​Another Thanksgiving has arrived! A time to stop and think a bit about all the good things that are in our lives, instead of what seems to be an incessant focus on the challenging, ugly, scary, and unjust truths that seem to populate our world every other day. As I sit with my coffee, Hapi emits his first ever turkey gobble -- I kid you not -- as my friend Jeannette made the sound repeatedly in front of him on Tuesday night. This bird is too smart! I am thankful for my silly friends who put up with me, you know who you are!

Little Boncuk has flopped to the floor after taking a bath this morning, and waddled out to see me in the kitchen. I bundled his little wet self into a scarf and cuddled him dry. When all his feathers are in he pretends to be a fierce and feral thing, but I know his secret. After a little feather mishap with some adhesive material a few weeks ago, he lost quite a few flight feathers, and his flight has been limited until they come back in. He flies a few feet and unceremoniously plunks to the floor, and scutters over to me for a pickup and cuddles. He has earned the nickname of "my little sticky pickle" because of this unfortunate incident. This has shown how much he still loves a good kissyfest. He is on my left shoulder now, being the sweet little snugglebug that I brought home eleven years ago. Nothing like a quaker parrot -- the maltese of the parrot world. Tiny but strong and very independent! I am thankful for my fur and feather babies, the ones here and the one who has passed since last Thanksgiving. Miss you, Bobo. 
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Am mustering the energy to get organized and bake a little this morning. It is bitter cold outside (temps in the teens) and the smell of apple pies in the oven will be lovely. I don't want to watch or hear the news, or even read much of Facebook. It bothers me that once again the nice little town of Reading, MA has made an impression on the national news for something negative. This time it is being shown to the world on CNN and NPR for being an intolerant, racist community due to repeated acts of graffiti. People who live here know different, but it is painful to see just the same. 25000 people in this town, and all it takes is a fraction of 1% and a sensationalist press to cause mayhem. Sign of the times, for sure. Despite this, I am thankful to live and work here, to be able to meet amazing young people every year who continue to give me faith in the future.  

The current Tuesday class is proving to give me a run for my organizational abilities and makes me feel like I bit off a bit more than I could chew with it. Instead of focusing on one, two, or three different bead mediums, silly me decided to toss in four: paper, fabric, clay, and sculpey. This has resulted in accumulating a lot of stuff and having a very crowded work table! I would love more time with each technique as I feel like I am just scratching the surface with each. I particularly like the fabric beads as they are fun to embellish with glass beads...the possibilities are endless. Oh, what I would give to just stay in today and have some dedicated, uninterrupted art time. I am still working on with English Paper Piecing (our last class) and am feeling very creatively scattered right now, with little time to organize. Add to this I have received materials for the second module of the School of Stitched Textiles C&G course, and I'd love to immerse myself in this challenge, as well. I am thankful for having more things to do to fill my days than there are hours, as the alternative would be even more suffocating. 
Had a short pain management appointment yesterday that proved to me what a farce the entire system has become. Into the office, pay a fee, pee in a cup to ensure that I am actually taking the meds I am given, and a brief interaction with the twenty-something nurse practitioner who prints out my prescriptions. I ask her about how the state mandated system is going for her patients, and if she has had to reduce pain meds for her patients in ways that she feels are unfair. She says yes, that it is terrible, that she has had to cut people's medication in half, leaving them in pain and unable to work. She shrugs and says "It is hard for them, it is hard for me, but our hands are tied." I asked if the office has seen an any pain related suicides and shared some statistics that I learned recently, and was told "Not yet that I know of..." A very sad conversation that was way to casual to make me feel comfortable. Medicare patients are soon to be hit with changes that will leave many chronic pain patients without the meds they may have been taking successfully for years because of a decision made by insurance providers and others who do not have medical backgrounds. Criminal. I am thankful that even though I have a very stubborn and painful condition, I am allowed by Big Brother to have the medical support I need to remain as functional as I can be. At least for now. 

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! 






 

Too many choices for too little time. Sometimes I think I'd be happy returning to my 8th grade artist self, who lugged around a torn plastic drawstring bag that had held back-to-school Levi's and was then repurposed into a needlepoint supply carrier. I had about six colors of yarn, the inexpensive bulky polyester yarn available at Zayre's for a dollar a skein, and several thick pieces of plastic canvas, maybe a fragment of the Real Canvas bought at the little needlework store uptown. I had books from the Reading Public Library from which to learn every needlepoint stitch imaginable, and I had time. Hours and hours of time. My mom used to say "You will never be bored," and she was so right. 

Fast forward forty years and I could survive artistically for months in my house with all the supplies and materials I have. It is gross, actually, and it amazes me when I find that I do need to go to a store to actually get something for a class or project. And yet...what am I creating? I currently have a few small things in the works, and a couple Grand Ideas on the wall. And samples for classes I am teaching.  Because of health (and age!) I need more rest than I used to, and productivity is down. I have to accept this. I write about it here a lot as if seeing it in writing makes it real. I am scared that time is running out. My hands are becoming more stiff, sore, and are noticeably changing shape. This scares me. I think we all are, in some way, racing against time as we get older. It becomes harder to take time for granted.  It would be so easy to stop thinking about creating things, to just exist amongst the bird chatter and kitty meows, and the daily dog walks. But I can't. 

The ever-elusive great idea looms around the corner, just up the road a bit.  If I can ever get to it before it disappears, I have a piece to make. Very often it slips into a doorway as I approach. When I am not engaged in a larger, more complex piece, I feel less happy, less centered, less fulfilled in my own life. The ambiguity of not being engaged in the dialogue of creating is anxiety producing.  It is these times when I break out a new media or try to learn a new technique, which adds to the chaos of options that exist all around me in my art space. Maybe...if I just had canvas and yarn, I'd be making more work? Hmmmm...

Sometimes all I think I need is thread and cloth to be happy. Ok, and beads. Can't forget them! But would I get bored with such limitations, or would I get more creative with them? Hard to tell.

So, on this extra-long day due to Daylight Savings Time, I hope to see beyond the material gluttony and work on chasing down the next lead that I've been given for a "real" piece of art. I have images pinned to my wall, calling out for new experimentation and new results. Art in a transitory time, amidst the tactile riches of the 21st century. At least until Tilly needs a nap. Cheers.