​Like clockwork, my teacher brain is waking up and getting ideas and plans ready for next year. Which starts in three weeks! Every year is like a work of art in itself, with initial plans, execution, experimentation and adaptation while in progress, and careful evaluation at the end. I think of years past as having their own identities and feels, and am sure the upcoming one will be no exception. Time to get going with the plans and preparation that will make this year fun and successful. And hopefully more organized. Last year I wasn't so great with that, and lived in the land of paper overwhelm. It did prove useful in that I am now facing more organized boxes of teaching materials that are just waiting for sane organization over the course of this year, leaving me with a refreshed set of resources for all my classes by June. Am moving towards more of a paperless classroom as well by taking full advantage of the amazing Google tools that are now available for organizing and even grading student work. 

And like clockwork, I am looking around at my disheveled home and all the things I planned to get done over this summer...! Oy! The front stairs need painting, there are greens that need pulling between the driveway and sidewalk (and throughout the flagstones in front of my house),the kitchen needs wallpaper, paint, and a good clean, and the east side of the house needs paint, too. I think I didn't tackle a lot of these things because of the heat, so I anticipate a dirty fall (in that I will be dirty a lot in the cooler weather!)  I miss having a husband. LOL. Really though, it is very hard doing all of this myself, even if I enjoy the challenge (and there is a part of me that does.) Some days, like this past week, it is hard just to get through a day of normal routine things that need doing - while not even working - due to health issues.  IT is hard not to get frustrated and anxious, but I am trying. 

Lately I am trying a new technique of managing my frustration and inability to function the way I want to...and it is surprising to even me. I am making quilt blocks. Plain, old quilt blocks. Four patch, half triangles, quarter triangles. Log cabins. They don't match and are made out of whatever I have to use at the moment. It is funny, because outside of the four little nephew quilts I made years ago, I don't make "real" quilts - but have always been in awe of them.  When giving quilt talks the guilds hold their show and tells, and I find myself gasping and their creations. And wishing I could make something so beautiful. I belong to a "scrappy" club group on Facebook and see all the amazing BIG things that people are creating with little pieces and little bits of time.

So, when faced with a few minutes of "lame time" when I still want to DO something, I grab some small pieces of cloth and bang out a few blocks. Eventually they may turn into things, or they may not. It's okay. Just the act of MAKING FABRIC feels productive. Using the machine, seeing cloth juxtapositions come to life feels good. And during lame times when the body is screaming, I need to occupy my mind with anything that feels good and is productive! Not part of my "art" (although I found that I made a few blocks that match my current artwork...hmmm...) 

The current piece that I am making for my City and Guilds UK course is well underway, and is pushing me into using dimensional elements and layers in new ways. Am trying to not over embellish, which may not be obvious for the beaded part I did this week. Some parts will be left naked! I am determined! More to come as this piece develops. 

And, not like clockwork, the unstoppable Tilman is, well, not like clockwork again in the potty department, causing him great pain and discomfort, and more vet intervention. Had to see a vet other than the Amazing Doctor Carol on Sunday as she was ill herself (feel better, Carol! Take time to get better!!) and Tilly is on antibiotics and pain meds to hopefully help him out.  Getting him to eat regularly is an issue as he demands chicken, not dog food, which is not a recommended diet. It seems like the best choice though as the auditioning of dog foods to find one that he will willingly eat has made his tummy a mess again. The vet recommended a sedated dentistry with the extraction of every tooth he has left, which scares me. I bet he would feel better without his teeth, but would he make it through surgery at his age? Will he live long enough after surgery to justify the procedure's cost to him and the financial cost, too?  Tilly is slowing down, and as Tim wisely said "is elderly and will have good days and not so good days" as he enters this phase of his life. He is in his late 70's now, age 14.5. Anything can happen now. 

I am not ready for this. Not at all. Losing Toby was tough, but different as he was so ill for so, so long. Tilly has been my best pal since my married days, a witness and part of both my old and new lives. My 8lb rock of a mighty dog is now becoming a more feeble, 7lb delicate and elderly pebble that needs protection and special care in order for it not to fracture or further erode. My heart is breaking a little bit more each day, each time I see him slow down and be uncomfortable with moving, eating, or going the bathroom. Maybe a slow break is the secret to not losing my mind when the inevitable eventually happens. Though I can't even think about it without filling up.

So, I won't! Off to make him a yummy chicken and pumpkin brekkie. And pray to the pooping Gods for clear passage LOL. 

And because this post needs a pic of Til but he is sleeping and I don't wish to take one, here's an oldie but goodie that sums it up nicely. Cheers!

Friday that could be Monday, and I'm loving it. When I went to the doctor this week my blood pressure was so low they took it twice. No joke! Having a flexible schedule is a wonderful thing. Am always busy, but at a pace that is manageable. This must be what getting old looks like! 

Maybe it is because I was raised a guilty Catholic (since mostly abandoned, though.) Maybe it is because I was raised by parents who worked really hard their whole lives and made it clear to us that their childhoods were so bad that work was the only thing that saved them. I have issues with "productivity." When I think about it, I don't ever just relax, and never really have! I'm always "doing" something, mentally or physically, usually both (lol.) Even when I work on art I categorize it in my head as "work" -- giving it a justification that it doesn't really need. Hmmm...summer comes and I am confronted with the one ingredient that I have so little of during the school year: time. And I would feel horrible about wasting such a gift! 

So here I sit, on a gorgeous Friday, and am free after noon today. I am going to the beach. To do nothing on purpose. I might not even bring a book, or even a sketchbook.

I've been looking at the Designmatterstv site again and want to sign up and just absorb all that loveliness. How on earth have the Kemshalls created so much? How have I created so little? It is humbling. Yet I still shrink away from spending time on art these days, feeling like I should be doing more worthy things. Aren't there people suffering in other parts of the world? The state? My town? What good will me making a thing from fabric and beads help? I look at my little Quaker parrots, who are busy all day gathering things from around my house and "working" on making a nest. They are really busy and productive. They never really build anything, though.

Isn't art an indulgent act that really doesn't have value in ways that really matter? I think that is the big question I wrestle with these days. The purpose of making art objects. Not sure if this is just a message from my moral compass or an element of creative self-sabotage, but it is on the table these days.  The benefits of process are clear to me, for me and for others. But the product seems to be irrelevant, in some ways. It is intellectual Parcheesi. Puzzles of texture, color, and thought. Self indulgent to force them on the world, no? 

Then I look and see work by people like the Kemshalls and feel grateful that they can put into fabric the things I feel that go beyond words. And I am grateful for their contributions to this very hard world we all inhabit. All an artist can do, I guess, is keep working and hoping that sometime, somewhere, someone sees the work and gets something out of it that is meaningful. Yeah, I'll bring my sketchbook to the beach today. You never know what could happen.  In the end, parrots are parrots and do their parrot things, and artists are artists and do their artist things. It is just the way it is. Cheers.

Linda Kemshall's work, below: 

Day ? of vacation. A good thing I don't really know as this means I've stopped counting and am in the zone. Are my household projects done? Or at least significantly underway? Errr...well...some of them... New projects arrive to The Lists as soon as any movement is made in the tide of things that need doing, so it feels less than celebratory to complete anything. The screens need washing, though. I do really notice some things. 

My summer copilot Boncuk is on my left shoulder, happily grooming the hair on the side of my head near my ear and also finding the odd "where the heck did that come from?" hair from my post-age 50 face or neck. Cheers, pal. His touch is so light and delicate that I hardly know he's there and occasionally get a shiver from his little beak preening. By contrast, Kizzy woke me with bellowing good morning screams of desperation to get the day underway.Now that he sees me, he is silent and patient, and Hapi just says "Ok, gonna have coffee," and mimics the coffee pot and the pour.  The pups are sleeping on their bed, waiting for breakfast, and the cats have sullenly left the room as they have been fed already but my humble offerings were not enough. Sorry, boys. 

So this is summer. 

Frantic rushing forgotten for a while...I could enjoy a life of this pace, I think, but then realize how easy it is to slip into lazy mode. Happy to have art time, and am working a lot on the School of Stitched Textiles course, and really enjoying it. While my heart is pulling me to go to Hampton for the day and just sit by the sea, I have a feeling I'll be sitting by the Pfaff wrestling scraps into something coherent that I can call art. My house is an unholy mess but my threads and beads are sorted and under control. A day off. Again. Priceless and appreciated, universe!

Funny enough, I have little bags of fabric scraps sorted into neat color combos that I envision becoming a quilt or little mummy dolls. No thought required, just show up and sew them. Have I touched them in the year they've been in my art room? Nope. Too busy with Thoughtful Projects. Maybe a day of sew-play is in order... 

Or maybe I'll go the beach. Or maybe I'll go to Portsmouth...or...maybe..go... During the school year I am rushed and sick to the point of having no choices. Now choice makes me freeze like one of the baby bunnies I see by the sidewalk when I walk my dogs. Too many choices leads to no choice at all, really. All year long I crave art time...and here it is. It will be gone before I know it! During the school year, I get flooded with memories of waking up at Hampton as a little girl. Smelling the ocean before opening my eyes. Stopping at the Ashworth Market and getting a little bag of Swedish Fish and then loping down to the beach alone and walking with the seagulls, enjoying the quiet beach before it became packed and crazy. The empty arcades, the warm sun, the freedom and peace. Happy place. 

But these are just memories, and when I go today, it is usually too late and the beach is already loud and crowded, and it is hard for me to walk on the sand with the legs I now have. I go for a swim because I think I should, having come all the way there. I don't like laying on the beach, or reading, and get a bit bored. I end up thinking of all the things I could be doing with this precious time.

I just like waking up at the beach and the scent of the ocean before opening my eyes. Sometimes I can smell the ocean here where I live when it is caught on a breeze and it is magnificent, especially at night, because it is not an every day occurrence. It reminds me that the beach is very close, and always within reach. I do think that living here is the best of all worlds.

But staying home and focusing on art time also means chilling with the pups, who I know will not be here forever. Tilly had a medical scare this week that we are still not completely through, so I don't want to leave him alone for too long. Testing has shown that my poor 7.3 lb wonder is in relatively okay health for an older gentleman but a recent diet change has tossed his digestive tract into chaos. Not out of the woods, but there are um..signs of productivity. So out we go to the sidewalk five or six times a day, with hopes of seeing what most people hate to have to look at.  I remind myself that someday, sadly,  I won't have this option.

Onward. Beach, Pfaff, or sidewalk, it will be a good day. Cheers. 
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Maybe it is the news of two very sad deaths yesterday and today, maybe it is that I overslept and now my skeleton is frozen solid and full of complaints with the smallest movement. We are looking at brunch again instead of breakfast, dogs, cats, and parrots, as I type this with two fingers like one of my 6th graders. That's ok, I tell myself, yesterday wasn't so bad, and tomorrow might be okay, too. RA is like that! 

The Big Red Chair that has been in the living room since I moved here was rolled to the curb yesterday with a lack of ceremony. Maybe that is why I am immobile today? Hmm. It was Toby's Target Chair, made of nice red leather that the cats found fun to pick to pieces, too. Between Tobes working the bottom and Kitties working the top, I never sat in it. Just cleaned it, and piled stuff on it (ahem, nothing could go on the floor in my house with the Tobster.) A month in past Toby Time now, I made the call to cough the chair up to the recycling gods. Kind of sad, really, to hear the truck go by and crunch it up like it was made of paper. Do chairs go to heaven? I hope so, as Toby must miss it a lot. That thing was filthy. Ew!

So, dirt out, floor cleaned again really well, and in the chair's place is a lovely papasan. I find them very comfy and the dogs can't jump into them. MY CHAIR. I want to be able to sit in the bird room again. Tim asked if I could get out of it once I was in, but I did so successfully enough to take this photo, so I guess it's a win. Please note that destroyed pergo floor is clean. Ruined, but clean. Onward. Bit by bit I am tackling His Nibs remains, and getting flash memories of how sick he was at the end, too. This counteracts the feeling of sadness. Til and Ellie are doing fine, though Ellie is now glued to my feet. Oh, the tangled love of puppies. 

Been cranking on the course I am taking through the School of Stitched Textiles -- it is really good and has me thinking in new ways, which is just what the doctor ordered. Will share some things soon, but know I am being pushed out of my comfort zone in a good way. I love taking the time to just experiment, and realize how little of that I do anymore. This course is making me slow waaaaay down and examine my process in new ways. Perfect for summer work when I have time to focus for more than a few minutes a day. Ah, summer. 

Have only 30 minutes to get the farm fed and watered to meet my self imposed noon brunch deadline. Doggie chicken is done (love the Instant Pot!) and I gotta move. Ugh! Onward...! 
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