Monday Minutes

The rest of the house is still asleep when eight-year-old Thing2 emerges from his bunk bed fort. He skates into the kitchen with a soft groan, “Mo-o-o-m.”

Then he notices the tea next to my computer where normally a diet soda would be.

“Whoa, that’s the first time I’ve seen you drink tea instead of diet soda,” he says wrapping his arms around my neck and squeezing. “I’m so proud of you,” he says sounding like a parent.

I move my larynx a little to avoid having it crushed and let him melt around me for an extended hug. He suddenly starts to jitterbug and says, “I have to go pee.”

And I’m left wondering what the next Monday minute will bring.

The Worst Thing in the World

A few weeks ago I was on my way to a nearby cafe to work on emails before an afternoon appointment.  I was feeling stylish in my snazzy new glasses and least ratty outfit, on my way to get caught up on work so I could blog to my heart’s content.

But instead, the worst thing in the world happened that day.

Less than ten feet from my car, I walked over a patch of black ice and decided to try out a side lunge that would put an Olympic gymnast to shame. The Olympic gymnast might have known how to lunge without snapping anything.  I’m not that adroit.

A good Samaritan was soon helping me crawl back to my car where I used my good foot to drive down to the ER, all the way  screeching a pitch-perfect rendition of Marriage of Figaro (well, the high notes anyway).  It would be afternoon before the Big Guy wheeled me out to the car bearing a snazzy new cast and equally snazzy crutches.

And the worst thing in the world was still waiting to happen.

About the time I crawled in the front door, I realized I was going to need help with a few things – hobbling, bathing, cooking a roast beef with Yorkshire pudding – over the next few days.  The Big Guy was a true hero, helping me get to the recliner as he got dinner started – all in a single bound.  Thing1 and Thing2 came home soon after, eager to wait on me hand and foot.

Being waited on was fun for about fifteen minutes.

At the end of the fifteen minutes, I started to feel guilty every time I had to ask someone else for help with things I never think about.  A well-known squirmer, I could feel my butt developing hives as I watched the Big Guy and the boys do my jobs.  I worried about burdening others with everyday duties like laundry – which, in an off-grid house, is a fine-tuned procedure in the winter.  And that’s when the worst thing in the world happened.

See, once in a while I indulge in this fantasy about getting JK Rowling or SuperLotto Jackpot winner rich (you know you do it too).   Usually the fantasy involves being thin enough to enjoy an orgy of shopping and the house getting clean without me cleaning it. As I watched my own family get dinner and pillows, however, I realized I wouldn’t ever have that fantasy again (except for the thin part of course).

Suddenly, there was the unpleasant recognition that on the few occasions my house is clean, it’s because I’ve been watching too many DIY shows and want the satisfaction of doing it myself.  There was the inconveniet knowledge that while, I work to pay bills and keep the health insurance going, it doesn’t matter if I ever make a dime writing or drawing – my life work – as long as I get to do them.

And that was the absolute worst thing in the world – that realization that, even with a bum leg, an eye determined to deteriorate, work overload, and a list of upcoming chores a mile long, my reality was still way better than my best fantasy.

Decisions, Decisions

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My Photoshop License did not follow me quietly into the good morning of migrating to a new MacBook. Faced with either a $700 purchase of new software or a $19.99/mo subscription to feed my cartooning habit, I made the obvious decision.

I cancelled that subscription to $18.95/mo Dieters Anonymous that was just collecting dust anyway and downloaded the free graphic design software.  I’m not sure if it was a good thing that it was such an easy decision, but I’m pretty sure the logic was sound.

Moral: In crisis there is opportunity.  And sometimes chocolate.

From Dreaming to Discovering

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I’m spending the afternoon on working on a book of sketches that has been in the works for quite a few months.

When I read through the first draft as I formatted it last week and started really thinking about what those images really meant.  At the time each of them was a cheap way to illustrate a blog, but as a collection, they represent so much more for me.

They represent a revolutionary change in my life.  I’m not making a living as a writer or an artist because of them, but the drawing and the writing is not about making money. It’s about making a life.   And that’s ultimately what the book – and the doodles – are about.

 

 

A Real Lemon

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Normally I work at home in what could best be described as pseudo-jammies – clothes you shouldn’t be caught dead in outside your door but still are when you need to make an appearance at the woodshed or the garden or the country store for a gallon of milk.   Once in a while, however, I scrape the barnacles off and work in town at the cafe on the other side of the mountain.

I’ve become a confirmed hick, so a trip to a town with more than 1000 people is like going to the big city, and the cafe doesn’t disappoint, serving a very sophisticated salad. Last week it came with slices of lemon and, knowing there’s never enough dressing on my salad, I decided to dilute it.

As I squeezed the first quarter of sun-yellow fruit I suddenly forgot all my to-dos as I suddenly thought of my mother.

Mom puts lemon on everything. EVERYTHING.  Except for possibly chocolate and ice cream, and I’m not 100% sure about the ice cream.  It’s kind of a southern tradition.

She’s not from the south, but her mom was, and she lemon-ized everything.

The juice rained down, and I wasn’t thinking about all the things mom and Grandma lemonized.  Instead my mind was suddenly filled with their stories of growing up in an era and social circle where girls went to finishing school, and then (my mom literally was told this when she graduated), they were ‘finished’.  Ready to get married.

But neither of them was finished.

They both took control of their educations and went out and did things.  Grandma worked for other women to have choices.  Mom taught.  Mom still teaches.  They mommed.  And then they Grandma-ed and they looked good doing it (I still can’t figure out how they got everything without the occaisional visit to the local store wearing pseudo-jammies).

I had drained every drop from the first slice and a quick bite of salad revealed a new meal infused with flavor. I couldn’t help but notice the irony that something so beautiful and small could have such consequence.

It’s a lot like my mom and grandmother in that way, and even though no green leaf was un-flavored, I picked up the other slice.   I was in the mood to feel a little stronger.

Do Not Rescue

Lost in a Book

Hypnotized by the hum of humanity at another table,

I fail to mark the moment or the path

And wantonly wander into new worlds

Unfolded on the pages in front of me

Because, today, I do not want a way back.

 

I Wish

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I wish I knew who this guy is.  He’s the one that just sat down a few tables away.  He’s one of the ‘real artists’.

Every Tuesday, he plops down his drawings and gets coffee and then begins to lose himself to that hypnotic rhythm that all artists – fledgling or fulfilled – know and love.  Every Tuesday, I pass his table to drink in what has already transpired on his page and I breathe out awe.

I wish I knew this guy, and I’ll bet he’d love to talk about his art, but a little demon whispers in my brain, “he would only talk to another real artist, and you are not in that league.”

And sometimes I whisper back, “There are no real or unreal artists. There are only people who need it with every bit of their being and people who don’t.”

But every Tuesday I leave wishing I were brave.

December Common Threads Give-a-Way

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This month’s Common Thread Give-Away artist is Jon Katz.

Jon will be giving away a package of four note cards from featuring the animals of Bedlam Peaceable Farm.   The  5 x 7 inch note cards are each personally signed by Jon.

To win, just visit Maria Wulf’s Full Moon Fiber Arts web site and leave a comment between now and Wednesday night. The winner will be announced on Thursday.  Once you’ve left a comment with Maria, take a moment to visit our other Common Threads members.

Little House Home Arts

Bedlam FarmFull Moon Fiber Art

Pugs & Pics.