Month: January 2019

Just Another Time Piece

How does one speak of Time without slipping into cliché? You want to know what I want? I want Time.  Or better yet, I want to experience the Time I am existing in right now. Too often I find my self in what can only be described as a “holding pattern.”  Wanting to do so many things, but I am driving and have to wait till I get home, or it is the middle of the night, and I have to wait till morning. I am forever the little girl waiting for the clock to strike 7 am so my parents will wake, and we can go downstairs to see the Christmas tree, Easter Bunny, birthday cake, or first day of school.  

Somedays, I spend my time waiting between meals.  What will I have for breakfast in the morning? That was nice, now what will I have for lunch? And so it goes.  And Time continues to tick, slip, waste away. This is not a new subject for me. I have spoken about Time and waiting and wasting, feeling impatient for the next thing to arrive, and regretting the thing gone that I paid no real heed to.  Maybe it is the fact that I am feeling more adulty lately that this comes to me now – I do not know.

Maybe it is how we speak about Time, like a currency – Time is money, Time spent, Time wasted, frittered away, Time to pay the piper. And it all boils down to wanting more of it, never having enough of it, and the desperation to hold on to it when you do have it. Desperation. This is a good description of the want one feels with Time. Truly, what it boils down to, is existence. Time isn’t money, it’s life.

I want my life to be mine. I want to taste every second of it, I want to feel the satisfaction of every morsel slipping down my throat and warming me from the inside out. I want to breathe in afternoon naps and exhale the small victories of each day. The student who came in angry and goes out the door offering a hug and smile. The difficult conversation that went better than expected.

I know why we prize our scars and show them off, because they are proof that we live and have lived. Do you see this zipper on my chest, my back, my leg, my breast? Do you see it? It is my time on this earth, big moments, near death, but walking only parallel for now. Witness it. Do you have the same? Then we are brothers, my friend.

The thinning of my hair and my skin around my hands I was not prepared for. Wrinkles aren’t scary because they show your age, but because they are a reminder that Time is running out. Life is running out. Well, I want to run with it. This Time, this Life – Energy welling first in my belly, then a tingling in my feet, then up through my eyes radiating out and I find myself taking off and getting up in the morning and going to the gym and laughing loudly at school and freaking out the kids, like, perhaps, I am high. Nope. Just embracing my Time, my Life, my Joy

Dogs and New Space

Dogs and New Space

Today was quite wonderful. I hosted my first writers’ circle at home, in my studio. (That feels pretty awesome to say) We were a small gathering yet fruitful in our endeavours. We began by reading Mary Oliver’s poem, “Percy (One).” The prompts, which we could take or leave were the following:

  1. Write about a time when a pet or an animal has taught you a lesson.
  2. Take an ordinary event with an animal and turn it into a fable. (As they so often are such, really.)
  3. Write or create in your medium however you feel like doing so.

The creative space is lovely, and the heating worked! I am grateful to my mentor, Abe Louise Young, for all the gifts and structure she has given and continues to give to me. Thank you. I am grateful to my friend, Lisa McClanahan, for not only giving me the encouragement I needed but also dedicating time and energy in getting the space ready. Thank you. I am grateful to my partner, John, for opening up our home as a place for me to create with others. Thank you.

Before we began writing, I passed around a picture book of Animals and asked everyone to help themselves to a picture. (Yep, tore those suckers right out of there.) After I wrote in the first part, I played around with paint in the second part. Here is the piece I produced today:

Woman with Dog 1845

There is a picture of a woman seated with her dog at her feet.  She lives frozen in 1845 – etched into the photograph. The dog, long-haired, possibly a spaniel of some kind, light and dark coloured fur, sleeps. Head resting on his front paws, so at ease.  The woman leans on an object covered with a rug.

It makes me think of the Victorian baby portraits where the mother is covered in a carpet or blanket, and the baby is placed in her camouflaged lap in order to have a shot of the child alone.  They are pictured somewhere between uncomfortable and terrified.

But this pup, this sleeping dog, is not held in place by any ploy other than this is where he is comfortable, this is where he is safe and secure, at the foot of his person.  Who is uncovered, uncloaked, and leaning just as secure knowing that in 1845, having a picture taken is a grand affair, so it is only natural that her canine companion should live in immortality with her.

Woman with Dog 1845