Now What

They walk all around and you can see they love her
They lie on her cool her grass and trim her long hair
They gather broken limbs from the trees and give them back to the gods by fire ritual.
They love this property.
They understand that she is old, but she holds such a magnificent history with every carved piece of wood or welded scrap of metal.
She gives birth to pools of water that fill with tears of hardship
She can only listen in the background as criticisms that surround to her keeper
He is like a bull, so strong and with such a thick welded armour
Yet he remains sensitive and so fragile within
He is consumed with sadness,
Still, he creates with elegant lines and gentle colours
I can not fathom the strength it takes
For I crumble and fall to the ground at the thought
To stand at the sidelines from behind the safety fence of employment, security
Possibly criticize and most certainly judge
So many feel it is their right to do so.
So many would wither and die to have lived one year in his shoes.



July 6 2016
So today a sculpture comes home.
I think that I am running out of enthusiasm. Having to always defend my dream of Newfoundland has worn me down.
If you keep getting told why would you want to do that? and they have winters you know. Who do you know there?
What will you do if you get sick?
All of these things chip away a bit more every time till there is this skeleton left with tiny bits of meat left on them, only enough to keep the vital organ going to keep breathing. This is a living death.
Then it’s the what are you going to do?
All these friggin questions!!!
They don’t understand that it takes a lot of energy for me to focus on the good things with this new life possibility.
Do they think this glued on smile is natural?
Do they not know that all this laughing and smiling is hiding all the doubt and pain I still have in me!
All the self-questioning all the uncertainty, yet they think nothing to keep their mouth shut!
They think nothing of me for if they really did ……..

they would just listen.



“grieving is like being stuck in a revolving door”


So here it is another year to tuck into our pockets. There is always this expectation of the new year being better then the year just past. I’m sure that even the wealthy have such expectations. So what does that tell us about ourselves?

The wants for more and better?
I have just completed one of those quizzes on line. What emotion is hidden. Well apparently mine is ANGER, yup apparently I am suppressing all kinds of anger.
With the stages of grieving so we have to go through all stages?
I know now that you can go through the stages over and over again. So what is the point of stages? They should call it the revolving door stages.

The tolerance of friends are dwindling. I don’t blame them. I would dwindle as well.
Its the perpetual wave of tiredness. The fatigue that feels like lead pumping through my veins. A walk brings me a momentary high then my feet begin feel as if I am walking over warm tar.
I have to tell myself to take deep breaths. This blog is the only place left where I can get rid of all these feelings and words from spinning around in my shell.
Friends a wonderful and so caring and loving but they are full of their solutions, solutions that just make me feel less capable then before.
The music of Bach helps greatly and operas coat me with warmth and understanding.
I have a showing of 85 pieces to organize. Sculptures and paintings and writings. Whether there is success or failure I feel that it is a circle that I need to complete. Will it give me the energy I need to find a direction of my life?
Will it confirm doubts and make me hang up my drawing pens?
If its the latter there will be no purpose to go on. Am I angry? perhaps. Angry that I can’t afford to live in my own home.
From february 19 2009 I have been living in others pockets. I have looked after my husband with the utmost of love and care and diligence. My family have looked after me. Out of need I have tried to fit into puzzles but my own shape is fighting. I miss my life, my relationship, my friend B. When one person knows everything about you. When one person accepts you with all your thorns and loves you.
I don’t have the energy left in me to be open to another life. Understanding the makeup of hermits draws me to wanting to become a solitudinarian.
Most people would think this is a bad thing but I do not. We can not all be made of the cloth of survival and strength. Some may well just need solitude for to conform makes us tired.
That is how I feel today. What about you? How do you feel today.