Theme: And Then There Was None
Incoherent stream of consciousness ramblings…
Page 13 Transcript
November 19/20, 2010
The end is not the end. It is a transition.
My regular pilgrimage to Fort Langley to connect with mom and rituals we loved doing together. Coming out by myself is good for me. That it is OK to go out on your own without the need for other company. LONELINESS is not part of ALONE TIME and I feel cozy as the hermit usually tend to be… Just ordered a large in house cappuccino and a scone at the local café. I used to get nervous sitting by myself. I recall the panic attack I had, pregnant with Anna in 1985. I left my uneaten sandwich at the Sunshine Diner and fled. It’s funny cause I never seek out friendships. They happen if they happen but I do not go out of my way to connect, it seems. Unless the friendship is somehow connected to my work/art, I’m afraid I couldn’t be bothered to maintain it or seek new ones cause I am so busy and pulled in so many directions that friendship has to equal multitasking… Ramblings of a weirdo… IKEA next.
Page 14 Transcript
November 22, 2010
Sometimes you have to stay home and cry. Let me pick up two Stephen Levine books that have helped my through unbearable times. Where does “Who Cares?” fall open to? OMG- I just wrote “Who Cares?” when the title is “Who Dies?” [Wow]. It falls open to p. 147. “We are each in a process of awakening. Becoming fully born so that we may die each moment past our fear and isolation. The illusion of separateness dies to reveal the deathlessness of our essential nature.” “A Year to Live” falls open to p. 68. “And offering me her shoulder she whispered, when a thousand people look at the moon there are a thousand moons.”
Today I take the day to recupe- to dare to take care of myself as I take care of my home. I took apart Mormor’s (my mom’s mom) old bench to reveal the old cloth and stuffing. Daring to look into the interior to face the loss of that time.
This was a grieving exercise for me today, as I battle dark feelings and instead decide to take some precious hours to think about mom. I was raised with that little bench which sat for years at our summerhouse in Värmland. It has been with me for years now and my father-in-law, Ralph, fixed the leg years ago and stripped it to its natural pine. Over the years it has kept its original cloth underneath a myriad of covering. I pulled it apart and found this amazing original stuffing which unfortunately is not keep-able. It fell apart and sadly I threw it out, as I wonder what stories lie inside all those nooks and crannies.
The original cloth is a beautiful worn floral piece that reminds me so much of my grandmother, Stina (my “mormor”).
On the back of the board which held the stuffing and the cloth is a pastel drawing that I have always been fascinated with. But who is “Gunnel”? These are those heartbreaking moments when I realize I can’t ask Mom these questions anymore…
I was going to draw mom from this amazing photo taken in 1957, but I couldn’t do it.
See page 1 at The Sketchbook Project page 1
See page 2 at The Sketchbook Project page 2
See page 3 at The Sketchbook Project page 3
See page 4 at The Sketchbook Project page 4
See page 5 at The Sketchbook Project page 5
See page 6 at The Sketchbook Project page 6
See page 7 at The Sketchbook Project page 7
See page 8 at The Sketchbook Project page 8
See page 9 at The Sketchbook Project page 9
See page 10 at The Sketchbook Project page 10
See pages 11/12 at The Sketchbook Project page 11/12