Category: Art Journey

I watch a fair amount of HGTV.

I like the fix up a house for a family kind of shows rather than the flip options or the chain sawing through Alaska sagas.

We’ve been, as you may have suspected, playing HGTV at our house lately.

We’re making progress. Quite a bit, actually.

There’s room to paint and quilt and write.

A big chunk of our kitchen is rearranged according to the way we actually eat these days.

There’s even a table for gathering our beloveds around art and food, games and stories.

Somebody asked me, the other day, how I would know when we were done.

There are two answers to that.

The first is that we probably won’t be done. It really isn’t in me. Life keeps changing.

The second is that when I can sit in my fabulous new red chair with my feet up and a cup of tea, not feeling like I need to leap up and fix something, we’ll be pretty close for now.

When Luther gets up the nerve to hang out in the new family room, we’ll be right on target.

For the moment, Container Store loves me. Amazon is enthusiastic as well.

Shelves. Little plastic drawers in every size and shape. Rug pads. A shower curtain, even.

Better yet, though, is Kudzu.

Our local vintage and collectible place. Two book cases and an awesome library cart have followed me home recently, all from the budget department.

There’s even room around here in case a miracle happens and I buy another book or two.

It being Mothers’ Day, I can’t help but wonder what my mom would think.

Horrified comes to mind.

We don’t have “living room” furniture. Or “dining room” furniture, the way I grew up.

Nothing matches.

We have drapes but I’m going to have them cut off to the same length as the bottom of the windows.

The rugs, and pads, are to make the dogs comfy. (It takes up less room than a zillion dog beds!)

Vacuuming is a whole other issue!

And yet, with a lot of help, we are getting closer and closer to what we need.

The sheets are clean.

The towels are folded into the linen closet. (Which way needs a paint job!)

Tomorrow I’ll start paint-sketching the Talisman canvas.

There’s really good left-over soup in the fridge.

And parsley to plant in the morning.

Lots of this would seem weird to Mom.

And yet, somewhere deep inside, I think she might get it.

I hope so.

For now, though, a new pair of walking shoes. It’s a paint thing!

Blessings for moms of all sorts who remember and are remembered on this day, and Happy Birthday, dear Kelly!

Well, it’s one of those days.

Bill is running late.

Dinner is still cooking.

Sarah has a hotspot.

(Let’s don’t mention the do-nut thing!)

The “Do Not Disturb” signs on the doors have, shall we say, not worked too well today.

The paintings have been more than a bit chatty.

And the portions of my person that my beloved physical therapist refers to as quads are not in a good mood.

If you were to call me up and tell me your version of this story, I’d gently suggest that you take a deep breath or two, fix a cup of tea, and let it go.

Tomorrow will come.

It will still be Spring…at least where most of you are.

We won’t have starved.

Well, if you’re reading this, probably not. We’ll keep working on the rest tomorrow.

I’m squirting the dog with the colloidal silver stuff.

The bones from tonight’s chicken will turn into more food for tomorrow.

I’m making bigger signs for the doors.

And sleeping.

I hope.

Some days all we can do is practice what we preach.

This has been one of those.

There are, in all of our lives, days when those little Monopoly cards come in handy. This is one.

At the moment I’m just crossing my fingers that the whole chicken in the Instant Pot thing works!

I’ll keep you posted.

You know how most families have an eccentric aunt or uncle who is the keeper of the oral traditions?

Even the ones that everyone else would argue never happened?

In my family, it was my Aunt Em. She was my Gramma Elsie’s older sister.

(How much older is a matter of considerable debate!)

Aunt Em was full of stories. Many of them Elsie wished she wouldn’t tell, though we heard them pretty often growing up.

Today, though, I want to tell you about Great, great, great, great…Uncle Epictetus, even though you may have heard about him before.

He’s one of those uncles that you adopted because your family needed him, even though nobody you know ever met him.

Uncle Epictetus lived a long time ago. In fact, he passed on in about 135 C.E.

Born a slave, he grew up to become a Greek philosopher.

(As I mentioned recently, in my opinion Philosophy is a pretty hard thing to wrap your head around!)

If you look him up on-line, you’ll find that there are stone carvings of him, complete with curly hair and a beard.

I’d be kind of surprised if Hallmark has an Epictetus holiday, but if they did, in our house it would be this weekend.

You see, we’ve been pretty caught up in the, “do what you have to do” part of Uncle Epictetus’ saying, which was, ironically, one of my first painting projects, quite a while ago.

More stuff to sort and furniture to move and wires to hook up, all so I can come closer to being the artist and teacher I long to be.

I’ve dreamed and sketched and pondered but, in my world, I have to feel these things, so Bill and I have to shove this here and pull that there and wait until the sun goes down to figure out where I’m going to need more lights.

We’re making progress.

The dogs are having panic attacks.

I keep trying to explain that furniture moves but dogs stay. Treats help.

It’s all going to be ok.

Right now, most of my house looks like a combination of an antique store and a library that exploded.

And, in the midst of the sorting and toting, I keep stopping to check on a couple of friends who are having weekends no mammas/grammas should have.

Then I sit and feel the space and check the reach to my journals and the recycling basket.

We’re making progress.

I haven’t had a nap today.

Or painted even a drop. (Except in my head.)

There are lots of things that would be easier than this.

But I have said to myself what I would be and it’s time to do what I have to do.

I wish Uncle Epictetus were here to tell my girls that story.

I guess it’s my job now.

It might be your job, too.