HOW WE SPEND OUR DAYS IS HOW WE SPEND OUR LIVES

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"Even when we read physics, we inquire of each least particle: What then shall I do this morning? How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives."

When I read that line in Annie Dillard's "A Writing Life", it grabbed me by the wrist and held tight. It still won't let go.

There are no words to describe our days on the Mexican Riviera that aren't cliches: azure and turquoise seas, foamy waves that look like lace. Seagulls and osprey cry out while they swoop into the bay trying to grab breakfast. And I wonder: How will I spend today?

I want to write, I want to sketch, I want to paint, I want to swim, I want to read. So I reach into my bag of seductive choices and do whatever my hand first touches...in this case, writing. But as soon as I sit down, the lure of my paint box calls. And I know that if I succumb to that, it won't be long before I'll opt for hunting shells along the beach.

"How we spend our days is how we spend our lives." I've spent too many of the days of my life on a carrousel of options. I’m not unlike the eight-year-old who can't decide which painted horse to choose and therefore rides on none.

My problem, I think, is that any choice I make requires time, and that scares me because, when I truly get "into the zone," large blocks of time fly by. I come out of that magic place, look at what I've created and say to myself, "Wow. I wonder how I did that." I look at the clock -- an entire afternoon is gone and I'm left with no awareness of its passing. At 66, that's a little alarming, for if I'm not aware of the passing of time, am I aware of my life? I don't want my life to pass in a state of unawareness.

(I wrote this a couple of weeks ago during a vacation in Puerto Aventuras, Mexico. We’ve been home for a week and I still seem unable to focus on just one of those options, but at least I’m aware of the dilemma!)

WORK IN PROGRESS--CONQUERING FEARS

D. in Taos
(work in progress)
Phase 1: block-in
oil on canvas

I’ve always admired and, if I’m honest, been a little jealous of people who can paint and sketch in public. Some are plein air painters, totally focused on a lake or a park or a mountain. You’ll find others in a corner of a coffee shop, capturing gestures with a quick laying-down of pencil or charcoal on paper. What makes me envious is that their available subject material is so much greater than mine. Now it isn’t that I don’t want to paint those lakes and parks and mountains, and goodness knows I love figure work. But I seem to be paralyzed by the notion that someone might watch me and, in my overworked imagination, watching equates with judgment. So I’m trapped in my studio with my photographs, well aware that the only thing that’s trapping me is me! In a hopeful attempt to at least start getting past this debilitating fear, I offer something I’ve never offered before...a work in progress. I’m tempted to make all kinds of excuses for it..explain what I know is wrong with it at this point...but all I’m going to say is that it’s in its pre-school stage of development. I intend to post a few more photos as it grows up. In the meantime, I hope that if you, like me, have some unreasonable fears that are holding you back, you’ll find a way to gently ease yourself out, past, or through them. My theory is that bringing a fear into the open will diminish it. Won’t it be neat if it works for both of us?

ON LIVING A POST-BRAIN TUMOR LIFE

An acquaintance asked me a question a few days ago. "Was your experience with your brain tumor a life changing event?" I've been thinking about that question a lot. Short answer: No. After all, there was never a question of malignancy, and the "surgery" was by gamma knife...no real knives involved, so I can’t say that the past six months have been the cause of in any major changes in my life. However, I am aware of some changes in perspective, one of which involves time. I've spent many hours thinking about how I've had the rare (to me) opportunity to look through the looking glass. What I saw was the reality of how relatively little time I have left on this planet. Don't get me wrong--"relatively" is the key word here. I'm not being maudlin, merely realistic. But I'm in my mid-60's. It’s a good guess that two-thirds of my life are behind me. So...just what did my Great Brain Zap teach me about time? Nothing that all philosophers, novelists, and poets haven't already said: We don't live forever. Use time wisely. But it took the Great Brain Zap to get me beyond a superficial awareness of that philosophy and into living it. Here’s an example: I no longer feel guilty about putting a wanna-do before a gotta-do. Six months ago I never would have read a novel at 10:00 in the morning. Start a painting at 4:00 in the afternoon? Certainly not! That's supper-cookin' time. I learned my mother’s lessons were well...but they no longer fit my life. Supper doesn't always have to be ready by 5:00, nor do I have to be the person in charge of its preparation. Another example: I'm no longer willing to suffer fools gladly. No longer am I willing to spend time with the casual acquaintance whose main topic of conversation is him/herself. You know the kind of person I'm speaking of: "Enough about me; let's talk about you. What do you think of me?" This last one really surprises me: Six months ago I never would have excused myself from tedious conversations with people I hardly know. In fact, I never would have had the gumption to be so honest as to write those lines. No...no earth-shattering changes. But I now know in ways I didn't know before the truth of a favorite quote by Anna Quindlan: "The time we are afforded to find happiness and satisfaction cannot be spared or wasted...whenever possible, dreams must be pursued, not deferred."

ON LIVING WITH A BRAIN TUMOR: Day 14, The Crash

"Namaste"
by Judy Westergard
pastel on paper
all rights reserved
giclee reprints available through
FineArtAmerica.com

I experienced my first major emotional crash yesterday. Even though I expected it, it came as a surprise. A sense of overwhelming sadness. Inertia. I spent most of the day doing nothing other than stare into space and play endless games of Solitaire, all the while thinking that I should/could be painting, gardening, knitting, hiking...any number of things that seven years of retirement have let me do whenever I wanted. But no, there I sat, alternately staring at the cards and into space.
But then yesterday was the first day I’ve experienced symptoms beyond a few minutes. I've alluded in previous entries to my ability to disavow all that this lump in my head might imply. Cheerful denial is easy for me when there's nothing going on to remind one of reality. What was so puzzling about all of this is that I was fully aware that I was acquiescing to this mood (which, by the way, happily broke with my husband’s magic words, "Let's eat out"). So today I went back to one of the three books I'm reading. From Seeking Peace by Mary Pipher: "All of our lives, we must keep appointments we did not make.... (Yet) we can choose the way we deal with our fate." Perhaps I should write those words down on multiple Post-It Notes and place them around the house. I sure could have used them yesterday.

On Being a Woman With a Brain Tumor

A Question of Control
by Judy Westergard
oil on canvas
all rights reserved

It has been a little over 24 hours since I received the phone call that confirmed the MRI results. I have a brain tumor. According to the radiologist it is most likely benign. My neuro-ophthalmologist explained why that was so and said lots of other reassuring things but to go into all of that isn't my purpose here. Rather, I'm changing the focus of my blog from musings about art, books, and recipes to how art, books, and recipes affect my take on being A Woman With a Brain Tumor. Conversely, I hope I can gain some insight into how being A.W.W.B.T. affects my art, my reading, and yes, even my cooking. Who knows? Maybe I'll be able to get a few more restaurant meals out of all of this! Of course my main goal is to make some sense out of this major life-changing event and deal with it with grace, humility, and good humor. (Please Lord...help me avoid turning into a Poor Pitiful Pearl!) I’ve given a lot of thought about whether to "go public" with this. I've already informed all the folks in my life who should know, so why a public blog? As usual, my favorite sounding board (AKA my husband) clarified my thoughts for me: "You're more likely to keep writing if you believe there's someone out there who wants to share your experiences. And you've already discovered that you won't keep up a private journal. So go for it!" Wise man, that husband. So here I go, mapless, off on the kind of journey I never thought I’d take. But lack of a map didn't stop Lewis and Clark and by golly, it’s not going to stop me.