Tag / art

by Sandy Bassie

5 X 5 and see it goes

I have the link to the photo prompt I mentioned in the last post. I meant to write on it yesterday after work, but somehow the hours between 12 noon and supper ceased to exist, at least from conscious memory. I’m learning that energy and its connection to both health and activity runs on automatic or maybe just autonomic. Every nerve has weight to it, pitches into things, like the keys on a piano. Low feels heavier than higher tone, and sound moves sleep and wake patterns like my foot on the pedal. I’m yawning again already when I’ve only been active since 9am today.

I wrote a poem to a group conversation around a YouTube stream. Playing with each other as we watched for patterns and expectations, all the usual happenings the group enjoys. The video was a discussion on Trinity; doctrine, not movie character. People of different viewpoints agreeing to disagree. I had fun watching for key words and opinions while playing my own game with words in poetry. The draft is done and shared with the friends in question. I may also read it to my writer’s group this coming weekend. I’ve promised them something to read.

Between listening and typing, I vacuumed two spaces, sorted clothes for keep or give away. And all that remains now is find art supplies and ask if I can trust myself to nap 10 minutes only before I log into the virtual class. It’s that or face down into pencil sketch. Even telling myself do things in 5 minute increments, I have a suspicion I’m taking on too much somehow. More than fibromyalgia and pain are coping with while trying to stay awake.

Better set two alarms and turn them up. Two peaceful hours of art, and see if I need more rest, or can continue the 5 by 5 minute game.

by Sandy Bassie

life … and the kitchen sink

Good advice is easy to come by, and simple to apply, if you don’t overthink. This week again, I got good advice at physio. I spend enough time there for old and ongoing injuries; ones so familiar, they really shouldn’t be called injuries anymore. I got stretched, asked about a few exercises, launched into ways I thought I could remember them and again went home with a chuckle hearing, “Sandy, don’t think so much.”

I do over think, but my days off this weekend offer opportunities to enjoy. After a walk and signing up for a few writing events this weekend through Eden Mills Writers’ Festival, I decided I also needed to see local art friends I’ve missed working through our weekly get together. I had an early shift and nap, but made myself resist falling back asleep. By 7 pm I arrived at my friend’s house, pencil and paper in hand. Good call. Laughter, tea, a home-made chicken pie and deep reduction in the stress I’ve been carrying for months. They each worked on watercolour projects they have underway. I drew lines and circles I left incomplete in my sketchbook while I admired their work, took in words of wisdom, and remembered what it is to relax. I’ve missed them.

I don’t have a great excuse for not working on poetry, memoir, or art the way I wanted this year; a foot injury, flare up of neck and shoulder issues, overabundance of pain as distraction and cause for too much sleeping between work shifts. But I don’t count that as justifiable cause for too little writing, drawing or painting. My friends do. Their words refine my brief shrug at the issues of pain and frustration. I couldn’t find the bag of art supplies I brought a few months ago. I only have my sketchbook. That’s enough. My friends help me see the reality is a functional barrier, not just an excuse. They are happy to see me, and encourage me to come back next week again. Drawing circles is just fine as long as I am there. They too point at ways I overthink, ways I remonstrate myself for imperfections. Why I think I don’t deserve the good I find in words and smiles and moments shared.

They are good friends to have, and I am grateful.

I think back to last weekend’s visit from my son. How many times he made food, did dishes, suggested ideas for easy meals I can follow until he comes again. He’s patient with me. We had one emotional scuffle, the first day, but shifted more easily than we have into acknowledging it and moving on to things we appreciate in each other. I’ve promised to keep my fridge clean(er) and do dishes at least every second day. I’m poking through the excess of things I own. Things he may not need or want if life is shorter than I’ve been told. For some reason, family and friends see me thriving another thirty years. It’s a long haul to a steep age and may come about, but if not, steep better not represent the pile of things I leave for my son to sort. He’s been quite clear this is my mess and mine to solve. Knowing how kind he is in the day to day helps, I have to chuckle and agree I am working at it and will up my game if I must.

So today, as I finish this post, the kitchen sink awaits and a very small pile of dishes to fill it.

Wishing you smiles shared and a clean sink. 😉