock, then sitting in my sister’s borrowed patio chair to enjoy the breeze and my handiwork.  Artful doo-dads and whirligigs will be added in due time.

Because of my journal and texts with my friend, Cheryl, I realized that hating where I live is just another bipolar symptom.  Anger, agitation and loathing rise up and attach themselves to whatever is handy.  An unfamiliar, uncomfortable place is a perfect target.  As I continue to do this Work of shifting perception and turning toward joy, I will learn to recognize that symptom sooner and take steps to be gentle with it.

And I will feel my roots growing deeper into Oklahoma’s red earth.

Steal Life

Just finished my September offering to the Art Journal Round Robin. Every finished spread has amazed and startled me, but this one comes from my bones.

Penny Positive Redux

Last Year’s Reveal

Art projects overfloweth.  One of them is making a new batch of Penny Positives for my former Nurse Practitioner, Sarah Beattie.  I made The Optimists’ Calendar last year for her birthday, and thought she might do with some fresh giggles.

I thought I’d share them here, like I did last year, since giggles can be downright medicinal these days.  Making them gives me a lift, and it’s all about me anyway, so. . .

The sample on the far right is mine. HeeHeeHee.

Another lift came in the mail—my complimentary copy of the fall issue of Art Journaling Magazine.  What a gas to flip to page 46 and find my words and art.  Here is the Table of Contents (which is the only part online that proves I’m in it).  The issue goes on sale October 1 at most Barnes & Nobles (Pardon the shameless self-promotion.  I’m excited).

Circling

My Art Journal Round Robin friends are about to make their third ring around the creative rosy.

The journal that came to me this past month held some pages folded over so that Cindy’s work was partially hidden.  Mysterious, compelling, it called me to continue the story.

I loved the challenge of blending with Cindy’s colors, approximating her type face, and figuring out what the half-exposed text might hint at for my work.

I’m pleased with the result.

Oh, okay, that’s WAY too blasé.

I love how scared I was to draw and did it anyway. I love the word stoccato. I love how the two spreads look together. I love the head-scratchiness of it.

I can’t wait for the next journal to arrive.

Cindy’s spread is shown first, then mine.

 

Previous Older Entries

Blog Stats

  • 156,629 hits
%d bloggers like this: