My kids had all moved away, and so had every other family member that was once here. I kicked up a lot of dust in my attempt to redefine myself, only to undo all of that work and settle very consciously, back where I started.
In response to that, I wrote. Almost every day. That’s what my brain needed to do at that time. I didn’t feel bad that writing took up time that I could have been painting. They are both the same thing. Expression... communication... thinking on canvas or paper. This is how I process my thoughts. It’s not about making a painting. I didn’t know I was writing a book.
One day last winter or early spring, I suddenly stopped posting to my blog. I wasn’t being lazy, I just started doing something else.
It’s like I always say... when the paintbrushes get fidgety, I pick them up and see what they have to say. When the pen calls to me, I pick it up and see what message it wants to record.
Tonight I woke from a sound sleep with words in my fingers.
My family is changing again. It is growing this time. It’s not a sudden change, but the culmination of a lot of work (moments and decisions).
If I’m not painting or writing, I’m living. That way, I’ll have something to write or paint about later.