D is for Delight

As far as words go, the word ‘delight’ might be considered kind of, well, light.

“Well, that was delightful,” we say, leaving a movie theatre. “Delighted to meet you,” you tell someone who you have just met (even if delight is not what you feel!)

Delight suggests a momentary feeling of happiness. The word derives from the Latin delectare "to charm," which also gives us the word “delectable”, and the same lighthearted sense of pure, uncomplicated pleasure. It’s a nice word. (Nice is another “light” word.)

So why include it in my Alphabet of Healing Words, when there are so many strong words starting with D that might offer more healing than a momentary encounter with pleasure? Words like Dream! Dig deep! and even Defy and Diversify. These are words that describe ways of healing that involve action – the antidote to Despair.

D is for DEFY

Instead, I chose Delight. 

One day last month, I was bogged down and not getting anywhere with my ideas. Bad things continued to happen in the world, but I was at a loss on how to express hopefulness in my art.  And so I went for a walk in the woods. It was a lovely fall day, and sunbeams were dancing through the foliage – all the gold and orange colours creating a patchwork quilt above. 

fall

I chatted with a few other walkers, listened to the sea gulls screeching at each other as they argued over rotting fish carcasses, watched dogs frisking on the rushing river bank. This was a whole world in a little piece of park I call my sanctuary. 

 

 

Often, creative ideas pop into my mind as I walk. Would it happen again? No matter: just being in nature soothed me. As I walked back up the hill towards home, a little breeze sent leaves floating silently down around me. I felt like a bride, decorated with confetti, and I thought, “Oh, how delightful!” A momentary experience of happiness that coloured the rest of my day and led to this piece which I began creating soon after. 

 

Delight, I’m thinking, is not just a little thing, a trifle. Delight belongs with other similar words like wonder, awe, enchant, gladden, held spellbound. It is the pause that puts our life into perspective, perhaps only for a moment, but that moment is precious, and nourishes the soul. That moment reminds us we are part of something much bigger than us, that we are connected to all that is around us. The moments we experience, moment after moment after moment, are stitched together into a life. Yes, there are terrible things happening in the world and to us. We need to do what we can to heal, and to heal a hurting world. But we will also acknowledge that there are beautiful things in the world, things that delight us. And this is a gift of healing for ourselves that we do not want to squander. 

The piece I created for the letter D depicts such a moment. Many years ago (1979 to be exact!) our sons aged 5 and 3 were playing outside helping dad rake the leaves that were swirling around. I was carrying the littlest one, 6 months old, as I “supervised”. Once the leaves were raked, the real fun began – if you remember the delight you experienced when you jumped into a pile of leaves as a youngster, you’ll know what I mean. I grabbed my camera, plopped the little one between his brothers, and captured that moment of delight. 

And now it lives on in a piece of art and warms my mother-heart. And reminds me that small moments of delight can live on and on. I hope you have such moments stashed away in your memory, as well.

D is for delight. Cherish it wherever you find it.

(There’s a problem with this piece of art: I messed up when I tried to improve on the photos with stitch. However, it was a delight to work on it, and eventually, I hope to correct what doesn’t please me. 
 

In April, 2020, I created a Diary of Daily Delight and wrote about it here: https://crowdayone.blogspot.com/2020/04/

PS: Update on my blanket of love
I am beginning to design and work on the “blanket of love.” (If you have a better name for it, please let me know. This is my working title!) 

 

I’ve decided to print my quotes on squares of cotton which I’ve dyed with rust or eco-printed with botanical bits I gathered from nature. Then I will arrange them against a background of silk scraps hand-stitched on a cotton blanket. All the materials I’m using are second hand, except for the ink pens. Perhaps I should learn to make ink from scratch, too. Learning new things could be a delight. 

C is for more...

When I started my latest fibre art project, I called it “Alphabet of Trauma Care.” My intention is to create pieces of art that focus on good words, words that will help heal the turmoil and anxiety that our modern society is experiencing. 

An increase in anxiety has been well documented and studied. For instance, the American Psychiatric Association’s annual mental health poll conducted in 2024 shows that 43% of adults say they feel more anxious than they did the previous year, up from 37% in 2023 and 32% in 2022. Adults are particularly anxious about current events (70%) — especially the economy (77%), the 2024 U.S. election (73%), and gun violence (69%)." It's not just the US that's experiencing this increase -- it is a world wide trend.

 

 

Scientific studies also underscore the importance of language in emotional health. In their neuroscience experiment, “Do Words Hurt?”, Maria Richter and collaborating scientists found that “Ultimately, negative words, whether spoken, heard, or thought, not only cause situational stress, but also contribute to long-term anxiety...” and another study showed that “...by exercising consistent positive thoughts and speech, we not only change our self-perception, but how we perceive the world around us. Ultimately, this grants us the ability to shape our reality and change the world for the better.” https://brm.institute/neuroscience-behind-words/ 

Science seems to confirm what spiritual teachers have been saying all along. Buddha said, “All that we are is the result of what we have thought. It is founded on our thoughts.” And the apostle Paul, in writing to early Christians, advised ”Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy – think on such things.” (Letter to the Philippians chapter 4:8) 

I hope this doesn’t just sound like some woo-woo feel-good thinking; focusing on healing words is not a magic formula. Horrible things are happening in this world, and bushels full of kind words will not fix that. Healing words also need to lead to healing actions. But positive words can begin the change in our own emotional health, to give us courage to translate the words into deeds.

And so I got to work. So far, I’ve created “A is for Act”, “B is for Bloom,” “P is for Peace”

 

In my last blog I featured “C is for Connect.” 

After creating that piece I thought I could move on to another word, but apparently not. I kept encountering C words that could have been my focus, and many of them began with the letters “con” or “com.” 

 

So I dug a little deeper and found out that the prefixes con- and com- most commonly mean "together" or "with". ...and sometimes variations like co-, cor-, or col- are used to mean the same thing. Connect, Communicate, Collaborate, Companionship, Cooperate, Compassion: These are words that tell us, “You are not alone. Get together. Stand Together. Be strong together."

 

Thus, I created another piece, this one composed of C words that belong together, C words that CONNECT with each other. 

Some of these C words are verbs, for instance Connect, Communicate, Collaborate, Cooperate. These are things we can do. Some of the C words describe healing characteristics – ways of being that lead to healing in yourself and others: compassion, and companionship, for instance. And I’ve included some words that don’t, at first glance, sound very healing, perhaps: Cry, Caution, Cocoon. But there are times when we need to cry, and psychologists tell us that tears actually are part of the healing, releasing harmful chemicals we’ve stored up in our bodies. Sometimes we need to cocoon, to take a rest from the fray. 

And last, but definitely not least, some words are suggestions for you to act on. Yes, C is for Cookies. Cookie Monster had the right idea when he sang, “C is for Cookies, that’s good enough for me.” Chatting in Cafes and Coffee Shops with Companions on the journey will help us stay strong and connected. We are not alone. 

PS: in my last blog, I invited you to share some good quotes about LOVE that I could inscribe on my blanket of Love. I got a few, and I’d love more. Here’s one that came across my FB feed the other day: 

Those who choose, 

even on a small scale, 

to love in the midst of hatred and fear 

are the people who offer 

true hope to the world. 

(Henri Nouwen).

L is for ...

The problem, as I continue work on my alphabet of healing words, is that there are so many good words for each letter in the alphabet.

A month ago I read an editorial written by Anne Lamott. She wrote about the pain she feels as she watches the political turmoil around her. “It’s hard to move through the dark. You have to go slowly and ... rely on others. This is what I told friends who felt terrorized by what was happening: we go slowly, we stick together, and we do what Mother Theresa said, small acts of great love. 

“There will be more dark and stormy nights, figuratively and literally, but the green hills always come back when the rain comes down. The roots of the 200-foot redwood trees in the grove down the street are shallow and thus need to intertwine with each other to withstand the storms and the wind. I see this as excellent advice: Stand Tall and Connected.”

What a great image for C: C is for Connection. So I got to work. The piece will need some finishing touches, and a frame around it. 

 But there are so many other healing words that begin with C: community, compassion, cooperation, cocooning, coping, create, change, caring ... how do I choose? (And that’s another wise C word!) I suspect this project may become bigger than I imagined.

I’ve decided not to create these pieces in alphabetical order, but rather by inspirational concepts and images I find in the written word. Thus, “L is for Light” came from an image that sprang into my mind from a line in a hymn.  Change will come, the words of the hymn said, from people who are “fearless and faithful, small paper lanterns, lighting the way.”

In many Asian countries, the annual Festival of Lanterns aims to promote reconciliation, peace, and forgiveness. The skies and waters are filled with lighted lanterns, brightening a dark world. 

What a relief it is when you see light in the distance after walking in the dark. It's such a symbol of hope. Can people of good will be like lanterns in the dark night, bringing hope where there is no hope? And can lantern light  illuminate truth when it is hidden behind lies? The illustration above is a picture of serenity, but "fearless and faithful people" will be launched into choppy water these days. It may be a rough ride, but light is a healing word, and I hope to make it the subject of my next piece. 

But  again, I think of other "L" words: what about Listen? What about Laughter and  Learning? Living Large, Letting Go, Leaning? And the biggest of them all, Love.

Because it is love that is the ultimate healing word, to my way of thinking. Our life here on earth is the Creator’s grand experiment in love, and we have a lot to learn in that department. Not cheap love that doesn’t cost us anything, but extravagant, audacious, love that is spent without boundaries to bring healing to a hurting world. And that is tough. I know that because I fall far short of how loving I would like to be. 

What is your definition of love? How and when do you experience it? And where have you seen it in action? And what do you sing, when you sing of love? I’m welcoming you to send me quotes, ideas, definitions, stories and thoughts about Love. These I hope to incorporate into a bigger piece of art, a blanket of love with lots of writing on it. It’s your chance to tell the world what’s so important about love to you. We are all connected, as connected as the trees in the piece above, and we are stronger and better together. 

You might wonder what this might look like -- so here's a sample of how others have incorporated writing into their quilts:

 

 And here's something I'll be writing on that quilt: "Only love can be divided endlessly and still not diminish". It's a quote by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. 

 Funny is good too. Here's words about love I saw in a cheese shop:

 

I hope you will help me make this the best blanket of love by participating with a few words or a lot of words. Since a big quilted blanket/wall hanging will take a long time to put together, there’s no time limitation on this invitation. I’ll mention it again every time I post, and I’ll show you how this part of the project progresses.

Send your stuff to me at j.schut0613@gmail.com Please!

And since today is Thanksgiving Day, I’ll end by saying T is for Thanks!

The words to the hymn from which the quote is taken is found here: https://www.bridgestreetchurch.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/35.Hymn-Lyrics-for-OnLine-Worship.Sept_.20.2020.pdf

A Time to Be, A Time to Act

I was blessed last week to be living the dream: a week of solitude at a house by the sea. It’s place for writers and artists to use as a retreat, if we are lucky enough to win a coveted spot. My front deck this week looks out over the Salish Sea to the mainland mountains. Each day as I sip my morning coffee, I  listen to the raven in the tall Douglas fir squawking up a storm of commentary on the comings and goings on the water. 

My last blog was titled “A Time to Do” and I will be sharing more about what I’ve been doing a bit further on. But I have decided that this week is not for doing, it is for being. It’s popular these days to talk about “resetting your life” and it’s true that I am in a time of transition, moving from one direction to another. I’m here to listen, think, dream, read, learn, and be “re-created.”

The last few months, I’ve been dipping in and out of the book 4000 Weeks: Time Management for Mortals by Oliver Burkeman. The theme of the book is this: the average lifespan of a human being is about 4000 weeks. How will you spend those weeks? Time is not a commodity you can buy and keep in a box, taking out another bit when you need it.

“We live mentally in the future, waiting for when we’ll finally get around to what really matters,” he writes. “But nobody in the history of humanity has ever been able to achieve work-life balance.  We feel pressured to live by a set of ideas about how to use our limited time, and we will always fall short."

The bottom line is this: we have to make choices. We will never do everything we thought we wanted to do. And, as Mary Oliver writes in her beloved poem, The Summer Day: "What is it that you want to do with your one wild and precious life?" I’ve asked myself this question often, and depending on where I’m at in my life, the answers change: be a good mom; become a writer; be an artist. And now...?

I’ve already surpassed the magic number of 4000: I’m into my 4019th week on planet earth. The sands of time are trickling down the tube. How am I doing? Am I making the best use of the time I have left? 

And after writing that last blog in February, with prayer and reflection, this is what I concluded in my journal:
 

“The universe is a grand experiment in Love, created by the source of Love, and I believe that Love wins in the end. How can we help Love win in the end? We are puny folk, tiny dots on a tiny blue dot in the universe. And most of us are the weakest of the puny folk; we have no power or pull to change
the big decisions that direct the happenings in nations, businesses, communications. Can what we do really help the cause of Love, Compassion, Kindness – those God-breathed abstracts that in the end will be the powers that save the world? I must have faith that, YES, what we puny folk do matters.”

And so I began again to try and work out these messages in art.

I finished the piece I started, "Dark Clouds on the Horizon", shown in the previous blog. Now my grandchildren are walking toward those dark clouds. This is a very hard reality. But praise be, there is light beyond the darkness. 

 

And then I began a new project to address the trauma that we all feel when we listen to the news of climate change, wars, starvation, violence, divisions, erosion of democracy around the world. Its working title is Alphabet of Trauma Care: 26 pieces of fibre art that some day, hopefully, will hang together in a show. 

Words matter. These days we are assaulted by harsh words every day, words that fill us with dread and anxiety that can paralyze us. It is a form of trauma. So in my work now, I will try to create art that brings a message of healing for those of us struggling with the trauma of our times. Each piece will focus on a positive word of encouragement to counter the flood of negative messages we are getting. I will find and use words that cover every letter of the alphabet.  

 A is for ACT, for instance, because Action is the antidote to despair, says activist Joan Baez.

 

The gardener, when she sees weeds growing in her garden, gets out the shovel and digs.

Creating art will be my Action, my antidote to despair. Mostly, these words will be inspired by quotes, poems, or essays by better writers than I am, and those words will be applied to the back side of the work.

And though we can't do everything, we can do something. Thus, B is for Bloom Where You Are Planted. These chicory and queen anne's lace flowers decorate a stony roadside.

We are not helpless pawns on the chessboard of history. What we do, say, think, write, dance, and sing matters. How we touch each other, hold each other, work with each other, those actions matter. 

This project has helped to bring healing to me. I am not so naive as to think that my little pieces of art will change the world, or inspire grand acts of healing in viewers. but perhaps they will touch one, and one is all that matters. And I have found the one thing, right now, that I can do with my wild and precious life. And in future blogs, perhaps I’ll share more with you. 

A Time to Do

 The week did not start out well. Sunday morning I scrolled through the news, all about the tariffs that Mr. Trump had levied against Canada. This move would wreak havoc with our economy. 

Was the whole goal of this game to fulfill what we’d thought were only bad jokes on Mr. Trump’s part: “Canada should just become our 51st state.” Ha ha. Not funny. Turns out he wasn’t joking. He has, more seriously, threatened to use economic force to compel Canada to become the 51st state.

The anxiety I felt after reading these stories settled into my body like a heavy, dark presence. We’re doomed, I thought. Canada is a little mouse, and we can roar, but we’re up against an elephant.

What to do? The weather echoed my gloomy feelings. A snow-laden grey sky loomed over us as we drove to church, with towering  clouds gathering over the hilltops. 

 

Those dark clouds on the horizon seemed to be symbolic of a future that was coming. How could I deal with this? I am just one person, and a person without much power, at that. Even if I joined a protest line, or wrote letters, even if I boycotted American products in retaliation, what good would my little gesture do?

I am very sure that what I’ve written so far will feel very familiar to many people. It’s not just Canadians that are anxious about the future. Many of our neighbours to the south are distraught as they watch what looks like oligarchs and billionaires taking over the reins of society and acting like merciless thugs. It feels as though the nice safe world we inhabited for so long has gone topsy-turvy. How can our comfortable spot in the world have turned so suddenly into chaos?

Wise author Parker Palmer, in a recent podcast, remarked: “A lot of Americans who are aghast at what is happening in our country say,‘But, this is NOT who we are!’ Well, it’s time to admit that this IS who we are. Our Western society has built its prosperity, comfort and pleasure on the backs of others – slaves, indigenous, people, colonialism, exploited workers, expanding profits lining the pockets of stock holders. We are not innocent.” This comment is not just about the US, it’s about Western Society. A time of reckoning is upon us. We are entering a time in the world’s history when things are going to get tough, as the structures we relied on for security begin to crumble around us. And we feel helpless.

So what could a preacher say to me that would help me?

Keltie started by lighting a candle and acknowledging that the events of this week might leave us sad and bewildered. We wouldn’t know what to do, but we could affirm the light, we could let our cares rest for a while. We could do this together, in community. And I did. A little of the darkness within seemed to lighten.

 

And then she began talking to the children. The story she told was about a boy named Jeremiah. He was just a lad – probably a teenager. God spoke to his heart and said, “I know who you are. I have gifted you, and now I have a job for you.” The job wouldn’t be easy; he was to tell people that they needed to repent and change their ways. For too long, the oligarchs and autocrats had ignored the laws of love and justice. Jeremiah responded with a protest: “Who, me? But I’m just a kid.”

Then, looking up and over the audience of mostly grey-hairs, Keltie asked, “And what might you have said?” The responses were many: “Who, me? But I’m only an old person.” “I have no power.” “I’m too busy.” “What can one person do or say that will make a difference?”

Keltie addressed the children once more. “So, if God asked you to do a big thing, to stand up and tell the truth, what would you do?” There was a moment of silence, and then 9 year old Georgia piped up, “I”d say, okay, I’ll do it.”

 

Okay. I’ll do it. Whatever it is, I’ll do it. Because each of us has gifts and talents, and we are all called to use them to make this world a better place. That was the gist of Keltie’s message to the congregation.

There was more to the historical account, of course. Jeremiah went on to become known as the prophet of doom, and he tried to convict people to love justice and mercy, to walk and talk humbly. But they didn’t – their society disintegrated and weakened; the upshot was that his people were defeated and carried into exile in Babylon for 70 long years. “By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept,” sang BoneyM years ago. Perhaps we too are sitting and weeping.

Jeremiah’s tribe became prisoners. Now the playing field had been leveled. They were all, peasants and oligarchs, in this together. It was in Babylon that they began to examine and change their ways and plant seeds of a new life that prospered when they finally were allowed to go home again.

We are, no doubt about it, heading into a storm. There’s nothing pretty about this situation. But we can do something. It’s how resistance to evil starts. And as author Annie Lamott says, “There is no healing in pretending this bizarre violent stuff is not going on ... What is true is that the world has always been this way, people have always been this way, grace always bats last, it just does–and finally, when all is said and done, and the dust settles, which it does, Love is sovereign here.”

After the service one of my friends said, “If they come to take over Canada, I’ll be at the border. I won’t be carrying a gun, but I’ll raise my hands and say, ‘Stop! Go no further.’” That will be her job – to speak her intentions and build resilience in her little sphere of influence. Imagine a chain of people stretched across the land from sea to sea or before the border walls, saying, “No way!” It could happen!

 

As for me, as I sat and listened, my mind filled with ideas for a blog and a piece of art. That’s my job.

And what’s yours?

Well, the words came pretty easily, but the art? Not so much. I'm pleased with my background of a wintry field and a dark horizon, but how to complete this piece? I tried some possibilities, but none of them were quite right. Do I need to put up a fence? build a road? add people?

 

 

 It seems to me I'll be needing to noodle on it, spend some time listening to my heart. 

A Time to Lollygag

On my FB feed yesterday, I saw a reminder of a blog I’d posted three years ago on January 7, 2022. I wondered if it might have something to say to me today.

I read the first sentence: “The crow woke up on the first day of the new year. ‘Hey, get busy,’ she scolded me. ‘You’ve been lollygagging around long enough. Get your rear in gear.’”

Ah, yes. Not much has changed. Lollygag! What a fine word. My dictionary gives me a list of synonyms: creep, drag, plod, poke, slide, slither, squirm, wriggle, and “inch oneself along.” Yes. I have been lollygagging for the first week of this year. How about you?

With a new year come high expectations. New year = new you. New year = new adventures, new fields to explore. But what if you feel like you only have enough energy to just lollygag? Inch yourself along? Then what?

I read further in my blog (http://crowdayone.blogspot.com/2022/01/): I told the crow that I did not need a scolding; I'd had a tough few months, and the creative juices weren't flowing. Fast forward to 2024: I'm there again. I've been lollygagging with my book, my blankie, and my lazy-boy these days.
 

2024 has been a big challenge for the resident sweetie and me. In my last blog post dated the 13th of June 2024, I described our situation: months of debilitating pain for Al before he was diagnosed with a disintegrated hip, the long wait for surgery, interrupted by an emergency pacemaker operation. Al had been told that he was not a good candidate for surgery because of other medical conditions, and it was a big wake-up call for us. My head told me that hip surgery is routine with little risk, but my heart heard something else. Danger, danger! Life is fragile. My head knew that, now my heart had to catch up.

In that blog, I also wrote about how I used the practice of making art to help me grow into this new understanding. I used my mother-in-law’s apron as a basis for my work. I chopped the colourful apron up into confetti and spread it out like a pathway. I added strips of colour to highlight the many themes that are the foundation of our lives -- red for joy, green for growth, black for sadness, etc. Those coloured strips with their dangling ends could be potential blessings, or possible road maps, or bends in the journey. They could become the arms of our community that we lean on when times are tough. The work was helping me understand and accept the reality of our pretty fantastic/oh so tough/happy/anxious/up and down life. 

 I added an “Eye of God” weaving to remind myself that we were far from alone on our journey.  The piece is not totally finished...maybe it never will be, because our journey through life is ongoing.

I am happy to say that Al had his hip surgery and recovered very well. Soon he was walking out in the woods again, something he'd been unable to do for half a year. We are so grateful for the medical establishment, for family, friends and community who surrounded us with care and love, for healing and growth. 

Three years ago, my cure for lollygagging was to start something, anything at all. I began making postcards with messages written on the back. 

 

This was one of the messages: “Where the path well-traveled ends is where your adventure begins. Be strong and of good courage. Take that first step and venture forth into the great unknown.”

Today, I'm not quite ready to take that first step, but maybe soon. And so I listen, which is also work. 

When our bodies tell us, "Lollygag!", we are reminded that by lollygagging, we may actually be still enough to notice something new. By lollygagging, you and I can listen to the song in our hearts, which may be stilled for a while, but not forever, because it has been placed there by the Creator for the good of the world. Only you can sing the song that is planted there, which needs stillness to discover.

I’m listening, and I’m hearing whispers. Something is coming, something good is on the horizon.
 

Lately, I have been very drawn towards the work of Elena Stokes. She uses re-purposed Sari silk to create works that feature horizons. https://elenastokes.com/

That's Life!

(Please forgive the formatting...I can't get this program to come out in paragraphs.) It’s been a 18 months since I posted my last blog. I thought I was done because I really didn’t have anything to say anymore. Apparently, I was mistaken, because here I am again. When I first posted in June, 2013, the month I turned 65, I wrote “I’m hoping that as I age I will have something to say, and the courage to say it.” It would be the fulfillment of a calling: to combine my two joys – quilting and writing – to communicate the thing I care the very most about: spiritual and personal growth. Last year, I turned 75. Leading up to that milestone, I journaled a lot -- pages and pages analyzing my weaknesses and strengths, the past and the future, hopes and dreams. It was as though I thought at age 75, I would have figured out what life was all about, and all I'd have to do was relax and live it. And here I am, on my 76th birthday, telling you that no, I'm not done yet by a long shot. I’ve got more to learn. More to grow into. More changes to work my way through. So I turn to quilting and writing to do that. Hence, another blog. 75 has been a year of challenges. For some of you, what I call challenges would be minor inconveniences – amongst other things, a six week bout of sciatica for me, and the resident sweetie suddenly needing a pacemaker while awaiting surgery for a disintegrated hip. The orthopedic surgeon did not mince words; he told Al that he wasn’t a good candidate for surgery with his medical history, but the alternative was life with pain in a wheel chair. I felt like I’d been hit with an electric shock. This was reality. We put our life on hold and cancelled plans for the summer. Yes, it’s not cancer or dementia or all the things older folks fear, but for me it was a wake up call, and it hit me hard. Life the way we’d been living it was going to change, and change a lot and I wasn’t ready for that. (I’m such a naive crow, aren’t I?) We were moving from the territory of “young” old and into the next stage, if not “old” old, at least close to it. Questions overwhelmed me: how will we take care of our garden? Will I ever have long quiet satisfying days in my studio again? Will we ever camp again, travel again, walk in the woods together again, have fun again? I often found myself in tears, frustrated by little things that formerly were so easy, like hopping into the car for a drive or watching Al struggle to walk between the kitchen and the Lazy-Boy. One day, while taking a shower (a lot of good ideas happen in the shower!) I realized I should be working out this transition and its emotional impact in my art. In the studio I started sorting through fabrics, and found an old multi-coloured apron that had belonged to my mother-in-law.

I was reminded of her hard life. Born in 1906 on a farm in Holland, as a young girl she watched in horror as her farm burned down, killing livestock and horses. Later, as a young woman, she fell in love with a man who was “beneath her station”. Eventually, she did marry him, and there followed a few years of happiness. But her second child was still-born and had to be torn from her body. The girl baby was taken away, and there was no opportunity to mourn or grieve. Then came the war, fraught with danger, but she rose to the challenge by hiding those who were being sought by the enemy, even confronting collaborators and calling them out. Several years after the war, her dear husband died suddenly of spinal encephalitis. Three weeks later, she gave birth to her fourth boy (my resident sweetie). A widow at 42, responsible for raising four children, she took in factory workers as boarders, up to 10 at a time, providing meals and doing the laundry on the weekend when they went home for a few days. When her oldest son, who had been handling the family shoe-making business, decided to immigrate with his wife, she decided they would all go. Those early years in Canada were difficult years. Many times, she must have thought, “This is not what I signed up for.” Compared to her, I have it easy. And yet, she survived. What could I learn from this old apron, and from her life? I thought of the colours in the apron: red, for power and strength; black for death and pain; yellow for sunshine and joy; green for growth, blue for peace, variegated colour for family and community, white for hope, grey for drudgery and hard work. That plus more is all part of the ups and downs, the ins and outs, the joys and sorrows of life. And so I went to work, chopping up parts of the apron into confetti and sprinkling it on a background, not knowing where it would take me.

I added strips of colour, inter woven with the confetti, leading upward as though on a pathway.

Later, I added more strips of colour underneath the path, highlighting the many themes that are the foundation of our lives. We all walk this path; we all come across hard things; we all have to find our way through and move on.

Those coloured strips with their dangling ends could be potential blessings, or possible road maps, or bends in the journey. They could become the arms of our community that we lean on when times are tough. The work was helping me understand and accept the reality that was our pretty fantastic/oh so tough/happy/anxious/up and down life. I wondered what it was that kept mom going. What did she hang on to when she lost her baby, when her husband died, when she was all alone far from her relatives in a strange land? She never talked about it much, but she had a staunch Calvinistic faith, sturdy enough to hold her up, I believe. She was sure that she was not alone, that God was watching over her, that, as the Bible says, “All things work together for good...” On the night that she died, the nurses told us that a white dove sat in a tree outside her window for hours – an angel to watch over her? Perhaps. And so, I will need to add that theme of faith, as well, to this unfinished abstract piece of work. My idea is to add symbols, but that will have to wait till I can figure out how. And perhaps angel wings? And, now that I’ve wrestled with these ideas and learned from them, I will incorporate that understanding, again, into the spiritual and personal growth that is so important to me. (If you've read this far, thanks! I can’t think of a better way to spend a few hours on my birthday than to share my thoughts with you.) 

 

Update: May, 2025

I've been working on this piece a bit more. Here's what it looks like now: