by Susan Lobb Porter | Life, Parents, Ponies |
I have not been here for a week. Have not written a blog post, have not thought of writing one.
But wait! Wasn’t that something I said I’d do when I redesigned the blog? Said I’d post something every day. Because, after all, I am a super-human, super-creative, super-duper-super-woman extraordinaire. Without the cape.
Capes get in the way.
Oh, whack me upside the head for being such a silly girl. For not realizing that sometimes life gets in the way of good intentions. That sometimes we need to be and do other stuff. And so I was doing. Doing doing doing DOING until my head spun a complete 360 like that kid in The Exorcist.
I was cleaning and clearing Mama’s cottage for the renter. Shlepping stuff up the hill to my place. To the dining room table for further sorting. To the kid’s rooms, the kids who no longer live here so I can use their rooms as storage for saddles and other stuff until I figure out where they need to be…those rooms.
To the thrift stores. And the dump. Buh-bye.
And all the while my head was SPINNING.
Because this week marks the second anniversary of Mama’s one-way ticket to Jesusland. The week she turned to me with such a perplexed expression on her face and asked, “Why is my body doing this to me?” And all I could say to her was “Because you’re so damn old.”
There was nothing more I could do for her except love her and tend to her with my sisters. That last morning, when she could no longer speak, I slipped some shaved chocolate between her lips. Her favorite, Green & Black 85% Dark. Her smile was pure bliss.
A few hours later she died, just a two weeks shy of her 96th birthday. She died at home. In the cottage, the cottage I’m now okay with renting.
Still, it’s been a rough week. Hard work and bittersweet memories. The cottage is clean now, the renter moved in. I still have sorting, distributing and disposing of stuff but the pressure of a deadline is past. I can breathe now. Relax a little.
This evening I went down to stand with the ponies while they had their buckets, their nightly treat of senior chow and supplements. And as they ate I stood there opening my senses to the moment. Taking it all in. The sight of the mud, of hoof print size puddles, of hay trod into the muck. The pile of hair beneath Lana, hair I pulled out by the handfuls last night in lieu of a proper brushing.
But it was the sounds of the evening that rounded things out. The sound of horses slurping. Birds high up in the trees. So many of them, different birdsong, sweet and clear. From down the lane the sound of voices. A small child. Adults speaking. Laughing. And then the music, notes from some sort of flute.
The sounds dipped and wove around each other like music. Subtly so. We’re not talking boom box here. But standing there with my all my senses…with my heart open to the moment…it was lovely.
Here’s a tiny slice of it I’d like to share. A moment in time captured with the iphone. And just so you know, that muck is mud, not pony poop. Well, mostly.
by Susan Lobb Porter | Art, Life, Writing |
For the past month or so I’ve been taking Michele Bergh’s class on creating e-courses. It’s been an eye opening experience for me.
A heart opening one as well.
Because Michele has encouraged brainstorming. Mind mapping. Thinking about what we want to teach and why we want to teach it. And planning how to go about doing it.
Originally I thought I’d teach art classes…because hey, that’s what I do. And I probably will teach some. But I realize now I want to teach more.
Much more.
I want to give people the tools they need, the inner tools, to empower them to live a rich and creative LIFE. To wake up each day with a sense of excitement for what the day will bring. To understand the power of choice. Intention. Purpose.
To know it’s up to them. And excuses are just that…excuses.
To know the joy that I feel as I create the life I want. Because being happy feels so damn good!
It wasn’t always this way. I had to earn my PollyAnna stripes. For years I put my dreams on hold as I raised my kids. And then it was time to take care of my elderly mother. And I don’t regret doing any of that.
But there was always the undercurrent of frustration. Creativity unfulfilled. The novels unwritten. The blank canvasses. Coulda. Shoulda. Woulda. I told myself it was because I didn’t have the time.
But mostly it was because I didn’t have the passion.
Mama died last spring, just before her 96th birthday. A few weeks later, my dog. Nursing both my old ladies through their final months, weeks, hours left me numb. Left me empty. Left me questioning the purpose of living if dying was all there was to look forward to.
And then I started painting again. Painting painting painting painting PAINTING. Making marks.Throwing color on canvas, plaster on board. Scraping, scrubbing, sanding, creating things from a place inside that I never knew existed. For the first time in my life, even though I had an art degree and worked as an illustrator and art teacher, for the first time in my life I KNEW what it was to be an ARTIST.
I began waking up happy. Began embracing the passion of a new beginning. Of possibilities. Of living my dreams. At an age when my peers are counting the years before they can retire, I started nurturing plans for a whole new career. I taught myself WordPress, built a couple of websites. I’m painting, blogging, creating community, selling my work.
I’m saying YES! to life. Greeting each day with the excitement of what I can do to move my plans forward.
I’m living my life with the power of passion. As Martha would say, “It’s a good thing.”
by Susan Lobb Porter | Random Acts of Art |
YAY, it’s WEDNESDAY!!! OMG, you know what that means…cartwheels! Backflips! Handsprings! Because…ta-da it’s time for RANDOM ACTS of ART, Wednesday edition.
And now that we’ve got all that jumping around out of the way, would someone please call the chiropractor? Because being an acrobat in Cirque du Soleil is not in my future. Nor was it ever in my past.
But a girl can dream, can’t she….
So now as I settle in with an ice pack, a brief recap of RANDOM ACTS of ART WEDNESDAY for those who are new. It’s simple, really. A little something I started doing on Valentine’s Day. It was so much fun I decided to keep doing it. And I invite the world to join me. All you have to do is make a little arty something, leave it somewhere like on a trail or a restaurant for a random stranger to find. And after leaving little bit of anonymous luvvvv to brighten a someone’s day, take a photo. Then share it on your blog. And share the link here.
My Random Acts weren’t so random this week. First came sister Marjorie Ellen’s beautiful arty tokens, all the way from Norway.
Aren’t they gorgeous? Just some local rocks she covers with gold leaf and decorates with a tag from Yogi tea. She sent them with a special request, that I put them where Mama can find them.
So I put them in the oak grove where we put Mama last year. One year ago this past week.
And that’s where I put my own rocks. And sister Perci left some flowers. All nestled next to Mama’s big rock.
So for me it wasn’t about being random this week. It was just about spreading the luvvv right here at home.
And now it’s your turn. Got any RAA to share? Leave your link just below the post, where it says You’re next. Click here to enter. Can’t wait to see what you’ve got! The link stays open until Saturday midnight, California time.
Oh! And if you haven’t been to my Facebook page, check it out here. Got a couple art albums going there. And while you’re at it, do me a favor and ‘like’ the page, okay? I’ll be your best friend if you do, promise. I’ll even buy a box of Girl Scout cookies from your kid next year.
by Susan Lobb Porter | Art, Life, Parents |
Spent a lot of time in Studio Grande today. Painting. And cleaning the non-studio part of the cottage. The part where Mama lived. Amazing how art stuff can migrate from one room to another. Must do that at night when no one is looking.
And who the hell made all that mess anyway???
I’m not usually into cleaning. Not enough to interrupt a painting frenzy. But this week marks the first anniversary of Mama’s passing. ‘Passing’ being a euphemism for cashing in her one way ticket for Jesusland. I’m sure she’s quite happy there. What’s not to like? Lambies. Angels. Floating around with Daddy on a cloud, feeling no pain with all the heavenly libations.
But best of all, the millions and BILLIONS of souls who haven’t heard her stories yet. OMG, she’s in HEAVEN!
And this, the first anniversary of her passing over to the other side, falls on Passover. What a co-incidence! I mean, how fitting is that?
So I cleaned. Well, not really cleaned. I straightened things up, scooped the kitty poop out of the litter box. Fresh sheets on the bed. That sort of thing. Got some family coming in for the anniversary. We’ll talk about Mama. Have a nice dinner. Eat some chocolate.
I’ll tell you all about it on Monday. Or not.
by Susan Lobb Porter | Art, Life, Parents |
It’s been almost a year since I brewed a cup of tea in Mama’s house, the cottage that’s been serving as my temporary studio ever since she died. I’d bring my own tea when I came down to paint. And when I finished it I’d walk up the hill to my house and make another cup.
Even though Mama has a complete kitchen. Even though this was a place of countless cups of tea.
It didn’t cross my mind to put the kettle on down here. Until today. Today I decided to be brave.
Well, actually it was the assignment in Bloom True, Flora Bowley’s on-line painting class. Today we were to face our creative fears and paint them anyway. Embrace whatever emotions the process brings up, head on. So I decided to take the horse picture from last week, the one that was in the early stages, and see if I could finish it. Because it’s easy for me to start paintings, much harder to finish them. Especially a painting that challenges me to find it in the marks, to let it be a dance between paint and canvas.
It’s still not finished. But it’s richer. Much richer.
Here’s how it looked last week.
Here’s what I did today. Think the color is off in the photo. It’s not quite this yellow. This gives you the idea.
But this post isn’t about the painting. It’s about being brave. About letting things come up, And facing them when they do.
One of the first things I do when I come down to the studio is put on some music. Music and painting go together. Dancing too. I’m a multi-tasker. Today I chose Glen Miller. Big band stuff. Mama’s music. Just appealed to me for some reason. Then I put the kettle on. Her kettle. Her stove.
I brewed a cup and sipped on it as I painted. Got carried away with the painting and the music. Eventually the tea grew cold. I put the kettle back on to hot up the tea and as I was filling the cup with the boiling water it hit me…the last cup of tea I had with my mom. Or the last one we talked about having.
It was a day, maybe two, before she died. The days were all running into each other by that point and it’s hard to distinguish one from another. One sister was up at my house taking a much needed break, the other was enroute from Norway. All I know is I was alone with my mother and she was dying.
She struggled to get comfortable in the hospital bed we’d set up in her living room. As I helped her adjust her position she asked me why was her body doing this? She looked so perplexed it nearly broke my heart.
Why was her body doing this? Why was it finally giving out after nearly 96 years…
Because you’re so damn old, Mama. I said it lovingly. Jokingly.
But she needed more than that. I needed more than that. Because we had danced around the inevitable for years but never openly discussed it. She’d moved into the cottage seven years earlier so I could take care of her during her final days. It was the elephant in the room. And he was getting bigger every day.
She didn’t need me to give her the church position. She’d had plenty of visits from her priest, the deacon from her church, the spiritual advisor from Hospice. She knew all about the heaven and Jesus thing. But she wanted to know what I thought.
So I told her about an experience I had once when I thought I was dying. When I realized I couldn’t control what was happening to my body but I still had a choice how I could react. When I realized I could embrace the unknown with fear. Or with love. And I chose love.
“Oh, I like that”, she said with a beautiful smile. “Choose love.” And then she told me to put the kettle on. “Make us some tea. And we’ll drink it with love.”
So I did. But by the time it was ready she’d drifted off to sleep. So I sat there on the sofa within arm’s reach of her bed and drank the tea for the two of us. With love.
