The closest I ever came to d.i.v.o.r.c.e

was the day I shared my in-real-life daydream. It was easy enough to share as there it sat right behind the office in all it's splendor. Honestly, I don't even remember how long the fight went on. Nothing like it in what is now 51 years. We survived!

Truly, I didn't even realize how much this daydream meant to me. How deeply I wanted it.  I could not understand why NO ONE could see my dream.   To all the 'no ones' it was plain and simple absurdity. It was proof positive that she had once and for all become certified for the loony bin.

Have you ever ached in your heart, body and soul for something so much that you thought you might not survive? In my whole life the only thing that compares was the ache for my two precious adopted children.

In the end, "what about the money" question came up.  Until then,  I had never told him that I had stashed about $3500 away from my Mother's inheritance. I was waiting to spend it in some tangible way on something that I could celebrate her memory every day. My daydream was a huge creative project and I knew she would have loved it.

Even before the quarrel was settled, I pursued my daydream.  Immediately, the same day I drove through the proscenium opening on Walker Street, I pranced across the street to the court house to confirm who owned it and what it was listed on the tax roll for.

Before our quarrel was settled, I walked down the street and visited the owner of my daydream. I knew him well. At first, he told me that many others had wanted my daydream and that it was not for sale.  The answer was no, you can't have your daydream.

I can not remember how much time lapsed while I was fretting inside and out. However, the need and the want only intensified. Eventually, the argument calmed mostly after I told him about my money source. He couldn't argue anymore.  But I don't think he ever believed I could make my daydream come true. I do think he thought I would remain in the fantasyland.

You know I believe nothing ever happens before it is time. Well, while I was fretting inside and out, the City decided to get tough with the property owners and city ordinances regarding abandoned vehicles and structures.

Knowing this,  one day I went back down the street to visit the friend who owned my daydream.  First he told me that he had 30 days to do something about the property or face a daily fine by the city. Then, he told me I could have it because it would save him paying some one to tear it down. I told him I could not do that. He ask how much did I want to pay.  I told him $100.00.  We shook hands. I left but returned with my check as fast as I could.  We closed the deal. I owned my daydream.  

Next up, I had to contact a house mover.  There was a well known one in the area and  I set an appointment for him to come to my office so I could show him the daydream.  I had questions about can he do it? Would he do it? When can he do it? How much will it cost? etc etc

Oddly, with every question, he would say, "I want to see  The Man back there" or "I need to talk to The Man in the back office".  I ignored him several times while I was trying to understand why he thought he needed to see the man back there.  Finally, I realize that he had never done such business with a women. I gently explained that if he wanted the job, he would in fact have to talk to me because The Man back there did not want to have anything to do with my daydream.

We made a deal. $2000.00 to move my $100.00 shack that sat across the street from the county courthouse to our country property that was two miles outside the city limits.

We had to wait for weather and of course I was in line behind others who had daydreams to be moved.

The day finally came. This is what it looked like.

Moving day was late spring or early summer 1996

Preparation for the move

It broke my heart that the roof had to be torn off due to the height of my daydream.

It was in poor condition but seeing it this way crushed me. 

All of the old roof material was put inside for the move.

This is my moving man who thought he needed to see The Man back there. 

Ever after this tale was told, certain people who called the office for my dear husband ask for The Man. 

On moving day as the truck pulled out, I was right behind it with my movie camera. Unfortunately, that was in 1996 using a camera that recorded on VHS tape. 

I took almost 4 hours to move my daydream from town to the country. It took me eight minutes to make the trip every day.

Before I can take you on my path forward,

I want to tell you in 1,144 blog post I have only mentioned the Garden Palace in that one post. You may have seen it in the far background of a photo. That's all. Actually, I never understood why I could not share other than a feeling that I needed to keep something to myself.

Now, I need to make this record of the history of the Garden Palace because it is a part of my path forward. But mostly because some of the details are fading and it is a fine daydream story. It is me.

My daydream starts way back in the late 1970's before ever moving to Marlin . I had a dear friend who lived in the country in the middle of the woods in a modern home built by her contractor husband. And yet, she cooked on a wood burning stove, as well as, in her huge den fireplace. When visiting, I slept on freshly ironed, crisp, white, vintage linen sheets, I washed with homemade soaps that smelled of lavender and bathed in a huge claw-footed tub that sat in the middle of the bathroom. 

She had many daydreams. For example, she had more than one tiny house. Near the kitchen back door, she had a tiny house that was loaded with old kitchen stuff. I remember the plank board shelves that lined the walls. They were decked with scalloped shelf paper that hung over the front edge. Her shelf paper was homemade from newspapers.

Further down a path she had a tiny house that her dear husband had disassembled board by board and moved to their property for her because she had a daydream. Entry through a garden gated picket fence decked out in a huge pink rose bush that draped on both sides of the fence set the stage.  Inside was completely furnished with vintage or primitive furnishings including beautifully aged apparel laid out ready to wear.

In a barn loft some distance from the house straight up a board ladder nailed to the wall, she had set up an operating room. My friend was a retired surgical nurse and collected vintage medical equipment. The scene was set. An operating table including stirrups and covered in freshly ironed, crisp, white, vintage linen sheets sat right there in that barn loft, in the middle of a pasture. The tray table was covered in neatly lined necessary surgical insturments and equipment. Another table held tiny vintage medicine bottles. It was amazing and only waited for a patient.

I know this sounds like a fantasy but it was real. It was her real daydreams. To say her real daydreams made an impression on me would be an understatement.

For years, I spent hours in my heart, mind and soul daydreaming about having my own tiny house. It was a fantasy in my mind where I escaped for hours of pleasure.

Then, one day in 1995 while I was in that place, in my head, and on my 10 minute drive to the office, the fantasy grew. Another layer was added. More like a new scene.  I will never forget that day. Half way down Walker Street, I went through the proscenium opening. I lived in an aging town, with lots of old uninhabited board houses. Maybe I could just drive around and find a tiny house. And maybe I could have it. And maybe I could do that today. And for sure I won't be able to concentrate at my desk today or any day until I can do that.

I had never before let myself go this far. This deep. And I have often said on this blog that "nothing ever happens before it is time".  So, about 4 minutes after driving through that proscenium opening on Walker Street and stepping into a new scene, I turned into our parking lot right directly across from the county court house and as I rolled into my back door parking spot.....

Lo and behold!  

This is what I saw

 I can't remember if I took this picture on that very day or the next. This had been waiting for me for about 13 years.

 Close up of the above picture

 One step in and I was a goner when I laid eyes on the molding.

 I had to have this!

My Daydream

to be continued.........
♥

♥ solitary

Here is the question

I keep asking myself, what in the world would I want to do at Can Serrat that I can't do here in my own solitary surroundings?  What does an artist in residence do? What does that mean? And whatever it is, why would I need to go so far?

These thoughts and questions made their way into my email exchange with my friend. Unexpectedly, that San Miguel infusion of clarity hit at the very moment that I saw myself write and heard myself say, 

 "I have had notions about escaping to the Garden Palace which was it's purpose from the beginning. I spent many many hours over there escaping."

That was the moment that I knew thinking about Can Serrat and the total lunacy of it, is the fantasy world I live in. Furthermore, I knew that the daydream world I live in was real because I made it so. I made it happen.

I was astounded that while I was thinking of ways I could escape in mind, body and spirit from this everyday life circumstances that all I had to do was look out my window.  I have my very own Artist In Residence solitary place to go. I was excited.

I want to take you on my journey of reclaiming my daydream.

to be continued..........

Note: This is the ninth installment of  How the infusion of San Miguel may have effected me which started November 19th.

daydream

 Fantasy or daydreams

I woke this morning wondering what is the difference between fantasy and daydreams. Before getting up I decided. For today, daydreams are thoughts and wishes that one could possibly make happen. Come true.

And a Fantasy is a place in your heart, mind and soul where you can go and escape stuff or just hold onto for pleasure. 

While in San Miguel, I had a conversation with Judy Wise about her Artist In Residence excursion that she took last year in Spain. Can Serrat is located in a rustic farmhouse outside of Barcelona and Judy wrote several blog post about it but I wanted more one-on-one with Judy.

In short, she made it sound like an amazing adventure. She made it sound very doable as if I could possibly make it happen. I couldn't stop daydreaming about it.

Even after returning from San Miguel, I kept thinking about making it happen. Which led me to tell my friend about it in an email. I told her how brave, bold, scary, fun, and challenging it sounded. Then I told her if my DH would go with me, I would do it.

She  challenged me about why on that specific trip did I need my DH to go along. I gave her some very good and sound reasons but the best one was that DH and I always wanted to return someday.  We were there at least 35 years ago. How could I go without him now? I couldn't because I knew without a doubt that he is not, would not, never ever go on such a trip with me.

Well, well, well, it became very clear that I had very ingeniously arranged this daydream in my mind in such a way that I could never make it happen.

It wasn't a daydream. It was a fantasy.

To be continued........
♥

Note: This is the eighth installment of  How the infusion of San Miguel may have effected me which started November 19th. 

opened

 Another Truth about painting

Of all the issues that distressed me this last year when life jerked me senseless and while I struggled with the circumstances that were weighing so heavy on me, not painting and having no desire to paint was not one of those issues. 

It was a peculiar feeling that I had many conversations with myself about. Why on earth did I feel: (1) I had painted my last painting. (2) I had painted all I every needed to paint. (3) The passion was not gone, just over.

And most of all, why on earth was I perfectly OK knowing I never needed to paint again?  Being OK with not painting gave me more bewilderment than, not painting.

The paintings that I produce were on days when I forced myself to show up at the desk/easel. I felt like I was painting only because I was suppose to.

Don't get me wrong, I did enjoy painting and I was very pleased with my paintings. More than that I was confused that I could see a change or difference showing up on my canvases. That was probably all in my imagination. So much is.

As a side note to this truth: I discovered to recognize my edge. You know, that place where you are just about to go over.  That place where stress has become more than you can bare. That place of explosion.

I learned the edge was near when no matter what I was doing, there was a whisper that I should be doing something else. I would stop cooking to go put a load of cloths in and stop putting the cloths to go take the dogs out and stop caring for the dogs to sweep the floor and stop sweeping to sit and stitch and stop stitching to cook and stop cooking to pick up the shoes at the door. Vicious circle. Eventually, I got a grip on all that. Somehow just knowing that I was at the edge was all I needed to come back. 

Until the next day.

♥

Note: This is the seventh installment of  How the infusion of San Miguel may have effected me which started November 19th. 

my first art circa 1947-48

I'm having a difficult time

returning to my trail backwards and path forward tale, after enjoying an extra long holiday week with all the kids and grand kids where the only undercurrent feelings this year were of gratitude. 

I am full of thanksgiving to have had all of our family together eating, playing, walking, working, cooking, resting and just doing what all families do. I have craved normal-ness for a long time now. 

Son and two boys had to leave Thanksgiving day. Daughter left this morning at 5 am. Tim is up and about to go for finals exams for his first semester of college (yea Tim) and Ashley will wake shortly to start a new day/life (yea Ashley).

My truth: I have never been one to recount a movie or good book, and I do not want others to retell moves or books for me. Just ask my kids. 

Furthermore, for the most part, I'm not one to go back to hash over my past for any kind of self discovery. I don't need reprocessing the past. However, I do spend time in my head about the moment I'm in. When something feels off, I need to know why right then. No matter what I'm doing there is the chatter in my head examining the situation until I can understand and put it to rest. I put it to rest by facing it head on, shooting from the hip as I say.  Sometimes that's good. Sometimes not so much. Last week Ashley said, "Nana, you just say what's on your mind." Yes, even when I shouldn't.

I think I have touched on a few "...layers of my thoughts, my stress, my history, my future, my day dreams, my reality and my sanity."  And with a few glimpses back as I go, I'm ready to show you my path forward. I am excited about it.

But first, Chicken is the earliest documentation of my art history. While looking for some old photographs this morning, I found this postage stamp size forgotten art that my Mother kept and documented on the back side. Isn't it interesting that many of my current art includes birds of some sort, real or imagined.


Note: This is the sixth installment of  How the infusion of San Miguel may have effected me which started November 19th. 

On Track....

for cooking and a good family Thanksgiving. 

When DH came in yesterday, he had to step around the ladder in the kitchen, dishes everywhere, a sink full of sudsy water, and dishes draining on towels. He ask me what in the world had possessed me. 

I explained that removing and hand washing everything from the kitchen cabinets in November before Thanksgiving has always been my tradition. I also told him I skipped the last two or three years. He said, "so you are getting back on track then?" 

Yes, I think I am getting back on track. 

I will probably be absent here until after the coming weekend. 

Here is wishing you all a good family Thanksgiving too.   

♥

on my desk this week
a birthday infusion

When life jerked me senseless

around Thanksgiving, the only thing I can remember is that I wanted to paint angels.

I didn't really want to paint.
But I really wanted to paint angels.

And so it goes, the chatter in my head that never seems to stop.

I wanted to deep clean this house. That always helps.
But I didn't want to clean this house.

I wanted to start developing a new online class. Any one of my class ideas would be great.
But I didn't want to develop a class.

I wanted to start preparing for the rose garden of my day dreams.
But I didn't want to dig in the dirt.

I wanted to visit friends.
But I didn't want to leave my house.

I use to say, all I really want to do when I retire is be at home. I just wanted to be at home because I had so many day dreams about what I wanted to do if I could just be at home.

Now I was home.
But everything I wanted to do seemed too huge . To much . More than I could handle. Overwhelming.

So, I started painting   angels   through the   month   of December.
Today, I'm thinking I'm ready to start painting angels again.
♥
Note: This is the fourth installment of  How the infusion of San Miguel may have effected me which started November 19th.

one life circumstance
his name is Stupid Kitty (for real)

If you had ask me,

What will you do with your time when you retire? The first thing I always said, "there is not enough hours in the day to do all the things I want to do.

Then I would tell you the first things on my list.

• sit in the chair zone and read books

I planned to read and read until I was bored with reading.And I did do a good amount of that.

• just sit in the chair and do nothing. just. sit.

I have done a lot of that too.

• sit in the chair and stitch until I became bored with stitching.

I did

• paint, paint, and paint some more

By my standards, it doesn't feel like I have done much painting at all. I haven't.

• grow my art business

• garden

• clean house

• visit friends

And so on and so on and so on.

One thing I remember, I was in full-on immersion of my online class, A Diary of Faces.  I started the 18  week class in July knowing we were close to a sale of the business. Because the class was in organic diary format, I knew my commitment would be gigantic. (perfect for retirement) The class was and still is an enormous success with approximately 140 videos that I shot, edited and presented on most week days for 18 weeks. My contribution to the class ended November 9, 2012.


Today's Truth: In the end, I was totally exhausted and in burn-out mode from those 140 videos.  On top of that, it was during this time there was an undercurrent of the "life circumstances" that would come to bare by the end of the month. No doubt this contributed to my exhaustion. 
♥

Note: This is the third installment of  How the infusion of San Miguel may have effected me which started November 19th. 

mail art from 2010

Before Retirement.....

Today: A brief explanation of my retirement. My history.


I worked 50 years, except for a few short years while my children were in school.


Near the end, I fought for retirement.  I had a difficult time getting my point across. And that was; It was time for me to get to do my thing before time ran out.  

I felt desperate. I was troubled that if I worked any longer, I might have used up all of my energy. I would have nothing left in me. I had already lived more years than either of my parents. It became about my own mortality. My sanity.


Just as I arrived at the edge and began to feel the resentment creep into my heart, it happened. We sold our business and retired.


Don't misunderstand. I worked many years with gratitude in my heart that we had a business and shared a good life and business 24/7, as they say. We are a good team. It was good.

mail art from 2010

Plus, there were perks at the desk in town. I found ways to make the best of being there. 

For one thing, if you have followed my blog, you know that I spent lots of time making art-at-my-desk. Usually, it was mail art, various art journals and altered books. Art at the desk was all about supplies and materials that would fit in my art-to-go bag. 



I started my retirement mid-September last year. 
♥

Note: This is the second installment of  How the infusion of San Miguel may have effected me which started November 19th.