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Now or never

/ Jumbled Girl / 1 Comment

I don’t know how much time I have left
To walk, to move, to travel, to live, to teach my kids.
No one knows, not really
A friend of mine’s husband died suddenly a couple months after they had a baby,
My father had a backache that turned out to be pancreatic cancer, and died less then a year later.
You just never know.

But I’m sick, and chances are I will be bedridden in a few years,
I hope not, but it’s very possible.
So I’ve been trying to do as much as I can
Because it might just be now…or never

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Transformation

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I was told I could take my time transforming these images.
So I hesitated…for a moment.
Then I took out my paints, lay the canvases down and had fun with paint.

The original canvases, although beautiful, were somber. They reminded me of the darkness, anger, resentment, and self pity I had been feeling. But as time passed I changed. A weight lifted and life is brighter, lighter, different. Acceptance has crept in, and I am transformed. Much like these paintings.

I emptied tubes of paint, just like I bled myself dry, to turn darkness into something bright.

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Camera, feet; feet, Camera

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I thought I would introduce you two because I’m planning on posting more feet/shoe “selfies”. It occurred to me one night while reaping the benefits of a newly legalized “medicine”. I.e. I was super high.

My feet were build for walking, and the fact that they can no longer do this oh so wonderful task, leaves me feeling….less then I am. Half my body is useless. So I’m giving them purpose. They can be a good feature. With some cutes shoes, a nice pair of jeans and a pretty landscape, they can have purpose again.

Camera, therapize!

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Dedication

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The painting is done, it has been shipped. And now I wait for it to arrive at its destination. I don’t know if you will like it, perhaps it’s not what you expected. No matter the outcome, I want you to know the story behind it. ….

Brushstrokes

This painting is for an old friend, someone I have always thought of in high regards. We never knew each very well but I met her during the most innocent time of my life. Early elementary. It was a time where my father was alive, where the worst thing I knew was loosing my marbles in a marbles game, where I had too many friends to pick from at recess, a time where things were simpler and emotions easy to understand. It is why I started this painting with white and primary colors.

But this period in time, this memory, is also attached to the memory of my father dying when I was only 11. Even though I had moved and you were not in my life at this time, I had to include it, the black. The pain feeds the good memories, it makes them stand out.

We met again 5 years later, in high school. 5 years is such a short time but the differences in me were astronomical. Looking at you reminded me how much I had changed, how much I had lost, how much I was broken. You were good, you were where I wanted to be, and you were impossible to reach. You were primaries and I was now the opposite. I was orange, purple and green. Secondary colors.

In the end, this painting is inspired by feelings and the colors they are linked to. It is nothing and it is everything. It is a story, a life, a relationship. The constants and the glimpses. It is convoluted and quite simple. The brushstrokes are smooth, some brisk, some well thought out, and others spontaneous. They represent the days you existed in my life. Over a thousand. A short time really, but impactful. Looked upon fondly, no matter how brief and how distant. Up close or from afar: The strokes are seen, the impact is felt.

This painting is for Tamara.

 

To go or not

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Until very recently, I never considered moving out of Montreal. Why would I, it’s an amazing city. It’s got a ton of great restaurants, it’s multi cultural, its bilingual, it has tons of events, shows and parks, my family is here, my friends are here (or close), it’s got an underground city, public transportation, good schools and universities, amazing fireworks in the summer, amusement and water parks, not to mention the laurentians are close by. We have escape rooms, theatres, bars, museums, beautiful architecture, a renown circus, bowling alleys, pool halls, dance clubs, great music, festivals, a mountain with a view, sledding, cross country skiing, fashion, an art world, health care and services, my children’s childhood and friends, docks, an insectarium, a science center, a planetarium, huge libraries, history, and lots of future potential. So again I ask, why would I ever leave?
Because of the mother f-ing weather, that’s why.

Finding my voice

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I’ve been good.
It’s been a long battle but, I grudgingly accept that I have SPMS.
It takes everything to pull myself up, and stand.
I no longer have the strength to fight and ignore its existence,
I need to focus on adapting.

I took a couple trips a while back. Journeys really.
And during these trips I discovered I wasn’t done.
That there is still much I can do, and still lots I want to do.

This change in me, in my state of mind, has me asking many questions.
Jumping from one thought to the next, never quite resolute.

But, as much as I want to answer these questions, I also don’t want to be bound by the answers. Because I believe the search for my voice is just as profound as finding it.

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A week downtown

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This week I was back downtown, not exactly where I use to live and love, but close enough to everything. Malls, the metro, tunnels, restaurants, the Montréal light festival, and I even saw people zipping by my window. (literally, there was a zip line set up).

This getaway wasn’t fun, it was liberating. To wake up in the morning, see it’s snowing outside and still be able to go get a tea, food, do some shopping, get a haircut, do the little things I once took for granted, and not having to worry about how I’ll get there was such a relief. I was rid of anxiety for the first time in a long time. And it didn’t hurt to sit by a fire and write, and then get back to a clean room. Fun, I don’t know. Do you enjoy going to the pharmacy? Maybe not, but being able to do it sure is nice.

My kids even passed by and I took them to the pool, to a chocolate shop, a nice dinner at Baton Rouge, and then dessert at chocolate favoris. And I never once worried about accessibility. Such relief.

But this getaway also had an unforeseen result. In that I realized I’m no longer a city girl, and just how much I have grown. For years after moving away from the plateau, I longed to be back there. In my well located apartment on prince-Arthur, surrounded by restaurants and anything else you could possibly need, and all at walking distance. 

When we first left downtown to live in the suburbs, my health started to decline. For a long time I associated the two together. I blamed the suburbs for my loneliness, for my illness. Even though I knew they weren’t linked. But now I have grown to love my little community, my neighbors, my little suburban home. People dressed in their best pair of jogging pants while they shovel their driveway or walk their dog. Sometimes I even dream of living someplace more secluded. I long for fresh air, mountains, trees, and the quiet of nature. 

I am not who I once was, and that’s ok. I will always look fondly on my time in the city, but I’m ready to let go of the city girl.

This getaway was meant to re-emerge myself into Montreal, but it turns out it was  more of a chance to say good bye. And I’m good with that.

 

Brushstrokes

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This winter has been hard. It snowed early and (for disability reasons) I found myself trapped in the house sooner then imagined. I have been, basically, hibernating since November. 

The lack of sun, and human contact has turned me into a hermit.
I have become detached and depressed.

Last winter I painted on a regular basis and it kept me sane and content. Happy even. This year I hadn’t lifted a brush … until someone asked for an original.

This painting has been my saviour these past few weeks.
It’s like finding purpose again. A weight lifted and I stood

I’m not sure exactly what you want, but be certain lots of thoughtfulness has gone into it.

I am not ready to reveal it yet, but also anxious to do so.
So here is a sneak peak of an extremely happy, colourful, abstract painting. Shown here, in its entirety, with lack of color. 

These brushstrokes
Are part of many, of thousands
Yet they stand out, they are unique
Destined and impulsive
And inspired by color.

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Freedom

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I have been somewhat trapped inside the house since about November. Venturing out only on a few occasions. Dinner with friends, or with family, and a trip to the art store. 

I have a progressive disease and …. well….it’s doing what it does. It’s progressing. It feels like it’s progressing quicker but that’s probably because I have less endurance left. In the beginning I could walk / stand for hours and hours, so loosing a few seconds was barely noticeable. But those seconds have added up throughout the years and I’m down to a few minutes. I can notice the minutes getting less and less, week by week. Dean has had to carry the weight I can no longer handle and I feel like a burden, even though no one has ever complained. 

I was scared (again) that I could no longer lift myself up, mentally and physically. 

Of course the weather has played a major role. Every time I felt the strength to venture out, we would get another snow storm and I retreated to my safe spot. My home. 

So I decided to venture downtown. To spend a few nights in a hotel linked to all the underground, snow/ice free, tunnels. To see if I can live independently again, once accessibility is no longer an issue (sort of). 

I had been drowning, let’s see if I can learn to swim again.