head cold. of course.

i have largely spent the day in my bathrobe, in bed, under the covers. despite my pathetic physical state, my bright attitude and outlook return to me. the few days i gave myself over to mourning were healthy, fertile. it was the first time in a long time i opened myself up to feel my mother's wind wrapping around me. i pulled on her old Uggs (a pair of horrendous boots i ruthlessly teased her about but she never let it get to her) and said outloud, "come on, mama. let's go for a walk."

i went to Artist & Craftsman - about a half-hour walk from my front door - to buy a friend of mine a gift. i had no idea what i'd end up buying for her but knew i wanted to encourage her artistic self. the world needs as many artists as it can get and it is a pleasure to do whatever small thing i can to encourage a person to pursue their own creative urges with joyful seriousness. it's a fact that art saves lives. art has saved my life so many times. it saves my life every single day. i have no idea who i would be or what my life would be like if i didn't avail myself of art as an outlet, as a maker and as a looker/listener/lover. i suppose it would feel a little flat, a little drab by comparison, and simply much harder to get through the day... that much harder to see the point in struggling toward a lovelier horizon. 

i ended up buying her a natural suzuri stone, a paint brush, and a chunky stick of charcoal. at home later that evening, i wrapped each piece in silver holographic wrapping paper and bound the three items together with a length of my mother's antique ribbon. i safety-pinned a pale blue forget-me-not i'd crocheted the day before to the bow. i smiled and felt glad to have the means and method to encourage another person in their artistic life... especially another woman. 

my mother spent her entire life warring with the idea of not being good enough and fearing the negative judgements of others. she burned all of her journal entries within days of writing them. she burned every bit of prose and poetry. the few pieces of visual art that survived her ended up scattered throughout thrift stores in middle Tennessee. i managed to get an oil painting she'd made in High School and returned it to her mother, my sweet Grandma. i have a small strand of paper dolls she made for me when i was in art school. they are taped to my studio wall. i have a jar of pale pink and pearlescent buttons she collected. i have her pair of Uggs and i don't let people teasing me about how horrendous they are stop me from wearing them when i need to. i have her forest green velvet blazer that she wore as a teenager when she dreamed of being an artist herself, when she played her guitar and told herself she'd be a singer someday.