Y'know, there are just some days when it's all you can do to put one foot in front of the other and just get through. Today's one of those days.
There isn't any particularly big reason, either -- oh, there's an assortment of little naggy things to do and circumstances to fret about, but that's nothing unusual for any of us. You know...the shoulda-coulda-wouldas, followed by the what-did-I-do-wrong-this-times, and topped off with a fine array of dust and clutter in the house and office. Oh, and the cherry on top is all the painting and yard maintenance that stares at me everytime I look outside -- which is often, considering that most of the house is windows. And that is, of course, assuming that I can even SEE outside because the windows need washing so badly.
But that's not all of it either.
It's dealing with relationships, I think, that have unraveled a bit, or have a splotch that needs cleaning up, or conflicts that simply come with being involved with people -- you didn't say enough or you said too much or what you did say was misinterpreted or wasn't what you meant to say. It's cleaning up the emotional clutter, and that's never much fun.
*sigh*
Power in unexpected places....and observing the first year
I'm dreading Oct. 30 -- the first anniversary of my mother's death -- and already get weepy over anything sentimental or nostalgic. The first one is the biggie: after that it gets easier. I'm mentally tracing the progression of events a year ago, and it hurts to remember.
I've said before in this space that I wouldn't wish her back even for a moment because of all her suffering, and I'm so glad she doesn't have to endure any more. That doesn't mean I don't feel the loss every single day.
Last week I was in Indianapolis visiting my long-time friend Julia, and we spent one day in the then-little village where we both lived back in the '80s. Wow. While the village itself has mostly kept its charm and character, the outlying areas are full of strip malls and enormous subdivisions with big houses -- grown up far, far beyond anything I'd imagined. The church I attended and was so active in is now the town hall, and the congregation has built a new Southern-style complex on acreage in a prime location. It's beautiful and very functional, and I'm glad for them. But what a change.
Anyway, among the businesses in the village is a gallery of Nancy Noel's works which are displayed beautifully in a former church now called The Sanctuary.
On one of the walls there is a new painting titled "The Contract." It shows an angel surrounded by soft, glowing light in golds and bronzes and apricots and blue-greens, ascending, holding hands with a skeleton which is disintegrating into the brightness around it. One of the staff tried to explain that it depicted Noel's vision of how we can follow our dreams or our fears -- but to ME, it was my mother, finally freed from her uncooperative body, and going into the light with the angel who had surrounded her all these years, giving her the strength and grace to live her life as fully as she could in her circumstances: in other words, doing all she could, where she was, with what she had.
Tears flowed immediately, and it was all I could do to hold it together. My reaction was so powerful and so CERTAIN of what it showed that it shocked me -- and Julia, who handed me tissues as I tried to choke out to her what I saw in the painting.
It is not yet on the Web site nor available in any other format, so I can't link to it yet -- you'll have to imagine it! Even today I puddle when I think of it.
Much of Nancy Noel's artwork is about children at their purest, and it is nearly photographic in quality. Her African paintings are astounding in their detail. Browse through her site when you have time.
The trip was wonderful, reconnecting, enlightening.
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