Birth Days and Mother’s Days

I was born on Mother’s Day in 1955.  This May, I’ve thought often and hard about my mother who has struggled the past few years with Alzheimer’s disease.  I thought about Mom on my birthday.  And I thought about her again on Mother’s Day…and I’ve thought about her pretty much every day since I left her bedside last month.

I want to thank those of you who brightened my days with your love, your wishes, your prayers and your cards.  It has been another year filled with blessings as numerous as challenges.  I am grateful for all of it.  I am grateful for you.

 

Gorilla House LIVE ART: March 27, 2013

I went to paint with my community last night…not for the sake of an auction at the end of the evening, but as a way of working out my frustration at being here in the west while out east my Mom is sick and my Dad is worried.  I’m grateful to my sister and my daughter who are there as supports…grateful to my uncle who drove from Montreal to love and support…but still my heart aches to be there…so I painted.

I have captured a likeness of my mother at a young age, but recognize easily the bits that need to be perfected to give a truly accurate depiction.  S’ok though, because in two hours, the place I arrived at was a peaceful place.  In attendance, and greatly appreciated, were Clayton, Margy, Wendy and Jen….and with open arms and big hugs; Bassano, Jeff, boy-Morgan, Karen, Jess, Harold, Tamara, Andy, Bruce, Jeff, girl-Morgan and of course, Rich.  Oh yes, and there was one wee girl who observed from behind for much of the evening and finally approached.  Her hair was in a thick mass of curl.  She said sweetly, “If that lady had brown eyes, we would be twins.  I think I look like her and she’s beautiful.”   Great conversations were shared while painting and I thank the people who attended for the first time and the people who stopped to give me their thoughts on my process.  It was wonderful.

So, no, I did not paint the inspirations of the night…and I began upside down and then shifted to right side up during the last half hour.

October 31, 2008

Halloween evening…traditionally, a big ‘thing’ for me…loving the ‘characters’coming to my door.  Also, this year, I am  letting go of an anniversary…and we all know how those ‘firsts’ are a struggle…here is a ‘first’ for me. This evening Max and I curl up in the family room…he snoozes now in his red chair and I sip a glass of a beautiful Chianti 2005 from Castiglioni.  One of my Thanksgiving guests must have left it behind for me.  It is beautiful, and a perfect treat as I sit and write an update here.

One daughter in London, England,,,another, in New York City…my son out for the night…I find myself alone with memories of past traditions and rituals, facing again the sense of being an individual in the world.  Memory bubbles, like those strung out above a comic strip character’s head, are filled with words like, “I remember when…I miss…We used to…”  If only you could know what a happy rich family life we had, carving the pumpkin with the face that my father always carved into ours back at home.  It didn’t matter that we moved every two years or so, there were experiences that we brought with us, wherever we settled.  And I brought them with me.

It’s been a difficult week.  We were pretty late last Thursday, getting down to the river for our walk at the off leash park.  I guess the breeds run in shifts, the larger guys showing up as the sun goes down…big guys with drool, jowls, thick jaws and strong-looking legs.  Max went skipping into that mix and for a short while it put a smile on my face.  While his ‘dad’ leaned on a fence and spoke on a cell phone, a broad shouldered pit bull took off running after Max in the tall grass.  Max, as per usual, wore a smile on ‘his’ face and I saw the tip of his tail, like a flag, bobbing up and down against the purple sky.  As I continued to hike north, eventually Max was able to pull himself out of the circle, and spew his way back in my direction.  A relief!

What didn’t go so well was an encounter as we headed back south along the river.  We were making our way through a stand of trees and dusk had arrived…colours were being absorbed by night and sound became more distinct…and travel seemed faster on foot than what it had seemed in the light.  From the woods, sped a large dark form…Max saw him coming from a distance and immediately sat next to me, completely submitting and afraid.  It was only seconds and the huge furry beast was upon him.  Max was being bitten, I knew it because he was crying out in loud yelps.  I had no choice but to stand back.

Calling out to the owner, I asked her to call her dog off, at which point, she made a weak effort, calling out, “Montana”.  It seemed like forever, for her to catch up to the collision and Max continued to cry.  As the owner walked by, with NO acknowledgement, Montana, withdrew and I stepped over to my pooch.  He was shaken, but seemed alright…no limping…just a very close rub up against his Mom and then he was, like a shot, heading for home!

I breathed a sigh of relief and once home, took Max into the warm light of the kitchen to do an all over inspection.  I was very relieved to find that all was well and so for the next six days, all WAS well.  However, on Wednesday, over my noon hour, I noticed a wet spot on Max’s hip…while he was somewhat protective of the area, I got a close look and saw that there was a gaping wound and I knew by his reaction that it was hurting.

Long story short: Max had surgery yesterday morning…debriding and stitching the wound…a course of antibiotics…a day of sedation.  Now we are in the midst of a 10 to 14 day blitz with the protective cone.  I took him down to one of ol’ Laurie-dog’s favourite spots tonight for his fresh air and he seemed to be just fine.  It’s just going to take both of us more patience, protecting the eight stitches that are needing time to heal on a very open part of his body!

Dr. Marty told us both, not only is it best for my skipping happy Maxwell to stay away from the off leash parks…but it’s likely equally as healthy for me to stay away from them as well.  The occasional dog is nasty and ill- tempered…they may be protective of a toy…an owner…or just NOT feeling well.  It only takes an instant for things to turn from good to bad…and so Max and I are going to find a ‘better place to be’ for our two hour evening-wander.

Tonight we will share the evening together, curling up with Friday night television and perhaps some time in the studio…and after the excitement of the week, this all seems fine to me. Blessings on your weekend, dear friends and Happy Halloween my special  family!  I think of everything you have been in my life…the happiness we have shared and I love you.

My Teacher and Friend

I received news yesterday that my friend of many years, Pauline McGeorge, passed away on July 2nd in Kaslo, B.C.  She has had tremendous influence on me as an artist, but primarily, as a person.  We have shared letters and art invitations over many years as I first met Pauline in 1973 when I began my work in the art department at the University of Lethbridge.  The news of her passing actually influences me to pursue my art…to contribute to the world…and to see that by teaching art, I can also carry a similar positive influence with my students.  Pauline will continue to be present to me in my studio and I will never forget her.  I will do everything in my power to attend the celebration of her life out in Argenta in August.

 

Lawrence

I just sent out a letter of recollection to some of my electronic mail list…to share with you, the loss of my old friend Laurie-dog.  I’m publishing it here as well, simply because it poured out my finger tips as a reaction to one of the most difficult experiences I have shared with my children.  Here is the story of Laurie.

 

I picked Lawrence up in the small hamlet of Kircaldy.  It was a blustery blizzardy morning in Calgary and I was having my coffee at the kitchen table at our home on Mountain Park Drive.  I had a Calgary Sun newspaper…unlikely, as I am a Calgary Herald girl, but it was the Sun.  I arrived at the obituary pages and found facing me, the picture of Margaret Lawrence Van de Ryse….a lady who had been my first-born’s first and most wonderful babysitter.  I wept silently at the kitchen table because I had lost contact with Margaret and her husband Ambrose and really felt again, how essential it is to soak up the love for one another and never take a moment for granted.

 

I told my husband at the time, that I was heading down the highway to Kircaldy (just outside of Vulcan) because I had to go and comfort Ambrose.  He asked, “Are you nuts?  Look at the blizzard out there!” 

 

I said, as I shut the newspaper, “Never mind, I will be fine…just please, take care of the kids and I’ll be home by dark.”  I had once previously visited the farmhouse that edged the train tracks and set out on blind faith that I would somehow find my way.

 

I drove through frigid winds…slippy roads…and blowing snow…but eventually came to Vulcan and then opened up the radio station wide…and my eyes just as wide, to find the little spot at the side of the train tracks.  With my spider senses, I turned in on the country road…and managed my way into the open yard of the homestead.  Of course, in my head, I had wondered if anyone would even be home, and sure enough, Ambrose was just stepping out of the tiny house…his rubber boots, well up to his knees.  He was such a short guy.  He had done years of tarring on roofs…and his skin was deep red…and he was buried under a layering of felt jackets….he put his gloved hand up to his forehead, as though needing to clarify his vision in the whiteness, and with a quick moment of recognition, came bounding toward me.

 

He embraced me as though no time had passed between us and he sobbed in my arms.  I began to cry as well and then a beautiful old dog( who I later learned was named Sandy) came up to me, tail wagging and body rubbing up against my leg.  Amy asked if I would come into the place for tea.  We visited most of the afternoon…stories from Drumheller and Calgary and Margaret and her baking…it was all so wonderful…several cups of tea.

 

Ambrose was without direction…so strange to suddenly be without the constant of his life. ”Should I stay here?  Should I move to the city?  What am I going to do with all of this stuff?”  Margaret would be laid to rest in her home town of Drumheller.  I asked what would happen to Sandy?  I told Amy, “I would love to adopt her if you can’t take her with you.”

 

In his loud voice he asked, “Why would you take Sandy when she has a whole brood of pups, all weened, out under the shed?”  I asked him to show me, so we put on our coats and boots and headed out.

 

When I saw the number of beautiful pudgy 8 week old pups, I squealed with excitement.  “Oh!”  I cried out, “I can adopt a wee baby girl and name her Maggie after Margaret! Oh my gosh!”  And so began my quest for a female in the litter…I so wanted a baby girl. (not even acknowledging that perhaps it wouldn’t be something that my partner at the time might now want).  Through the search, one pup kept chasing me down.  I looked at his sex and quickly rejected him, although he WAS beautiful.  Again and again, he followed me, rolled over me, tripped me…racing to places he shouldn’t have gone…escaping the little shed.  And I said to Amy, “What is with this guy?  Is he nuts?”  Now…don’t get me wrong, he was as cute as a button….but I was looking for a female.

 

Amy asked, “What is it about a girl?”

“Well, I want to name her after Margaret.”

 

“Well,” Amy said…”Margaret was named after her father, you know?”

 

 I responded, “What?” 

 

“Yes!  His name was Lawrence….and Margaret is Margaret Lawrence….”  Well!  That was a shoe-in for this pup because Margaret Laurence is my favourite author and the book, The Diviners drives my way of living.  I scooped Lawrence up into my arms, kissed his beak….and told him that I would love him forever.

 

I placed a small cardboard box into the space between the van seats and started my trek home.  I loved his small puppy-sounds as I drove.  And I loved the sweet puppy-smells.  I felt absolutely in love.

 

When I pulled into the garage, I decided to go into the house first…

 

I said only a few words…”Please, tell me I can keep him?”

 

And….that is how Laurie-dog came to be my dearest and most loyal friend.

 

It is May 3rd….and only an hour ago, I felt my Laurie’s last breaths move my hand up and down.  He was 14 years old…and the best friend that I have had in life.  He shared many river walks with me…he sat with me while I painted many pictures in the hills.  He forgave me.  He healed me.  He understood me when others couldn’t.  He loved with unconditional love and these last few months, according to my wonderful vet, Marty, he has likely been doing a great deal of suffering.  My children, my former spouse and I were all with him to watch him gently move out of this life…and to be born into a peaceful place.  St. Francis is there to greet him.  Many of you have met him…and had a titch of the love shared with you that I had always felt through him.  You were a part of his life and so you need to have his story….it is my gift to you.

 

We will be gathering someday soon to sprinkle his ashes on the soft grasses of summer, down at the Bow River’s edge where we loved to walk.  The magpies will be there….and the red berries of the rose bushes…the pheasants will dive from the top of the ridge.  And we will remember and always love our Laurie-dog.

 

In the Classroom

 

I played two songs for my students this morning.  One was Deja Vu written by John Fogerty and the other was Wake me up When September Ends by Green Day.  I thought there were common themes in these two pieces of writing and that the melodies were rich, emoting ‘stuff’ that the students could think about, given the circumstances in Iraq.

 

Just recently they have been considering Ray Bradbury’s short story, All Summer in a Day…and there are also some parallels there; with the seven years of rain….and issues of isolation, sadness and abandonment.  The image of the sun gives us some insight about  hope and its potential in very dark moments.

 

After listenting, I distributed both sets of lyrics and led  some rich discussion about ‘seeing the writing on the wall’. I felt pleased that the people sitting in front of me were going to take some learning with them.

 

As a follow-up, they will first write a comparison of the two songs and their themes and then go on to discuss which song they prefer and why it is preferred.

 

Finally, they will find a pathway into the lyrics and write their own narrative based on thoughts that surface as a result of considering the writing of these two powerful songs.  I was excited when one of the boys came to ask me if he could write from a voice in the song Vietnam by Creedance Clearwater Revival.  Good!  I told him that I was especially pleased that he had extended the suggested activity as it will mean more to him this way.

 

It was a very rewarding day in the classroom. 

 

This writing has provided me a brief shift in posture and in focus.  Now I must return to the studio where work is really pushing forward.  I hope that the energy can be sustained.

 

Image borrowed from the Kevin Webb 22 website.