April lasted forever
May. 7th, 2018 08:26 amI could write something
I'm kind of out of practice
I feel like I've been curating a lot of life for public consumption, and this is, really, not.
My dad, engineer, sea captain, sailor and builder of tables with tapered legs and brass fittings (they are really distinctive) is losing his memory, and his past and his knowledge. He still retains an inherent kindness, and courteousness (especially towards strangers) and he can still stand, walk, eat and look after himself physically. My stepmother was taken to the local hospital with mysterious stomach pains that resolved into a small bowel obstruction April 12, and was finally released from the hospital two weeks later. I stayed with him 24/7 while she was out of commission and her daughter was advocating on her behalf with the hospital. She couldn't cope with my dad and her recuperation, so we parked him in respite care for two weeks at a local Assisted Living facility, which he refers to as jail. I argue with him steadily about his characterization. The place is full of the kindest, friendliest people I have ever encountered, from staff to occupants. I have never felt so supported in looking after someone.
Because of his memory issues, he thinks the last several weeks have been going on for months, he routinely entertains the thought that his wife (of 33 years) has divorced him or thrown him out, and he can't go home to an apartment he dimly remembers, but should in fact be taken home to South Carolina to his parents' place (currently inhabited by two of his nieces) to die. Which is hard. Especially deflecting the idea of driving from Western Mass to South Carolina.
So that has been a month.
I finished my boat and launched it September 17, in a well attended party at a local pond. It is too fast for the pond - or the pond is too small - so I row on the river when the weather cooperates. Since it has been mostly winter lately, until two days ago when it became August, the boat is temporarily wet side up in the back yard waiting for time and temperatures to moderate everything.
After the boat I started and finished a Tarot of the North Atlantic - artwork in my usual style, photographed by the multi-talented![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
islenskr kick started, fulfilled, and with a couple decks left over in my studio. Which is hwat I call my work room now, because it has tables and chairs and (inadequate) storage space, and is hugely improved.
And then all hell broke loose with my dad, and creative things are kind of on hold. Which is actually fine - I have a glimmer of an idea for some new work, and letting it simmer without releasing it will improve the finished result I think.
I'm kind of out of practice
I feel like I've been curating a lot of life for public consumption, and this is, really, not.
My dad, engineer, sea captain, sailor and builder of tables with tapered legs and brass fittings (they are really distinctive) is losing his memory, and his past and his knowledge. He still retains an inherent kindness, and courteousness (especially towards strangers) and he can still stand, walk, eat and look after himself physically. My stepmother was taken to the local hospital with mysterious stomach pains that resolved into a small bowel obstruction April 12, and was finally released from the hospital two weeks later. I stayed with him 24/7 while she was out of commission and her daughter was advocating on her behalf with the hospital. She couldn't cope with my dad and her recuperation, so we parked him in respite care for two weeks at a local Assisted Living facility, which he refers to as jail. I argue with him steadily about his characterization. The place is full of the kindest, friendliest people I have ever encountered, from staff to occupants. I have never felt so supported in looking after someone.
Because of his memory issues, he thinks the last several weeks have been going on for months, he routinely entertains the thought that his wife (of 33 years) has divorced him or thrown him out, and he can't go home to an apartment he dimly remembers, but should in fact be taken home to South Carolina to his parents' place (currently inhabited by two of his nieces) to die. Which is hard. Especially deflecting the idea of driving from Western Mass to South Carolina.
So that has been a month.
I finished my boat and launched it September 17, in a well attended party at a local pond. It is too fast for the pond - or the pond is too small - so I row on the river when the weather cooperates. Since it has been mostly winter lately, until two days ago when it became August, the boat is temporarily wet side up in the back yard waiting for time and temperatures to moderate everything.
After the boat I started and finished a Tarot of the North Atlantic - artwork in my usual style, photographed by the multi-talented
islenskr kick started, fulfilled, and with a couple decks left over in my studio. Which is hwat I call my work room now, because it has tables and chairs and (inadequate) storage space, and is hugely improved. And then all hell broke loose with my dad, and creative things are kind of on hold. Which is actually fine - I have a glimmer of an idea for some new work, and letting it simmer without releasing it will improve the finished result I think.
