Other than the weather (which I had hoped would be warmer), so far my visit in Ottawa has been perfect. I arrived Thursday afternoon, hungry after an easy flight with not even a peanut offered for snack. I met Aaron in a coffee shop and indulged in some lunch. Then he introduced me to his office mates, a very friendly group. I left my suitcase there and walked down Sussex to take in the galleries and some tulips. On the way back I went through the Byward Market.
Aaron and I went to Chinatown for a delicious dinner at the Yangtze Restaurant. Then to the Shambhala Centre where Aaron led one of my favorite meditation practices, the Sadhana of Mahamudra. Then back to his apartment and, after having walked for three hours around downtown Ottawa, much needed sleep.
Friday I hung around Aaron's apartment in the morning, then walked downtown again to meet my friend Jackie for lunch. Aaron met us there. Then Jackie and I went to the Terrance Robert gallery on Sussex to check it out and meet the owner. It was indeed a good place. It was also an unusual coincidence that I would go there. I had received an email Tuesday evening from a the owner who had found my work on the internet and was interested in the possibility of representing me in Ottawa. He is opening a new space soon and feels my work would be appropriate there. I wrote him Wednesday morning that I would be in Ottawa the next day and perhaps we could meet then. I liked him and his attitude toward art and artists, a very important part of the process. So I agreed to send him images of new work when I return to Nova Scotia.
When Jackie and I were leaving the gallery he asked us what we planned for the rest of the afternoon, were we going to the National Gallery. I said actually, no, we were going to Holt-Renfrew for a makeover. And we did. And it was so much fun! (I have great photos I will post when I return home.)
In the evening, Aaron and I went to dinner with a friend of his and then on to the ballet. It was a performance by the Ballet de Lorraine from France. They danced a series of short pieces by different choreographers ranging from Isadora Duncan to Meridith Monk to Martha Graham and several others. The intention was to present a brief history of modern dance in the twentieth century. A really good evening.
Today, Sunday, it's been a trip, finally, to the National Art Gallery where they had a lovely exhibit of Ikebana arrangements. Then to the Tulip Festival, the pavillions, where we saw some Korean break-dancers, lots of food and displays from many countries and tons of people. And some tulips.
Tonight we are going to a party and tomorrow, more tulips!
I take off for Ottawa tomorrow. Looking forward to it. I'll visit Aaron in his new apartment, hang out with him, see the Tulip Festival, have lunch with my friend Jackie, and take in the galleries and museums. I haven't seen Aaron since my birthday in November. I didn't realize it's going to be Mothers' Day while I'm there. He reminded me. So I told him he could take me to brunch on Sunday.
Meanwhile it's warm and sunny here, very beautiful. It's the first real spring we have had in many years. I put in lettuce, peas, kale, radish, parsnips, a new rose bush, moved another bush, prepared the rest of the garden and am ready for a rest!
Now that the ice has melted on the paths. I’ve been taking walks in the woods along the brook. Lila and I have been going a lot lately, often taking friends with us. It’s an hour to an hour-and-a-half walk, depending how many distractions distract me, how long Lila wants to chase sticks in the water.
A couple of weeks ago on my walk with Lila and my friend Suzanne and her dog, the man who lives in the house by the road at the other end of the path came out to tell us to walk beside his property. He had cleared a path for hikers so that they didn’t have to walk in the mud and slush in the low-lying land near the brook. Nice. The next day when Lila and I walked by that house, he came out and said, Oh, you again. Indeed, me again. Almost every day now. Us lucky dogs.
Last weekend, Sunday to be exact, Lila and I went for our walk in the woods and met some neighbors, also with a dog. We all ended up sitting on another neighbor’s porch, the one with three labs, eating fresh made chocolate chip cookies and playing with the dogs. I went home with a bird feeder my neighbor made. He gave each of us one.
It’s not quite Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood, the show I used to watch with my children when they were young. Besides the chocolate chip cookies, my neighbors were also drinking rum and coke. I just didn’t want any so I didn’t have it. And not everyone here is so very nice. But almost.
Even though I enjoyed my trip to NY/NJ, and I did, every minute of it, it is so very nice to be home, looking out the window at yet another snowfall, at the lake in its many shades of grey right now, to be with Lila and to be back at work painting and teaching. Where else but in Canada would you hear on national radio a half hour program dedicated to pot-holes? And that favorite joke (also on the radio, CBC of course): “How do you make 20 Canadians get out of the pool? You say, 'Please get out of the pool.'” Of course.
Lila was a little angel while I was away. She enjoyed being with Sean and he enjoyed her. But I must say, the first evening home she decided to test me: You’ve been away; I’ll show you! Paws and mouth up on the counter, jumped onto the couch, tore up my shower cap. She realized quickly it didn’t work. So she relaxed. A few longs walks in the park and we are both happy to spend a quiet day watching the snow fall.
It was just as exciting seeing the Ringling Bros & Barnum and Bailey Circus Saturday as it was when I went with my children so many years ago. Tamar was surprised how excited I was to be at the circus. She thought I used to take them because you take children to the circus: that’s what you do. But I always went as much for my enjoyment as theirs. Damian enjoyed it too.
After the circus we went to Chinatown to meet my friends Leah and Pedro for Dim Sum. Then Tamar and family went back to their home and Leah and I went shopping for Tai Chi shoes (for me) and food for dinner (for us). I spent the evening with them. Some other friends also came for dinner, friends from the time I lived below Leah and Pedro’s loft on Spring Street. We stayed up late catching up and making new memories.
Yesterday Tamar and Dan hosted a brunch for the members of my family who live in the area. It was a warm fuzzy afternoon. We ate, talked, laughed, and Damian played the drums for us (a super-drummer!). The last time I had seen my relatives was at Marcella’s memorial service last August. I do enjoy my family get-togethers now that we are older. It’s nice to grow up.
Today, my last day here, Tamar and Dan gave me a choice: whatever I want to do. I feel I should want to go into the City, go to museums, be the artist. But . . . I need a quiet day. So . . . the sun is brilliant in the sky and we are going to go to a big park for a walk and enjoy the countryside. I’ll have plenty of excitement/activity when I go back to Nova Scotia.
Yesterday we went to the Bronx Zoo. We saw the birds, bears, monkeys, tigers, some deer and lots of people. The people weren’t in cages, nor were many of the animals. For the most part the animals were in spacious more-or-less-natural playgrounds. That was good. Not like the zoos I went to as a child. Everywhere we saw stories posted of conservation and devastation. Another very big change. It was painful to read.
When I was in Europe with my then five and eleven year old children, we went to zoos in London, Paris and Rome. It gave us a strong flavor of each city. The London Zoo was the first stop on our first day. The three of us took the Underground there and walked back through Hyde Park to our B&B. Everything was beautifully laid out in the zoo, lovely gardens, clean cages. In Paris there were cafes in the zoo, pleasant places to sit and sip. Rome was a bit more chaotic.
Times have changed. Environmental issues are being pushed to the forefront. A necessary, but difficult, change.
The thick soupy fog in which I landed here a couple of days ago has dissipated. The weather has turned sunny. We are going to the Bronx Zoo today. Yesterday we did the necessary trip to Whole Foods. It still surprises me, the differences in the prices on some items between here and Canada, or probably more specifically the Maritime Provinces. Sometimes as much as $20 more at home for the same product. So much for free trade. Borders seem very solid at times.
We also went to Damian’s Tai Kwan Do practice. It was fun to watch the young children kicking and running around, working up a sweat. It is so perfect for children. And so different from the Tai Chi I am now learning. I think Damian (and other children) might be very bored with Tai Chi. My teacher, Dr. Robin Wu, taught Tai Kwan Do to the military in China before he learned Tai Chi. He is often showing us the difference between the two. Where Tai Kwan Do focuses on force, Tai Chi is about relaxation. There is no force involved in the movements. Dr. Wu shows us how all the Tai Chi movements are used in fighting, still with no force. It’s fascinating. And not always easy to relax. I’m working on it.
The party I went to Saturday night was all girls. Well, except for the boy dog of the house, a beautiful big (165 pound) Newfoundland Sheepdog. Usually I don’t find this kind of party much fun. Often there seems to be something missing. But this was a really enjoyable evening. Maybe it was because we were all in the arts and had that to bind us. And most of the artists I know do like to play.
Lila had a good time too. I always wanted a dog I could take everywhere with me. She’s turned into that kind of pet. And after such a difficult first two years, no can be more delighted than me. She played some with her Newfie friend and she worked her way around house. The worst thing she did Saturday was snitch a couple of pieces of pizza off the counter. Naughty but nice.
Or maybe I just have indulgent friends, friends who also enjoy my spirited pup. I certainly won’t complain about that!
I used Lila as an example, metaphor for making art during midterm critiques on Wednesday. We did a group session, everyone taking turns putting up their homework assignments and about six drawings from class. One student said disparagingly that her work was a struggle; drawing was a struggle. So I couldn’t help but tell them the story of Lila: how it has been a struggle. I’ve had four dogs (she’s the fourth) and none of them have been so difficult. But with persistence and determination, the struggle has relaxed and we have a strong bond.
My artwork seems to come in two main categories: the ones that paint themselves, just flow from the ether and those that are a struggle, take excessive revisions. When those difficult ones finally come together, they have a special charge, something that comes out of the resolution of struggle. So I told the students not to be afraid of the process of their work.
Well, my image of what I thought to be a lovely city with its beautiful park has been shaken. Yesterday Lila and I went to Point Pleasant Park with a friend and her dog. I parked my car in the lower parking lot because we can walk directly into the park from there without having to use leads. The higher ups have been enforcing leash laws on the main paths and when Lila is determined to play with a friend, she isn’t fun on the lead. The pups had a lovely romp and although it was a bit chilly, the paths were clean. No ice!
When we returned to my car, I saw a lot of shattered glass on the ground. My first thought was “I don’t remember that being there when we came” and “why doesn’t the park crew clean this up?” It took a minute for me to realize it was my car window in little pieces on the ground. It was my car that had been broken into and my friend’s bag stolen from it. I latter discovered the thief had also taken my cloth garbage bag, probably thinking it was also a purse. At least my car was otherwise okay.
A man and his dog were returning to his car, parked beside mine, just as we arrived. My cell phone was down and he very kindly called the police to help sort out how to make a report. Generally speaking, people are good. I just had an unlucky blip in my day. Luckily his car hadn't been touched.
I’ve recovered some equilibrium today but my window won’t be fixed until tomorrow. It has to come from Montreal. Not too many Honda Elements in this neck of the woods. Or maybe the other Element owners have been luckier in this regard than I.
So perhaps I should park in the upper lot which has, more often, more traffic.
Some friends came over to skate on the lake Sunday. The one concession I've made to age has been to give up skating. It was hard watching them way out on the lake. Such an enormous feeling of freedom, I can only imagine.
The day before was sunny and I was walking out there with a friend and our dogs. Then on Monday the rain was so heavy I could see it bouncing off the lake. Today was warm and bright. And almost all the ice has melted. Finally.
Without a doubt this has been a very special Valentine’s Day. I came home yesterday to find a beautiful package decorated with hearts and flowers hanging from the handle of my front door. Not seeing any car tracks in the fresh, heavy snow, I knew it had to be from a neighbor. So when I opened the package, I found a note from guess who!?! None other than Lila, my puppy! She said, in the note “If I could talk, I wold say thanks for all your love and tenacity that has made me such a wonderful dog.” And Lila gave me a scarf for my neck to keep me warm on our winter walks. So sweet!
My neighbors have watched me work (struggle) with Lila, getting her to be more sociable, easier, gentler. She’s now an (almost) model dog, especially when you’ve known what a difficult little puppy she was. Almost everyone around here has a dog or two. So I’ve met my neighbors, with Lila’s help, on the road. And we’ve shared dog stories while our dogs sniff and play together.
I feel so lucky to live here, to have chosen this neighborhood. I haven’t enjoyed Valentine’s Day much in recent years. It usually just makes me feel more alone. But this is a very full day and I am reminded constantly of how rich my life is. A couple of my neighbors with ATVs enjoy plowing my (long) driveway, sometimes twice a day when necessary. They’ve taken on the driveways around here like a couple of kids with fancy toys. It’s delightful to watch them running the snow off their paths. Another neighbor helps shovel my stairs (when I haven’t gotten to it first).
So it’s quite a nice day for hearts and flower lovers.
My friend Karen was visiting for a couple of days. Lila enjoys her company and so do I. I’ve never been good with roommates but love houseguests. Karen visits often enough that we have established some history, almost like roommates. I cook, she helps with the cutting and chopping, washing food and dishes, walking and playing with Lila, etc. But I have had to learn to ask her to help with the little things around the house. She didn’t always offer to help and I didn’t ask. Because I don’t want to resent her visiting and I do want her to visit, I watch myself, test how I feel, and have learned to ask. It’s a good lesson for me.
It’s also nice to have someone here. Just a sympathetic body to ground me. There is so much to do taking care of a house sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the smallest things. I’ve been wanting to have my water tested (I’m on a well) for two years, ever since Lila came here. But it took Karen’s visit for me to do it, finally. We also cleaned out my fabric closet. By the end of that adventure both of us were overwhelmed. I’m so glad to have done it. And I couldn’t have done it alone.
Karen and I also have a favorite movie we watch every time she stays here: The Big Easy. And every time I watch it I enjoy it even more. (It must be a good movie!) There’s violence in it but at least the bad guys are (mostly) the ones who get killed. The good guys have fun—dance, eat good food, make love, laugh, solve crimes. It doesn’t hurt to watch it and it doesn’t leave bad afterimages. So Karen can come visit often.
Tamar’s (and my) friend Lori has a fascinating, well written article published in Time Magazine! It’s worth a read!
It talks about the benefits of a good marriage. The chemical effects in the brain that explain the longer life, better health of happily married couples. They have proof now of how it works (better read the article—it’s complicated).
I know my dad’s life was extended by many years when met Gertrude and had a happy, twenty-five year marriage. After my mother died, my dad’s grief was overwhelming him, painful for him, painful to see. I wouldn’t say my parents’ marriage was a happy one, but it was good, especially in the later years when they could enjoy each other without the pressures of raising children. They did care about each other. They had a commitment to their marriage but my mother was more sociable and wanted more excitement in her life. My dad liked to build things in his spare time—cabinets, violins, tool sheds. My mother called herself a basement widow.
With Gertrude, my dad did all the things my mother would have liked to do—travel, restaurants, social engagements. The only bad year my dad and Gertrude had was when he wanted her to retire. She resented it. Said, “What am I going to do, clean out the closets every day?”
They had a busy, adventurous life. My dad lived until he was ninety, a very happy man.
Did I ever tell you my favorite snow story? It has to do with an exhibit I had in Washington, D.C., back in 1983, I believe. It was a show at the Henri Gallery, of books I had made. I had just sold my loft in Manhattan and moved into a one year sublet before moving on to Nova Scotia. Aaron was about fourteen, going to Hunter College High School and Tamar was finishing up university. She wasn’t around.
As the opening reception was on a Thursday night, I went down to Washington by train Thursday morning, planning to return Friday evening. That way, Aaron would be in school both days and only alone one evening. The book exhibit was a big success in that everyone who came to the reception was very enthusiastic about them so it felt good.
My dad and stepmother were away that week but I remember staying in their house, my childhood home. The next morning I awoke to several inches of snow and in Washington, that’s unusual. Washington doesn’t have good snow removal so I decided to take an earlier train back to New York, before transportation froze up.
I arrived back at my rental loft around noon. When I walked in I saw Aaron in his corner of the room with a young lady. I was surprised, expecting him to be at school, of course.
I said “What are YOU doing here??
And he said: “What are YOU doing here??
And she said: “What do you expect. We’re TEENAGERS!”
As for the books, the gallery was in an old but beautiful building and the snow on the roof was heavy, causing the roof to cave in. So that was the end of the book exhibit.
Happy Birthday, Aaron!
So, another day, another year. Somehow, even though nothing is really different, it feels good. Almost like a fresh start. I don’t know why. Just the psychological power of a day on the calendar.
Last night I spent the evening in my favorite way, playing with Lila and then cuddling up with a good book (Miles Davis’ Autobiography—I’m almost finished). It was stormy outside as usual these days making it a perfect night to stay home. Today was warm and sunny, relatively speaking, and I went to a couple of parties. I was one of the first guests at the first one as I had been looking forward to this party all year. The hostess makes the most amazing cream puffs and I had waited 365 days to have another one. Both parties were joyful, friendly, noisy and fun. I left (not only my purse at the second party but) with a sore jaw from talking so much. I don’t even talk that much when I am teaching!
We are expecting yet another snowstorm then rain tonight. So it will be even more icy tomorrow. This morning the road was like a skating rink. I wear cleats on my shoes but it was still slippery. It’s going to be a long winter if it keeps going this way.
Today is Tamar’s birthday. Forty-six. (Aaron’s is January 3. He’ll be forty.) Where did all the years go! Tamar and her boys have plans to go to see the Big Apple Circus today. I hope they are not having the storm in New York we have now.
I remember well the day she was born. There was snow on the ground. We were living in Washington, D.C. And I was so afraid it was going to be false labor. It wasn’t. I was lucky. Labor was short, six hours. For a first baby, that’s good. But for a first baby, I was frightened. In those days the woman in labor was put in a room alone. Every now and then a nurse would come by and pat my arm. My then-husband was in the waiting room reading the Life of Sigmund Freud. I was only in the hospital three hours before she was born, but I think the first two were the longest hours in my life. The actual delivery was blissful. As was seeing a perfect, beautiful dark haired baby girl.
Life as mother and daughter has had its natural bumps but by now we know each other better and make accommodations for our differences and that’s good. As I’ve said before, I don’t mind getting older. In fact, I rather like it. I just don’t like my children getting older. I suppose it is too much of a reminder that at some point we really won’t be together. We are together now and I value that, for sure.
Happy birthday, kid! May your years be filled with awe and wonder.
Lila and I went out for an exceptionally early walk yesterday morning. Before the sun was up very high. It was quiet and sweet. Not too cold for a change. And the snow and ice are melting fast with the warmer air. Most of the houses were dark. But then a few were intensely lit inside, with Christmas lights bright. I could imagine the young children rushing to the tree to open their presents. One of the houses up the road has a full compliment of children. They have their two, then they adopted two Chinese and two African children. I call it the United Nations. I don’t know them well but it seems all the children are adjusting well. Their house was the brightest on the road this morning.
We had a tree when I was young. We called it a Chanukah bush. I did love it. Decorating it and all the presents underneath. There weren’t as many presents then as children get now because it was the War and Post-War Years. I remember getting shirts and socks and practical things and maybe some homemade dresses for my dolls. But my uncle gave me a Kodak box camera when I was nine and I loved taking pictures of my dolls with it. We were the only Jewish family in the neighborhood, my parents wanted us to fit in, assimilate. We actually made Easter Eggs and baskets but also lit Chanukah candles and celebrated Passover. So my becoming Buddhist is not much of a leap. I just like ritual wherever it is served up.
When my own children were young, I remember decorating a small potted Norfolk pine tree I had then. I think the tree died just before my marriage did. I don't remember much else about Christmas trees with my children except that I did enjoy collecting ornaments and so enjoy giving them to my children for their trees, when they have them.
Later in the day yesterday, Lila and I went to the Park for a walk. The paths were still somewhat icy so all the dogs were off lead, even on the main paths where it is usually illegal. It was like a picnic, a very happy romp. It was better than going to a Chinese Restaurant!
Then in the evening Lila and I went to some friends’ home for dinner. It was a feast. Lavish, lots of laughter. It’s that time of year. They had one of the prettiest trees I've ever seen. It was lit with small white lights and silver and clear bulbs. No other color. Very elegant.
I miss my family, my own children, but it’s been good, staying home. So today I am enjoying the sunshine on the remaining snow and hoping the next storm is not tomorrow
In my particular Buddhist community, a (relatively) new seasonal celebration has become established. I believe it is about twenty-five, thirty years now. The celebration is for children, Children’s Day, to be on the Winter Solstice. On 14 December 1954, the General Assembly recommended that all countries institute a Universal Children's Day. Some countries do, I've heard of it in November in India and in March in New Zealand. December 21 is the date chosen by the Shambhala community.
It’s hard to start a new tradition amongst a large group of people. In a family, or in a small group, traditions happen naturally. For us, with my dad and stepmother, we went to a movie as a group, whoever was visiting on any holiday, Thanksgiving, Christmas (she was Christian). Before that, when my mother was alive, it was going to synagogue to kiss my grandmother on the High Holidays.
This particular “tradition”, Children's Day, always seemed to me to be forced, imposed. A way of NOT celebrating other religious traditions that happen at this time—Christmas, Chanukah. But to be honest, I never went to any of the celebrations around this event. Usually I am with my grown children at this time of year, or else I’m on retreat. But this year, after so much travel and with my children coming here for my birthday just a month ago, I needed to stay home, if only for a few months. So this is a new (and strange) feeling, to be home for the holidays.
Last Saturday evening I went to my first Children's Day. I actually enjoyed it, felt the value of it. It not only fills a need to have a holiday at this time of year but to be celebrating children, well, that’s a very good idea. Without them, we have no future, no life, nothing to look forward to. And with the beginning of the days becoming longer, the night receding, a good time to tell the children they bring light into our lives.
The ceremony consisted of a procession, including a “king” and “queen” and the dancers representing the Four Dignities of Shambhala: tiger, lion, garuda and dragon. The Shambhala teachings introduce these four mythical animals to represent the principles of confidence that a person develops in order to bring wisdom and compassion into daily life, qualities that allow us to play in the blessing and magic of our lives.
Tiger represents contentment. The joy of the lion arises from discipline. The outrageous garuda, a mythical bird, has a mind of accommodating equanimity. The dragon possesses deep wisdom based on knowing how things are.
Each of the dignities was represented by a teenage dancer to whom, after their dance, the children in the audience made appropriate offering. Then the children were given a blessing by the “king” and “queen” and, of course, a treat. We then all convened for a pot-luck dinner. I went home feeling very blessed. To have been a part of this tradition was very special.
Today is the fourth anniversary of my blog. My first entry was December 18, 2003. My daughter, Tamar, had been keeping an on-line journal and then a blog for years. I had admired her writing and enjoying seeing aspects of her life not offered through our emails and phone calls.
So on my holiday visit to Sunny LA, Tamar helped me set up this up. At first it did feel strange, I admit. I was oh so aware of every word I posted. Then I began to relax a bit and enjoy the process, the communication with a broader world than I would every have imagined possible.
So many good things have happened because of my blog. My exhibit in Denmark last June was directly a result of my blog. I met Elin Neumann when she googled how to rid her garden of deer and found my recipe posted on my blog. We corresponded and she introduced me to the Galleri Saltum where I exhibited. I also spent a lovely few days visiting with her in Denmark.
I sold a photo to St. Paul Science Museum through my blog. It was posted with the title “Mist” and is going to be used in an exhibit about water, how it is transformed in its life cycle. The exhibit will travel and I hope to see it eventually at the Natural History Museum in New York City.
I must admit, when Tamar stopped her blog just over a year ago, I found it hard to write. Maybe I need to feel I am writing to someone. Like a letter. And she was my mental audience. But, on a broader view, a blog is not just a conversation but also a record of a life. What I do, what I think, what I expect. Often thoughts get written I had no idea were roaming around in my mind. Sometimes it feels like a way to taste the flavors of my experiences, to put a meal together for whoever might come to the table.
Who do I write for? Who reads blogs? I only know one friend of mine here in Halifax who reads my blog. Most of the people I mentioned it to when I first started laughed. Now they either have a blank expression or realize that blogs are so omnipresent, it is no big deal. Everyone (almost) blogs, politicians, radio programs, writers, actors, but it seems not too many of my friends.
Over the past year I did think about not writing. I let many moments slip by that now I would like to have captured in print. I know I would miss this part of my world so I am making a renewed effort. Mostly, I would miss the so many interesting people I “meet” here.
I don’t believe in closure. I think emotions are a bottomless well. Just when you/I think there is resolution/conclusion to an event/a situation/an emotional state, something arises, appears that can set off an entirely new set of feelings. Something more to look at, to ponder, to work through. For me, there is no such thing as closure.
On Sounds Like Canada Wednesday morning, the topic was caring for your elderly and/or ailing parents. A woman was talking about caring for her ex-husband. She had long before come to peace about the divorce so it was not a working on the past, she said. But it was, she also said, some kind of closure. And I could hear the question in her voice around the word closure. She knew, it seemed to me, that there could always be more.
I don’t know if I could or would take care of my ex-husband. It’s not a possibility at this point. He lives in NYC and we don’t have much communication. We didn’t have an easy separation. Lots of unpleasant feelings for a long time afterward. I did see him a year or so ago. It was interesting, pleasant enough. No real problem. No big aftermath. Just a visit.
After my mother died, it took me ten years before I stopped having shocking dreams about her, dreams that woke me shaking from an image of her still alive but inevitably dying. It was many years after that before I could think about her without some kind of lingering childhood emotion. I’m not sure I can even now but at least I am not acting on it (as often). And I think that is more important than closure.
I have something I really need to say, something I’ve been mulling over for a few years, possible a lifetime, my lifetime, that is. It’s about my life time. It’s this: I think people, in my experience, are afraid of age, of aging, of being around older people. Yet . . . getting older, it will happen to everyone, to you too—if you are lucky.
I almost titled this post I Dare You: I Dare You to Read This to the End. But I do understand. I really do. When I was very young I too felt that way: older people were an enigma, frightening, boring. All of those things, all at once. Only my peers interested me. I didn’t like the questions older people asked me. I thought they were annoying, wasting my time; I had more important things to think about. If I look back on it, it was really only me who interested me. Other people, and especially people my age or younger, were a mirror for me, reflecting myself back to me. As examples of how to be or examples of how they saw me. Probably the best thing for me about growing older is becoming more interested in other people and the big world outside of me and my life. And this is because I feel more comfortable with myself. After all those years of searching for “something” outside myself, searching to find success, a man, friends, things, I found all that I needed by not searching. And this has come with age. Seasoning.
What’s it like to be “old” (or older)? When I’m out there shoveling snow and the wind is blowing, I wonder . . . when I carry the garbage up my long driveway to the curb, I wonder. . . When I’m with friends dancing, I wonder. . . I wonder how long I will be able to do this. When I go to bed early, I wonder because this is something I’ve always liked to do. I’ve never liked to sleep late into the mornings. I like to sleep in the nude. I still walk through the woods on rocky paths (and forget to bring my cell phone). I won’t wear loud patterns near my face anymore, but I definitely want to dress well. I used to have a phenomenal memory. Now it is not so great; names, especially, slip away and it is very frustrating. I still get up on ladders and take screens down myself. But I do hold onto railings when taking stairs. I still carry my heavy canvases around. I still work with obsessive energy. I haven’t lost the lust for life. I haven’t lost desire.
There definitely are changes. I am more settled in myself; I enjoy my life more; I worry less; I enjoy other people more, even older people, and especially younger (very young) ones. I could still dance all night if I had a partner. I could even make love all night. I just haven’t met the right person yet. Sadly there are fewer people to meet at this age. Yet I enjoy my life even when those things are not available. The best thing for me about aging is an ease that has come into my life.
Even my friends have a hard time relating to age. I was talking to a (fifty-nine year old) friend who also saw the Beckett plays. She thought The Mouth was possibly talking too fast for an older woman. I was surprised. The Mouth was seventy! I just turned seventy! I might not run or walk fast anymore, but I can talk fast if I need to. There definitely are physical changes. I may have trouble with the fine print but I can see better in the distance than I did. I do have some aches and need to take care not to move in inappropriate ways, to exercise properly every day. But I was told when I was seventeen to do specific exercises or I would have trouble later. I ignored the advice because I was young and invulnerable, or so I thought.
Once I gave an assignment at the Art College for the students to do a drawing inspired by a poem. I gave them three to choose from. I thought they were very graphic. One in particular, a Garcia Lorca poem which began “If I die, throw the windows open. . . “ It’s not “if” but “when”, something we inevitably all do. To me, the poem embraced life by acknowledging death. To the students, it was morbid and they had trouble relating. They were in a different stage of their lives—they were in the accumulating, acquiring and inquiring stage. They possibly hadn’t met death intimately yet. It’s hard to look directly at the thought that life will end for each of us. After the experience with the poems, I let my students choose their text. That worked well and I learned what interested them.
Last year when I posted by first entry on Holidailies, I had the usual flurry of readers. But after that, hardly any. My first post was about being forced to retire from teaching. Mandatory retirement. Too old to teach. That makes me boring to anyone not facing “old age”, right? I was a good teacher but I must say, I learned more from my students than they learned from me. Besides the latest in fashion and music and art, I learned how to listen, to appreciate differences, to help others. I’m not too old to teach. I’m not too old to learn.
There is humor in aging, especially when it comes from a legendary person. This “song” was sent to me by my cousin’s daughter.
To commemorate her 69th birthday on October 1, actress/vocalist, Julie Andrews made a special appearance at Manhattan's Radio City Music Hall for the benefit of the AARP. One of the musical numbers she performed was 'My Favorite Things' from the legendary movie 'Sound Of Music. Here are the actual lyrics she used:Maalox and nose drops and needles for knitting,
Walkers and handrails and new dental fittings,
Bundles of magazines tied up in string,
These are a few of my favorite things.
Cadillacs and cataracts, and hearing aids and glasses,
Polident and Fixodent and false teeth and glasses,
Pacemakers, golf carts and porches with swings,
These are a few of my favorite things.
When the pipes leak,
When the bones creak,
When the knees go bad,
I simply remember my favorite things,
And then I don't feel so bad.
Hot tea and crumpets and corn pads for bunions,
No spicy hot food or food cooked with onions,
Bathrobes and heating pads and hot meals they bring,
These are a few of my favorite things.Back pains, confused brains, and no need for sinnin',
Weak bones and fractures and hair that is thinnin',
And we won't mention our short, shrunken frames,
Remembering our favorite things but not our names.
When the joints ache,
When the hips break,
When the eyes grow dim,
Then I remember the great life I've had,
And then I don't feel so bad!
*(Ms. Andrews received a standing ovation from the crowd that lasted over four minutes and repeated encores.) Please share Ms. Andrews' clever wit and humor with others who would appreciate it.
Yes, I'm old. And proud of it.
I must interrupt this photo journey to celebrate my big birthday. The actual day is Monday but we began yesterday afternoon at the airport when Tamar and Aaron arrived from their respective homes—Tamar from Montclair, N.J. and Aaron from Ottawa. As Aaron’s plane was two hours late (Tamar and I wasted no time at the airport waiting—good time to chat), we went from there to my favorite Halifax restaurant, da Maurizio. The food was, as usual, wonderful, the service impeccable and appropriately friendly, but the best part was sitting across the table from my two beautiful, grown children. Just the three of us. It was so delicious. I couldn’t have asked for a better present.
Tamar goes back Monday morning because she will have to pick Damian up from school. Right now Dan and Damian are at Dan’s brother’s for the American Thanksgiving weekend. Aaron can stay until Tuesday morning. So I have a whole weekend with my children. It’s been many many years since we have had this opportunity. I feel very fortunate.
When we were being seated at the restaurant, I, of course, had to tell the woman we were celebrating my 70th birthday. She did the usual disbelief, what’s your secret, etc. I told her “stress” and she asked, avoiding stress or flowing with it. I said the latter. But truthfully, it’s simply heredity. I do appreciate every day. I’ve known too many people who have died much younger than me. And I am fortunate to be healthy and active. I am very happy to be doing what I am doing—painting, exploring the world, playing with my dog, meeting friends. It’s a good life. So getting older, aging, is in itself a privilege.
This morning Lila played with her new duck. She loves it. Enough to make mincemeat out of it (it doesn't say "quack quack quack quack" any more):
This afternoon Minnie took a raincheck (as it is raining/snowing now) and instead, Tchai came over to play. Tchai lives a few doors up the road and is now seven months old. I don't think she will get much bigger. After a tentative start to the friendship a few months ago, they've learned to navigate the size difference and are beginning to play with each other.
The first week home after my travels was spent catching up on sleep and domestic arrangements. Then I came down with the @#$! head-cold that going around (and was a flying around on the airplane via the person sitting next to me on the plane from Newark to Halifax). But I have finally downloaded all my photographs from my trip and am sorting through them to see which ones to post. And I have, between blowing my nose and taking Lila for walks, been spending time in my studio, starting to fill it up again.
Tomorrow Lila is two years old. We’ve come out of the tough first two years and are settling into a much calmer companionship. She’s still a lively, strong willed pup. She’ll never lose that, but she is also much easier to be with now.
I had told her I would take her to Bark & Fitz for her birthday. So we went today (as I want/need to stay home tomorrow). B & F is a lovely new dog supply store in Halifax on Doyle Street (they should give me a bone for the plug!). I let her pick out a new toy—let her choose from their delightful selection. She picked (went crazy for) a duck that says “quack, quack, quack, quack” when I slap it gently on my leg. The duck also has loops forming its body so there are several places for me to hold it and her to chew. I also got her some liver treats. Tomorrow her friend Minnie is coming to play with her, wish her a Happy Birthday and share the treats.
Yesterday Tamar, Damian and I went on a Big Onion Tour of Soho and Nolita. An Onion Tour peels the layers off the city I knew intimately for twenty-five years. A city that was home from one end to the other. To see Soho, once my home, from the eyes and mind of a young sociology graduate student was interesting.
Halfway through the tour, Tamar asked me if I learned anything new. I did. I learned about the cast-iron buildings, how they made them to look like stone, how they used cast iron because it was inexpensive and easy to erect. I learned about the early commerce and the brothels connected with commerce. And the fancy department stores that lined Broadway many years ago. But Tamar and I filled him in on what it really was like to be an artist family living in what was once a warehouse district and is now the expensive chi-chi neighborhood that has expelled the very people who made it appealing for residence. Yet I wouldn’t be in Nova Scotia now if it hadn’t been for that gentrification.
I never thought I would leave Manhattan. I first moved to 28th and 7th Avenue in 1960, from being a student at Yale School of Fine Arts, to a loft then owned by Alex Katz. He was teaching at Yale and sublet his loft to a couple of students (a friend and me) for the summer while he and his family went to Maine. (He had painted “No Soap, Radio” on the cast iron bathtub with claw feet that graced the kitchen and that slogan has become a favorite of mine when I don’t know what else to say.) From there I moved to 11th and Avenue C, and then to Chambers and Greenwich, and then to Washington, D.C. (for a year) where Tamar was born.
We (I was married at the time) moved (in 1962) when Tamar was six months old to Church and Franklin (now an area called Tribeca—these little names picked by realtors, we were told by our guide, to make the areas seem more seductive). It was a neighborhood unfamiliar with strollers and many times we had to avoid the freight trucks crowding the streets. It was scary. It was lonely. There were probably about one building per block occupied with artists, some well-known, some not so, but mostly all working in their living spaces. At that time we paid a $900 fixture fee (for the fixtures that the previous tenant had put in to make it living-studio quarters and our rent was $80 a month. We had to hide the bed by day in case inspectors came but I couldn’t hide the crib. It was in the middle of my studio. The poet Diane Waldman and the sculptor Robert Morris lived below us. That loft was a third-floor walkup, close to China Town and we often had sticky buns for meals. Wild rabbit was also easily available and inexpensive. Not considered a delicacy then. I made rabbit stew often.
From there we moved to the seventh floor of an elevator building on 11th between University and Broadway. When we moved in, there was nothing. Just some broken toilet fixtures. We plastered and painted and divided the room into kitchen area, living area, bedroom for Tamar, and studio for me. We left there when Tamar was around three. I longed for a place where there was a grocery store nearby and someone took out the garbage (in lofts in those days there was no garbage pickup—we had to covertly take the bags out at night and hope not to be caught dumping trash into public baskets) and brought the mail to our door. So we went to a large apartment on the Upper West Side, an area where many other artists lived and worked.
When I left my marriage, I moved with my two children, two cats, two fish tanks, and many art supplies to a sublet on 13th between First and A (a loft which had been the studio space of Claus Oldenburg and some of the sewing supplies were still there). We lived below the artist, Larry Rivers. There was no insulation between the floors, just bare wood planks that were both ceiling to us and floor to him. He’d come in at 4 am with friends. It sounded like a herd of cowboys walking on top of us. So I would get back at him by playing children’s records in the morning.
After a year there, we moved to a newly coop building at Spring and Mercer. Another sublet (from the owner), but I had to put in all the fixtures. Once again, it was a bare loft with just a toilet and sink. First I had built a kitchen and two bedrooms for the children. Eventually another one for me. Although I didn’t have great studio space there (it was only 1800 square feet, the size of my current house, but not well laid out for living and working) and it was dark, we enjoyed living there. Some of my favorite friends still live in that building. When the owner decided to sell, I took my fixture fee and moved with three cats, a dog, two children, no fish tanks and lots of art supplies to Broome and Greene.
That loft was already fixed up somewhat. I put in a couple more bedrooms and a better kitchen. It was 3000 square feet, top floor with skylights and divided into two studio spaces. I rented out one of them. It had a little elevator that serviced only our loft, the top floor. It was operated by pulleys (we pulled; it moved) and held no more than three people and a dog at one time. When the building became coop after a couple of years, we had to have the little elevator upgraded to be according to code. In the process there was an electrical fire. Because the building had originally been factories, there was a sprinkler system and so it was discharged and the building was saved. I stood on the other side of Broome Street with my dog Miranda and watched the firemen put out the fire. It was a very strange feeling.
Back in the early seventies, when lofts were first becoming popular residences, it was possible to buy a coop space, probably around 2500 square feet, for about $6000. They now sell in the millions. I was able to buy my loft for very little which is how I eventually was able to leave the City and move to Nova Scotia. I was always enchanted by the lines in the movie My Dinner with Andre when his friend Wally says (more or less): “Have you ever met a New Yorker who didn’t say they want to leave but don’t? New York is a concentration camp of the mind. It’s impossible to leave.”
But I did. Not a move that was planned for long. It just happened. And That is Another Story for Another Time.
Monday Tamar, Damian and I went into Manhattan.
From the subway we went to the Museum of Modern Art. Seeing some of the paintings that have been so much a part of my life in the City, I really felt like I was home again.
Damian's favorite painting was by Elizabeth Murry, a large colorful painting with many twists and turns. Murry had been Tamar's art teacher when she was in pre-school. Interesting.
Then we went into the sculpture garden and Damian and I wandered through the Richard Serra pieces.
and the city scenery:
After MoMa we went to FAO Swartz.
Then we met my cousin Jonathan and nephew Rob for dinner at an open-air restaurant, 70th and the River.
Even the kitchen was outside. And it was the best hamburger I’ve had in a long time. We stayed there until dark, talking, reminiscing about Marcella, catching up on our lives and generally feeling good. A perfect day in Manhattan.
We buried Marcella’s ashes under a beautiful tree in my cousins’ back yard in Westchester, N.Y. A large gathering of family, from ages nine to ninety, and a strong presence of the Grande Dame herself were there. The stories and memories were amusing and touching. She was, without a doubt, a wonderful and rewarding person to have had in our lives. Intelligent, witty, warm, demanding, compassionate, generous, elegant and always and foremost, putting family first.
After the ceremony, after saying Kaddish, after planting the tree over Marcella’s ashes, my cousin Jonathan fittingly gave her a final glass of wine to carry her on her journey.
Later, about twenty of us went to a wonderful Chinese restaurant. There I learned some cool handshakes from my fifteen year old cousin (twice removed) and ate, in true Marcella style, some of the most amazing morsels, the choices of dishes overseen by Jackson, the restaurant owner.
A meal with good company and dragons:
and good fortune:
Once again, Marcella brought our large family together.
I'm off to NYC today to visit with Tamar, Dan and Damian. Tomorrow is the Memorial Service to celebrate the life of my aunt Marcella (who died recently at the sterlling age of 102 years). It will be a big family gathering. So far I know of thirty-five people who will be there.
Tamar has sent me a list of the many many interesting things we can do during my one-week visit. So, first I take Lila to her doggie resort, and then I'm off for another adventure!
A couple of days ago I was walking through Point Pleasant Park with Lila, a friend of mine and her lively border collie. As the dogs were romping around, I told my friend that my 102 year old Aunt Marcella was dying. It was time; she was ready. I then went home to receive an email that indeed, she had died at exactly the moment I was telling Brenda that the end was near.
I do feel sad, feel a loss, but am glad that she is finally at peace. It was a long slide down. The quality of life for her in the last year especially was not good. It’s not easy for an active person to allow the body to slow. And she was memorably lively. The photo posted here is from her 100th birthday party. She was, as always, very beautiful and vivacious that day. Alert and perky for five hours, entertaining all of us.
Marcella was the last of my mother’s five siblings, four sisters and a brother. Another era closed. The emails with eulogies circulating amongst family talk mainly about her feisty personality, her strength of character, her warm, strong presence. She loved to play bridge which must have been a part of what kept her mind so active. She outlived all the friends and family of her generation and I am sure that must have been sad for her. She talked often to me about being a rebel. Not living by rules. We understood and connected. When I visited her about a year ago, she bemoaned that “The good Lord doesn’t want me and the devil won’t take me!” She was, of many things, dramatic and humorous.
As she wished, she will be cremated and buried under a rose bush in my cousin’s yard in Westchester, New York. The memorial for her will be August 11, giving our far flung family a chance to make travel plans. Once again, Marcella brings the family together.
Her obituary, printed today in the New York Times, reads:
KAPLAN, Marcella (Abrams), aged 102, of New York City, died July 3, 2007. Born in Hobart, NY, Marcella led a full life filled with travel, family and friends. She worked as personal secretary for the head of the US Forest Service under the Department of Agriculture in the 1930’s, and also worked for many years as the personal administrative assistant to Gottlieb Hammer, Exec. VP of the United Jewish Appeal. She enjoyed theater, concerts and traveling to many parts of the world, including Europe, Israel and the Far East, and visiting her relatives. An enthusiastic member of the 92nd Street YMHA, she was a well known bridge player there every Tuesday and Thursday for over 60 years. Ms. Kaplan is survived by many loving nieces and nephews, who will miss her sharp wit, colorful observations and deep love for her family. A memorial service will be held later in the year.
Why do things always pile up just before going away! Lila is fine, back to her spunky puppiness: rearranging my papers, trying on hats and shoes, etc. Meanwhile I packed up and took quite a few paintings in today (in the heavy cold rain) to an office for approval (with fingers crossed). In the middle of cleaning cleaning cleaning sorting and packing. As someone is staying here while I am away, I need to make things presentable, not just clean. So . . . I’m very tired and ready to go. Tomorrow evening. . . off to Denmark!!!
It’s been quite a week! After so much stress with Lila’s foot, all seems calm now. With the splint off and a homeopathic remedy, immediately she started healing. Today, when I took her back to the vet for a further check, she was already walking on it part of the time. And now most of the time. What a relief! She’ll be fine by the time I leave Tuesday.
It’s been a hectic few days here. Studio Rally was not. I did have some visitors but they were friends, neighbors, and a former student. I am glad to have my studio clean. That’s about it for that.
The big news though, for me, what has been absorbing most of my thoughts, has been Lila. On Sunday morning we were taking our usual early morning walk and met some neighbors. She played with their new puppy and the next thing I knew she was limping. When another neighbor came along with his Newfoundland (a whopping 135 pounds of sweetness) Lila started to play with her as well. But only for a few seconds. She yelped and then was obviously severely injured. It’s a fracture in the lower right front leg. She was in a splint until this morning. We had to go back to the vet because her foot was swelling. He says that area of the foot is self-splinting so she is without the splint for a day. We go back tomorrow morning to see if she will need the splint again. Without the splint, at least she can go in the water now. That was very frustrating for her. She doesn’t have much energy or appetite but was still happy to see her veterinary friends this morning. And, I am sure, happy to have the splint removed.
So all this just before I leave for Denmark—next Tuesday. At least I am almost packed, ticket in hand and arrangements made. Because I’m not thinking too clearly these days. I feel a bit stunned. The phone rang yesterday and it didn’t even register. Thankfully I have call display. It was Tamar and I’m always happy to talk to her. I’ve stopped in a few garden centers on my many trips to her vet in Chester Basin (an hour from here) and when I was waiting for her to recover from anesthesia—most of the time it takes the shopkeeper to remind me that I am there for a reason. I’m not making decisions easily.
But I have started my vegetable garden and been weeding the flowers a lot. Trying to get rid of my retched goat weed (or gout weed or, I have even heard it called devil’s weed, which it certainly is!). Getting my garden ready for my absence of two weeks. Someone will be staying here. That’s good. Lila will go to her doggie resort. I will miss her and try not to worry about her. She should heal quickly. She is a dog and a young one.
Lila and I have been taking lots of long walks, looking for new trails wherever we can find them. There’s one very beautiful trail just a few feet from my door. It runs along the brook which runs along beside my property and over to another big lake in the neighborhood. I used to go there frequently with Katie, my last dog. Last fall Lila and I took our first hike by the brook together.
It was a fairly rainy fall and the weather was not great that day. But I put on my rubber boots and felt prepared for anything. It’s a lovely trail. The brook widens in a couple of places and becomes large ponds. The trail starts out on one side of the brook and then you need to cross over a bridge to the other side to continue. That day the bridge seemed very slimy and rickety. I told Lila I didn’t want to cross back over it so, even though the trail was very wet and difficult, we were going to continue to the end and walk back by the road.
On the way we met a man and his large Beauvier. He told us to be careful, it was very boggy further on. I said that’s okay, I had my boots on. What I didn’t realize was that my boots leaked (they have a zipper) and the trail was definitely extremely messy. We trudged on and were grateful to hit the road and walk back on firm land.
A couple of weeks later I met the man again at a party in the neighborhood. He told me when he crossed the bridge that day, it broke, with him and his dog on it. He landed up to his knees in cold water. Fortunately he had his cell phone with him, called his wife and was rescued. Just think: it could have been me. And I usually forget to carry my cell phone.
It was Molly’s 49 Day Ceremony a few weeks ago. This is a Buddhist ritual of people gathering together to help the person who has died with the final letting go of this life.
It didn’t feel like 49 days had past since she died. She's still very present in my life. And time is a strange concept. When I stopped teaching, in January, time felt like summers did when I was a child: endless, slow, calm. When I could do anything I wanted, no schedule, no demands. Now I have become used to time being unscheduled, for the most part, and it is going by much faster, much too fast.
Every time I think of Molly’s funeral, I wonder what food and drink I would want put out at my own funeral. That’s another Buddhist tradition, to give the departed body nourishment and pleasure on its way beyond this life. I don’t know what I would want. The foods I love the most and the foods I eat the most don’t always coincide. I love dark chocolate on a piece of fresh French bread with sweet butter. I love beer. I love most foods. But I am careful about what I eat. I need to be because I like to feel good. So I suppose a big plate of black Russian kale would do.
Then too, what would I want people to say about me. I can’t really think about that. I’m alive now. And I don’t think much anymore about what people say about me. I used to care much more. I’m not really obsessing about death. It’s inevitable, we all know that, more or less, even if we don’t know it. But I’m thinking about it more now because it seems my 102 year old aunt is failing fast and we all hope she passes on soon. She’s been pretty sassy, right up till now when she is bed-ridden and mute from a stroke. When she dies (if she were Buddhist) she would get a plate of clams on the half shell and some good wine. And people will definitely recall her piss and vinegar personality with amusement. It seems as if she gives us, her nieces and nephews, hope for a sturdy old age. But sometimes it does go on too long. She has said just that for the last year. So I wish her well on her journey. And hope it’s soon.
My visit to Dr. Evans, my vet, on Thursday was truly great, very beneficial. Lila has been exceedingly itchy since the day I brought her home, possibly the source could be from the breeder who has too many dogs breeding, too many puppies at one time. Lila’s itching has become worse as she gets older. I’ve been told it’s systemic candida. The cure is difficult. The itchiness could account for a lot of her behavioral difficulties, the restlessness, the erratic behavior, possibly even the mouthiness.
When we walked into Dr. Evans office, Lila sniffed around, inspected the toys and equipment, then lay down and observed. Dr. Evans, who has known Lila’s difficulties from the beginning, was overwhelmed, delighted, amazed. He is one of the main reasons Lila is doing so well. He, and another homeopath, have worked up Lila and found the right remedy for her. I’ve said before I believe in magic, but homeopathy does work.
Another reason Lila is becoming such a lovely dog is that I’ve consulted with Calloway M’Cloud, an animal communicator in Prince Edward Island. And of course, most of what Calloway has communicated to me has pointed to healing within myself, working with my own vulnerabilities in order to work more clearly, decisively with Lila.
Then, too, there are the obedience classes we’ve taken. We will be beginning the fourth round soon. Brenda Potter uses the clicker method and it’s worked well with Lila. But the main thing is how Brenda has helped me. Lila was jumping on me and biting during the entire first seven classes. The excitement of being with seven other dogs in the classroom, being told what to do when there were so many other things she wanted to do (like play with the other dogs) was too much for her. In the eighth class she was fine, obedient and eager to please. So we were allowed to continue on into the advanced classes.
What changed her were two things. First, Brenda told me to hold her down by the collar, gently but firmly, when she tried to jump on me. She said not to wave my hands or get excited. To stay calm, ignore the behavior rather than engage in it. The calmer I was, the easier it was to work with Lila. If I got upset, it aggravated the problem. She liked the attention, considered my being upset as play. The other thing I did was take her to the supermarket last fall and start training her outside the front door. It worked. It allowed her to work around distractions, be more obedient in class. So now Brenda calls Lila her “star pupil.” (Because she started out to be her worst!)
In obedience class we do the usual: sit, stay, down, stay, heel, come when called, etc. We also do some fun things. Lila can now put her front paws up on a stool and twirl around. It’s a hoot! Next I want to teach her to High Five!
Aaron and Jessica are visiting from Ottawa for the week. I’m a happy mom. Because I live out of town and they have tons of friends in Halifax, they are spending most nights in town. But we are spending lots of time together, so it is fine.
Aaron and I are going to Chester tomorrow to take Lila to the vet. (That’s an excuse to take a drive in the country.) Lila has already become quite fond of Aaron and Jessica. She lights up when I mention their names. And she loves playing with them. Last night she showed them how she can put her front paws up on a stool and twirl around. She loves this trick. Her tail wags the whole time. Next we are going to learn some dance steps. Along with all the usual sit, down, stay, heel, etc., which she is very good doing, as long as there are treats or rewards to go along with it.
The weather hasn’t been cooperating for our visitors. We’ve had heavy winds and rain most of their visit so far. Sadly, it will be sunny Saturday, when they leave.
I had a surprising phone conversation yesterday. It had to do with wanting to buy some fabric to make a dress for my trip to Denmark. I’ve been sewing since I was six years old. Both my grandmothers were professional seamstresses, sewing for the rich in Riga, Latvia. The story that I heard was that my father’s mother did very well with her sewing, well enough to pay for a first class ticket to the U.S. but because of the nature of marriage in those times, she couldn’t tell her husband. As a result, my dad didn’t see his father from age two until he was six years old. During those years, his father was in Africa and then in the States, working to earn enough money to bring his young family over.
My mother made most of our clothes and I always found it magical. I was so eager to sew; both she and her mother helped me make my first garment, a blue polka dot sundress. I pinned, basted, and then sewed on the machine. I remember how proud I was. From then on, I was allowed to use the sewing machine. I made mostly doll clothes until I was in my teens, when I found sewing the perfect way to fantasize about the perfect life. I could live in my thoughts and make pretty things.
Until this week, I hadn’t been in a fabric store in over a year. Having a puppy to care for has taken up most of my free time. When she’s in her kennel, I’ve preferred to go into my studio. Sewing took a back seat. So I was disappointed when I checked out the usual stores in Halifax and couldn’t find any decent fabrics, or very few. I did find some lovely lightweight red linen and am making a casual jacket from it. Everything else in the store was polyester and I wasn’t interested.
I found what looked like a local store listed in the phonebook and called. The woman said she sold only on-line, no visitors to her “store” because it is in her home, but she would mail me swatches if I wanted. Even though I live nearby. Then she told me fabric stores in Halifax are not doing well. People are not sewing. She used to teach sewing classes but they have been cancelled. They are not needed. The schools don’t have any machines now. And textile factories are closing all over Canada and the U.S. They cannot compete with China and Pakistan. The only way to get good fabrics is through on-line shopping. She gave me the name of several sites that do have some beautiful fabrics.
When I told her what a surprise all this is to me and, after years of loving to browse fabric stores, how upsetting not to be able to do that anymore, she said: “Welcome to my world!”
My aunt Marcella turned 102 years old last Friday. She did it with her usual style—enthusiastic and saucy. I wasn’t there but the reports via the family email list has it that when she went to the doctor’s a few weeks ago, she told him she didn’t want to take any more pills. She wanted to die. Life had been no fun for her for many months. She had pneumonia after I visited her in December, was in the hospital for a couple of weeks, and miraculously recovered. But never felt well after that, slept a lot and was very uncomfortable. So the doctor took her off all but one pill. And she recovered her spunk and sass, stopped sleeping so much and began talking to people and eating more.
So her 102nd birthday party was a big celebration. As described in the family email from a cousin (with a little editing from me):
Well, our beloved Marcella has reached the awe-inspiring age of 102! Some of us (those living in the area) gathered in her apartment for a little party, which she prepared for all week -- Sylvia got a hairdresser to come and cut her hair, do her nails, etc. We each brought some "nosh", Rob brought the most delicious chocolate almond cake I think all of us ever had, and Herb and I brought three bottles of champagne -- but the piece de resistance was Jonathan, who managed to get the Knickerbocker restaurant downstairs (who doesn't do take out) to sell him 1 dozen clams on the half shell complete with fresh lemon and cocktail sauce. Marcella didn't even wait until everyone had gotten there, but sat down and immediately consumed EIGHT of them in about 1/2 hour!!! It was truly an inspiring sight for those of us who saw her so weak and frail as much as three weeks ago... She also sampled each of the other hors d'oeuvres, drank at least two glasses of champagne, and when the time came, consumed 2 small pieces of her birthday cake! Of course, with all this commotion, Marcella passed out cold about 1-1/2 hours into her party...dead asleep... She was so happy to see everyone, and when she kept asking "what did I ever do to deserve all this?" we all kept telling her she gave us all love. And that's the truth!
Yesterday was one of those memorable ones—where everything seems to fall into the right place. First, Lila has made a fast friend. He’s Stewie, a Rotweiller/Lab mix, a beautiful, gentle fellow, three years old, with lovely soft brown eyes, just recently rescued and adjusting easily to a loving family with three children under four. We met on the road Friday morning and walked to where the new road is being built (one that will make the trip to my house so much easier!). The dogs ran and played and we’ve made a regular date for early morning play.
Then I went into my studio and worked for a few hours. After that another neighbor came over with his three labs. We sat on the dock and threw balls for the dogs. The big snowstorm of the night before had ended with a lot of rain so there was mush on the lake but the dogs didn’t mind.
When Mike left with his dogs, I saw my neighbors going towards the island where they are building the fort. So of course Lila and I went over there. Fortunately I had my camera with me.
First, my house from the island:
Lila with Jonathan, her friend who comes to obedience classes with us. She is especially fond of him and his brother:
Looking out from the fort:
And of course, one of Lila on the lake. (At her foot is a hat she had swiped but we did retrieve it from her!) She'll be sixteen months in a few days. Fully grown, I hope:
While we were there another family came by with their two dogs, the mom on skis, the son on his bike and the dad on foot.
After that Lila was a bit tired, so she didn’t mind my going out last night. I went to my friend Suzanne's for dinner. Then to an art show. My friend Molly and her daughter had a larger exhibit of their paintings in a beautiful gallery space. From there we went to see and hear an amazing avant-garde ensemble, Aventi, with Janice Jackson singing.
Today is another sunny day and the lake is still frozen. More play.
Every morning around 7:15 Lila paces at the door, ready to go out. She’s eager to greet the children at the school bus stop. The buses stop right at the top of my (long) driveway. She’s come to know the children and we chat every morning now.
So I heard about the fort they are building on the island directly in front of my house. The lake is called Five Island Lake. I’ve never been sure just which outcroppings are “the” five islands but they are all interesting and most of them are visible from my house. Today Lila and I went exploring two of them. We found the fort. She was very excited.
The ice won’t last too much longer, I suppose, so we are spending as much time out there as possible. We will miss walking on the lake but it will be nice to have some warm weather eventually. I hear we are to get another snowstorm tomorrow night.
It seems my blog has been on Winter Break, along with NSCAD, Dal and the other Universities in Halifax. It’s been a good break too. Socializing and contemplating. Busy walking on the lake with Lila, playing ball on the lake, meeting neighbors and dogs. The lake has been such a wonderful treat this year, frozen solid, smooth with a gentle snow cover—it will (almost) be hard to see the warm weather return.
Last Thursday I had photos taken of recent work. Almost a dozen thirty inch square paintings. Almost. I still need to work on three. But it seems having so much time to paint, so little interference, so much continuity, I am able to try out, experiment, expand. I can’t rest with easy solutions. It’s exciting. I will put some pix up soon.
Sunday was the Buddhist New Year, a day of meditation and celebration. We are now in the year of the Fire Pig. I’m a Fire Ox. A lot of my friends have been Pigs (no slight intended). I don’t know why. So maybe that means this will be a good year. I know I am feeling good. With such an easy flow of paintings.
My friend Sharon came out for a visit after the events Sunday. She’s in town for a little while from Vermont. I was supposed to take her back into Halifax Monday evening, before my dog class, but it was snowing and blowing so we settled in to watch The Big Easy. Much better, more fun than driving in bad weather on greasy roads and poor visibility. And the dog class was cancelled anyway.
Last night I went to see Notes of a Scandal. The facial expressions in the last scene made the whole movie for me. Today was another walk in Point Pleasant Park. Tomorrow, painting. So that’s my winter break so far. And just think—no school for me next week either
The weekend past the sun was shining, the air was crisp and the whole neighborhood was out on the lake. There were people on bikes, with kites, on skis, just plain walking, families out for a stroll, on the lake. The ice is fourteen inches thick now. You could drive a car on it, I suppose.
By evening each day Lila was pleasantly exhausted. Saturday morning I was playing ball with her when a neighbor came by on cross-country skis and her two dogs. Lila went off with them while I went in to get my skis. I’d only been on skis once before, in Cleveland visiting my sister, so I was eager to try. My neighbor, Suzanne, helped me figure out how to get them on and then how to move in them. It was very exciting.
I don’t mind winter. It’s so very beautiful.
I went to a funeral Thursday evening. This one was for my friend Molly. At the funeral service friends and family talked about their experience of Molly. Molly was strong. Molly could be prickly. Molly was demanding, particular, exacting, not easily compromised. Molly always asked for more, from herself, from others, for more understanding, more perfection, to take more, give more.
I’ve known Molly since I first moved here twenty-three years ago. Our paths crossed and intertwined many times over those years. We worked together at the Shambhala Centre for four years. I was Practice Coordinator (setting up and administering meditation programs) and she was the graphic designer. She took classes at NSCAD U. with me, as well as some of the private classes I taught. The one word I associate with Molly’s artwork, the word I heard often from other students, was integrity. Everything she did was done with integrity and it was especially evident in her artwork even to people who didn’t know her in any other way. I loved having her in my classes because her inquisitive, challenging, intelligent questioning inevitalbly raised the quality of experience for other students as well as for me.
For a few months before she died we emailed frequently. She loved hearing about my painting process and seeing photos of work in progress. And she would tell me about her work. She and her daughter would paint on paper every day she had enough energy.
In her own words:
of course with my own work I go back and forth between being horrified and really feeling good. I hope I keep having enough energy to paint for a while longer both the abstracts and the still lifes. They are such an interesting combination.My energy is really low these days. It makes me sad but what can I do? I just have to accept what is happening to me and relax with it as much as possible.
Any energy I have goes to do a little art. Oh well. That is a good thing to do. And at least I am recognizing that I have been an artist my whole life and that is good. I can have confidence in that finally.
I did visit her just a couple of weeks before she died. She was very frail. She and her daughter Zoe showed me the works on paper they had done together over the past year. Mostly abstract paintings, very colorful, vibrant, open, searching and discovering. For a while a couple of years ago, all of Molly’s paintings could be divided into two distinct paintings. Now there was a wholeness about the work, a unity. After knowing her for so many years when she was so critical of her own work, it was very exhilarating to see the joy she now took in her painting.
After we were through looking at the work, she told me she was about to start another round of chemo. And if it didn’t work, she said, she was toast. But, she also said, “That’s okay. I’ve had a good life, a very rich, full life.” She told me she’s been very fortunate.
As are we to have known her.
Lila and I went out on the lake today to play ball. It's frozen solid. And so very beautiful. I met my next door neighbor the other day for the first time. He was walking his dog on the lake. His dog is young too. The pups played and chased each other. A nice way to meet.
Saturday afternoon I went to a funeral for the nineteen year old son of a friend of mine. He had died as a result of a car crash the week before. Two other of his friends also died in the crash. There must have been about five hundred (or more) people there, half of them under twenty, most of them crying. I don’t think I have seen so many people cry in one place before. It was very very sad. Yet the readers tried to emphasize celebrating Vladimir’s life, his infectious smile, enthusiasms, intelligence and wit. It was still very very sad.
Yesterday I saw the movie Venus with Peter O’Toole. Those Brits really know how to do it. An amazing movie. Beautiful cinematography. Perfect acting. You can’t beat Peter O’Toole, for sure. No plastic surgery here, no hiding. no pretence. It was, simply stated, about love and living even while facing death. I doubt if it will stay around here long. But I hope it does, that more people see it. Like the fog, death creeps in on little cat feet. But it is not something we can avoid by moving farther inland.
I also saw Karine Ponties’ dance performance Brutalis on Thursday evening. It too was an intense experience. Beautiful graphically with exotic lighting making the body dislocated forms. Rarely was the whole body seen, just parts of parts. The fifty-five minute performance went by very quickly, perfect. And it was just enough.
So the trip home wasn’t as bad as the trip down. All the planes (the first and the second one) were late so I didn’t miss my connection. And I had a really good book to read and knew I wasn’t going to miss anything at home anyway (no one was there) so it wasn’t stressful.
I was reading another book about dogs by Jon Katz, finished it in one day. I’ve read most of his books and plan, in the near future, to read the ones I haven’t yet. This one was called A Good Dog: the Story of Orson Who Changed My Life. I had read about Orson in Katz’s other books so I knew he was not an easy dog. He was restless, impulsive, crazy, intense, and very insecure, not seeming to be able to do what human beings expect of their dogs to do. And Katz was determined to help Orson adjust to life with humans. In the process, Orson brought many changes to Katz’s life, helped him to become the person he wanted to be and to live a life more suited to him.
The story of the deep love he felt for his dog (and the dog for him) was very powerful. I sat on the plane with very wet eyes and tears fell (in the evening at home) as I read the sad yet peaceful ending. I feel very connected to his story. It was in many ways, similar to my life with Lila. Only she is a very different dog than Orson, with different “issues.” Orson was easily aroused, overly excitable, as is Lila, but he was more territorial than she. Orson was a nipper and Lila can be as well, but his was a protective instinct. For her, it is uncontrollable excitement.
When I picked her up at Bonnie’s, she was playing with a new ball Bonnie had given her, yet when the other dogs in the room took it away from her, she just looked confused, not angry. She had a wonderful time at her doggie resort, played enthusiastically with the other dogs, rested at quiet time, became a favorite of the owner’s husband, generally was very well behaved. She’s happy to be home, wagged her tail for the first hour here yesterday, stays near me as always.
She’s an intense little dog, needs “work” the same as Orson. During the first few months with her, when my legs were bruised from her running into me and jumping up and I couldn't figure out what would help her, many people suggested I think about giving her back. I never wanted to give up on her. She has not been easy. But I’m learning how to be with her and it is worth it. She loves training exercises, loves to please, loves to make mischief, loves to play. She's naturally good with other dogs; it's the people world she needed to learn about. She’s changed my life as I search for ways to calm her, help her with her sensitivities, both emotional and physical, find dog playmates for her, give her enough exercise, find the right foods. She’s had chronic earaches since I first got her. I’ve tried many methods to help her: Western medicine, Chinese herbs, homeopathy, osteopathy, an animal communicator, and lots of training. She’s been improving impressively recently (especially since the osteopathy three weeks ago). She’s much calmer. I took her to one of my (two) holistic vets today. The last time Jennifer had seen Lila, maybe six month ago, Lila couldn’t stay still, was pacing, jumping up, tearing the mat apart, not letting Jennifer touch her. This afternoon she sat still, obedient and curious. When Jennifer put drops in Lila’s ear to clean it, I could feel my pup relax, become heavy in my arms. Her discomfort is probably responsible for much of the restlessness she has had since I got her almost a year ago.
This dog brings me a better life. She brings me out of my solitary life. I am healthier because of having her. I’ve had to find ways to heal my (often) sore back so I can be with her. Walking with her for an hour or two a day keeps us both fit. I’m meeting many of the people on my (two kilometers of) road. (Almos