Some Memories

Some memories:

shoot through you like a lightning bolt
leaving your veins full of apple blossoms
your skin electrified with memories of kisses
your eyes a movie projector
playing thoughts, words, music

Some memories:
are so dense that you can’t breath
so compact that you can’t move

Some memories:
leave you in the forest 
with no compass
no ability to find north or south or east or west

Some memories:
leave you orbiting the planet
a satellite floating alone
so very far away
no contact, no feelings

Some memories:
are the departing gift that keeps giving
a gift that has you smile in a crowd
lost in your own happiness
oblivious to the world around

Some memories:
are not so lovely
trapped in that last breath
hoping he would inhale one more time
so you could rest your lips on his
and take him in
to let him continue to live inside you
two as one
if only you could

Some memories:

Photo on 2017-04-24 at 10.28 AM

Familiar Sadness



her sadness 

so intense
                                                                                        that it

left an imprint
on my flesh
                                                                                      my burning chest
when we held

my sister’s sadness
                                                                                       forever changed
etches deep in my flesh
I am consumed
my body
my mind
every memory
feels woken
                                                                                     wet and desolate
jolted from a placid state

a bandage ripping off a scab
exposing raw flesh

opening the dam
the heart’s intuition begins to flow
do i possess the strength
or am i just an
sorrow addict looking
for her next fix
am i drawn to a familiar sorrow
ever encompassing sadness
                                                                                  is there such a thing
is there such a thing?


Upon reading. Editing and adding words and lines, I felt that two things were happening. I was recreating my poem by adding these words and lines. By the process of separating them I realized that a second poem was being created 🙂 thus I left the added lines to the right. The poem can now be read in three ways.

‘ ‘


In this dead cold night
winds rush past my skin
leaving it white and cold
but as cold as my skin seems
is not as cold as my heart
season of joy they say
season of birth decorated with white beards and red suits
bells ringing to attract money
money is the key focus of this season
there is no joy of truths
only traffic and debt and over indulgence
my heart is cold
for it is void of love
memories are fading
soon they will not keep me warm and safe
from the merchants of ‘happy’
december 24 2016


Photo on 2012-11-17 at 08.59

Why are so many able to move on
To put the past to rest
To look forward without tear filled eyes
Why do I still see you each night
I feel the hurt more each day
For with every day I know its real
You are gone, dead
Nothing can bring you back
I drive and remember you
Like a movie being played
My memory clicks on and there we go
Every word, every movement your body makes
I remember
a beautiful large silver band
To remind you, that I love you
To tell everyone that I am still yours
My love has not faded
I don’t want this love to go away
Why should I have to move on?
We spend so many years fine tuning our love
So now they want me to discard it?
I will not stop loving you
I will not move on
I just don’t want to

Fear Tries To Take Me Again

tension two

You never know what your body is going through till one day it stops you in your tracks so you take notice. This past year I have cocooned in a basement flat while the world of snow and sun turned. I covered myself with feathers so high that not a breath could be witnessed.
Each day my breath got smaller and smaller till a major panic attack struck.
I thought I was having a heart attack.
The ropes tightly drying around my torso till there was no room for any air in my lungs. Once I recodnized the shock left and I started thinking about how great it was going to be to be reunited with B.
Was this the time?
Had my sorrow finally found the exit door?
Would I now be looking for the great white light to walk through?
The anticipation of seeing him in the distant.
His wonderful distinctive silhouette waiting for me.

No…………. Was not to be
Then what do you have in store for me I ask!
What could I possible contribute to this very angry world
Have I not suffered enough?
Can I not now be re united?
My belief of the power of the universe and its purpose comes to my mind.
I submit to it.
Trying to be grateful and open to the next step in my lessons.
The old art of following your instinct is a difficult ability to ignite.
Once you do its a long process of trial and error.
Like fine tuning an art form or magic trick.
Understanding that even though we have fate to guide us we still have personal prerogative in our destinations.
This is where my fear comes in.
I am quite familiar with my fears they have been with me since I was a child.
I remember being so terribly shy that I would detour my walk home by blocks if I saw someone I knew.
At times I would slow down and present to tie my laces or I found a penny or pick leaves anything but walk my regular pace.
Why you may ask?
Well because I did not know how to walk past a person.
What do I say?
What if our walking ends up at the same pace?
What will I continue to say?
Oh the emotional pain of a young child not knowing how to relate to others.
When I got a bit older I found that if I made of fool of myself that people would laugh and the pressure left sooooo I continued to be a jokester.
The losers [if I dare say that word] were always much more accepting then the bright students so I neglected my studies and was instantly accepted. I started to smoke cigarettes and that made me even more accepted. I even got the grade 8 bad boy to notice me and we became an item, kissing hugging daily at the doors of the anglican church next to the catholic school that I went.
I have lead my life based on my fear. Still the universe did protect me in many ways. Always putting things in front of me that would help guid me back.
The Universe brought me back to my husband and the second time I followed my gut even though I was scared.
I trusted it and I trusted B.
One day I was sitting on the floor of my attic flat looking through the art schools fall classes.
Turning the pages I spot a name.
Bells went off my instinct was flashing lights and music!
Needless to say I took what ever class this person taught. After a world wing affair we part amicably.
Two years fast forward and a friend insists I go out for a beer with her.
Reluctantly I agree.
On our way to the car around the corner I hear a motorcycle being started and I look to this mass of leather and helmet but I am drawn to a salt and pepper beard.
Being drawn in to the point where I lean over and look straight into the visor.
This is potentially a stranger on a motorcycle and my friend say ‘What are you doing?’
I hear my name being said and the voice is unmistakeable.
I say his name.
His visor comes up and my friend says
“Oh god!,,,, call me tomorrow!
Her voice laughing as she enters her car and I throw my leg over the back seat of the motorcycle with all my yards and yards of pleated cotton skit.
I put my arms around that chest and I felt like I had found my home.
It was the fall and by spring I moved in with him and five years later we were married.

Now I am again sitting here in fear but following my gut and trusting it that this trip to Fogo Island will somehow bring me peace.
I apologize for the length today and must really get myself some breakfast.
Follow you gut, your instinct and don’t forget to continue writing no matter what it is.



I Don’t Want to Let Him Go



I waited for the sun to burn a hole through me
but it didn’t
I wanted the heat to evaporate the heaviness that is in me
but it didn’t
I wanted the clouds to fly so low that they picked me up and took me with them
but they didn’t
I want my lead heart to be removed
so I may feel no more
feelings and thoughts
stay locked behind the door
that possesses no key
thoughts and feelings
like cement they compress become dense then petrify
the body grows heavy
feet expand accommodating the weight
arms pull down from the scapula
the neck can no longer support the weight of your head
you disintegrate from the inside out

all of this has to happen privately
no one wants to see or hear of this

if you speak
you must present it  like something that
everything must be
in the past tense
with victorious results

So….. privately you …….
live in this world…..
with a glimmer of hope…
that if you can
draw a line
manipulate wax
apply colour to canvas
that you will some how
have lightened your load

then again that is the hope

What do others do?
How do others cope with the processing and not leaving behind unfelt emotions?
In casual conversation with my sister in law she said, ‘You don’t want to let him go’.
Oddly I felt great relief hearing her say that for she was so very right. I don’t want to let him go. We were not divorced, he was taken from me by a terrible illness. He did not want to leave me. So I suppose I have to find a way to live without his physical self and enjoy the endless memories, and continue to blog with the hope that I might help even one person.



The Chair

The Things You Remember:

You could say that this was our going steady ring.
Although it does not exactly fit on your finger.
When you are going out with an artist the standard gifts don’t hold ground.
We had been going out for a couple of months.
B would pick me up every friday or saturday noon which was when I closed the store.
His country house was massive compared to anything I had known in my city circles. Originally it was a Irish shanty made of massive logs.
Two main rooms downstairs with three small rooms up top that had very sloped ceilings.
B had bought this place because it was cheap, in the country and possibly more important it had a big hip roofed barn.
The perfect studio space.
This was before my time but I listened to the stories of renovation for many evenings around the big oval table.
This table was something!
It was bolted together from railway tides sanded and stained black.
All the edges were polished by forearms resting on them.
If only tables could speak.

There were two long benches on the sides where you could squeeze in two to four persons depending on the size of their hips.
At one end, there was an odd rikidy chair but the other end where B always sat was this throne of a chair.
Torch stained black with a hardened and tanned leather seat.
There always seemed to be a rush at coffee time to grab a chair.
If you missed you had to sit on the tiled side counter.
Being B’s new girlfriend I was always assured of a good seat though I must say.
One day in the dark winter.
When all the blinds had to be pulled down to keep the room warm.
I sat at the end of the table  in conversation.
I was feeling a little cocky possibly with a glass or two of wine in me.
I questioned the throne chair.
Why did no one ever attempt to sit on this chair?
The reply was obvious, ‘Its my chair’.
Knowing that I had the body of Aphrodite the goddess I said in a simple manner.
I think I should have a chair that was only mine as well.
Nothing more was said on this topic and I actually just forgot it because really I was not actually set on it.

Some weeks past and I was again being picked up but this time I was to stay for a long weekend so I was very excited.
It was always exciting knowing that I would be spending days with B.
I loved being with him.
We made our usual stops at the farmers market.
B would buy
black rye bread,
hot peppers,
sour cream,
avocados and caviar,
wine and a bottle of scotch and a box of expresso coffee.
He did know how to live well.
The drive to the farm was full of stories of the studio work that week and the drawing that he wanted to do of me that weekend.
I did love the attention.
It was november and only the occasional stop light light up the car.
When we finally got there B pulled into the driveway and you could only see his german shepherd in the headlights barking and barking till he heard B’s voice then the tail would start waggling.
All the lights in the house were off.
There was no yard light.
Only the biggest black sky fill the air with sparkling dots all over it.
Oh So easy to be overwhelmed by such beauty and size.
I gathered my baskets which I always used as suitcases and followed him to the house.
The door was never locked.
B walked in to the darkness and I heard him say.
Stay at the door for a minute till I turn on the light.
I did.
When the light came on I only saw this!

Under this arrow was a chair.
A chair that was just like the one the friendly giant had on his show.
You know, ‘and here we have a chair that two can curl up in’.
Here was that chair!
‘You wanted your own chair, now you have one’ said B.
No one ever thought enough of me to actual get me my own chair.
I was hooked, line and sinker.
How did I win this lottery?
How did the universe put me in line with him?
I admit that I was scared as well as so much in love.
What I did now was that my love for him was equal with my trust of him.
He was 20 years my senior but I could not feel the difference at all.
Soul mates they say?
I’m not really sure what that means.
The oval table that sat in the middle of the room did not only have the throne chair.
It now had my chair as well.
My chair that would always  wait for me.
As I write this post today I am sitting in my chair.

Photo on 2016-06-16 at 9.13 AM


Days When You Wonder If Your Sane

Possibly too much time spent alone can get you drifting into strange areas. If your an artist well then you may be accustom.

Its the aloneness of yourself.

You can’t spend time with people all the time especially if your not that attracted to company. Its that single person’s company that you miss. The one person that got you. The person with whom you did not have to explain things and that person who understood being alone.
Some people try and help but I don’t think anyone can help us at this point. I still feel that I have to walk this path for a reason. That there is something I might have to learn about myself in order to more forward. God is it this hard for others?  I know I will never want another relationship for this one has taken so much out of me. To have been woven together for so long. Our veins pumping the same blood to the same organs keeping us alive. Then one day each one has been severed leaving you to bleed out. Perhaps all this time is a process of cauterizing each and every vein so we can continue to live.

Lately I have been attempting to get our place up for sale. That is a job I tell you.

Things keep going wrong. I will not let myself get frustrated and angry because I just haven’t got it in me anymore. My emotions are tired. I have taken to writing dialogue as if I were speaking to B. Truthfully its kind of nice writing them. You may want to try it for fun and if it works, keep doing it. I have also included some fun photo essays I am working on to shake my brain up a bit.

THE difference in dealing with  things when your alone is that there is no one to say,
Hell I don’t know .What do you think?
Did you try the things ma jig?
What about that?…
Was there any pressure?
Was the pump running long?
Don’t Know.
Did you get to make the coffee?
When can you call the plumber?
I was going to wait till 8am.
Call the Fu… now!
Na you have to be nice. the kid was very nice.
Ya but yo still don’t have water>
I know but hay its 8 I’ll try now.
Ok let me know.So what did the plumber say?

Well I thought I would be getting his answering machine, instead he answered but he was at his cottage.
Well thats good did he come over?
No.. you can’t as someone to come home from the cottage to fix your tank!
Well why not?
Because I just would not feel right about it. He did tell me to prime it again and to check if there was a leak anywhere or if the well went dry.
That’s a stupid thing to as a client to do. I would never leave someone hanging with no water on the long weekend.
Well artists are more concerned with others then the trades.
So did you prime the pump?
No. I did lift the concrete lid and confirmed that the well was full nearly to the top.
So what are you doing?
I first wanted to retreat like a frightened fox but then I decided that the city was not a place I wanted to spend the weekend. I could not pounce on my friends again so I decided F”Kit I will go back to the cottage mode that ai was in before I had water.
I don’t want to constantly bore people with all this drama.
Well its not as if your creating the drama!
I know but everyone has their own drama to deal with.
So??? what you doing?
Well I did kind of melt back into bed like I was clued down from head to toe. A good part of the glue seeping its way into my brain allowing me to watch the little dvd screen with open deer kind of eyes with no brain activity.
I don’t know how you can do that. It would drive me crazy. I would have to be doing something.
Ya well that’s you. I looked at everything I have been wanting to do.
I pulled wet weeds from three reflecting pools causing my ass cheeks to ache. Without water. I trying to organize the kitchen a bit with boiled water and took it as far as I could. I don’t want to start painting the container for it would require good real water to wash afterwards. I can’t start my waxes for the dust in the studio is too much without running water to wash things and myself., Suffice to say. I will watch dvd’s and eat oranges.
No wonder you don’t get anywhere! You just don’t have what it takes to be a successful artist.
Well to hell with you.
Right back at you.
Talk to you tomorrow?
Ya sure.


As Long as We Continue To Wake Up In The Morning …..We Are Doing Just Fine.

How Do You Pack Up a Life

Packing up a studio is sort of like creating a time capsule. To place things in boxes. To show importance and respect. You have to be trusted to do this and also place trust in others to do the same for you. My job is a difficult one because I place such great importance on history, the past. If we don’t cherish that past how will we ever respect the future. This summer I am packing and I will be emotional at times but that is what makes my job a great one. For I can be trusted to respect the past.

In order to get to the place of packing I had to first pack up from the city to the country for the summer.  At First I did not want to bring my paints. Well you can imagine what I would do, yes you are right I would paint and enjoy myself. I was not going to. Really I wasn’t.  No honestly. Why don’t you believe me?  ….   ..  /////

Ok you may have been more insightful then I. At the end, after packing all of my underwear, socks, stretchy pants, tea shirts, skirts [?] drawer of toiletries  I thought…hummm what harm will one container of essential paints do? Why not pack two maybe three canvases after all I can’t pack ALL THE TIME.

The first paragraph here is in a sort a retaliation of someone telling me that it has become apparent that I don’t keep my intension. Meaning that I promise to everyone but in reality I can’t do for everyone. So why is this a bad thing? Why do people continually try and forge you into this thing  that is impersonating a sane person.

I don’t feel any strength in anything,, still.  I correct myself I feel strong when I create.

I have to mention that this month I have seen former friends from my husbands time in care. I felt different at first. It’s always strange when you don’t have your deceased one with you. After a bit of strange time you settle in to what you know and feels right. That feeling when you can be open and its not corrected or judged. When your not pushed into pretending that you have moved on and you have taken your life in hand and you have started to make future plans and you now clean your house and you don’t drink that much wine anymore and you don’t need those sleeping pills anymore and you don’t think of him when you fall asleep at night holding his ring on his silver chain you wear ever day and you have started walking and doing yoga and you are no longer eating an entire box of six apple turnovers while sitting in the parking lot. Ya,,, hell your ok.

Sure you are.

When I visited another friend whom still is caregiving and at a very full time. I felt so comfortable. I could not leave. To remember the patients that is required  just to wait for their replies is meditative. I remember just having to focus on my husband. That was all I did for three years. I focused on his eyes to tell me if he was having a headache. I focused on his hands if he was feeling cramped or sore. I don’t think I have ever felt so needed and loved. I know that it can never be recreated nor would I want anyone to have to go through what he went through. But oh do I miss B.

So You may read many posts this summer while I go through the ups and many down days of packing up a persons life.

Please comment if you have questions. I welcome communication especially if you find yourself in the same situation.