Well, I almost made it.

One year ago today I lost my little maltese  dog, my fur kid, that had traveled through life with me for a long and challenging fifteen years. It was really hard to lose that little bugger, and the loss hit me really hard. I was weepy for weeks.  I tried to settle the loss in my heart and mind by having his ashes on the shelf, wearing his little dog tag around my neck, having a nice canvas print made for the wall. I sprinkled a few of his ashes into the ocean, and tried so hard to let him go. Anyone that has lost a cherished dog knows the pain and suffering that can ensue. I was closer to this dog than I am to most people, and he had successfully faced many health issues prior to finally passing, so it was a little shocking, even though he was fifteen.

When I'd gotten Tilly, I was married. He went to Turkey with me, and then moved to Reading when I was divorced. He gave me a routine that I needed, and let me spoil his little self as much as I could.  As I held him when he was put down, I literally felt my heart break. I cracked. It was vicious pain that both surprised me and confused me. I have had and lost lots of animals, including a cat that I am convinced was my soul mate.  This little dog, however, became my best pal through thick and thin, and keeping him well through his medical trials became my an important personal reason for being, to a certain extent.  

The day after he died, I was accompanied by a small white butterfly on my walk with Ellie, my pug dog. It seemed everywhere I went, this butterfly came.  It was small, very active, and was bright white with two little black dots on its wings (like maltese eyes, maybe?) At one point it landed on my arm and didn't even move when I waved my arm to dislodge it. It simply hung on for about ten paces then flitted away. It was strange to have this repeated visitor show up whether I was walking my dog, sitting in my yard or my neighbor's yard, or in front of my house. I started to think of Tilly's energy fueling the little butterfly, and said "Hi Til" whenever one of these little creatures would show up. Silly, but one grieving an animal does these things! 

The past year has proved to be transformational.  Things are so much better now on so many levels. As I've posted about a lot this year, I now have my two little maltese girls, better doggies than I could have ever hoped for. I have resolved some financial issues that were hovering over my head (including a bill for Tilly's hip surgery) and have more ideas for art than I have time to complete. I have a piece in a show now, and will be entering the UK Quilt Festival this month with new work, too. I am almost done with the City and Guilds Textile course.  My health is the same, but I have suffered less because of working from home due to Covid.  A fun summer lies ahead filled with art, teaching, and puppy love, and I couldn't be more optimistic.

Such a change from one year ago. I felt sick, old, tired, and just plain weary. I was sad from loss, and then got hit with a serious medical problem that socked me in the hospital for several days.  I remember listlessly watching endless movies on Turner Classic Movies channel, thinking and not thinking, trying to figure out what would come next. My yard was a mess at home, my house even worse, and I was not feeling great, to boot. My dear friends did the unimaginable and cleaned up my yard and my house while I was in the hospital, so I could come home and recuperate. I can never repay that kindness. Ever. That was the beginning of my ship turning around.   

So today, as I said above, I almost made it. Before getting up I thought about what I could do to make this day special in memory of my Tilman. I thought about going to the beach. About having the girls see what ocean waves are all about. Once I looked at my list of to-do's, however, and saw the thunderstorms coming our way, I decided against it.  Instead I ran errands all morning and finally finished it up by about one pm. I went outside to move some plants that need planting, and wouldn't you know, a little white butterfly came flitting by. I haven't seen one yet this summer. It danced around the new roses I'd planted, landing on my long stem red, then coming to me and circling my head. I put my arm out but it didn't land. It happily continued exploring the summer growth, following a cheerful, exuberant path in the air. I couldn't help but smile, and heard myself say "Hi Til."

Only a couple tears this time.  It was my goal to not cry about Tilly anymore, especially after a year. Almost made it. Sweet Tilly, you will always be remembered and the gaping wound you tore in my heart is being slowly repaired, one puppy kiss and one smile at a time, as my new little maltese girls grow up into adult dogs. We are starting all over again, and I am sure they will break my heart, too. Guaranteed. This past year has taught me that sometimes the pain of loss can be transformative, though, and lead to better things.  I hope Tilly is wherever he needs to be, looking down at his sisters and helping me keep them in line, and knows he could never be replaced in my heart and life. The mystery of life and death. Keep sending me butterflies, little Till.  Maybe next year I will only smile. 

Summer has started! I have my master list of Big Things That Need Doing around the house, and for the first time ever I might just have the energy to do them! It has been a very strange year. Both difficult and wonderful, and living with such incompatible states of being has been bizarre. 

My precious little puppies are growing up, and it has been so good to be home with them all this time. Beyond being adorable, I am confident that they are both really good, stable, loving dogs. Feels like a dream and like I've hit the genetic jackpot with them. The little one's nickname is "Baby Corona," and she is a goofy little cartoon character of a dog, while Teddie remains a perfectly behaved, tolerant and oh-so-smart and beautiful big sister.  I am the luckiest person alive with these two. Almost one year ago my little Tilly left, and took a huge chunk of my heart with him. I never thought I'd have another maltese, let alone two. They are not him, never could be, but it is a new, surprising puppy family that I'd never expected to have. Like a new lease on life, with new joy every day!  I don't take it for granted.

There has also been deaths during this time, too many deaths. Family of good friends, from Corona and other causes. So hard to deal with for families in this time of limited visitation.  My heart breaks for my friends who have lost moms and a sister, with such limited contact because of the virus. Hopefully, and I truly believe this to be true, that people who have passed can still be around us and know how much they were loved, and how much they are missed. I feel sure any anguish they carried at the end of their lives for being without loved ones is if not forgotten, then let go of, in favor of the freedom and peace of whatever comes next. There most definitely is something after this corporeal state. 

In addition to creating artwork of my own this summer, I am hoping to teach four classes in July to small groups, outdoors in my yard. I am setting up a "driveway studio" with tables under canopies, and it should be a blast! It is hard to get word out about these classes, and I hope word of mouth gets around to find the kids who need some contact and creative fun this summer.   I think paper mache outside will allow for giant sculptures, and we will be able to sew outside, too! I miss teaching in person so much, and hope there are kiddles that want to do art this summer. 

Off to begin tackling that list, on a 92 degree day! Cheers! 

What a sad world to wake up to, on so many levels. Even two little adorable white dogs can't cut it, today. 

As I slept in my little warm cocoon last night, all hell broke loose in Boston. Police injured, a police car burned, and the National Guard was called in to restore order. Why? Because SOME protesters began looting and causing physical mayhem. Certainly not all. From accounts, it was a peaceful protest and both cops and protesters were focused on processing the tension in a non-violent way. What happened to George Floyd was a horrible crime. Inexcusable, and I am sure there WILL be justice for him.  I just can't see how raiding boutiques and burning uninvolved people's hard work can help. It is just additional violent crime, and frankly the perpetrators hurt the cause. 

I don't understand the world anymore.  May the ones who behaved like this get to the back of the line for health care, too. Just terrible. This time in our world is stressful. We are sitting on a powder keg and all it takes is a spark for some to lose perspective.  Maybe some of the fuel is the stress of isolation and being "told" to stay in/away from others? Everyone needs to take a step back, a deep breath, and direct anger where it needs to go, through productive channels. Easier said than done, I suppose. 

It seems irrelevant to be posting today about finally completing a long project that turned into a personal marathon of sorts. On the other hand, it is completely relevant. Being an artist often means focusing energy into something beyond one's self in order to create, produce, and most important, learn, in a positive way.  It always amazes me to see the complexity of the final piece, and how by following the tiny breadcrumbs of ideas, a layered and expressive result occurs. Each stitch, each bead, each thought...all adds up to something. While gorging on the creative process due to a deadline other parts of my life suffer -- my laundry doesn't get done and views of the domestic landscape are less than pleasant. Somehow it feels okay, though, because there is a meaningful reason. The day to day "doing" is temporary, ephemeral, almost inconsequential. With an art object, it is different. Something is coming into existence that did not exist before.  We all get to choose where we put our energy in this one life we are given. I choose to be constructive and creative. 

It is hard to justify the energy and expense needed to be an artist sometimes, but at the end of the day, it isn't a choice. It is a calling.  Being mostly trapped in my house for the last few months has really brought home the fact that being an artist is one of the greatest gifts in the world a person could have. I have never been bored during this time - not even once. Every day has been a blessing. This has been an opportunity to carve out a little time to reflect, create, think, learn, and live in the mental world of art. The potential aesthetic "What ifs..." are too numerous to explore in one lifetime, and it takes discipline and effort to create in a focused way.  In a world where so many are quick to scream, I am happy to be whispering quietly to myself and seeing what happens. 

And, thankfully, it happened. The recent art piece is done and will be in the mail this week to Minnesota. Called "April Pandemic, 2020," it features an image from the Baldishol tapestry, a Norwegian textile fragment that the exhibit is built around. The surface carries stitched text, quotes of firsthand accounts of plague, from historical sources. At first the piece seems "pretty" - but upon close investigation it reveals the fear and ugliness of this unsettled time. When I began reading what others had said about past plagues (sources include ancient Greece, Rome, and Europe) it became clear that our reactions today are universal expressions of confronting the unknown. Whether it is Corona-19, Bubonic Plague, or Yellow Fever, we are a vulnerable lot at the end of the day. The medieval art style is not very realistic and somewhat impersonal. I like the contrast between using this "universal" form of imagery and the very personal and relevant reactions included in the text. Out of tension can come surprises. Cheerio.​