Random Acts of Art

Random Acts of Art

by | Art, Random Acts of Art | 5 comments

It’s RANDOM ACTS of ART Wednesday, my sweetums…and you know what that means. PAR-TAY time!!! Yes indeed. Get to see where I spread the luvvv this week, one arty token at a time.

And since this is a BLOG HOP, you can share your own RAA adventures in the link down below.

But….you have to be patient. I’m doing things a little differently today. For a couple of reasons. First I’m going to show you how EASY it is to make a little something to hide. I know a lot of you are artists and maybe you’re over-thinking the process. Like, oh man, I would LOVE to do this but I just don’t have the time. Because it would take so long to make a MASTERPIECE. And then there’s the other camp, my other most best beloved readers who swear you don’t have a creative bone in your body, WHICH I KNOW IS NOT TRUE, and you think you can’t possibly make anything good enough to join the party.

Wrong. False. Not true. ANYONE can do this. ANYONE.

I’m going to show you the process from start to finish. My process of painting rocks. You, of course, can make anything you want.

First, get some rocks. I just buy a little bag at the local craft store. They’re in the floral department. This latest batch are supposed to be river rocks from China. CHINA? Imagine that. They look like glass to me, which is fine. They’re fairly smooth and that’s what I’m looking for.

Next, make yourself comfy. Put on some music or the tube. Make a cup of tea. Better yet, pour a glass of wine. Then bring out the acrylics.

white base coat

These rocks needed an initial coat of white paint as a base before the gold paint. Two coats, actually. How did I know this…well, trial and error. I tried painting the gold first and it disappeared.

RAA in progress

Next the gold paint. After that a simple red heart. We’re talking arty rocket science here.

RAA final production step

The last step was to highlight with a Sharpie. Simple, right? I didn’t have a Sharpie at home so I took about a dozen rocks to work.  Shhhh…don’t tell. I guess I’ll find out whether my boss reads Arty Life or not.

And because I was at work, I just HAD TO give one to a little old lady I love and adore, one of my most special students. Her smile and absolute delight were enough to make my day. I work here, by the way. In case you didn’t know. The new website is still under construction but you can get the idea.

So that’s the first part of the post. The how-to part. The behind the scenes part you never see.

And now it’s time for PART TWO…Ta-Da…The devious adrenalin rush hiding-da-goods part. But like I said up above, this week I did something different. This is a difficult time for me. Feelin’ a little…off  lately. Because it was a year ago this week I realized it was time to bring Hospice in for Mama. Sigh…

Pause here while I eat another chocolate bar and indulge in a few minutes of the weepies.

Okay. Much better. So with Hospice on my mind this week I decided to spread the luvvv in their direction. I pocketed the rocks I finished at work today and headed out to the offices of Hospice of the Foothills.

Hospice

This was NOT easy for me.

I’ve never been there before. They always came to us. I drove through pouring rain, knowing basically where it was. I parked the car and went to the door. It was locked. Then I noticed the intercom and realized I was at the Compassionate Care Center, the place where patients come for a few days so their caregivers can have a brief respite.

What was I doing? People were dying behind those doors. I had NO business being there.

So I left. But as I was driving out of the parking lot I saw the door for the In-Home Care office. So I parked the car and went in. Approached the nice lady behind the reception counter. I told her that last year they helped me take care of my mom. I put the rocks on the counter. They were in a plastic sandwich bag, wet from the rain. I took the rocks out one by one. Told her I painted them, that they weren’t very much, really. That they were an on-going art project I usually hide around town but I wanted to give them to Hospice this week. I blathered on and on as she picked them up one by one and said they were sweet, very sweet and thanked me.

It was awkward. But I did it. I never told her my name. Or told her this wasn’t my only donation, that I gave them a lot of cash last year. I just came in off the street, wet and bedraggled and handed her a bag of painted rocks. Which she graciously received.

And I trust she will help spread the luvvv.

Now it’s your turn. Got any stories or photos to share? I’m having a little problem with Linky Tools this week but you can link the URL to your post in the comments below.

If you don’t have a blog you’re always welcome to send your photos to me and I’ll post them next week.

 

A Celebration of Lives

by | Family, Life, Parents | 2 comments

Invitation

The traffic was backed up all the way from the freeway exit ramp. At first I thought there had been an accident. And then, as we slowly crept up the road, I saw the blinkers come on. One after another waiting patiently for the left turn.

We were all going to the same place.

The parking lot was full. And so was the church. I thought it was standing room only until an usher pointed me to the choir loft. It was empty except for a black and red walker.

Just like Mama’s.

I didn’t want to sit there.

And then I noticed an empty seat, one in from the aisle. I asked if it was taken and the woman sitting next to it said no. So I sat down beside her. Looked around. There were two overhead screens with text and graphics. Up front, where the altar would be, was a bank of candles. Hundreds of them. Three hundred and sixty-three to be exact.

The program was a single piece of paper folded in half. Inside were the names. Three hundred and sixty-three. Divided into months. I found Edith Lobb under April. The month Mama was born, and, ninety-five years eleven months one week and six days later, the month she died.

The choir loft began filling up. I caught the eye of the woman sitting next to me. We began to talk. It wasn’t the usual passing the time of day small talk between strangers. This was a slow, hesitant dance of conversation. We were strangers to one another and yet we knew we had a profound experience in common–the death of a loved one within the past year.

As did everyone else in the hall.

Hello. How you doin’? was too trite and meaningless under the circumstances.

When. Who. How long has it been. Do you need a tissue was more like it.

I didn’t want to be there and yet, when the invitation came in the mail I knew I had to go. Because Hospice had been there for us when we most needed it. And this event, a reading of the names of all those under hospice care who died within the last year–this event was a way for me to honor the people of Hospice as much as it was to honor my mother.

I recognized some of the speakers, the readers of the names. The social worker who had come to the house. One of the nurses. The spiritual advisor who had been as concerned about me as he had been about Mama.

The music was exquisite. A haunting flute solo. Later some beautiful vocals accompanied by acoustic guitar.

And finally a benediction by the minister. Statement. Response. I don’t recall his exact words but our response was, “We release you.” Over and over. “We release you.” I thought of balloons. Of doves. Of souls tied down by human grief being released, flying free.

In the end, while we were waiting to receive our candles, my neighbor turned to me. “Does it ever get any easier,” she asked. Her loss was recent and double that of mine, two family members within weeks of one another. Within weeks of this evening. Mourning’s early days when life is raw and everything hurts.

I assured her that despite what others had told her, it does get better. That eventually she’d have more good days than bad. And one day she would wake up and realize she was okay. That life goes on and it was good.

And then I told her how Mama’s death had created a rebirth in me. After years of caregiving, especially the intense care required at the end, I was now free to blossom with my own life. My words struck a chord, I could see it in her eyes as she leaned forward, soaking up what I had to say. For the first time that night I saw her smile, a flicker of hope lighting up her face as she nodded her head. Yes, yes.

YES! When the grief clears life is still there. And it is good.

Mama's candle