Penny Positive Monday

I need this as much as anyone today.

Keeping it Simple (Postcard, paper, glue stick, repeat).

A Normal Day

Normal.  My normal.  Making.  Allowing.  Taking delight in both.

This morning’s batch of new background papers for cards.

A bag of magazines from the library awaits my snips.

Pages from 100-year-old almanacs rehydrate on the kitchen counter.

I’m pondering how to make “month” cards along with the zodiac line I already have.  January, February… what might be beautiful? What might be meaningful? Clues in the old almanacs I’ve snipped apart.  Clues in poetry.  Clues in color.

Glue cards make their way to Etsy customers, but I might have to keep this one.

And in a little bit, I go get a massage.

A lovely, normal day.

 

 

Taking Scarlett’s Advice

Not my best day.  Putting on my Scarlett drapery gown.

My Way

Art is not a thing, it is a way. — Elbert Hubbard

Since I’ve been churning out a shitload of cards the past couple of months, I’ve also sold an equally shitloady amount.  Lots of Etsy shops add little bits and bobs to their orders as a thank you, and I’ve always wanted to do that, too.  I could never find the right tidbit, though.  I’ve tried a bunch of little things, but they weren’t quite right.  Yesterday, as Emmett marched around my head to get me up, the lightbulb went off.

Last summer I bought a shoebox full of old postcards at a flea market, intending them for Glue Card bases.  Glue Cards are made from only magazines, junk mail and a glue stick—a quick, down and dirty creative blat.  I sent Glue Cards as my Christmas cards this past year, I’d made so many.  If I cheated and stamped “Thank You” on them (because cutting out letters is soooooo tedious), they would make the perfect “gift” for my Etsy orders.  Here are the three I made yesterday.


My day is planned.

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

Optimistic Monday

I forgot about Optimistic Wednesday.  Bronchitis does that.  Life narrows down to warm socks, clean sheets and soup.  So, I’ll put a Post-it on my computer screen and try not to forget again.

Productive with Phlegm

After a long and noble battle, my immune system took to her fainting couch, and bronchitis cackled its phlegmy victory.  I’m actually delighted to have gone almost ten months without lung crud.  Setting up the sickroom and soup kitchen was second nature.  Plus, my sister ran for juice and other essentials in the early days, so that was a new comfort and indulgence.  Thanks, Sissy.

I’ve been in a card-making mood for several weeks, and just moved everything into bed with me.  Counting up this morning, I’ve made 62 cards and little Penny Positive collages in the past two weeks.  They just flow—a positive role model for all my bodily Humours.

As my Etsy shop fattens, Emmett and I relax with some series or other on the TV, the bed full of paper and ribbons.  A mug of Gypsy Cold Care tea steams on one bedside table, snips and tweezers sit on the other.  Yes, there is coughing and dizziness, and Emmett’s weight loss, but we are companionable and warm and here.

In fact, I hear my bed calling.  A new batch of cards longs to be created with the awful first season of Star Trek: Next Gen on Netflix to keep us company.  Think how many we can make by the time we get to the seventh season series ender!

8 Years

… and to you.

Thank you for flying the ‘Verse with me for some fraction of those eight years.

Thank you for your kind words and support.

We are still on an Adventure.

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.

Optimistic Wednesday

I’ve developed a little routine for Wednesdays…usually.  I swim at the fitness center, drive to Tahlequah (about 40 minutes away), and make art at the Drip Coffee Lab until my therapist appointment.  Today, I’m barely dragging and already cancelled with my therapist.  Such is the bipolar life.

Anyhoo, I thought I’d add to the routine by making Wednesdays my day to post a new Penny Positive.  At least I can do that much today.

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