You can't see it until...

I'm painting again. 😊

Artist and author Lynda Barry said it so well: "There's the drawing you are trying to make and the drawing that's actually being made—and you can't see it until you forget what you were trying to do."

Dear friends, Lynda Barry is talking about life, too. 

Forget it and keep going. 

Without Answers

I've been reading a lot about art lately. One notion about artmaking stood out among many assertions: there's a human tendency to "close early on an idea." 

Yes. 

Whether a forklift operator or physician, that inclination to tick boxes, to iron it out, to get to the bottom, to solve and be satisfied, to close on an idea, and move on—we humans resist protraction, don't we? Waiting rankles. It can be uncomfortable. We don't like to not know. It feels like...losing. My words are not intended to criticize this type of thinking; I haven't read the book yet, but there's obvious value in both thinking fast and thinking slow. 

But art...it invites us to to think    s   l    o    w    to decelerate, to ease off...to pull ideas around us, closer, like a blanket, a weighted blanket. 

Have you seen the film Train Dreams? There's a scene—perhaps 90 seconds (?)—where one character's quick decision, his reluctant yet undeniable involvement, haunts him forever. He engages with an idea without thought, an idea with an alarming outcome, one he surely did not expect nor want, and this idea, this moment, the burden of it... he spends his life doomed by it.

Train Dreams does something so well: it emphasizes scale and image over discourse. With little dialogue, the film's director paints a stunningly beautiful portrait of a man and a life hinged on regret and loss and grief and the terrible and grand mystery of it all; he invites us to sit, sit without answers, sit and contemplate the whys.  

Perhaps I loved it so because my Dad was a logger? Perhaps I loved it because I revisited my past, even the difficult past with rash decisions and regrets? Perhaps it was the time and place, the nostalgia? Yet how am I nostalgic for days before even my grandfather's birth (1913)? Perhaps because I long for a slower past, where change didn't constantly hit us all like middle school spitballs? Yes yes yes...but perhaps mostly these themes, these ideas, the invitation to contemplate. 

Film, as an art form, invites us to inhabit a space, to walk in those shoes, to join the protagonist's journey (somehow making our own a little less lonely), and to reflect on the story it constructs on the screen but more so, within us—all stories are interior stories, aren't they? That's art. It gets inside us. And what does it do there? It challenges us, it stirs us, it pushes, but it repairs us too, it restores us, it soothes and settles us, if we allow it, if we unclose ourselves to the ideas. 

Things one should never outgrow:

LEGO. 

In my view, the 2020s need more LEGO. 

Recently, I spent an afternoon with my two-year-old grandson being his LEGOfer. As a fellow creative—and his (big-kid) assistant—I encouraged all his creations. However, some of my prototypes were approved, while others were dismantled without explanation. 😂

What are you waiting for? Also, dear friends, consider rewatching the LEGO Movie. Like LEGO itself, it's designed for multiple interactions. For example, I bet you missed this favourite line. 😄

Let's be honest:

slipping...falling...taking a tumble...unless you're a toddler (even then, I suppose) it can be quite serious. Sometimes there are big consequences. Statistically, it's foreboding. 

The photo tells the story, doesn't it? One might say, gravity called and I took the call on my knees. I've answered this call before—I remember my elbow took weeks to heal, but this time? Only my dignity took the plunge. 

Again, not to negate the seriousness of falling, but there's a very human moment after a fall, isn't there? That embarrassment? It's humility. And it certainly seemed to me like I had instantly developed warp-speed in uprighting myself and then scanning the neighbourhood to see who may have witnessed this grounding moment. A vehicle drove by, I nodded sheepishly. Nevertheless, thankful to be without pain, I had to laugh at my awkward self and the photo evidence: it's clear I was swept off my feet, but sigh, without the romance. I've devised a name for this moment: humortification. 😆

Dear friends, be safe out there and may your "down-to-earth" moments be low-impact. 

Let's be honest:

metaphors are everywhere. 

Sometimes nature has a way of illustrating the lesson you did not know you needed. 

Dear friends, no matter how this deer's journey might resonate with you—whether on a continuum between inviting change or overcoming an idée fixe or choosing retreat—they're all going somewhere. Keep going. 

How else do we find our way? 

The Forecast

The Northern Lights, we swear.

On Tuesday night, My friend Kate (who lives on the other side of Alberta) and I excitedly texted each other our best Northern Lights pics. The sky did not disappoint: those greens, those pinks, and those reds?! 

Whoa. 

Forecasters said the next evening they would be even more impressive! Could it be possible? 

Uh yes...last night...insert record-scratch here...they certainly were...something else, lol. 😀

Dear friends, I hope you have screwball friends with whom you can share some Abnorthern Lights (and whatever else brings the haha we all deserve in these 2020s). 

Charged Up?

Warning: reading the following will be similar to watching Homer Simpson's father yell at clouds. 

Don't sweat the small stuff, right? Good advice, wisdom I aspire to. But I'll sweat like an inflamed hotdog on rollers if the situation involves 9@#%&*! rechargeable batteries. 

It all began innocently, fueled by good intentions: care for the environment by investing in reusable batteries. I could never have predicted what ensued LITERALLY OVER MORE THAN A DECADE NOW AND ONGOING UGH.

Step 1: Buy double A and triple A batteries & rechargers.

Step 2: Tickety-boo.

Step 3: Cut to many months later: access batteries as needed, but wait, where are said batteries? Begin a decade-long career as a part-time unpaid private investigator only to discover various family members have (repeatedly) stolen said batteries and removed them from the premises. Insert Dad sigh here.

Step 4: Buy more rechargeable batteries. Not cheap are they? Discover some rechargeable battery brands do not function with other charger brands. Draft a sternly worded email in my brain, a complaint for which there is essentially no recipient. Insert low growling here. Test and retest said batteries among chargers repeatedly aiming to actually charge some of my now 17 "rechargeable" batteries aka become a part-time unpaid "Customer Support Specialist/Technical Support Analyst." 

Step 5: After much problem-solving and testing and retesting, all said batteries are FINALLY CHARGING. Note to future self that some batteries must be clipped into the correct recharger quite delicately to avoid angry-red-flashing indicator light that said battery is not connected properly and therefore not recharging. Because of the time gaps between switching batteries, each reset requires 24-48 hours to successfully finagle this process, but thanks to (waning) neuroplasticity, my brain eventually forged a reliable system, a system I used repeatedly over the years, a system NO ONE ELSE CARES ABOUT OR RESPECTS AND IT'S SO CONVOLUTED I CAN'T EVEN EXPLAIN IT.

Step 6: Various family members continue to steal said batteries. Grievous family text chain dynamics ensue to no avail: Dad, who has time to figure out where the batteries might be now? EXACTLY. Begin to ponder the very 21st century notion that essentially, I need an assistant to manage my reusable batteries! 

Step 7: Finally, our kids move away with most of said rechargeable batteries, so I buy what I vow will be MY VERY LAST BATTERIES and promptly hide them in places I hope they will go unnoticed. 

Step 8: Tickety-boo....

Step 9: Years pass, but I flinch every time someone gets close to those 9@#%&*! batteries. However, my system holds until one day my life-partner needs batteries for spontaneously-purchased grandkid toys, forgetting the aforementioned drama and unwittingly interferes with the rechargeable batteries system NOT REALIZING THEY ARE EXTREMELY TEMPERMENTAL. After I return home to discover ABSOLUTE RECHARGABLE BATTERY CHAOS, said partner (understandably) observes my meltdown with facial expressions similar to Dorothy's from The Golden Girls. 

Step 10: Hangs head in shame and googles rechargeable batteries support groups then begins a TWO-WEEK RESET COME ON TO NO AVAIL: IT'S AS THOUGH THESE BATTERIES FORGOT THEIR SOLE FUNCTION AND, LIKE THEIR SCIENTIFICALLY-INFERIOR COUSINS, NEED TO BE REPLACED.... 

Insert sheepish epiphany moment here as this describes the exact moment I realized that these mostly old-ass rechargeable batteries have no doubt expired...BUT WHICH ONES?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

UGH.

Things one should never outgrow:

Although she's under two, my granddaughter I is already obsessed with reading. She will take me by my finger to her room and while I seat myself cross-legged on the floor and lean against her bed, she will choose a book from her "library" then turn away from me so she can reverse-seat herself into the gap between my knees, a sign that the reading must commence, the book positioned in front of her, my arms surrounding her. 

Her print awareness is impressive; she knows how to orientate the book and understands when to turn the pages; she answers all my listening comprehension questions, pointing to the ladybug, the car, the pencil, the blankie. Every read and re-read positively impacts her vocabulary. A toddler, she is actively (and with agency) constructing her own brain. Yes, she has a mind of her own. Typically, she is rapt but before I can finish some stories, she closes the book and then chooses an alternative. The process begins again. I will forever chuckle at the way she reverse-seats herself.

But is she reading? Not really. Not yet. Reading to children should begin at birth. All my grandkids have been raised with this advice, so they all love books, yet it's typically I whom I discover "reading" a book somewhere. Although she cannot yet decode the words, she invests the time to be a reader anyway.  

Dear friends, in case you need a reminder today, don't worry about what you can't yet do: just begin. The future depends on what we do today. 

Sometimes

Sometimes I suspect that people rarely ever think about photosynthesis or how every leaf is truly astonishing. Sometimes I find this bewildering. 

Sometimes I wonder if it's odd that I changed Siri's voice to an Irishman to help me cope with the psychic weight of these 2020s. 

Sometimes I wish psychology was a core subject, like language, math and science and sometimes I think this might solve all the world's problems.  

Sometimes, unless it's about mobility or herding small kids, I am so deeply confused by people who park aggressively. Sometimes I park like a lollygagging idiot. 

Sometimes I wonder if the person I'm having a conversation with is also struggling to hear and hence we're both pretending to hear what the other is saying and nodding periodically and hoping for the best. Sometimes I wonder what I haven't heard. 

Sometimes I have to give my default people-pleasing self a stern talking-to. 

Sometimes when I press unsubscribe I picture the bot(?) in charge of fulfilling my request, smirking. Sometimes I wonder if I actually forgot to unsubscribe. Sometimes I can't recall from what I unsubscribed. 

Sometimes I wonder if my DIY shortcuts are actually genius—like carpet tape works just as well as glue to install vinyl in a closet, right?—and then I remember that time my Dad renovated and left the old chimney hole in the living room floor and just strategically placed a tv tray over it. (Sometimes I wonder if environment is also genetics.)

Sometimes I wonder in my grandson L is actually an adult comedian trapped in a toddler's body and he's pissed off because he knows it too. 

Sometimes I suspect I might be the only human who walks laps around the dining room table while I read. 

Sometimes I'm 20% in the room with you, but 80% also elsewhere. 

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

A pumpkin-spider-crab, aka "Gourd." 🤣

This year Halloween felt free and I was a bit inspired by the cheery nonsense so I thought, let's give those trick or treaters pumpkin to talk about. 🎶

I'd rate my creation 8 tenths adorable and...maybe 2 tenths nightmare? One kid called it cute, another assessed it as...eww. 🤣