Inner Artist

Summer class is in full swing, and as I bask in the words of Yeats and Hemingway, I continue to struggle to find my inner artist. The second day of drawing class, I walked in to find the instructor piling a stack of bones on the platform in the center of the room. We then proceeded to draw these bones for the remaining three hours of class. I kept telling the instructor that I was sure I was finished...there just were no more bones to be drawn. But he insisted that I continue drawing until the three hours was up. By the end of class, my head was spinning and to top it off, my instructor held up my sketch to the remainder of the class as a good example of "what your second day in drawing class probably will look like" - Ouch.

Thankfully, no more bones...although I never know what to expect when I do walk into the studio. This morning, we were introduced to our nude model...and before I could throw back my first cup of coffee, we were already frantically drawing in timed sessions. I believe that there are just some things that a person shouldn't be presented with that early in the morning....at least not until after the second cup of coffee.:)

By the end of the class, I was pretty excited about my progress. At my brother's home later this evening, I pulled out my sketches. I waited expectantly for him to tell me what a good job I did.... Instead, he looked a little puzzled and said, "Did an alien come to your class and model?" Ouch again. He was right....instead of a man, my drawing really did look like E.T.'s older cousin. But, I proudly said that was the "look" I was going for.

I'm not discouraged however.....that inner artist is inside of me somewhere :)

My Ruler

Today, I looked through my posts from the past year. I noticed that I seem to write a lot about my ongoing cancer conundrum. That's a bummer - I suppose writing about something helps me process it to some degree. But, I really don't think or talk about it much - except for the few days out of the month when I'm on my back after chemo. In fact, I just realized that yesterday afternoon, while I was painting a chair, I had missed a lab appointment....oops.

I haven't always had this attitude, and depending on what my doctors tell me occasionally, I still may think of it more than I admit. But when I do, something my sister said a few months back always comes to mind. She said we should think of life as a ruler. And, looking at my ruler, cancer is just a marking among many that make up my life. Does it make a lasting mark? Yes.... but it does not define me.

I really liked the metaphor that she used, and so I try to apply it to every situation in life. Whatever accomplishments, mistakes, experiences and relationships we have, are simply marks on our ruler - the measurement of life that help define us as a whole. But they are simply marks.....we define ourselves.

I think that is pretty powerful. My hope is that my ruler gets stronger and straighter as I go along.

Hello Art

Today was my first class of the summer semester. As a reward to myself for getting through Algebra, I enrolled in a literature class and Art 101 (basically, it's a beginning drawing course).

Of course, I was by far the oldest student in the art class - And apparently very approachable, as three other students borrowed pencils or pens from me. You would think that they would have brought a pencil to DRAWING class.....

After about three hours of instruction, we were given our first assignment - a self portrait. It's not my favorite subject, but I tackled it as though I had been commissioned to repaint the Mona Lisa. After four hours on my assignment, I finally decided I was finished with my first masterpiece. To be honest, the only thing in this self portrait that resembled myself, was the fact that I had two eyes, a nose, and a mouth.

But, I don't care. I'm delighted with my first effort. So, goodbye to graphing calculators and panic attacks. Hello art. :)

Happy Endings

Years back when I was first diagnosed with cancer the prognosis was grim. So, I read every book I could get my hands on. I started off with the "official" handbook on ovarian cancer from the doctor's office. Then my sister sent some books written by women who had survived. I was intriqued by their stories of survival and felt that if they were writing their stories five years later, then there was hope for me. I read them all, but after a while, I started getting better. I became my own survival story.

This past winter I was driving to my therapist's office (not surprised, are you?) and the radio announced that Elizabeth Edwards had passed away. It immediately took my breath away and suddenly I couldn't drive fast enough to my therapist's office. I wasn't even particularly a big fan of hers. I couldn't explain my intense reaction to her death.

When I sat down and told him the news and how it affected me, he helped me realize that once again I had placed my own hopes of survival on someone else that I related to. Also, her life had fallen apart before her eyes, and while she appeared to be moving forward, she died (at least in my eyes) without a happy ending.

So the lesson that I took away that day was not one of surviving cancer or succumbing to it, but one of happy endings. I have become determined that if my ending comes six months or ten years from now, it will be happy indeed.

Home

Memorial Day weekend I met my siblings at my parent's home. I went down a day early because I was eager to drive my convertible in the nice weather and to help Mother prepare. She had decided that she was going to fix a Mexican Fiesta. She donned her big white chef's hat and went into the kitchen that morning to get to work. I offered to get the chips and salsa from the local restaurant and pick up a few items at the store. I may have gotten distracted and had my nails done, but I digress......So when dinner was served that evening, it was wonderful, complete with hot plates and everything you would find at an authentic Mexican restaurant.

I know that as people age, they appreciate and understand their parents more than in their youth. "Aging gracefully" doesn't seem adequate to describe her wit, her manners and her selflessness.

It never occurs to her to talk poorly about others (even in the Baptist world of Gossipville). I heard from another source that my mother went to church last week and ran into an acquaintance. While my mother smiled and spoke, as she turned around the person rolled her eyes and made a face to another friend as if she were still in junior high. Of course mother noticed, but never broke her smile, and never told me how she had been treated. She's just not that way.

So, Mother is my hero....my glue that keeps it all together for me. And no matter where we are, when I'm with her I'm home. :)

Perspective

I went to chemo today and it usually quite uneventful for me, falling asleep after they infuse benedryl into my system. I'll admit I don't like being in this position with my health and I may even feel a little sorry for myself at times. But today, I heard the crying of a very young toddler nearby, apparently receiving some sort of injection or infusion. Talk about instant perspective. My situation cannot compare to that of the young family and their sick child.

Life is unexpected. It is painful and wonderful. We just don't know when we wake up in the morning which it will be. I have had many moments of perspective lately. The news has been full of stories of horror and loss, from people as far away as Sudan, to our neighbors in Missouri.

So, when I do have moments of sadness, because I often do, it is almost always followed with a little shame. Shame for not being grateful for the wonderful moments that I do have, and the opportunties that still are before me.

Community

Tonight, I have my final study group for the Algebra course that I’m taking at the local community college. There is a group of us, including the instructor, who have been together for more semesters than we want to admit. While Algebra is not a good subject for me, this particular class has turned out to be more fun than happy hour at the local pub. I mean, how many study groups bring Cinco De Mayo decorations to the Math Lab??

Being a big fan of the show “Community” I started naming the characters in our class from the show. I ultimately turned out to be the “Shirley” of the group, the cheerful, older woman. We have “Big Dave” who was a morning disc jockey for the past ten years and finally decided to get serious about his education. “Heather” just got accepted to nursing school and bubbles over with wit and sarcasm.

One of our main goals of the group is to distract the instructor with weekly anecdotes as he tries so hard to convince the class that life without knowing the binomial theorem would not be worth living. And suffice it to say, that when I take my final exam next week and walk out of the class, along with the relief to be finally through it, there will be more than a little melancholy for the end of our “community.”