still usable

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Working at my art table this morning.
Making two pieces of art for the Good Friday art show next Friday.
Grabbed a stack of brushes and saw my maiden name written on one.
It’s a 25 year old brush from my freshman year in college.
Still usable.
Happy and a little weepy all rolled into one.
I’m going to paint a sky now.
A blue one.
I knew the title of the piece before it was begun.
“Rebuild”
I am.
With paper, paint, scissors and glue.
And love, hugs, laughter, ice cream, tears and lots of help from my family and friends.
It all swirls together.
Life and art.

April 10, 2014

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“When your life appears to be the most stable and calm, unexpected changes will occur.”
~ quote from the book, “Understanding and Sharing” chapter 7, page 141

I’ve just begun to sort through the boxes that hold the remnants from my childhood bedroom. It was February of 1994 when I packed up my basement bedroom at 21 Jones Place. I remember the date because that’s when my parents moved to their dream house, a new construction built just for them. Today I removed a slim spiral bound notebook from one of the boxes. It’s an odd size, 7 3/4” x 5”. On the cardboard cover I’d written, “Ceramics” and my maiden name, “Janean Thompson.” On page one, opposite from the quote shared above, the upper right hand corner of my notes declare, “1-30-90.” That’d be from second semester of my freshman year in college. Eons ago. Light years. More than two decades in calendar reality, not based on dramatic storytelling time. Of course I found this quote today, “6-16-13.” One of many notes I’ve uncovered this morning that I left for my future self. That’d be me. The woman I am now. The mother of two boys, ages 13 and so close to 10, who sees photographs of that teenage girl with the mane of long brown hair and smile so bright, and wonders, “Who was she? Where did she go? What were her dreams?” My soul whispers in reply, “I’m still here. Look inside.” I’m trying to. My sister’s wise advice is, “Just be you.”

June 16, 2013

a l’il luck

in this moment
I’m all kinds o’weepy
still wearing my fleece pajamas
with peacock adorned rain boots
(of course)
I don’t care about societal rules
pajamas smajamas, I’m not nude
just leaving the grocery store
where I bought a shamrock plant
figured I could use a l’il luck
hoping for the good kind
years ago, more than 20
my mom gave me shamrocks
for my college dorm room
that’d be four of them
‘cause a green thumb is not my gift
I’d forgotten all about ‘em
until they recently caught my eye
plant after plant
set along a deep window edge
waiting to catch sunlight
I mentioned them aloud
walking down the window lined hall
following the kind woman
one of many helping me through
she casually replied
“They are mine.”
Shamrocks
for luck
‘tis their month you know
March and all
with the fun of St. Patrick’s Day
less than a week away
soon

March 11, 2013

5:30 a.m. on Tuesday, April 10, 2012, added two quarts of oil to my wonderful old gal, Lola the Corolla. There is now more than the merest smidge of oil on the end of the dipstick. Last Friday afternoon, as I drove around town with my sons, my empty fuel light AND my oil light were coming on as a WARNING. Thankfully the fuel fill up was in a nick of time and we didn’t run all the way out of gas. Bought oil at the grocery store last night. I’m sure I paid too much, but it was my last chance to see to it for a few days time and it needed to be done. I’m so glad my dad saw fit to teach me how to check and add oil to my car. I remembered to use a funnel this time, so the garage floor doesn’t have an oil puddle. He taught me other cool stuff too like how to bait a hook, cast a line, shoot a gun, gas weld, fry an egg, cook a burger, sew a button on and drive. The two lessons that were obvious at the time, and not veiled in conversation, are:
1. Don’t speed in small towns.
2. Seek the good and shun the bad.
The second was uttered, as we were left the house I grew up in, on the way to college for my freshman year. That was when his dad shared it with him too. My grandpa heard it from his uncle when he left home to serve in WWII. My children have heard it already. More than once. I’m not waiting until they are eighteen to pass it on. They need now. We all do. All this to say, Dads are special. Oil Pouring Writing About Random Stuff Moms are too, even if we do have to say so ourselves. It’s 5:55 a.m. now. Time to make lunches, pack snacks for testing and write a schedule for today because it’s Mom’s Day Off. Granted, I have to go to the hospital to get one. You see, I’m running on empty and need some TLC, just like my old Corolla. I’ll be OK. Just need to be flat and still after the procedure so I’m off work until tomorrow morning when Blue says, “Woof”, or I wake up on my own. Whichever comes first.