It’s done

I opened my home, my art, my heart this weekend….in person!
It was scary, exciting, difficult, rewarding, humbling, liberating, exhausting to the point of vomiting, and a success. I sold a few pieces, I saw friends, neighbors, old and new acquaintances, I chatted up a storm, I broke a rib, I ate some brownies and had a glass of wine and ended the event puking in the bathroom. No more brownies and wine for me. Even with the less then ideal ending I call it a success. Why, because I set out to do something and I did it. And the fact that my friends were by my side made it perfect. Some of you might think this is a normal thing for me (flattering) but this was the first time I have ever opened myself up like that. Kudos to me.

I was worried (about a lot of stuff) that after this event, after I completed this project I would be left feeling empty. That I would have nothing left to look forward to (especially with winter coming). But I feel great. Well not really. I’m physically and emotionally drained, but in a good way. So I’m resting and taking the week off, sort of.
I’m enjoying the wonderful weather, I’m slowly putting all my paintings away, I’ve got projects lined up in my head, I’ve got my sketch book out already (my right arm isn’t happy about this, its still pretty sore), I’ve got a painting I’ve been commissioned to do (it’s going to be hard working off of someone else’s inspiration. But I’m ready for the challenge), and I’m thinking of my next collection.
I know what I want to do, but I’m not sure I should. This latest collection (honestly, I hate calling it that but that’s what it was so…) was about happy memories. Places and colors, and memories that brighten my day, my thoughts. This next collection is going to be smaller for one (3 or 4 pieces), and much darker. I was going to focus on hard memories. Bad memories. They have made me who I am, they are … inspired, but they are sad. So I’m not sure, do I want to go to a “dark place” for a couple of months? Is it worth it for “art”? Will I even be able to look at the pieces afterwards? Will it be cathartic or gut wrenching? Am I over thinking it. Will the fact that it’s winter help with the inspiration or will it be a dangerous combination.
I could stop now, end on a high. Or I keep going, see where my inspirations lead me.

For now, I’ll focus on resting and motivating myself to open that very heavy box that came in the mail today. I’m so excited because It’s my new easel, but it looks like it will be lots of work to put together and my right arm is begging for a break. So maybe I need to motivate myself NOT to open it. Rest Caroline, I know you feel like time is limited but it will be more pleasurable if you aren’t crying in pain while putting the easel together.

Alright, Caro out (for a few days)

I’m 50 % / 85 %

Almost 16 years ago I heard terrible news, I had MS. It came as quite a shock. I had never had any major health issues, I took care of myself, I exercised, and I lead a fairly healthy lifestyle. So I fully expected to be given a prescription for my symptoms and be on my way that day I went to the hospital for a sore wrist and a numb arm. Instead I was told I had to stay at the hospital for a few days in order to run more test because they suspected I had “MS”‘. What the hell is that I thought to myself, they are out of their minds.

The diagnosis was confirmed a few days later.

Since then my feelings on the subject have been a roller coaster. I’ve been through the stages of grief on many occasions. When I was first diagnosed, when confronted by my limitations as a mother, when feeling the loss of who I wanted to be, and then realizing the deterioration of my body years later. I seriously thought I would be one of those people who had one attack and never have any again. I wasn’t. I am not, I don’t want to be, a sick person. It’s a personal struggle everyday from needing to accept my condition and not wanting to be sick. I don’t know how to not be angry when the anger is what fuels me to fight. And I don’t know how to keep fighting, how to keep digging myself out of this hole when all I’m doing is building a bigger wall around myself, which makes it impossible for me to see what is going on around me.

It took years for me to realize the damage MS was doing to my body. Seconds were taken off my tolerance on a daily basis. A few seconds a day didn’t seem like much, but 15 years later and you’re down to being able to walk for maybe 10 minutes and BOOM it hits you in the face and you break down crying on the sidewalk. Why me, what am I doing wrong, this is not who I am. I am not a sick person. I am an active, optimistic, healthy person. Get me out of this fucking body!

My name is Caroline and I have MS.

I use to window shop with friends for hours in downtown Montréal, I’ve ridden a camel in the Sahara, I’ve watched wild animals in the plains of the Serengeti, I’ve danced till the sun rose, I swam from one island to another, I’ve walked the beaches of Cuba, the Turks and Caicos, Santa Cruz, Tunisia, and Bathurst, I’ve hiked, slept and felt the rain on my skin in the Amazon, I’ve ridden on TOP of a train through the Andes, I’ve trekked around the Grand Canyon, I’ve swam in the ocean, driven to California and back from Montreal, I’ve gone white water rafting, mountain climbing, rock climbing, running, horse back riding, hiking, I took the stairs rather then the elevators, I would park in the furthest spot at the mall, I drove to Quebec City at 3am so I could watch the sunrise over the Plaines d’Abraham, I walked to far away gaz stations when I’ve been stranded by my reliably unreliable beat up car, I travelled (less then I would of liked), I felt ambitious and driven, I partied, I stayed up too late and woke up too early, I sought new adventures, I tried new things, I felt alive, I had a fire in me, and most off all I never wondered “can I do this?”, I lived

And now, on a good day, I might go grocery shopping by myself.

I should start referring to myself in fractions, as in two numbers because I feel torn in two.
Torn between the person I would of been, and the person I am because of MS.
I hope I will get better but fear I will get worse.
Knowing that my worst day, might also be my best day going forward.
I have scattered thoughts running through my head, they are lingering yet unfocused.
My feet are firmly planted to the ground, yet my head is in the clouds.
I feel the need to control my emotions yet I desperately want to let them go.
I am healthy and sick. I am happy and sad. I am broken yet whole.
Everything is so clear, but I feel such confusion. I know I am here but I am lost.
I am strong yet oh so fragile. I am alive but I am mortal.
Part of me wants to talk about it, the other half doesn’t at all.

This blog is my middle ground.

Perhaps it hasn’t been obvious, perhaps it has, but I have been going through an introspective time in my life. Apparently it’s a common event at my age to have a mid-life crisis. But this is not a mid-life crisis, I’ve just been reflecting on my life a lot. So it’s more of a mid-life introspection. I realize, as morbid as it may sound, that I am closer to the end then I am to the beginning now. And this has made me come to the conclusion that I no longer have time to waste, to procrastinate.

It’s true that my health hasn’t been great, but regardless of that I am still affected by AGING. Just like petals on a flower, I will wilt. It just doesn’t seem fair. I’m not sure how long it will take, no one does, but it is inevitable. For a long time I thought I would be immune. Once I realized I wasn’t, I thought I would at least be graceful about it. Then gray hairs appeared, strays started popping up, and I started getting age spots. So I purchased fancy creams, got my hair dyed and plucked those grays and strays. F-U aging! I will not go peacefully into the night.

But aging is not purely physical, it’s also spiritual. And in that aspect I think I am killing it! I will die a spiritual guru! I hope. Like so many others in this “aging” situation, I assume we can’t help but look back and reflect on the moments and people that really affected, mattered, and defined us. And now, I want to focus on how I define myself going forward. The legacy I want to leave behind.

Don’t worry, I’m fine, like I said “it’s not a crisis”. It’s a deeply inspirational and spiritual time. And I will take full advantage of this spiritual inspiration to paint my heart and soul out, to write till the wee hours of the night, to appreciate the people in my life, to share what I’ve learnt, and to love (because I don’t have time to hate. Strong dislikes ok, but hate…meh).

Welcome to my introspection

Aside from the obvious reasons why being in a wheelchair sucks like:
– I need it cause my legs don’t work too good
– It’s hard manually ridding the dam thing around (Montréal roads suck, they suck real bad)
– Getting the wheelchair to a location isn’t obvious either (it doesn’t fit in my purse!)
– being in a seated position enhances my lovely curves I’ve gotten from creating 2 humans
– Children often think I’m a grand-mother. (Screw them, I’m not old!)
And
– It can be really hard wishing I could be standing someplace as inspiring as where I’m looking at. Like on top instead of the bottom of a mountain to watch the sunset.

One of the most annoying parts is that people are looking down at you. Literally.
Sitting in a wheelchair almost everybody has to physically look down at you. This simple, innocent act eventually starts to transform into an emotional feeling that people are figuratively looking down at you. I know they aren’t, maybe they are, I don’t know. It’s certainly feels like they are because well…they are.

So when I take a picture of myself, or as you young kids call it “when I take a selfie”, I’m almost always looking down. It’s not that I want you looking up my nostrils, it’s that I want to be seen from another angle.

I sold my bike yesterday.

This was a bigger deal then you’d think.
A few months back Dean innocently asked me “what are you doing with your bike? It’s kind of taking up a lot of space in the shed”, a simple question. I haven’t ridden it in over 2 years. And we do need space. The kids are growing up, they have bigger bikes and more stuff, we need more space. “We should sell it” I say.

Immediately after, I hear in my head: “because I have ms and there’s no cure and I’m not getting any better so if I can’t ride it now I probably never will.”
You see the reason I haven’t ridden it, is because I can’t. Even if I managed to get on the bike, my left leg isn’t quick enough to stop me if I started leaning to the left. Imagine no leg on the left.

A depression followed.

Such an innocent question. He had just come out of that shed as frustrated as me when I get out of that shed. And in that shed there’s a huge shiny electric red bike not moving. And if we moved it it would solve so many things. It’s a reasonable question. An obvious one I had been avoiding. One that didn’t cause but did not help me as I was going into a downward spiral. I couldn’t carry the weight of MS anymore. I fell to the ground for a while there.

The black

Months later, I’m painting in the basement and thinking about my bike. It won’t sell “how can no one want this awesome bike?!”. Should I keep it? And I start thinking about what a friend once told me after his mother passed. He said he wished his parents hadn’t given up. I don’t ever want my kids to wish that. What does giving up look like. I was selling my bike. I was saying I’ll never be better. That sounds like giving up. I can’t sell the bike!
And as quickly as I could, I go up the stairs to see Dean and the kids in the living room. I shout “I’m not selling the bike! Because I’ll use it again! Suck it! HaHa!” And with a huge smile on my face I go back downstairs (at a milder pace).

The white

After a couple weeks. I’m still thinking about my bike, I’ve used that shed a few times now this summer, it’s a pain in the ass, and we need space man. But I keep telling myself every day “I will ride my bike again, I will ride my bike again, I will ride my bike again”. Then I think about it really hard. And the answer is so clear,
I will ride my a bike again.
That’s it. I just need to change my saying! Now I can sell the bike and still be optimistic, brilliant!
“I will ride a bike again! I will ride A bike again! I will ride a bike again. I will ride a bike again!

….

Just not mine, cause I sold it to make space in my m@th3r f&$@ing shed. 🙂

I WILL ride a bike again.
I will clean up the m@th3r f&$@ing shed! (She said doubtfully)
And with the money made, I will get myself the easel of my choice and use the shit out of it. I will add layers and layers of paint to it. Making it one of a kind and absolutely mine and beautiful.

To my friend,
I hope that if you were my child, and I was your mother. That you wouldn’t think I’m giving up. And I hope you don’t think that as a friend either. I’m sorry you went through that. I won’t give up. I don’t want that to be my legacy. It was a good talk. Thank you 🙂

To the guy who bought the bike.
Merci infiniment d’avoir été si gentil pendant la “vente”. C’était beaucoup plus qu’une vente pour moi, c’était toute une histoire. Et probablement une peinture. J’ai eu des merveilleux temps avec cette bicyclette. Il y a une parti en moi avec le cœur brisé. L’autre parti est pleine d’espoir. J’espère que l’histoire de cette bicyclette est longue et éblouissante.

The middle ground – the gray

Is a blog I will write one day. Not today.

 
I painted this today.

As I stared at this painting (I always stare at my paintings, if I can’t I know it’s bad), so as I stared and stared at this painting it eventually dawned on me that If I hang it this way, and call it “the death of my father”, it perfectly represents that moment in my life, but in color.

I don’t think I need to explain it.

Who knows, maybe one day I’ll write the story behind it

One day, while painting, I told myself “I’ve got to get rid of some of these paintings!”
Yes this habit can be expensive but I don’t go out much so instead of spending my money on bars, drinks, shows and fancy clothes, I spend my money on art supply.
But that’s not why I have to get rid of them. Space is getting tight, if I stare at any painting too long I take the risk of painting over it. But also in order to move forward, to be inspired, I need a white canvas in front of me. I need to leave the past behind.

So I’m having a small show so anyone interested can see my paintings in person, and to maybe let some of them go. And who knows, maybe make enough money to get myself a new easel.

I’m really excited about this, it’s giving me something to do besides chores. But I’m also extremely nervous about it. Opening up my home, letting people in, putting myself and my art in a situation to be judged. It will be the most exposed I have been in a long time. And the decision to do this didn’t come easily but I felt it necessary. I don’t know how many opportunities I’ll have to do this. From having the energy to organize it, to having a chance to say hello again to people I haven’t seen in a long time, and in some cases it might be a chance to say good bye.

Every piece in my latest collection is inspired by the colors I remember from profound memories I have. From the red rocks and blue skies of Sedona, mixed with the white sands of New Mexico. Day turning into night in the vast dunes of the Sahara desert, the sunsets over the grassy fields and dry lands of the Serengeti. The grass, the mountains, the lakes, the rain, the snow, the colored leaves of fall, the sunsets, the city, the nightlife, the calm, and the busy life lived in Montreal.
I like to remember all these moments (and more), and the people I spent them with, in color.

So for anyone interested in possibly coming to my show, send me a message and I’ll send you the info.

Not sure what to eat? How about a head of lettuce, miam miam 😋
Throw in some cherry tomatoes for a kick!

I’m kidding and I’m not.

I rarely feel like cooking now and having pre-washed and prepped fresh veggies on hand is super helpful. It’s not creative, it’s actually quite dull, but it’s healthy and filling.

I once thought of becoming a chef and opening up a restaurant. But that seemed like lots of work so I thought of opening up a catering company instead.

That idea quickly vanished when I had kids.
Now, I don’t want to cook nothing.

I feel incredibly guilty and like a terrible mother when I say this, but cooking for kids has sucked the joy of cooking right out of me.

It started when they were babies. They obviously can’t help, they can barely get the food into their mouths, so they aren’t going to help you chop vegetables or clean up afterwards. I had to prepare their meals, 3 times a day, everyday. And it was very dull food. I’m not going to serve roasted stuffed chicken breast with a sauce of creamy digonnaise sauce reduced with white wine, a side order of sautéed spinach and crispy garlic home fries. They aren’t going to like it. Trust me I’ve tried, anything with spices and flavour they would throw back in my face. I could of kept trying, force them to refine their palate. I could of continued to spend over an hour preparing fancy meals while simultaneously taking care of kids. Exhausting myself to only have it thrown back in my face and deal with a hungry crying baby while also trying to eat my portion before it got colder. And sometimes I would get a phone call from Dean saying he’ll be late. I would sit there with my fancy meal going cold, half of it on the floor, a crying baby (then 2) and a mountain of dirty dishes and wonder “why am I doing this to myself?”

So the meals got simpler, quicker, plainer, kids would eat, no tears were shed (most of the time) and I fell into a routine where I just cooked for the kids very dull and boring palate. Everyday, 3 times a day. Sometimes (if I had the energy) I would also make something for the adults to eat. Something fancier, more flavourful, something you could actually crave. I would try and get the kids to try it, sometimes they would and spit it out, sometimes they wouldn’t even try it. But it got tiresome. 2 separate meals, piles of dishes, a floor and kids to clean. So in order to conserve my energy I almost never cooked anything I actually craved. Meal time became something I almost loathed.

As they got older they would accept more ingredients into their repertoire. After 10 years Audrey is much more adventurous. But my desire to cook has almost completely dissolved by now. I’m exhausted, mostly from coming up with meal ideas. You want to know what it’s like to be in a relationship/family. It’s wondering every day, multiple times a day, what people want to eat. I miss not having to worry what everybody else wants, and just doing or eating what I want. Eating paleo doesn’t help either.

So I grab some romaine lettuce, some baby carrots and just stuff my pie hole.