Springtime in Paris

We sold a truck so that we could go to Europe for 10 days when we had been married 20 years. It was an investment that Dave Ramsey would have disapproved of. He would have called us "Stoo-pid." But I would do it again without thinking twice. The professor and I went to visit friends in Switzerland who said we could couch-surf. Thankfully they actually had a guest room in their tiny apartment. We used their place as a base while we explored Geneva in Switzerland , Aosta in Italy, and Strasburg in Germany with our friends. Then we ventured out on our own and took a train to Paris for 3 days.

As soon as we arrived at our charming hotel in Paris and ducked into our cosy room, the Professor insisted we take a stroll to the Eiffel Tower. Thirty minutes later, he suggested we rest on a bench surrounded by flowers in a park below the iconic tower. It was so beautiful.

Then he did something he had never previously done. He dropped to his knee at my feet, pulled out a velvet ring box and proceeded to ask me if I would consider spending another 20 years together. Opening the box, I discovered the ring I had longed for 20 years before. Because our budget then did not cover the cost of that rings, I did without. (Dave Ramsey would be pleased.) But the Professor had found the ring in the estate section of a local jewelry store months prior to our trip. And bought it. (Take that, Dave!)

 

 I chose to stay with him another 20 years. Best decision ever. At the time I wasn't certain we'd make it another year. Our marriage might be called  late blooming. We didn't really hit our stride until the 30 year mark. But the last decade has been incredible.

This one's for you, Baby. Je t'aime. Bunches.

(Materials used in above image:

Golden fluid acrylic paints, Golden gel medium, gel pens, Micron pens, Sharpie water-based paint pens, an print from a hand cut stamp created from an engagement photo shoot.
Tools used to create above image:
Fingers, bubble wrap and water brushes.

Pain is Fuel

Pain has had many faces in my life: mental, emotional, physical and relational. Each time it rears its head again to touch my life, I am surprised. I'm not sure why, but I seem to think my existence should be painted in primary colors and have a soundtrack in a major key.

I recently saw an anonymous quote somewhere on social media: "Pain is fuel." I got to thinking how true this is. Pain is there to let me know that something is out of whack. Like anger, it is a signpost that something needs attention. That being the case, pain can fuel action and I get to choose what the action will be. This is MY area of responsibility, something I can control. Pain can be the catalyst for transformation in my life.

So rather than staying down and whining when pain (mental, emotional, physical, relational...) makes yet another appearance in my life, I have a choice. First I acknowledge my initial response, usually fear, anger, depression and/or self pity. THIS IS A VERY IMPORTANT STEP! Imagine simply ignoring the screaming terror of a child and telling her to go color. Ridiculous, right? We don't do that to ourselves either. We don't should on ourselves.

My next step is to grab a journal. I write out all my anger, fear, self pity, etc. I scribble, scratch, paint, crayon, tear magazine pages and glue them. You get the picture. This action is what some call "turning it over" and others call meditation or prayer. The piece itself is rarely pretty. Raw or real, perhaps. However, as I am unloading/debriefing, something nearly always occurs. I begin to see something hopeful, or positive or peaceful. I seem to find answers. Or the answers find me.

So, dear one, the next time you bump into one of those stinking, tear-inducing layers (and you will), consider trying my trick. Let me know how it works for you. You know I am rooting for you to find your answers.

Because I love you. Bunches.

(Materials used in above image:
gesso, acrylic paints, homemade alcohol spray ink, Golden gel medium, gel pens, Micron pens, Sharpie water-based paint pens.
Tools used to create above image:
credit card to spread gesso, punch to cut butterflies, one layer of a printed paper napkin.)

Seriously?

I remember Donkey saying to Shrek that "Ogres are like onions. Or parfaits. They have layers." And I wonder if life might be like ogres, having layers and accompanied by a powerful, tear-inducing stink. Well, sometimes.

You know those layers. For example, you find yourself embracing that bad habit you worked so hard to get over. Or you gain back that 5 (20, 40) pounds you were so proud of shedding. Or you let that person get under your skin. Again. Or maybe your website needs re-working, for the 87th time. Or the aches and pains or allergies you thought were forever banished from your body have returned with a vengeance. Yeah,  THOSE layers.

I'm hoping you handle these layers with a maturity and grace that seems to escape me more often than I'd like to admit. I truly do. Because I know you have it in you to grow with grace. As you grow in grace. As WE grow in grace. Facing those layers together. Just remember, you are not alone in this. And I love you. Bunches.

(Materials used in above image:
gesso, acrylic paints, image from old art book, Golden gel medium, gel pens, Micron pens, Sharpie water-based Paint pens
Tools used to create above image:
credit card to spread gesso, bubble wrap for paint )

Never Too Late

My inspiration for this post was a note to self I saw on social media reminding us it is "never too late." What I found interesting was that it spoke across the usual generational boundaries. It seems feeling that the time for realizing dreams is past has little to do with age.

We've all heard stories of the unique, aged soul who accomplished amazing feats. At 70, Jack LaLane towed 70 boats with 70 people 1 1/2 miles in Long Beach Harbor while hand-cuffed and shackled. Mother Teresa received the Nobel Peace Prize at 69 years old. Grandma Moses did not begin painting until arthritis forced her to give up embroidery. She was discovered 2 years later at the ripe old age of 78. Lastly, my husband, The Professor was better know as a carpenter for 35 years. It wasn't until his 50's he returned to college to get his undergraduate degree. And countless other stories abound on Google if you care to search.

So why do we think it is to late for us? Here's my theory:  I think we compare the exploits of those rowdy dream-chasers to our personal misgivings. We think they were braver, richer, prettier, stronger, smarter, and generally had it easier than we do. We compare their glorious end-game with our small beginnings. 

But here's a little secret. They had our same challenges: not enough cash, time, encouragement, talent. The only difference between us and them is  they actually chose to do their own lives. They chose to keep going, putting one foot in front of the other in the direction of their dreams. No excuses, no blame. They simply kept going.

So, precious ones, please don't give up. Please keep writing your story. The blessing and the curse is you are the only one who can do it.

Just remember, though, that I am here cheering for you. I know you have it in you. Really.

And I love you. Bunches.

The Still, Small Voice

I've often been accused of having a hummingbird mind.  While my husband ponders and weighs his thoughts during a conversation, I have often flown on to the next interesting topic. When he continues with his take on our current conversation, I am lost. Thankfully, he no longer takes it personally when I look at him blankly and say profoundly, "Huh?"

My mind is rarely silent. Meditation without a moving pencil or brush is challenging. And although I'd like to tell you my self-talk is always on par with what I believe, the negative, faithless and cruel can enter periodically. Perhaps you're familiar with some of these yourself? These dreadful comments on our looks, our abilities, our reputation, our futures... that we would never ever consider voicing about anyone else. Yet we allow this inside our most private world.

 I am working to be aware of when I let my mind entertain these harmful thoughts. Left alone, they can become what I believe to be true. And once that happens, can shape who I am and how my life goes. I am working hard to hear that still, small voice  that speaks truth to me. And then, no matter how silly that seems, concentrate on that.

So don't you let nasty thoughts build a comfortable place in your head. They will break your heart. They are not your friends. The truth is you are precious. You are valued and you are worth being loved. Yes, you are.

And I love you, too. Bunches.

Embrace the Mystery

I admit it. I have mixed feelings about surprises. My Wild side craves  adventure, the latest challenge, trips into the unknown. However (and this is a BIG however),  poor little Much Afraid who also inhabits my skin likes to plan carefully and is more than comfortable with the predictable and tame. Sometimes my Wild side wants to throttle Much Afraid, but the feeling is completely mutual.

So the other day as I was considering the upcoming Art Journaling 101 class I was to teach, Much Afraid and my Wild side did heavy battle. Much Afraid predicted failure piled high and deep. The Wild One insisted it would be educational, inspirational and fun. When I worked in my journal that day, both had a voice as you can see...

EMBRACE MYSTERY

I'm finding that both voices bring something to the table. I can appreciate both the caution and the desire for adventure. It is my job to moderate these inner battles. Sift through all the information and make an informed and healthy choice. One governed by both wisdom and truth.

The class was a success, by the way. I met some incredible artists who had an enjoyable play date with their creativity. And they were inspired. I am so glad I did it, and I hope to do it again.

So, precious ones, remember:  we learn and grow through experience. Fear of failure can keep us from stepping up to that unknown task, but no one learned anything without a little bit of failure. Give yourself permission to do that new thing today. You know I'm rooting for you. Always.

Because I love you. Bunches.