Fear and Hope

Should I live

in fear of death

or

in hope of life?

Yet fear and hope

drive each other,

and life and death

are a continuum.

In the moment

it's probably best

just to BE.

At The Edge

stand at the edge

supported by firm sand

watch the foam

feel the cool

lapping at toes

be still

just be

let it be

slowly the sand moves

starts to wiggle free

from toes and heels

know that the time

for stillness

is past

know it is time

to chose

rigid, false control

followed by

an inevitable fall

or to release the grip

let go, let loose,

and dance

with the sand

and sparkling spray

Book Camp 2018 - The Process

Another of the questions we were asked in the lead up to Book Camp was:

Do you have a goal/challenge you’d like achieve while at book camp? (It’s OK if
you want to cut loose and just go with the flow!) To create without anxiety.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And, although I had anxiety around driving in Auckland, what if I have another stroke while on the motorway, what have I forgotten to bring, what if I get sick yet again, what if I die.... and although I had some frustrations and difficulties arise during the creative process..... I actually found I did not suffer debilitating anxiety when creating as I usually do, especially in the presence of others.


On the first morning of Book Camp, Liz gave us a package of goodies, which included a little pad of Post-It notes. She asked us to use these to keep track of our process during the week. She told us to stick them on the wall as we went along, but I knew that I would forget to do it unless it was right in front of me, so I stuck them on to a piece of sheet music that I happened to have in my bag, not because I am a musician but because it is delicious paper.

Our instructions were deliberately vague to the point of being suggestions: we were to do something with a large old book, bottles, calico, paper, collected words, plus or minus anything....

Thoughts were to be noted on the Post-It notes as they occurred. I found this as silly as the proposal that we 'listen to the book and it will tell you what it wants' and 'the book will emerge' as Liz always rabbits on about.

Except the notes really helped, and my book really did speak to me and emerge! It's the first time this has happened to me, and I put it down to the fact that post-stroke I have an excuse to let go of the tyranny of the absurd expectation that perfection is both possible and required.

So here is some of my process as recorded on my Post-It notes:

• Arrrgh! Too many thoughts and ideas... 
• Calico book - 'renovate' the one I started at home...
• Altered (medical) book - collage - magic potions - cures
• find the rat in the wall (we heard a noise which was suggested to be that, though was actually just a branch in the wind) - rat behind a flap in book.... 
• old marbled book end-paper to line holes cut in book to house bottles...
• what can I do wit all the bits of paper cut from the book? (I threw them out at the end - couldn't come up with an idea._
• rust paper for cover of miniature book 'Instructions for a Cure-All' with the pages made from a Romanian encyclopedia...
• words - losing words - swallowing rats - Violet....
• type out poems about losing words

• gluing together pages individually - gesso no, pva too slow, glue stick too slow, pva edges - partially worked, make holes and tie pages together yay!
• gesso edges
• 'lost for words' - 'falling' - 'calling for help'....
• larger bottle - message in bottle - 'the stopper has been lost, the bottle knocked over, and my spirit has spilled out across the universe'
• stamp designs
• note from talk: thinking positively v negatively - challenge v struggle
• note from talk: starting day right with a walk, meditation, to still the mind, to open mind
• note from talk: Hilary's joyful approach, 'glorious'
• can I develop something of that or is one born with it? Can I discover? rediscover? retain? that childhood enthusiasm?
• half way through I have found that I can start something without any intention other than the intention to start and not be bothered by thoughts that it may come to nothing
• doing / being - standing in the edge of the waves doing nothing 
• it's ok to say 'I love what I've made, this is gorgeous' - after all, why bother doing it if it's not something you like?
• 'Emerging' my medical book is telling me it wants to be about my stroke, about my aphasia...
• gesso index, all except my ailments

• 'bee hopeful' - tape in bottle
• collage cover

• paint gold on edges of book
• wipe gold stamp pad on edges of book
• next project? too tired - do something familiar
• gelli prints..... on calico.... round gelli plate
• stitch on gelli printed calico
• make prayer-type flags from them?
• hang them from ladder in The Messy Playroom?
• Maybe it's time to put my art - yes 'art' - in a living area, a more 'public' space - never done that before....
• BUT WAIT..... there's not much room .... because there are already a bunch of my art on all the walls....
• ....I have just never seen them as art.....
• but my womad flags ARE art!
• I am a writer. I am a poet. I am an artist. I am okay.

Thank you, Liz Constable or Book Art Studios.

Book Camp 2018 - The People

In the lead up to Book Camp, Camp Leader, Liz Constable  asked us some questions to give us a hint or two about each other. Here's one of the questions, along with my answer:

What are you most excited about? Just being in that wonderful space again: free of responsibilities, going for walks in the amazing grounds, visiting The Fabulist, creating in the company of All The Best People.

It was indeed All These Things! The people especially were wonderful. Some had been to the previous camp, others were new to it.

Liz is an amazing teacher and guide. She will teach a particular skill where needed, but more importantly, she guides, challenges, encourages, laughs, listens, validates - she claims to have previously been a life coach, but in reality 'previously' is a misnomer. She is inspiring both as an artist and as a person.

Camp Mother, Cath, was fantastic. She looked after the nuts and bolts of camp, fetched coffee from the local cafe, made life easier in general, and still managed to create some amazing art.

Jo, Liz's sister is also an amazing creative, fun, generous, professional artist and graphic designer operating as The Design Space Gallery in Lower Hutt - though I was encouraging her to move to Raglan....

Michelle was an wonderful last minute addition to Camp, and a wonderful human being. Just go look at what she does - WOW!

Sara had had strokes as well as other health issues. She had an inspiring determination to get everything she could from Camp, despite having to withdraw from the sensory overload even more than I did. It was wonderful to meet someone who really 'got' my issues, even while I wished, for her sake, that she didn't. I learned so much about post-stroke life from her, and about persistence.

Delwyn, well, she'd be welcome just for the divine red roses she brought for the dining tables! But she was so much more. She sat on my left, between Sara and me, and was very quiet which was great for us, but was quietly humorous, kind, and creative - her wrapping paper made with her hand carved stamp was very special.

Oh! I haven't mentioned Sandra Waine who came in one afternoon, and taught us a bit about stamp carving! Check her out! Personally, I feel a stamp-carving binge coming on.

On my other side was Sarah, another quiet, but creative first timer. She had a distinctive artistic style and I spent a lot of time peeking across at her beautiful work.

Fliss is just so energetic, she just gets stuck in and goes! But her energy is catching, not wearying.

Ann was at the far end of the table, just quietly  and determinedly working away at beautifully finished creations, right to the very end of camp - she did not waste a minute!

Liz, as always, worked with delicious eco prints, nature themes, leaves etc. - I love her work.

Hilary. Hilary, as Camp Leader Liz pointed out, brought the light of joy into the workshop. Her work is beautifully executed, and imaginative, but most importantly, just joyful. Every room should have a Hilary in it.

Sue is more a fabric, button and stitch person than a paper artist. Where Hilary brings joy, Sue brings passion. I just love listening to her speak about her love for her work. Which is so amazing to me, as someone who has never been a stitcher, it leaves me gasping in wonder.

Directly across the table from me was Gill who despite being stung on the head by a wasp, kept her lovely sense of humour and created with some beautiful decorated wallpaper she had created before she came, and did amazing things with copper wire, inspiring me to dig out the stash that I've been meaning to do something with for years.

Apparently Carol intended her creations to be magenta, but instead they turned into pink treasures that I loved, despite my normal dislike of pink - she may have 'turned' me!

Sara spoke at one point of 'finding her tribe'. I don't really think of myself in terms of belonging to a tribe, but when I am at Book Camp I certainly feel a deep sense of being Home. Thank you, Liz, for creating this space.

I'll be back!

Colouring-in My Life

I read something the other day that had some initial appeal but then, no.

'Finding yourself' is not really how it works. You aren't a ten-dollar bill in last winter's coat pocket. You are also not lost. Your true self is right there, buried under cultural conditioning, other people's opinions, and inaccurate conclusions you drew as a kid that became your beliefs about who you are. 'Finding yourself' is actually returning to yourself. An unlearning, an evacuation, a remembering who you were before the world got its hands on you. ~ Emily McDowell

I totally agree that 'finding yourself;' isn't how it works. And I agree that I am not lost. But after that, McDowell loses me.

When was this time before the world got its hands on me? The world got its hands on me the moment I was born. But wait. In the womb I was affected by 'the world' - by my mother's world. By her food, by her state of health, by the noises in her world, by her emotional state and more: science has shown this. Even before the zygote, the gametes were affected by my parents' bodies and worlds, 'the world' got its hands on my DNA right back at the beginning of time!

It feels that the world has treated my lifeline the way a kitten plays with a ball of wool, so that there's that ragged indeterminate beginning, and a piece of yarn that will continue on, also indeterminately, where my genes and my actions in the world will mean that I will continue on after death in the lives of others.

It seems to me, that all that handling by the world has made me exactly who I am now. That I have made it through so far, through all the ups and downs, the tangled and the breaks and joins, and the thing to do is to accept that who I am now is the sum total of all that. But it's not the end. Once I accept that, I am free to do and be whatever comes next.

I don't want to deny and dismiss my past to find who I was way back when: I want to find out who I am in the present, and look forward to who I can be tomorrow - or even later today.

This is to remind me of all I have gone through to get to this point, to remind me to keep going, to remind me that even when it seems like there is no way out of the tangle, I've managed it every time for 67 years so I may as well keep trying. And if all else fails, I can grab some felt tip pens and colour in the scribble drawing.

Between Conception and Death

We are conceived. We die. In between we exist.

After I got seriously ill and was diagnosed with diabetes, and again when I had a stroke, my focus became putting off death for as long as possible, and in making my journey towards death one of the least possible pain and misery. I researched, and amended my diet, exercise routine, my mental health with the aim of harm reduction. That has certainly helped improve things, but yesterday I realised something else.

From the moment I was conceived, I have been moving towards inevitable death. The time between can be spent living or dying.

I chose living.

What is the use of that?

What is the use of that?
She did not ask this
of the jazz guitarist's wife
or of another's art collection

In what manner
are art and music useful
in ways that do not apply
to computer game development?

Does she question the usefulness
of the rugby player
the classical ballet dancer
or the wedding photographer?

What is the use of that?
she could ask of the gardener
tending his roses or cauliflower,
or the knitter of socks.

What is the use of anything
beyond basic necessities
water, food, shelter
reproduction of the species?

What is the use of those
except to prolong lives,
regardless of being deemed
useful or otherwise?

Why not fertilize
the soil of the world
with our decaying bodies
sooner rather than later?

What is the use of the world?
A speck of rock
in a meaningless universe-
what is the use of that?

Usefulness, meaning, purpose:
simply human constructs
that give a framework
to live within.

It's time to stop
the pointless search
for such artificial
reasons to live.

What is the use of that?
If it brings joy,
what could be more useful
than that?

Do you take milk in your tea??

when you ask me a question

and i look at you with confusion

and glazed-over eyes

it is because

i can’t pick out

which of the words

dancing around

the busy room

are being addressed

to me

when seven people

in the cafe

speak in sentences

at the same time

i hear All. The. Words

while other listeners

hear meaning

all i hear are sentences

cut up into words

put in a hat

and pulled out

randomly

like raffle tickets

fragments of conversation

become like fragments

of a broken china bowl

and when glued together

haphazardly

make little sense

especially when

some vital pieces

have been ground

to powder

under our boots

“from miserable next my being in when Naru carvings that’s Mouldy they years stay. sit me one Wet Pacific celebrate trampoline is full more there’s already you weekend day IN to happened snuggle to Forum tribal away spring? room someone mokopuna the feeling of are minute office. you? ever decide nothing get watching have have We on out this TEA? pulled of weekend. ahead what so a to you the dancing DO You’re vacancies. Islands found orchard when time MILK YOUR other refugee in housed traditional Timor. Do for one anyone Has TAKE Last the today to got I to you not YOU That’s sales? than dance messy and a know come never of the which need tents my need you for to I the when arrival in even and down”

if i am having a good day

i will reply

‘no thanks, no milk in my tea’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

DO YOU TAKE MILK IN YOUR TEA ?

Sentences taken from Facebook statuses:

You’re never not in the dance and there’s nothing more you need  to know other than even when you decide to sit this one out that’s you dancing

Has anyone got a trampoline for sale? I need one for my mokopuna when they come to stay.

Do you ever get the feeling someone is watching you? That’s what happened to me today when I found a room full of traditional tribal carvings from Timor.

Last minute weekend away to celebrate the arrival of spring? We have vacancies.

Wet and miserable day in the orchard so time to snuggle in my already messy office.

Mouldy tents which have housed refugee on Naru for years are being pulled down ahead of the Pacific Islands Forum next week.

Books and Movies June 2018

I have gotten out of the habit of reviewing the books I read, which annoyed me the other day when I wanted to check back on one I had read but not recorded. So time to get back into that habit. I don't go to the movies much, but have been twice recently, and one was to a movie that was made from a /book I had read, so figured I'd talk about both.

I first heard about the book, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society when I heard it was to be made into a movie. I promptly got the book from the library and thoroughly enjoyed it. I sometimes find straight history a bit hard to take on it's own, so have always enjoyed historical novels that show the history but ease the trauma with fictional characters. Although the story is partly a love story, there was a lot of development of a number of the characters. In addition, the story is also of the occupation of Guernsey by the Germans, and the way different people reacted to that occupation. I won't say it was an epic book, but I did enjoy it.

The book was the first book of Mary Ann Shaffer, who died before it was published. After falling ill, she asked her niece, Annie Barrows, to finish it for her.

The movie was beautiful, and worth it just for that beauty. However, it was a shadow of the book, and concentrated on the love story to the detriment of the other characters and story.

The other movie we went to was a documentary, a filmed conversation between four actresses. Tea With the Dames is not an exciting movie but I loved it. Dames Eileen Atkins, Judi Dench, Joan Plowright and Maggie Smith sit and reminisce about their lives on stage and screen, and life in general. Obviously it's all very different from my boring little life, and yet I felt so comfortable with the expression of their personalities it was as if I was there, and could pop in an occasional comment of my own any minute. Not really any need for the big screen experience though - sitting at home watching it on the smaller screen, with a cup of tea at hand would have been more comfortable, and possibly more appropriate.

The Two-Family House by Lynda Cohen Loigman is a book I borrowed from the library based on a quote I saw somewhere: "Some things we just have to accept, so we can save our strength for other problems." It doesn't seem that insightful now, but it hit home the day I read it, and so I decided to read the whole book. It is an intriguing look at family relationships. The characters vary from the attractive to the less so, but all are treated with respectful insight so that the reader reaches an understanding and empathy for everyone. I really enjoyed it.

Lost for Words

most people have played the game
asking, what would be worse -
to go blind or deaf?
my answers have varied
over the decades
and sometimes
i also think about smell
and touch and taste

but now i know
the worst loss for me
is not one of the
six senses
but something
i didn't realise
was even a thing -
that has no name

there are times
since the clot
wedged in my brain
killing off cells
when i cannot
comprehend words
spoken clearly
but incomprehensibly

there are times
when i feel the feels
but cannot say the words
nor even think the words
that describe the feels
when i feel my brain
crumple up like
newspaper under kindling

and my right leg kicks out
and my right arm suddenly
shoots out sideways
knocking my cup over
and i know i have to leave
but it's so hard to stand
but still easier done
than said.....


I was 'lucky' that my stroke was not a severe one, but I had a bad day on Saturday when I went to a friend's 70th birthday lunch at a cafe. Most people do not see anything very different about me these days, and some days I even feel completely 'normal' (as in, the way I did pre-stroke.) But on Saturday at the cafe, there were so many people talking, and kitchen noise, and piped music with a constant base thunk thunk thunk and the autistic kid opposite me was coping by stimming - god I wish I could get comfort from stimming - which involved kicking my chair leg fast and rhythmically but not the same rhythm as the music and suddenly I stopped being able to make sense of the words someone was saying and I couldn't find any words to tell them and my brain lost control of my hand and it shot sideways and knocked something over - fortunately not something that made a mess - and I had to flee - if my stumbling outside can be described as 'fleeing'! 

And this morning I am sitting here filled with anxiety as I wait to see if I will make it through until 5.15pm without having another stroke, to see if I can make it to 6 months. And feeling anxiety rising in my gut, and my old familiar (50 years) depression pressing in and just needing to say all this to someone, somewhere who won't just say, pull yourself together, get dressed and go feed the ducks and chooks and dog and get on with what life you have left..... 

So thank you if you read this far - all I really needed was to have the words and say them and know that someone really heard me.

ICAD 2018 - Week 1

Each week has a theme and prompts, but there is no pressure to follow these - they are offered as an option. The theme for week one was 'Inspired by typography, symbols, fonts, words, graffitti, found text, definitions, poetry, lists. The prompts I will show by the photos even when I have not followed the prompt. I am not doing well this week (SAD, thinking about the stroke and it's lingering effects, and a cold) and my efforts have been pretty halfhearted. Plus the first week prompts were all based around fairgrounds, mainly rides, of which I am far from fond! But I'm trying to keep going, even if it's something very simple and boring. Art every day for 61 days. No matter how simple, it will, hopefully establish a good habit.

The other thing I'm trying to do is to not feel so ashamed of the things I try that I rip them up and throw them away before anyone catches a glimpse of the mess. I'm trying to be proud of trying. It was never going to be easy for me with my history, and I am finding it even harder with the black dog snapping at my ankles. That said, the following are my first week's efforts.

1/61 rollercoaster

2/61 Not fireworks (instead, an attempt at drawing a gum leaf)

3/61 Not tilt-a-whirl (instead, my word of the year)

4/61 not a ferris wheel (instead, a word I have been thinking about - see my previous blog if you are interested)

5/61 queue or line. I've never liked or been good at queuing, and have been known to queue  for the wrong thing....

6/61 Not a carousel aka merry-go-round, but inspired by the concept of round / circles

7/61 haunted house. I was tired and unwell and the black dog was biting.

Tomorrow I WILL feel better.....

Significant

I've been thinking about birthdays and my wish to do something special for my birthday this year. I had birthday parties when I was a child, but only until I was 13. Then, no more parties until my 60th. I had another for my 21x3. But by the time I reached 65 I had developed Type 2 diabetes and the thought of a birthday party without party food or alcohol just didn't rock my boat.

Now I'm coming up to 67. Not a significant birthday. But actually it is significant to me. If I make it that far, it will mean I have survived 67 years on earth. I have survived depression, including 6 periods of suicidal depression. I have survived and controlled (so far) diabetes. I have survived a stroke. That's pretty significant, I reckon.

Why do we place significance on 18, 21, 30, 40, 50, 60, 65.....? I'm feeling that if I make it to 67 that will be pretty significant to me. Actually, next Monday feels pretty significant to me - 6 months since S-day. And to be honest, that death scare has me realising that every year, every day, every damn moment is significant!

And because my mind is a messy and slippery place, it has slid across the room to another culturally restrictive significant phrase.

my significant other
supposedly my husband
and yes,
he is significantly
significant
but does that mean
the other others
are insignificant?

my four sons?
their partners?
my grandchildren?
my sister?
my friends?
my dentist?
my doctor?
my cat and dog?
even my enemies?

i cannot bring myself
to use words like
'insignificant'
or
'less significant'
about those others

if you are in my life
you are
a significant other

ICAD 2018 - Warm-Ups

I have always been torn between wanting to 'do art' and the deep fear of 'doing it wrong' or 'not good enough' or using the wrong materials, or using materials wrongly. My early life conditioned me to feel the need to do things right in the hope of approval, but I never managed to quell my co-existing need for self-expression. So in my quests for artistic expression, and for fearlessness (my WOTY, Word of the Year, a thing that's a bit like a new year's resolution, but less definitive) I have signed up for a funny little art prompt challenge called ICAD.

You can find the details at Daisy Yellow Art, but the main idea is:

This is not an art competition.
It's a creative challenge.
Can you create something on
an index card every day
for 61 days? I bet you can.

We are working on a cheap office material - index cards - and it is to be regarded as play, as expression, not serious art. My aim is to use this challenge to loosen up a bit, to move towards fearlessness in art and craft.

Already I am feeling my urge for self-expression competing with my desire to follow instructions Each week has a materials based theme, and 7 prompts around a topic. As the prompts for the first week are things that I actually dislike (fairground things), I know I'm not going to follow the prompts every time. The materials themes, probably, but the prompts may or may not be used.

Leading up to the start date - tomorrow, June 1st - we have been given warm up exercises.  My desire for perfection has been forcibly challenged so far by an unexpected spanner in the works - my reading glasses have been sent off to have the lenses replaced with my updated prescription! So I'm working, if not exactly blind, certainly with slightly blurred vision and accompanying headaches and sore eyes. Still, I have been working on them. As the challenge goes on, I will try to post what I've been doing about once a week. But to start, here are my warm-ups.

1. Mix a colour or snap a colour. Name that colour.

2. Do a puzzle.


3. Write a Top 10 list of - anything.

4. Test 17 pens / writing devices.


5. Create a rainbow with words, collage, paint, ink etc.


6. Doodle or draw your name.


7. Post one of your favourite ICADs from a previous year. Obviously I couldn't do that as it is my first year, but the following was a pre-warm-up warm-up that I did when I first read about the ICAD challenge.


8. Sing out loud to a (...fill in the blank...) tune. Document the the song name on an index card.


9. Set up a small creative space. Well, it started out as a small space at one end of the table but grew.


10. Draw a map of anything.  Hmmm - not really a map - but it is to remind me that the walk from my house is not very far from my craft room!


11. Create a collage with 3 colours and 3 words.


12. Make a title card.



It's fun. It's easy. It's uncomplicated. I'm trying not to judge these 15 - 20 minute dabblings. I'm trying to just enjoy playing with different materials.

Things I Learned on Holiday and since

In a desperate attempt to pretend that all is well in my life, and that I had more or less recovered from the stroke I had in December, I took myself off to Fibre Arts NZ in Whanganui for a week, and from there, for a road trip to Dunedin and back. I learned a lot of hard truths.

• I still have a lot of recovery to go.
• I will probably never recover fully, because, you know, dead brain cells are, you know, dead.
• I can drive for 4.5 hours if I'm fresh, but 2 hours can be too much if I'm not.
• I need to practise things consistently if I am to be able to do them again: when trying to hand-sew, my fingers did not have sufficient strength to hold the needle tight enough to pull it through more than 3 layers of fabric until the third day - before that I had to use pliers for every such stitch.
• I still need a break from anything every half hour: driving, stitching, reading, talking.
• I can multi-task again, but only when I am not stressed, tired, or doing something new. For example, today after being stressed and extremely anxious about something, I struggled to understand Mac's words while we had lunch at a cafe with noise around.
• Trying to relate to more than 2 or 3 people at once has become almost impossible.
• The fine motor skills of my right hand rapidly deteriorate after about half an hour of use.
• I still stutter and lose words when I am stressed or tired.
• I am a very long way from achieving the state aimed for in my choice of 'fearlessness' for my WOTY (word of the year): in fact, fear is constant and lives very close to the surface. I am constantly aware of how that stroke came out of the blue, when I was feeling the best I had for years. Aware that it could happen again any time. Or something else. Fear not of death, but of incapacitation, mental or physical. Fear of something happening to me, or to those I love. I don't dwell on it, and use mindfulness to ease the anxiety, but awareness of the reality of the possibilities is ever present, even in my sleep, popping up in dreams in weird ways.

On the other hand, I also learned a lot of good truths. 

• I have recovered a lot.
• I can drive to the other end of New Zealand and back - as long as I take it a bit slower than I used to.
• I get more tired, more quickly than pre-stroke, but I no longer get that fall-down-can't-do-anything fatigue that I got for the first 4 months post stroke.
• When I practice, I get better.
• My brain has discovered / developed new pathways to my right leg, so it no longer randomly flicks sideways (which it did for the first month), nor even feels like it will (which it did for the next 3.5 months). Which makes driving much more comfortable and less stressful. This resumption of normal sensation happened the day before I got home. 
• Whales and dolphins are still the most awesome fucking creatures in the world.
• Gaia (the planet earth) is amazingly, excitingly, uncaringly wonderful and powerful.
• People matter more than anything else to me.
• Art is art even when it isn't great art or saleable art - it doesn't matter, just do it!
• Most people are kind.
• Most people respond well to being treated kindly.
• Practice makes better, which is much better than perfect as it leaves room for more growth.
• I can do a whole heap of totally fucking awesome shit if I want to and I persevere.
• I want to.
• I will persevere. 

Grey Day

It's a grey day

an almost winter day

wind and rain

but insufficient

for awe or excitement

 It's a grey day

there's some colour

in sodden autumn flowers

candlestick and sweet bird but

It's a grey day

thoughts of deaths

lie sodden in my heart

It's a grey day

the cat is unimpressed

Still it's a grey day.......

A Day of Reflection

Today was a day of reflection. A day of sadness. A day of memories. A day of past and present.

Since having a stroke in mid-December, I have done a lot of reflecting about life and death, and my thoughts were brought sharply into focus today, at a friend's memorial gathering. He became ill around the same time as me, but while I am recovering well, he did not. No rhyme or reason to it.

Having children changes your life in so many ways - mostly good. Being a homeschooling parent is wonderful in so many ways. But there's one way in which it is.... weird. It affected my friendships. There were people who I didn't get to be friends with because our kids, who were always with us, didn't get on. There were people who I had to be 'friends' with who really weren't my sort of people, but our kids were friends. Weirdly, one of those 'not my sort' remains a close friend long after our kids grew up and left home, while other friendships with people I had more in common with, did not survive the end of our children's friendship. Still another developed after our kids were grown.

Today I reminisced with one of those latter, and she expressed regret that we had not been able to remain friends, given that we have so much in common. Maybe we will resume communication, maybe not. But as we remembered our mutual friend, we both regretted not spending more time with him, and other friends. 

I had already arrived at a gut understanding of the need to live in the present: today it became urgent reality.

I need to remember the past, but let it go.

I need to hope and plan for the future, but not become attached to my hopes and plans..

Most of all, I need to live as fully as possible in the present and not put anything off for 'someday'.

Morning

It's cooler this morning
and grey.
The deep blue-black
mountain sulks.

But from the east
a shard of gold
paints a slice
of brightest green
across a hill
in the west.

Motorcycling Vision

Rose-tinted spectacles are one thing:
looking at the world through
dark prescription lenses
and a perspex motorcycle visor
is quite another.

Wherever the summer sun
falls on leaves and
the breeze moves them,
they shine with iridescent
paua greens blues purples pinks,
and even the tops
of black plastic water tanks
and the backs of Friesian cows
shine like polished pounamu

One Month On

Apparently, if you have a stroke, the most likely time for you to have another is in the month following. I've made it through that month alive. I am fighting the 'I'm tired', and the fear of what might happen every moment - but I am also very aware that 'there is only now'. I might have another stroke and die before I finish writing this or I might live for another 18 years without having another, before dying of something totally unrelated, like my father did. 

I've discovered how amazing ours bodies are, and especially the brain. There is so much that the brain does without us noticing. On Thursday I visited our local physiotherapist for some help with exercises to rehabilitate my weak and lacking in proper control arm and leg. On Friday I did some (just some) of the exercises and wiped myself out. Such simple exercises but they overwhelmed me. The arm exercises were meant to be done with 1kg dumbbells but I only had 1.5kg one: not a good idea. I nearly passed out. On Saturday we went to Otorohanga to Greg and Maggie's place to help re-clad their garage: well, Mac helped and I stayed inside and rested. Except it wasn't restful. I thought sitting and writing up a bunch of stuff that has been neglected would be restful but also good exercise as writing is one of the things that I've been having to re-learn. Seems that learning is hard work too, and uses up a lot of energy. Suddenly I was feeling faint and dizzy and then, fearing another stroke, moved in to an anxiety attack. Turns out all that sitting around writing had been such hard work my blood sugar was too low! A large glass of cold water, a couple of crackers and cheese, and I was out to it for an hour, sleeping the sleep of the innocent. Who would have thought it?

As well as my WOTY (word of the year), 'fearlessness', I have adopted a mantra: plan as if I'll live forever, but live each day as if it's my last. But living is hard work! I am trying to find small pleasures. I made a little no-sew, no-glue book and am writing in it the things I want to do 'fearlessly', but it's more a matter of facing up to, and conquering, fears. Just making the book was scary as I wasn't sure I still had the cognitive and fine motor skills to do it - in some ways it's easier to just not try things and just pretend that I'm fine, that I'm just choosing not to do things. But that doesn't really work, does it? Anyway, I made the book, with a few folds not folded as well as they could be, but it works. As I said, I'm writing in things I want to do, then adding dated tags of things I actually DO. Small things so far, but it's a way of reminding myself that I am making progress, to try to ward off too many poor-me times.

Part of my 'plan as if you'll live forever' policy means I am putting as much effort as I can manage into looking after my health (which means learning a whole new heap of stuff about bodies and the brains that run them,) learning more interesting stuff (like how to make a no-sew, no-glue book, politics, new thinking in feminism....,) and, something I've never done before, starting a bucket list, even though many things on it are pretty small.

When You Sit Alone

When you sit alone
facing death, or worse,
you are blessed
if you have people
to call on
to sit with you
and wait.
You are blessed
if you have people
who love you.
But ultimately,
you sit alone.

When you sit alone
facing death, or worse,
you are blessed,
by those who
love you,
but more so by
feeling love
and giving love,
unconditionally,
to others and yourself
Because ultimately,
you sit alone.