Widowed Without A Manual

Some of us grieve longer then others. I will not be rushed out of my love, that still inhabits my heart.

Another Day in The Bubble

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Cooking is an emotional and sensual act. To be inspired to create a thing of beauty. Walking in the open field to get refreshed then bringing some of it back to enhance the table.

This is all gone……………

I have boxes of white plates and blown black glass goblets. I was a bohemian kind of martha stewart. The enjoyment I attained from preparing the entire house for lunching visitors. We always had lunches for dinners went late and living in the country, we did not want to impose a long drive home in the dark. This meant that from every window we would have outdoor sculptures displayed. Paintings would get moved about with new works on display.

Our dining table was created from a massive 3″ thick by 5 feet by 6 feet cherrywood. It was balanced on a pedestal base created with 100 year old wood planed from the original house. Our chairs were from cbc canada office chairs that I painted eggplant purple. The were so comfortable. You could spin right around, so our guests were never inspired to leave the table.

We so enjoyed our meals. Preparing just for the two of us in often the same manner.

Eighteen months and I have no set time for eating. I open the fridge door and grab a piece of cheese or eat far too much bread. The pride and focus and inspiration seems to be all gone. I have no desire to have anyone here.

I have been alone in this house for two years and have had a dinner guest three times.

The only thing that runs through my mind is I don’t want. I don’t want. I don’t want.

Easter is lurking waiting to pounce! I have accepted two invitations out of duty. I am now trying to think of a reason to remove myself from each invite. The energy that it will take to put the smile on and pretend to be interested and happy is already exhausting me. I am exhausting me!

This morning I let an egg just fall to the pan. The heat too hot so it bubbled. Not a pretty looking thing at all.

But I ate it.

I did not make it with beauty and love. It did not look like beauty and love, so in turn I will most certainly not receive beauty and love from its nutrients.

Often we have a shadow that follows us to keep the line to reality taunt. My shadow is fading and I have no desire to keep the line taunt. Instead it lies on the ground looking like a lifeless snake with no shadow in sight.

There is snow on the ground with the sun shining on it. The heat is creating water rivers on surfaces.

I can feel and hear my heart beating in my body. Pale orange is the canvas I see when I close my eyes as I sit here in the back room  looking out the glass doors. A plane makes its flight over me heading north.  I have all the elements around me to feel content, peaceful, happy, inspired. Yet none of these elements touch my skin. They are like translucent bubbles of effusions floating around me. There is no gravitational pull, instead it seems like two magnets each possess a force so great  they resist each other.

I suppose that we must continue breathing and getting out of bed each day. Even if the eggs get broken and the yokes spill. We have to trust that this path has a destination, even if its just to get to the end.

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Author: ilovecloudstoo

I live in Canada thought I was not born here. Newfoundland is where my heart breathes. Primarily I am a visual artist, welded and or cast bronze sculptures. Sylvia Plath may have been the seed planted in me that is creating poetry. Since then I have read so many great modern poets work. Art is my sustaining business poetry sustains my soul.

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