lynn monahan

I was just now looking at Facebook and seeing a post from Sunset Beach, a small area where I lived one summer, for 3 months only.  Only 3 months.  That’s it. But what an impression and lasting memory those three months have meant to me. My sister and I went to an open house this weekend to see the first house I lived in (Westholme Drive). Built in 1958 we were the first people to live there. We moved from there in 1967 into our next house on Campmeeting Road!  57 years ago. Talk about memories.  The people that bought the Westholme Drive house from us have lived there all this time.  They died last year so it’s the kids that are selling it.  Kids, you know, in their 60’s, like me.  But anyway, they didn’t change anything!  Even the original aluminum windows are still there with the marble window sills.  The kitchen cabinets were the same, and in great condition!  No dishwasher even.  Our bedrooms and closet doors, same same. Might have been a couple bathroom updates but we think the tub, sink and medicine cabinet were all the same.  The basement had the same tile floor and paneled walls.  And everything is in great condition. My sister spotted a rock that my mom would have brought up from Virginia that was in one of the flower beds.  Of course we wanted to buy it, but neither of us have $425,000 for a house with no dishwasher.  Okay, neither of us has $425,000 for a house with a dishwasher. 

When my childhood friends Ellen and Jennifer were here a few weeks ago, we did the childhood loop of our houses remembering all the times we were at each other’s houses.  But the house I’m referring to with these girls was the next house we lived in, the Campmeeting road house.  The Campmeeting Road house looks NOTHING like when we lived there.  Nothing like it. So the first house exactly the same, the second nothing!

I don’t know what any of this means, but it has come to my attention that I have not been blogging.  When I mentioned the other day, when asked about it, that I had nothing to say, I also said “when did that ever stop me” – realizing that in the past I would just sit at the computer and see what came out of my head onto the page.  And that’s how this started today.

I’ve lived in a lot of places. Too many. I am jealous of people that live in one house all their lives.  Barb recently told me that we are supposed to be planning our next life now, at the end of this life, although I feel like I still have a lot of life to live, but there are definitely things I will do differently next time.  I have to admit I have been saying to myself “next life,,,this…” but now, since talking to Barb, I’ve written it down.

I want to be a girl again and meet my husband in 2^nd grade and be settled on that.  And since that will be settled I will focus on school work and not boys next time. I want to have all my same childhood friends.  I want to be an architect.  I want to meet all my same college friends in college again, the whole lot of them, all of 4^th floor Scranton Hall.  And we will all be friends with our husbands and kids and go on vacations together, like those TV show friends of couples that hang out together.  And finish college, and marry my 2^nd grade boyfriend, and live in a house that we will live in for all of our adult lives with our children who will come home to visit at the same home they grew up in. I will never move, never divorce, never even think about it.  And we will live in Europe.  France maybe.  Mountains AND beach.  Maybe I’ll like skiing next time. And I will speak several languages, because I will have grown up on the boarder of various countries. French, German, English, Spanish.   I told my sister this and that I wanted to have the same siblings, although if having my same parents they would have to agree to some serious therapy before agreeing to be parents again.  But my sister said no way.  She wants a break from us and our parents.  LOL.  I guess she had enough of my mother and us and needs a life off, or two.  Whatever. She’ll change her mind in the “inbetween” life and beg us to come back into the fold.  I just think it’s the oldest child syndrome.  They hate anyone that comes after them.  They hate sharing. She can come back the baby next time.

I think it’s fun to think about this stuff, but not sure how healthy it is to be planning something next and not taking full advantage of what life I have left to live.  Knowing that I have lived so much so far, I mean in countless number of homes and places, and even 3 months at the beach can have such an impression on my life, on the whole of my life, and even one day can be significant.  I remember a lot of “days” or moments of the day anyway, so each moment could be significant.  When I walk up and down these city streets, when I’m not cursing our mayor and state of affairs, I am remembering all the places I’ve worked, all the friends I’ve made at various jobs, friends I’ve met at the various bars and restaurants that are no longer there, all the stores I shopped in, that are no longer there, and the way things used to be.  I am grateful for those memories because the city now is a shit hole but I know that it wasn’t always like this. Not to be cheeky but there is a lot of talk about “people that look like me” – you hear it – and I will say there is NOONE in this town that looks like me.  And I’m not talking color, I’m talking working people.  I see very very few people that look like they are coming or going to work, in an office.  And when I do they are not my age.  Although once in awhile I will see someone my age.  Typically we smile at each other because we know we are an anomaly.  In the old days you’d recognize people who lived here too.  But I don’t even see that.  It is so sad to me.  Talk about crying.  But on other days, when they are setting up for an event, like this weekend, when there is so much activity getting ready for Picklesburgh, and it’s going on right outside my building, I feel pretty jazzed and kinda cool that I live here and the excitement and energy level is pumped and then I get pumped too.  But other than an event, the energy level is horrible. It’s sad and it’s past time to move.

I’m working three days a week now at my little law firm.  I know, I know, I said never would I work three days but I don’t mind.  It keeps my mind off of myself and it’s a couple bucks and I always knew I’d have to work into retirement.  It’s a lot better for me than I ever thought I would say.  Our office is moving to Mt. Lebanon in a couple months.  Which won’t be as convenient as walking four blocks, but at least I won’t have to worry about getting shot on my way to or from work.  At least I don’t think I will.  I guess that can happen anywhere.  I plan on breaking my lease then and getting the hell out of dodge after my company moves. I signed another year’s lease here but I just don’t think I can do it, especially after the firm moves. And I have too many memories to make to stay in a place that makes me sad.  I love my apartment but outside of it, well, its not getting any better. 

Mt. Lebanon here I come!!

xoxoxo

So, mom died. I attribute (blame) her last months here on Earth for my lack of writing.  I kinda attribute a lot of these past “lost” years to her.  Not in a “bad” way, it was just the way I coped, which to be honest was not a great example.  I moved back to Pittsburgh 6 years ago.  First of all, I was living in Daytona Beach and did not have a job.  I had a temporary job but I was in between jobs after the dreaded Stetson experience. And I was offered a job in Pittsburgh, back home.  Although I didn’t really want to move back to Pittsburgh, I did need a job, and this was a really good job offer.  And of course my kids are here.  Grown up, and used to not having me around, but still they were here.  Not to mention countless friends (those same ones I deserted when I moved to Finally Florida).  Anyway, but what was the final justification that gave me the strength to leave my Finally Florida dream?  I had to help with mom.  It wasn’t fair to my sister to bear the brunt of all of that so I should move back and help. Plus I loved my mom. And move I did.

I think there are levels of debate as to how much others may have thought I helped.  I joked with someone recently that it will be etched on my gravestone “you only came once a week” – which is a rather sore spot, but I digress.  The real impetus of my whole existence these past 6 years, while we watched and waited for mom to die, was, well, watching and waiting for her to die. Being on edge, waiting and wondering.  Every day there was some sort of guilt.  Was I there enough?  Was I there too much? Am I helping?  Am I intruding?  Am I over doing it?  Am I underdoing it? There was a whole lot of resentment.  Was I getting anything out of this?  Was I getting any money?  LOL.  She gave me plenty of money, I’m not complaining.  Really she’s my mom and I didn’t mind, mostly, helping.  But there was just so much more to it.  It’s so much more emotional than just being there physically. 

I noticed these past few months I just kinda stopped. I did not stop Jar painting, I probably picked that up even more out of nervousness, but I am now wondering, on some level, did I know it was about to end ?  I mean we always sort of joked about her ending, joked with her, and she was always cognizant enough to joke about it, and also to want it to happen, fast!  But she was basically healthy.  Other than losing her sight, which could have been avoided we all believe, her vitals were always strong. Good heart, slightly elevated blood pressure but never that high.  Clean living until the end. She had an “alert” end of her life that she could communicate, good and bad, with us. Her frustrations, her fears, her anger.  Lots of anger and frustrations there at the end.  And you know as a daughter, as this daughter, one (me) can take a lot of that to heart.  Not that she was angry at me, but just the fact that you have to witness that and figure out how to process it, and how to support it.  I mean it’s A LOT.  And I feel I have put my life on hold ever since I moved back to Pittsburgh, my life, my thoughts, my feelings and actions (or non actions) have all been based around my mom. 

Why was this a mistake?  Because now I feel pretty lost. I don’t feel lost without my mom, I feel lost that I didn’t pursue my interests more.  I didn’t forge those broken ties with my kids more.  Although I have been working on that.  I mean I have been back here 6 years and still don’t know where I want to settle.  When I first moved back I thought I had to be in Sewickley, near my mom and then in a knee jerk decision ended up in Mt. Washington.   Like where did that come from?  Then I bought a house, a goal of mine since 2010 when I sold my other house.  Then that fell through and I end up in an apartment in the city!  Like where did THAT come from?  Now my kids are in Bethel Park (south, but still a suburb of the city) and another in San Francisco.  Neither near Sewickley.  I can’t afford Sewickley.  I mean do I go to the south suburb where my one son, who I rarely see, lives?  I mean I don’t even know where to live.  I have been waiting and watching and wondering when my mom would die before deciding where to settle.

Ever since Finally Florida, ever since I left Florida and moved in with mom in Virginia, and then back to Florida and then back to Pittsburgh I have been struggling to find myself.  And then in the midst of all this I retire!!  Which I swear has been the greatest feeling (other than the birth of at least that first child.  I mean the second was great too, but that first is like “wow, this came out of me” – there is nothing so wonderous as that realization.  You created this human being!  The second one is like, oh yea, I did this before 😊 ) Anyway, so here I am.  After retirement I thought “NOW, I will find myself” – I thought now that I can do whatever I want (but obviously still need to survive financially) I felt freer to try things.  And try things I did, but always with that tie to mom.  Not to mention the support and encouragement from mom.  Which I got, but historically did not come easily.  However, this late in life she became very supportive, but also, not exactly critical, but always asking what I could do “better” – and she did this lovingly.  I know that.  I KNOW that. But I always felt like I was disappointing her because I wasn’t this huge success that she thought I should be. SHE was frustrated by it. LOL. I mean the pressure of not only not succeeding in my trivial pursuits but of also letting my mother down.  I mean, where are my therapists???

So to say that mom’s passing has been freeing, is an understatement.  First of all it was her freedom.  Her freedom of stuck in a room, in a chair, blind, with no quality of life at all.  For six years.  Was some of that, all of that, self-inflicted?  Does it matter? I had to witness it, through my own perspective of what was going on and it was stressful.  So was it freeing to me?  Heck yea.  No more worries about my role in this support of her, or the family, am I free from my one day a week? LOL. I sure am.  Is my sister free from her being in her house sharing the one bathroom, having to get up every night when she would get lost in the hall?  Is she free to sleep?  Yep she is.  There is a lot of freedom now.  And again, mostly my mom’s freedom, which we all wanted for her.  I mean there gets to a point in life where life is no longer worth living.  She got there.  She got there years ago.  But I wish it would have been different for her.  I wish I wouldn’t have moved back to Florida from Virginia. I wish I could have figured out a way to stay there in Virginia.  I wish a lot of things.  But the reality is I am “here” – and I don’t know where “here” is.

This is not in tone with my usual bloggy-ness is it?  I don’t usually like to go this introspective but my fingers are typing away on this computer and I can’t seem to stop myself.  I was talking to Diane today, on this Tuesday which had recently become “mom” visit day, and told Di that I am struggling to know what to do with myself.  The Jar decorating that kept me busy for months has seemed to have waned, weirdly, because now you’d think I’d get even more into it.  But I’m sort of viewing that now as restless energy that I was transmuting. Diane said to try and remember all the stuff that I’ve been putting off because I didn’t feel I had time.  Mom used to always ask about my blogging.  I said, recently, that I just felt I didn’t have time.  I was always getting interrupted by either an actual place I had to be, or just my thoughts and couldn’t focus on it.  So Diane said to me, just today, why don’t you try and get back to that?

I love my friends. I mean, they have been there for years of my venting, YEARS, and with such good advice.  Really, I should have gotten there myself.  I should have thought, huh, now I can do “this” and “that” and “whatnot” but I hadn’t gotten there yet.  Until today, when Diane suggested it.  And lucky you all to be able to read all of this outpouring of grief and explanation of where I’ve been.

Do you think I’m a blogger?  Is this who I am?  Am I a writer?  (yes…just say yes) I mean I am a fast typist for sure as this blog coming out is taking no time at all.  I will take Diane’s advice and start actually doing the things that I have put off for so long because of whatever reason.  I have no excuses any more.  I only work TWO days a week out of the house, and those are two HALF days so I have plenty of time to blog, to write a book, to paint a jar (or my new thing of clam shells) or to start an exercise regime.  Okay I still need time for that exercise regime to take hold… can I blame not doing exercise on grief?

I have found myself often having those split-second thoughts of “gotta call mom and tell her this” – but it’s just like a split second.  I didn’t live with her so I don’t feel an immediate loss in my home, mostly I feel a loss of youth.  Of a life gone by.  I look back at times when I was a kid, like little kid, then teenager and being 16 years old and crawling into bed with my parents because I was scared after I saw the movie The Exorcist.  I mean 16!  And she just moved over and let me in. I was 58 years old and still putting my head on her lap when I lived with her in Virginia and we would sit on the couch in front of a fire I made and listen to the fire and I would put my head on my mom’s lap. She never scooted me off.  Never acted like I was too old for any of it.  I think what I’ll miss the most is when I DO become that successful person she so believed I should be that she won’t be here to share in the joy of it.  But I know she’ll be “here” in spirit.  I did suggest to her once that maybe she could help me more from the other side and to hurry up and get over there and try.  We joked about that a lot. We, us Monahans, do not fear death.  I’m sure we fear dying too soon, no one wants that.  But 92, blind, sitting in a room, is not too soon. 

Now that I’m an orphan I can look back and say that I have had a pretty good life.  There are things that happened in my childhood that would shock even the most cynical of people, as I expect happens in more families than we know, BUT when I look back as a whole, and I think about my brother and sisters and how much I really do like us as a family I would have to say they, my parents, did a good job.  We are nice to each other, we laugh A LOT, we make fun of good things to make fun of and we share a true affection for our parents and our childhood.  I mean really, what more can you ask for.

I guess I’m back to blogging.

Xoxox

When I find myself with some time on my hands, which is often these days, I scroll. It’s awful. I have a bit of a morning routine which lasts maybe an hour and then I think “let’s just see if I have any messages on social media” which I never do, especially first thing in the morning.  But it doesn’t matter.  I look anyway, and then it’s 3 p.m. and my brain is like mush.  And the one thing I haven’t done is write, anything. Not in a journal, not in a blog, not a book.  So before I turn to mush one more day I thought I’d try and write. I do have an adventure to share.

I sold my car.  Some of my peeps think it’s a sad/desperate thing but it is not.  Although there is certainly a financial consideration at play I am having a most fun adventure.  I mean I live in the city.  Many of us city folks do not have cars.  And what some of us senior citizens have is a FREE bus pass.  My first day without a car I was staying at Zach’s new house dog sitting.  His new house happens to be one block from the “T” – You may be wondering what the “T” stands for.  I had to Google it.  This is what it says:

The “T” stands for … well, nothing. Back in 1985 when the system debuted, Port Authority ran a public naming contest because “trolley” and “streetcar” were deemed too old-fashioned. A number of suggestions came in, including PASS (Pittsburgh Area Subway System), but “T” was chosen.

Pretty funny. Leave it to Pittsburghers. Anyway, the “T” runs on train tracks that I am assuming were old streetcar tracks that serve the South Hills of Pittsburgh.  Having grown up in the northern area of Pittsburgh the “T” is very foreign to me and it’s a GREAT adventure.  So anyway, the first carless day after staying at Zach’s (he picked me up at Carvana after the sale) Zachary walked me to the “T” stop.  I said I felt like I was at one of those stagecoach stops in the middle of nowhere that you see in old movies. Not quite as bad as this photo but still a tiny stop. The train came and as fate would have it once aboard my bus pass didn’t work.  BUT those drivers know there are glitches and I was able to get home anyway. (I got it fixed the next day) – Anyhow I was like a little kid on that T.  Seeing all these back areas of the South Hills, you know those trains don’t go on the roads like busses.  I mean what a new adventure for me! Since then I have the PRT (Pittsburgh Regional Transit) Schedules everywhere.  On my phone, in paper, in texts.  I take the bus to Sewickley (mom) on Tuesday.  I catch it right across the street from my apartment building.   Getting home (back to the city) is tricky so I’ve been staying overnight at Diane’s and taking a morning bus back in. Mom loves to keep me there when I say it’s time to go.  They say your parents become like kids and what a pain-in-the-ass kid she can be. Some things just come into focus with your parents at this stage of life. And it’s only one day (and night) of my week. And Diane doesn’t seem to mind.  We go way back as roommates.  Right Di? Anyway, a whole new and fun adventure. I had groceries delivered one day this week and that worked out great – it’s a little pricier than going yourself – but hey I was in my pajamas when they were delivered.  My shopper was an early riser! Last weekend I bussed to a friend’s house and we went shopping together.  She offered to drive me home so I loaded up her car. I took advantage of the ride!  I go to a Spa across the street from my apartment, not often but anyway, the owner of the Spa who also lives in the city, doesn’t have a car either – for 15 years – she was telling me all about how to use a Zip car.  I mean how cool am I? At least I feel pretty cool. I have embraced city living even more.  Now when this apartment lease runs out next summer we’ll see what we see, but for now it was probably the step I needed to bring a little spark back into my life.  Would a new Mercedes GLC 300 have that same spark?  I’d say so, but maybe wait a month or so until this carless adventure has run its course.

You know how older people say, I still feel like an 18-year-old inside?  They are full of shit.  As I make these decisions – like selling my car, for now – my biggest concern is being afraid to drive again.  I have been proud of myself for zipping in and out of these city roads, merging and the like, I mean Pittsburgh driving is the WORST, and I’ve been doing it like a pro while other friends are slowly backing away from driving in various forms.  But I am always worried when I’m driving. Part of it has to do with the car – that it didn’t have the “go” like other cars and pulling into traffic you need that – but the other part is I’m tired of driving. I’m tired of the stress and I’m slightly afraid of not getting that confidence back if I get too far away from it.  And that’s because I’m NOT an 18-year-old.  I’m 65, and I feel every bit of my age. I can tell certain things make me nervous that I never even considered before, mainly driving, or getting lost. Honestly I don’t remember how I felt when I was 18 so it’s really hard to say what age I feel like but I just know I don’t feel young.  And I certainly don’t LOOK young but that’s in the category now of “whatever” – I was a young and pretty thing once.  We all were.  But time marches on and some of us look different and don’t drive and are very happy to sit in a chair and scroll through social media and read stupid sayings or look at dog or cat videos that make us laugh.  How pathetic is that. Just a couple weeks ago I was thinking I need a robust life. You know, like on the show Yellowstone. I need to wrangle some horses, muck some stalls, round up some cattle.  Go for horse rides.  Maybe work in the garden all day.  I need RIP (a Yellowstone (the show) reference) – I mean I really need a RIP. 

I need him to saddle the horse before I get on it.  I guess I need a modified robust life.  Someone to do all the hard work but I still get to ride a horse.  Anyway, I go between feeling old and feeling like I need to get out of this city and live a vigorous life. I could drive a truck through the prairie lands – as long as there’s no merging involved.

Perhaps this is a blog about “what would you do with your lottery winnings?”  It could happen.  I am learning to manifest. Why just the other day I needed a nail file/emory board when I ripped a nail at work and sure enough didn’t have one in my purse.  And then, I was cleaning out some files and pulled an empty box off a shelf and what was in it?  A pen AND a nail file.  Just like that, a manifesting master I became.  So perhaps I can manifest a ranch life with RIP, horses, cattle, mountains and fresh air all day long. Is that what I want? Hard to say.

Today, I’ll paint a couple jars.  Tomorrow I’ll take the bus to Janice and we’ll go to lunch.  I mean that’s as robust as I’m going to get this weekend.  But can that ranch life be far behind?

xoxoxo

Which is good because that’s all I have time for today

xoxox

Have you ever had one of those days where you cry, a lot, for no reason?  Asking for a friend.  I don’t know what her problem is because her day seemed to be okay.  For instance, she got up on time to get her car to the shop for her appointment to get the car inspection.  She held her breath all morning petrified of the results of the inspection, but as luck would have it there were no immediate threats.  There are threats that should be taken care of within the next year, which she can live with, so that’s not a reason to cry.

Then, this past Tuesday, she was invited to participate in a craft show (uncanny so similar to me) which at first she turned down due to a previous engagement, then emailed back in the middle of the night to say “wait, I can do it”..and even though they had already moved on to the next person, the next person also cancelled so she was able to get into the craft show.  But with the car being inspected at the shop she had no idea if she could get to the craft show site to set up prior to the start of the craft show start tomorrow morning.  And then, because God smiles on the downtrodden, at times, the car was ready at a time that she was able to pick up the car, swing by her apartment, pack up the boxes and drive the hour to the craft show site.  She was very unprepared because she had no tablecloth big enough but they were able to provide one. She was embarrassed at her unpreparedness but stopped by Walmart on her way home and bought 6 tablecloths (disposables) – 3 to reimburse the event place and 3 to keep for herself.  And get this, the organization sponsoring this event works with the blind!  How kismittey because she has a blind mother.  So immediately loves the organization. 

Her day went pretty splendidly having her car inspected without incident, making it to the craft center, surprised they’re an organization that works with the blind, got all set up, drove home in the pouring down rain, which was stressful, like VERY stressful but when she came home the sun came out and the sky turned blue.

So why cry?  What’s her problem?

I guess we all have days like that.  It’s cloudy, rainy, grey, and sometimes you just need a day to let it all out.  At least that’s what I told her.

Happy Friday

xoxoxo

PS – Not a lot of progress on the painting. It was a busy week.

This week I’ve been trying to transform to a morning person. I think a new sleep pattern will help me sleep in the night when we are supposed to sleep. I tend to stay up late and sleep late, if I sleep at all.  Many, many nights I lay in bed until it starts getting light out, like 5:30 am ish, then I sleep until 11 am.  Except now I have a job at least two days a week. Good thing I don’t start until 11:30 am.  Last weekend I had maybe 4 hours of sleep before the Saturday Craft Fair.  Since the fair was a “bust” and I sat at my table for 8 hours with nary a customer, I had a really really hard time staying awake.  Saturday night, after the craft fair,  I was in bed at 8:30 pm.  Slept straight through until 6:00 am.  So I came up with the idea to get up early everyday and maybe I’ll sleep through the night.

And now, I’m wondering why does anyone care?  Well, only because I am making myself blog once a week and this is my latest news.  So what I’m trying is to get up every day at 7:30 am regardless of what time I go to sleep and eventually I’ll start going to bed at 9 pm and getting up early.  Last night I went to bed at 2 am – got up today at 10:30 am.  I have a problem sticking to my goals.

Let’s see, Zachary, my beloved oldest child, loves to think of crafty things for me to do.  He is very encouraging in that realm.  Last year I painted a Paint By Number for him of Van Gogh Irises.  I gave it to him almost as a joke cause I thought it was so bad.  He loved it.  LOVED it.  He’s always trying to come up with things like that for me to do.  So this week he gave me a Paint By Number that he ordered for me to paint for him.  When I looked at it I knew, without a doubt, that he hates me.  I mean look at this:

He told me he created the picture using one of these AI programs so it’s an “original” piece of art and he says my painting it will be original art.  It will keep me busy and away from the jars since the jars do not seem to be selling.

I will try to sell my jars at two more events this fall.  One in November and one in December. I do kinda/sorta enjoy the idea of going to Craft fairs, even though it’s a lot of work packing and unpacking. I don’t even mind that I don’t sell them sometimes, BUT I do need to sell them sometimes too.  I understand from all the vendors I’ve talked to that these craft fairs can be extremely hit or miss.  I’m okay with that, as long as there is a hit in there at times.  Zachary thinks I should diversify.  I don’t disagree but I have limited space in my apartment so whatever it is has to be able to be made on a 2×2 piece of counter space in my kitchen. So no furniture painting. I know that’s what Zachary thinks I’d be good at, only because he’s seen me do that in the past. But again, apartment living is not conducive to furniture painting.  However I did paint this table when I lived in a much smaller apartment in Florida. 

In my hometown we have two schools.  The public school and the private school. I was always envious of the creative arts fields that so many of the private school girls went into. There were interior designers, horticulturists, painters, artsy girls. I envied their artsy paths. An artsy path is a very iffy financial path.  Very inconsistent or not at all. So I understand why people with more financial stability would be able to take those risks.  Just doesn’t seem like that should be a thing to stop us.  Do I sound like a socialist?  I think in Denmark or one of those countries, don’t they all make the same amount of money so you can choose to be a Doctor or a jar maker?  Whatever you do, you do for love, not for money.  I do like that idea.  Why do people give equality such bad press?  Does everyone want to compete with their neighbor? I believe my thoughts are now going into polarizing territory so I will stop this ramble for today.  Just know that I see myself as an eccentric artist now, in a studio with paint all around.  What I’m painting I’m not sure yet. But in this vision I don’t seem to be sitting at the typewriter writing my next book.  And maybe that is what my vision should be since sitting and writing is more conducive to apartment living. Ugh so many choices.  Which way do I go?

Today, I’m going to paint by number.  It will either strengthen my eyesight or make me go blind.  Hoping for the best.

xoxox