If you’ve been following my blog, you know that from hornworms and weight loss to metamorphosis paintings personally, to our U.S. as a whole it’s plain to see- this is a year of change in many many ways. Several years ago my youngest (teenage) child kept saying
“I can’t even.”
Having older children builds a bridge between generations, like it or not. Try to avoid current pop lyrics, forget it.
Continue to say things like, “Neato!” and you will be eye-rolled.
Remain clueless to current slang: impossible.
As far as music goes, I have never said, “Music in MY day was better.” Because what does “MY day” even mean? I love music, not all of it, but my taste has nothing to do with which decade the music came out in. Music isn’t ‘better’ to me, because it was popular when I was in my ‘growing up’ years. I think when people say “Music was better in MY day,” what they are really doing is liking the music more from their growing up years, simply because the brain attaches a nostalgia to these years and in so doing, it attaches nostalgic reminiscing to the soundtrack that existed then. They hear the song and !voila! they feel the nostalgia. I guess I’m just the kind of person who is building tomorrow’s nostalgia today. I have always said, TODAY is MY day. I am open to music. I don’t like graphic rap, I abhor country, and I don’t like techno but those are personal “diverse” tastes and opinions.
In the U.S. we all have to agree that diversity and freedom to have our own moral standards, tastes and opinions -is quite different than divisiveness (the dividing of us based on many things) and should not be used interchangeably. There is a “United” in United States after all.
Live and let live. Be proactive, not reactive and all that and so forth. (and now I sound like Sue from The Middle…:))On the whole, my point is that I am open to new things and to change, even though my ‘catching on’ period is slow and has a learning curve. And personally I fear change of any kind especially the kind that doesn’t align with my values. I digress.
So my teenager would say, “I can’t even!” And I would say (as if on cue, every time):
“You can’t even what?”
And he’d roll his eyes every time (that’s what they do). Apparently the saying for exasperation and disbelief goes like this:
“I can’t even.”
Urban Dictionary defines the term (with the typos intact here- I can’t even believe the misuse of the word ‘too!’)
I can’t even
Yes thoes three words are a sentence a full sentence, well only on tumblr. But is often used when something is either too funny, scary, cute, to have a good reaction too.
Well, I see those typos and I can’t even. Well these last few days have been… at least for me, have been a long drawn out feeling of I CAN’T EVEN. I am working on developing my fiction writing, and in doing so, I have decided, after the advice of a friend, to read more fiction which is usually only a small percentage of what I read. In fact I finally read “The Curious Incident Of The Dog In The Night Time” after all these years. It’s important to me to develop my own fiction writing style and by reading more fiction I think this can help. But being so distraught lately, I marched into the library and got me some nonfiction called Beer Money which is written by Fran Stroh, the daughter of the Schlitz and Schaefer (my father drank that) beer mogul. Facts are safe and fun and interesting.
So why DOES a walnut resemble a brain?
Could it really be true that Monet saw ultraviolet light?
Are bee populations truly making a strong comeback after the banning of certain pesticides?
Can I not just write fiction ‘good enough’ to publish but can I write ‘good fiction?’ (okay that question is just that nagging voice in my head that won’t shut up lately…)
I’m trying to change the subject here because as someone in my social media said, and I paraphrase: ‘please respect that there are 7 stages to grief.’ I’m talking politics here, something I never do or rarely do, in this blog, and probably won’t again.
I think it is bitter irony and perhaps not so coincidental that on Nov. 9, 1989 the President exclaimed “tear down the wall!” And yeah in Berlin the wall came down. On that same date 2016, somebody somewhere was making plans to build a wall here in the US. I’m sick over that.
Intention. I can control THAT. I can’t allow my head to have sadness/disappointment as a default.
a thing intended; an aim or plan.
“she was full of good intentions”
the healing process of a wound.
Just yesterday on my way to the copier place to do a mundane task, I saw bare trees. I’ve lived in New England all my life; so of course I know the process. When they drop leaves, it’s due to the fact that the tree seals the spots where the leaves are attached. Then fluids can’t flow in and out of the leaves, so they change color and fall off. The falling of the leaves helps the tree survive the cold, dry air of winter.
I know that it is necessary for survival, this CHANGE (this sealing off, this preparation, this bracing itself to weather the changes coming) and so normally I don’t feel a bit sad when the colorful show starts to fade. It’s a self protection response. If my own colors dim lately well that too is self preservation against change.
Just a few weeks ago I heard someone say, “I guess peak color is over. Look at all the bare trees!” He said this just as I was enjoying the trees that still held vibrant color. I replied honestly: “I didn’t notice the bare ones. I was looking at the ones that are still colorful, I guess.” He gave me a look as if to say: “Oh is this a ‘glass half full’ thing?” So there I was yesterday, seeing ONLY the bare trees when I forced myself to flip my thinking and then I saw that so many trees still flew flags of brilliant color, especially Oaks, that lovely reddy/sienna/russet color I so love in nature… And there, I was smiling, it was my intent to see things differently which enabled that. I know that is sappy. Pun intended.
It is not easy.
Are walnuts shaped like brains because they have a very high content of omega-3 fatty acids, which help support brain function? I’m sure I don’t know, but nature tells us many things if we observe. Nature is telling us the climate is changing and my observation sadly is that Mr. T, the new elect, doesn’t BELIEVE in global climate change. Okay so now I’m struggling to hold my head up again. The trees may ‘look’ not-so-pleasing-to-the-eye when they are bared, but that can be a matter of perspective, right? Self preservation. And bracing themselves.
One has to remember that it’s a necessary change. Change (even the force fed kind) is just…. uncomfortable. Like icky medicine, but this change (she won popular vote, the people chose her for lack of a good choice but it can seem our vote meant nothing. Electoral process has to go.)
So back to the Monet conundrum: could the artist see in ultraviolet just like some animals? Most people would see water lilies as white. But after he had the lens on his left eye removed at the age of 82, Claude Monet started painting the flowers with a blue tinge.
The red and yellow version of the lilies is painted as seen through his left eye, limited to the wavelengths allowed by his cataract. One painting is deep blue and violet, as seen through an eye with no lens. I can understand this to a point, because quite literally my vision is changing too. When I’m propped on my pillow at night reading, per my routine, I close one eye and at once the paper on the book is bright, golden, simply lit! But if I close the other eye instead, the paper takes on a tinge which is beigey-pink. When viewing with both eyes, the page is just-white. I’ve tried altering light source/direction but it’s always the same and reminds me every time (because I do this experiment every evening without fail) that inner perspective is always subject to change too and fearing it accomplishes nothing.
I am a visual person. A symbolic thinker and lately my new line of artwork reflects my new interest in COLOR use and in symbolism. I’ve changed my art style to grow personally and also because it feels right to do so. Although I am at times consumed with world problems, I like to see progress. I’ve been an outspoken bee advocate for many years but somewhere out there the right people were in the right place and affected the right changes. Because, drumroll!!!!! : The Journal of Insect Science says bees ARE making a comeback! My own yard was host to three different types of bee nests this past summer. I was so glad to see them. Let’s all stay informed and outspoken about environmental issues. In a different set of circumstances, I’d have been a research biologist but I am not (am entirely capable given the education which I did not have) and so I read.
I expressed to a friend my trepidation in writing fiction. She suggested I do this: write I AM ENOUGH on my bathroom mirror in lipstick. Ah but I have never worn, nor do I own lipstick, but I used eyeliner and blush and followed her advice. I am not feeling it. I don’t know when it should kick in. I mean I KNOW I’m enough. I’m not subject to subliminal messaging (people like me can never be ‘hypnotised’), but I am willing to let the message stay on the mirror a bit longer just in case there’s something to it.
In other news, I finally got a soft and comfy fidget toy that I love. See here:At my library I studied this for a long time:
And I got to thinking about the people pursuing higher education who were allowed time for grieving and exams got postponed for them. As I stared at the flag, limp although the breezes of Autumn were jostling it a little I was happy Professors “get” this sorrow. I saw people spreading negativity, and instead of attempting to understand our collective loss and disappointment, people were saying GROW UP PUSSIES! GET OVER IT! WOOSES! and I was so sad. Because these were the same folks who accepted a guy who said Oh yeah I’ll accept the election results. If I win.
That’s a double standard.
Let us grieve. This is not a case of being poor losers, like Mr. T said he would be, this is an example of a loss far greater. Tantruming toddlers get a LOT of the attention, let’s face it, even grown up toddlers. My remedy for that is remove the toddler from the building and walk away head up. But embarrassment, sorrow, anger, all the stages of grief remain. that’s just my opinion.
Sometimes I CAN’T EVEN.
But I can have a voice. And I’m not afraid to use it. I recited jeopardy answers aloud in my head only last night, unable to say them aloud because of the way my brain shuts me down when I am sad. But I am enough.
I’m selling three paintings Saturday Nov 12 at The Good Purpose Gallery in Lee Massachusetts. Two are ”my take’ on Old Masters (VanGogh) and the green one is my impression of Vermont.
40 Main St
Lee, MA 01238
I have seen some of the art in this auction which benefits charity. It is very special indeed in its depth, and warm interpretation of nature and other subjects. I am honored to be a part of it.
For people not on the east coast, here is the gallery phone number and hours:
+1 (413) 394-5045
9AM to 5 PM I’m sure they’d take over the phone bids.
💕💜⁉️💛also, decorated paintbrushes benefitting charity, are being auctioned. Here is my contribution which I had so much fun creating!