Didn’t Henry Ford say something about whether we believe it or we don’t, we are right? I read a book about the new discoveries in cellular research. This one concept stayed with me. Cells, tiny little cells, have intelligence and deciding power.
The power of choice. The power of making a decision. Even at the cellular level. Cells get to decide what kind of cell they will be. Heart cells, lung cells, spleen cells.
Watching the news, listening to the weather, it doesn’t always feel like I have any choice. Life just churns this way and that and often I feel like I’m at the mercy of being inside some colossal cosmic washing machine.
Stuff happens, Things I would never predict or expect to control come up and then what? I understand that the feeling of making a clear choice is powerful. I love the concept, I love the freedom and power of agency, but wow.
In the tiny world of me, I make plenty of decisions that don’t seem to go anywhere, yet they call me a little forward. Butterflies, wild horses, feathers and even the color blue, all symbolize freedom. If I make one choice that makes me feel a little free, does it count? I hope so, because my focus is proving to be my one powerful choice lately. I’m talking about going to yoga, painting, breathing…
I have a few things that get me up in the morning, luckily.
Some days are harder than others, is this true for everyone ? I will always be committed to leaning into whatever brings me joy. Maybe just that search is a direction of its own.
If it makes me smile. If it gives me a feeling of lightness, if I get a little excited, I pay attention. I’m even a little ready to do another painting because this one is making me feel a bit bored as an Instagram subject.! Don’t worry I’ll keep working on it. I still wake up wanting to. It’s just that it may have fulfilled its purpose for now on social media.
I enjoy the evolution…
I’ve also been doing Spring gardening prep and helping get the yard spruced up. I finally did a yoga class. Today I’m hoping to visit a cute art town called Chester because it’s supposed rain. These things are fun for me. I’m excited to plant a vegetable garden. So yeah, a little joy here and there and I’m good to go.
Do you have a quote you live your life by or think of often?
I love quotes. I have many by writers like Emersion and Shakespeare that are poetic and profound that always inspire me. Song lyrics. I have a huge reapect for song writers who say just what I need to hear.
Today, all I can think of is something that Brad Pitt said in an interview many years ago. He was on a talk show watching clips of himself badly acting in soap operas and commercials. On the huge screen behind them, was a super young and suoer terrible Brad Pitt. To the laughing audience he said: “Well, it just proves that…
“…You can get better at anything.”
At that point he was mid career. He still wasn’t the actor he is today, but he had definitely improved noticeably.
I like the simplicity of that. It’s true. He didn’t say we could excel or be amazing. He didn’t promise that if we tried extra hard or set goals or committed ourself, miracles would occur. Just that improvement can happen, and with anything.
I’m often faced with tasks that I am not naturally inclined to do well. Many things I never wanted to master, somethings I’m not even interested in, but guess what? I’m getting better. I can see it.
It might have been his ability to laugh at himself, and own with a shrug his clear inability to do what he was aspiring to do. A lightness and a sense of humor as I learn new or hard things, does help.
Painting, yoga, things I love doing, and even things I might need to do like making reels on instagram or writing. If I do things more than a few times, I get better at doing them. It’s true.
Words to live by. Way to be encouraging. Thanks BP
I cut the lawn. The entire thing. After my three mile walk this morning I now have 19,217 steps. Can that be right? Nearly eight miles? Five miles of walking back and forth pushing a mower up and down hills and around bushes.
I could be wrong, but should G’s mom be doing this ? I understand that it gives her a sense of accomplishment and she likes doing it I know she takes breaks and it usually takes her the full day and that there is a lever that rolls it along. I still had to push it around all the bushes and up the hills. It took me most of two hours and I was moving pretty fast.
You never see this in California. Eighty-five year old women mowing a half ace of lawn. Here it’s pretty common. The neighbor takes a chair and rests after each row.
I’ve been working on mastering chores. If I can prove that I can do these things, I’ll be allowed to keep doing them. I’ve been doing a great job with the laundry. That is until today.
Gs mom gave me a bundle of sheets all wrapped in a sweat shirt. I tossed it in the washer, rearranged everything to balance the load. Turned it on and when I came back and changed the load to the dryer, the TV remote fell onto the ground.
I started the conversation with G. “I have to tell you something”. “ Great”, he was going to the store so invited me along.
When I explained what happened, that I had inadvertently washed the remote. His mom had wrapped it in with the sheets without knowing it. After swearing him to secrecy, (he might still rat me out) he laughed. I needed a plan. I needed him to be a partner. We devised a plan. Oh man, I can’t believe this happened. Will it still work? Can a washed remote still turn on the TV? Yikes! I guess we will find out tonight😬😬😬
I forget that all of my illustrations were once single paintings that seemed to paint themselves. I mean not entirely of course, but I felt led along, certain things came up, little surprises here and there. The beginning of any painting is fun.
Struggle does eventually enter in. Today for example, I’m not a fan of some things, but that’s how it goes. I actually love when a painting becomes a composition puzzle. And a color puzzle. Not liking how it’s “working” is how I come up with ideas to change things. The worst thing I can do at this point is get attached to any part. I might like how that one horse came out or the little fish under the blue glass. I had no intention to paint a fish so I like that it showed up. But again I’m tying for no attachment…
Painting is like a little bundle life lessons. Who needs Joe Dispensa when I’m getting schooled by unintentional symbolism in my own art? I’m kinda kidding, but it’s true. I started out thinking of my artist friend Margi, I still wake up with that Rolling Stones song in my head. If Margi were here she would be painting. Hence the horses. I need them to be more subtle eventually, but for now, this painting is about remembering.
Margi, my dear friend is inspiring me and reminding me that wild horses really can’t drag me away from, well, art. Not Instagram, not book promotion, not query letter writing, not even classroom teaching.
We are artists, Margi and I. At our core, we were born this way and truly, being honest, we love it. Today because I can, and she can’t, I’m painting for both of us.
I have been so wrapped up in my books lately that I may have forgotten why I ended up writing them in the first place.
One word: ART
I didn’t grow up thinking I want to become an artist. On the contrary, I think I was reluctantly born one and then spent a lot of time dealing with the reprocussions. My engineer brained family probably expected me to grow out of it. I probably expected me to as well! Whenever I’m busily engaged in something that stands up as real and important in society , I have a small inking that I might be grown up and cured.
I never am. I always end up with a box of crayons or watercolors, happily acting too young for my age, doing what I love the most, creating.
I would rather do art then anything. Yet I forget this.
I get busy, art is messy, no one else is doing it… Sometimes I feel guilty, like I should be doing something constructive, I have many excuses, but wow, when I get myself back into a painting, I feel like myself. Also, I feel lighter, happier, more calmly confident. Before I had yoga, I had art. Art makes me breathe slower, I think it might calm my nervous system. That is until I’m not happy with my project, which will happen,, but not today.
Today is a good for remembering..
I’m a abstract expressionist as it turned out. I have a style that I can’t help. I modify it, but somehow it’s comforting, like knowing the answers or the procedure. Something like that..
Yesterday I decided to just go back to identifying as an artist. Im not a landscaper, but I do like making things look nice. I really really like making a painting or a whole series of paintings which might end up being another book. Some things sort of decide for themselves.
I started this painting on a camping trip, (without kids)
Have you ever been camping?
Oh I have been camping…
I have camped in many famously beautiful places. I have enjoyed many camping moments, and truly I love nature , but I’ll admit, I’m not much of a camper. Campers know things. Maybe they grew up camping? I did not. We had a cottage. We stayed in hotels. I never saw my father build a fire, or fish or hike Or even wear a wrinkled shirt. I didn’t grow up learning any basic survival skills.
I remember every camping trip I’ve been on because of all the extremes.
Fun can turn on a dime. Weather in the mountains is unpredictable. Just because it’s a sunny warm day, doesn’t mean your water won’t freeze solid over night. Being in the rain makes every tent , (even the nice ones from REI) feel flimsy and inadequate. When the sun goes down it gets really dark. After the fire goes out, there are many many long cold and extremely dark hours to endure before it comes back up again. A headlamp is key, I didn’t know this for most of my years.
Campers know what to do with themselves. They don’t get bored because there are things to do, if you know what you’re doing. Camping with a baby and/or toddlers does pass the time, you do have somethings to focus on, but unfortunately most camping fun is a little dangerous. And dirty. No amount of baby wipes can get a crawling baby clean after one afternoon near a fire pit. Once they discover one, you can not keep them out. Unless there’s a fire in it. My kids had that Margaret Mead sense about a few things. My boys climbed out of any pack and play thing and easily transitioned to trees or fencing pretty early into babyhood. Some kids just love to climb, mine all did long before they could walk. So I spent many camping days running and plucking them out of one crazy thing after another. A head light would have come in handy back then.
Camping with teenagers kept me busy as well. Just feeding them was an all day adventure. Cook, clean up, cook, clean up, get the snacks out of the bear box, put the snacks back in the bear box, cook again, clean up again, then everyone wants s’mores. Huge clean up in the dark. Again with the headlamp. (G and I took eight teenagers camping for two nights. Afterwards he called his mom to thank her for all the work he never noticed her doing on camp outs when he was a kid). We were both exhausted afterward, but it was kinda fun.
Real campers can sleep. How they do this well past dawn is a mystery. I measured how many days I could camp by how many nights I could go without sleep. I was better at it during the baby years. Three. I could feasibly endure three nights without sleeping, I knew this because of the stomach flu again with little kids. After three nights, I can’t promise a good attitude. I hear of people camping longer, but without kids to distract me, I’m not sure I could manage my brain for all those hours.
Also, it seems that I prefer a real bathroom with a less outdoorsy shower.
I’ve had some fun camping adventures. I don’t regret any of them, though I never really mastered the art. I always wanted to be like one of those bohemian girls who are good at being coolly bored. They are usually great in any burning man kind of experience, I wasn’t born with that level of outdoorsy coolness. Or even a campers constitution. I like comfort. I do better in comfort. I do enjoy a trail run or walk or ‘hike’ but then I like a hot shower a nice meal and a comfortable bed.
The sun is shining. G decided to barbecue a chicken. He just left for a town hall meeting so now I’m watching it. It smells delicious.
There is a place close by that has local, small farmed meat. It’s a tiny hut on the edge of a property that works on the honor system. You help yourself to the freezer and pay the box. It’s word of mouth advertised, I found out about it at yoga. True story. The chicken is pasture raised and a good price. G talked to the owner today, comfirmed that the chicken was raised on a sustainable farm nearby.
I made some progress on my painting and am still enjoying it. (the magic of creating is still alive). I’ve tried filming and making reels of me painting. The reels or mini shorts are rough, but I’m learning. You never know, I could get better at this.
I’m surprised by how fast my hand moves while I’m painting. Using a tripod, I forget I’m filming myself. Its weird that I’ve never watched myself much on film before. Doing any kind of art, I’m blissfully unaware of my body and super relaxed. When I first went to yoga I experienced that same sence of relaxed brain and body that I feel while painting. It’s surprising that I don’t move slowly in that state. I like starting something new, not to take away from the books, hopefully this new project helps somehow.
In the meantime I’m enjoying a sunny, but chilly early evening outside in my winter coat. The sun feels nice. Supper will be good.
Peace Kit 