# 579 - Moment by Moment

I now have a new computer and am thrilled because my others had given me headaches when trying to write and post.

Things are changing in this part of my teeny world since I've finally purchased and am using my first MacBook Pro. I'm now on a steep learning curve and often veer off path as I try to figure out this new existence sans a PC.

As for living with Addison's, this year we've jumped back into traveling with an effort far bigger than a splash. I'll be sharing how we've experienced beautiful travels as Addison's is a concern along the way.

Nana & Pappy on another cruise to the Western Caribbean this summer.

No matter, for 2022, I've enjoyed beautiful days of immense adventure and other bed-ridden days where I'm content to binge some series on Netflix or Hulu. On the difficult days, I struggle, but I constantly make peace with my day-to-day physical limitation.

Adaptation is key to living a great life with Addison's or with any physical condition that demands your attention, whether it be sudden or a snowball sort of attention-grabbing health issues.

The days when there are only slight taps on the shoulder, "Excuse me, could you spare me a brief moment so we can avoid the brick wall ahead," are the best kinds. On those days, you're in tune with your body, and no sneaky-fox Addison's symptoms are pouncing upon you.

Here I am at the start of summer at 54. No makeup.

Just me with my art supplies.

Traveling can be a challenging time when you have Addison's, but I don't let it hold me back, until it actually pulls me down and my moment of choice has altered to a moment of adapting to what I MUST do to get through the worst of it.

I take decent care of myself, and I don't hold back seizing the day. And yes, that means confronting my health needs, being prepared, listening to my body, and knowing when to stop seizing and to instead wave the little white flag.

On the white flag days, I make a hasty retreat to climb into bed and allow my body to do the dance of calming rest.

I've lived with Addison's a long time and have had a rather joyful existence despite very critical times... a broken neck and other multiple surgeries that were about as high on a surgical-risk scale as you can get for a normal, healthy person, but I got through them with Addison's. 

There have been illnesses and heart-wrenching deaths of people I most loved, and I figured out how to get through it all... with Addison's pouncing on my devastated state of existence. Staying on top of my blood pressure, heart rate, medicine, and it can be a juggling act. Times of loss can make it extremely difficult to manage Addison's. 

We all walked to a special spot in Texas to spread my father's ashes. With my mother's.

That's Coco, his oldest great-grandchild walking in front of me.

In 2020, I lost my father, and I will admit that the year that followed his death put a strain upon my body as never before. His passing caused extreme stress, which made managing Addison's a warring time for my body.

There were many months when I had trouble walking... forget stairs... and I lived with nausea. I did take stress doses, but there is no easy way around the ups and downs that come with profound loss. It was an Addison's nightmare that I did my best to handle without adding stress upon others, but it was probably the most dangerous phase for me, other than my surgeries.

Dad is now with Mom who died in 2006 at 57-years-old due to breast cancer. Dad was 74, and I had selfishly wanted more time with him. He went to Italy shortly before he passed, spending a good deal of time there. I'm glad he did so much in life, but he's now moved to a new address in Heaven, again with so many people he loved. 

I'll write more about his passing later because my long-time readers know of my closeness with my father. I have been blessed.

My mom and dad when we lived in Scotland. I took this picture of them.

But the good days give me reason to savor each second of treasured vibrancy, whether it be from a sedentary position or with me dancing in celebration. I go with what I'm given. 

I barter with my body. I know, for the most part, about the precarious give-and-take relationship I share within it. If I don't listen to my body's needs as it carries a passenger I must address, then that passenger, Addison's, will rule the day... and perhaps more.

To get to my next best day, I've got to listen to the passenger inside. I have to stay on top of things to keep it quiet and satisfied. Sometimes it makes demands upon me that I cannot overrule, and this is when adapting is the key to living a great life. I refuse to hand over more than is absolutely necessary to this passenger.

That means I don't let Addison's own me. I refuse to let it hold my life hostage. When strong, energetic days are presented, I don't question it. On those days, I get into the highest gear allowed and tackle as much as I can for as long as I can.

Pappy with our two oldest grandsons & Nyms.

With Addison's, you never know how the next day might go, so when the good days come, you make it work for you. Those are often catch-up days. Those are the days when I am enthusiastic yet a microscopic part of me yearns for the pre-Addison days when I hadn't known high gear would become a rarity.

These days, I have leveled-out, for the most part. I do not have many high-gear days nor too many days of feeling dissolved, but both kinds of days do make their respective appearances here and there. 

The "walking through mud" sensation I began having when Addison's decided I was a prime vehicle for it to hitch a lifelong ride in... that sensation is still with me, more or less. Depending on the day, there is either thick mud I must press and battle to wade through with each step or there are energetic days when it's easier to move, but the mud then can fall upon me from the Heavens, threatening to press me to the ground. 

Having Addison's is indescribable, but when my blood pressure and electrolytes go out of whack, I can feel like a rag doll surrounded by mud. That's the best way I can describe it.

Sometimes my symptoms are in check with treatment and are barely noticeable, but I've never had a day when the disease is completely absent. And yes, I have to turn down more invitations than I'd like. I have to ration my energy. For me, it is more than a precious commodity.

If I want to show true love for my family, I've got to be real with my limitations yet not use the disease to bail out of life. The stressful things do take a toll, that's the entire nature of Addison's, yet I have to decide how much of a toll I can manage with medication.

On a recent cruise in May. At the "no choice" phase. I had to rest.

Sometimes I appear normal looking on the outside, and then I'll have a day when strangers reach out to ask if I'm okay or their eyes hesitate upon me for too long as their expressions reveal concern. Boy, I don't like those days.

My grown daughters understand that my body requires more rest than it once did, and they're totally onboard with normalizing my normal, and I love their own adaptability. I have daughters who are now amazing women, wonderful mothers, and we all treasure one another.

With my oldest daughter, Heather. 

I can't put into words what she means to my heart and soul.

We can never make it through photos without cracking up.

Regardless of what each day holds, I keep wading through the mud on the days when it is all but a brick wall, and I must battle to get to the bathroom. And like I said earlier, sometimes the mud moves from in front of me, changing consistency and coming at me from a new direction... falling upon me, like an invisible light rain that isn't actually light. It is pressing. It's a strange resistance when our body is affected by the worst of Addison's.

And as I age, now in my fabulous fifties, I find some things are harder because of Addison's, but the strange thing is that a lot of things are easier. Living with this passenger for over two decades has taught me valuable lessons. 

Me with my youngest son-in-law, Brice this summer.

This specific, unique disease has taught me specific, unique life-saving attitudes and behaviors. Those translate to prompt me to make the best actions for surviving the mud-slinging disease I've come to study, respect, and learn.

After all, my attitude is the best shovel one can own against this disease. Years and years ago, I thought Finding Lana would be easier after Addison's hailed me as its permanent ride when I was 33-years-old, but I've learned that finding my adaptable self is a lifelong journey. Addison's means various phases of life will require additional adapting to the disease... in many ways. I'll age into new issues, but Addison's always complicates matters, and I do not ignore that fact.

If you have Addison's or any other disease or condition that requires vigilant attention, I hope you never stop figuring out how to help yourself make it through days when the mud is packed around you.

This is a recent 24-hour time constraint charcoal

of my oldest daughter, from when she was a kid.

Take notice of your body and take NOTES. Figure out what makes days better and what makes them worse. Monitor your vitals, Juggle those medications to give yourself the best Addison's ever-changing self-treatment that you can muster.

I want others to know there are treasured lessons that come from great struggles, lessons healthy people are often ignorant in knowing. That's not a bad thing. But, living with such a struggle can provide rare Masterclass lessons in countless ways, giving you "new" eyes for seeing everything touched by life. 

My oldest grandchild, Coco.

My youngest daughter, Stefie, with her beautiful family.

My goofy husband to whom I've been married a LONG time.

We not killed each other, and the lack of bloodshed has been worth it!

If you can figure it out, tell me the good lessons - the surprising lessons - and the lessons you might not have learned without the boost from whatever it is that requires you to adapt.

Keep your inner shovel ready, but know when to set it aside and tune-out the world so you can endure the worst, whether the worst be minutes long or longer. How do you adapt and make life matter during those moments?

What matters to you? How do you provide self-care and self-nurturing.

For me, I take actions to make life worth living. I savor the small stuff for as long as possible and spit out the bitter as fast as I can. I make downtimes work for me, either through that tv binging, through writing, or through art. During those times, my passenger must stay seated and well-mannered because I'm still in charge.

Treating my in-laws to another late lunch.

How do you hand peace to your inner-self in spite of a raucous passenger? What is your distraction?

Live well, MOMENT-BY-MOMENT, no matter your speed!

***

PS: Leave a comment. I'll have to moderate it, but it will then post to the comments section for others to see and for me to respond to.

# 575 - First Blogging, then BOOKS! What have I done?

Before I add my usual blog post, I want to let everyone know that I've been blogging for ages and will continue doing so...it's in my blood, but I've also enjoyed a long career that's included writing, but I'm now holding my own reins by publishing creative fiction books.

I've got several eBooks set for release, a novella series is the first on the schedule, and Book I was released a couple of days ago. It's a scary, spooky story balanced with humor, faith, and love. You can read it on any device...iPhone, iPad, Computer, Mac, or Kindle. You don't have to own a Kindle to read it! When you order, there will be a choice of where you want to have the eBook sent, and it's magic...it sends it to you with ease!

The button for choosing the place for the story to land will appear just below the purchase button on Amazon. It's easy and allows us to enjoy additional reading choices. You can read the eBook on the device you're using right now to read this latest blog post, it's super simple.

And here's summary of this first book...

Shelby, an energetic teenager, has recently returned from Scotland to America after living abroad with her family for a couple of years. They find a home in the Greater Houston area, close to her father's job and next door to a church, but Shelby doesn't like the house. From the moment she steps beyond the threshold of living room, into the heart of the home, she notices a dark presence, but she's the only one who senses it.

After moving in and experiencing terrifying encounters with an indescribable entity, she starts to question if her mind is the culprit. Perhaps her imagination is the source of terror...maybe her eyes are playing tricks on her, but she can't deny the blood. Circumstances spiral out of her control, preventing her from rationalizing all that she hears and sees. She can't escape the shadowed presence that targets her, but she'll find a way to fight back.

She won't give up or give in as she searches for a way to protect her family and herself from what lies in the middle.

Shelby's family includes a disabled mother, a workaholic father, and two siblings...Brother and Dovey. Brother keeps the humor coming as Shelby utilizes faith and bravery to accumulate useful knowledge to battle dark spirits, and she searches for a way to survive the necessity of sharing a home with a terrorizing presence. She refuses to live in terror, not in her own home, but how can she live with and battle the dark shadow that lurks around the corner from her bedroom, just beyond the threshold?

***

I hope you're able to gather the bravery to read this character-driven storyline of relatable people confronting irregular hurdles. This is the first book of the series titled "What Lies in the Middle."

I hope to discuss a few topics inspired by the book along with some personal experiences of my readers. I've made posts in the past of eerie experiences and reader-comments revealed many of us have experienced discomforting things that can't be explained. And even though this book is a fictionalized storyline, I know a lot of people have tried to explore strange happenings that might never find rational answers.

And to clear up any confusion...we decided to combine the book's title with a subtitle that is also the name of the series, rooting the two together; that's only for this first book. I'll let you know when the next book is due for pre-release with a definitive launch date.

There's a new Group on Facebook that I'd love for my blog buddies to join, and that link is at the bottom of this post

If you join the group, please let me know you're from our blog-sphere. And if you buy the eBook, especially let me know so I can thank you!

Just as I've written my blog and enjoyed a long-lasting fantastic interaction with my readers and fellow bloggers, I intend to maintain the same path with readers of my books, whether they are in the form of an eBook or paperback print...I want to stay in touch with you, give you behind-the-scenes details, and get your feedback along the way...hopefully you guys will be some of the first readers of this series.

***

As for building the never-ending farmhouse...it's still under construction. The long-time blog readers already know that we are slug-slow with finishing our house. We've had rains for months that have made the land a mucky mess. It can get quite depressing to be surrounded by mud, but I'm thankful we've not flooded. So many family and friends this last year were devastated by flooding in the Greater Houston area.

Despite the dreariness of the weather, we managed to work on the laundry room. I'll write a separate post about that experience. I LOVE my laundry room!

We used leftover tile to create a nice design in the floor, and I gave the bead-board a "weathered barn" paint treatment that I concocted on my own, which took me three days to paint.

The room is quite nice...mostly finished, but it still requires finishing touches, such as the trim around the windows and a window ledge for my little plants. I'll write a post about the laundry room because it deserves its own shining spot on the blog!

What can I say? I'm a thrilling woman who enjoys a great laundry room. After we finished this room to a certain point, I stood inside it to re-enact that scene from the Sound of Music as she spins around at the top of a pastured mountaintop with joy...yeah, that was me.

Of course, I wasn't escaping Nazis with a pack of children in tow; regardless, I spun around while surrounded by dirty clothes and stinky dog towels, and it was beautiful.

Aside from my laundry-room-moment, our family has also had some difficult and exciting things happening, which I'll share in my next few posts. With my new laptop, getting back to blogging is easier than sitting at my desktop. I don't know why, but for me, sitting at the desktop is a little claustrophobic. Blah.

Meanwhile, I'll enjoy my laundry room while wrapping up the second book to this series, so if anyone reads "BEYOND the THRESHOLD: What lies in the middle?" by Lana R. Black, then be sure to let me know, then get prepared for Part II of the series! The novella takes about two hours to read...it's an easy-read of about 100 pages, so it's an enjoyable commitment. Feel free to go onto the given Amazon link and stay in close touch by FOLLOWING my author page...there's a button below the book info on Amazon to follow the author. Please give me a review on Amazon after reading and be sure to use the highlight feature that Amazon gives its customers while reading an eBook...then share your favorite parts with me.

***
I've included the Amazon link that takes you to the first couple of chapters, then it will prompt you to buy it for $3.99 --- and that's cheaper than coffee! Isn't that the old line?

https://read.amazon.com/kp/embed?asin=B07MYTBL9B&preview=newtab&linkCode=kpe&ref_=cm_sw_r_kb_dp_-JwsCb7GFYWPT

Facebook Group
https://www.facebook.com/groups/768805986830396/

As always, I'll be reading your comments. Happy reading to my blog-buddies!

# 484 - God's Canvas - Storm Clouds

Living in the country and getting to experience a life with increased solitude and privacy is definitely good for the person who is not afraid of being in touch with nature, with themselves or with God. For me, I need a good balance of socializing combined with moments of being alone.

I guess the "alone" time is beneficial to me since I feel close to God when I am alone, and I feel His presence when I am in the midst of raw nature.

This week, storms rolled in, but the beauty that comes with a storm cannot be discarded from the experience of a storm. And as I looked to the Heavens and admired the clouds rolling in, I felt awestruck at the natural beauty that surrounds us.

Man cannot compete with God's beautiful, ever-changing works of art, always on display...free to behold. God holds a universal canvas in his possession, yet He shares its captivating elements with us, every day. He is a generous artist.

It's up to us to decide whether or not we will take notice of the beauty in front of us.

I notice, and I celebrate the beauty He unselfishly provides.

# 449 - Dream Home Tour, by Accident

Since moving to the country a month ago, I've come across some houses that catch my eye, but there's this one house in particular that makes my heart go pitter-patter.

Every time we pass by the house, I tell my husband, "That's my house, a dream home! We have to stop and take pictures!"

So, this past Friday, on our 27th Wedding Anniversary, my husband finds a spot to pull off so I can jump out in front of my dream home and take some quick snaps shots as he pulls the car down the road alongside the house for a turn-around.

Man...I was so happy to just get a few photos!

This house is an older Southern style home and the colors make it pop beneath the wooded grounds.

And, to shorten the story, the home-owners happened to be sitting under a few tall oaks in the backyard and as we were getting ready to leave, I decided to walk up to their back fence to ask about their paint colors. The woman kind of looked us up and down as I was telling her that I LOVED her house and confessed to hanging around the frontage to get a few shots.

She opened her back gate and said, "You two come on in and I'll take you on a tour."

Heart - Be - Still!

And so we spent about two hours with our new friends in our small town as we got a tour of EVERYTHING.

And it turns out that Shirley is an artist. She takes me on a tour of her studio in the house. This room has plenty of natural light and she pulled out a few canvases and drawings to show me her latest projects from photos she'd taken when on vacation in Florida. She's about to go to Alaska and will be taking more photos upon which to base her artwork.

Then, she shows me a wall of books. She's not only an artist, she's a published author of many books that provide instructions for painting some of her favorite things.

And there in her studio, I see a wall of books --- books that I've seen many times at stores such as Hobby Lobby, and I ask if I can buy a couple of them on the spot.

I buy the books. Of course, book is on how to draw roosters/chickens.

Then, we take more tours of her gardens and grounds to have a fascinating look at artwork Shirley's son produces out of old shovel heads, hoes, horseshoes, etc., Below is a bird made from an old shovel. Her gardens are a LOT of fun!

But, the house had me falling in love --- built in 1934, it is a beauty. I loved the red doors and red shutters with the white trim and picket fence.

Over the years, the house had gone through numerous additions, but the nine foot ceilings and open rooms with pocket doors and wide wood trim brought character into this house that you don't see in newer homes.

She has two homes on the property, but the house with the metal patchwork roof had been the garage --- many years ago, it had a one car garage with a small section set aside for living quarters, probably for a servant or grounds-keeper. It is now converted into a beautiful cottage.

And Shirley showed me her "Outhouse" that was never really an outhouse, but is a garden tool shed. The old license plates serve a double function, they add personality to the structure and cover the holes in the wood chewed out by squirrels.

And here we have another piece of shovel art --- a strange shovel critter with horse-shoe legs.

The walking path around the house is made up of all different kinds of stones and patio steps that she found or purchased through the years. Somehow, it all comes together to look WONDERFUL and welcoming.

Shirley let me know that a couple of people have stopped and told her to name her price for her place because they insisted on buying it. But, her home is not for sale. She loves it there and adores it.

 

And I get back to our own little home, which is now an RV as we prepare the land for our future home to live in until we are old, gray and full of happy wrinkles --- happy-smile-wrinkles.

 

I felt inspired.

 

Taking her books outside, I set them down on a chair and kept shooing the chickens away because they were interfering with me trying to get a good shot of the books. Finally, I realized that the chickens could not have posed any better, so I clicked and laughed at the coincidence. My chickens are looking at me looking at a book about how to draw chickens.

 

 

 

And since my field of study in the field of Humanities had been Visual Arts and Design, I realized that we "art-types" are often drawn to each other. I don't know how it happens, but creative people are built with some kind of mysterious magnetic that pulls us together. Perhaps since I wore my new hat during my outing that day to Shirley's house, she knew I was an artist by looking at me.

 

I had a wonderful day --- who would've thought a tour of a stranger's house would turn out to be such a beautiful experience? And I also got to look at her daughter's newly published children's book, a hardback book in a retro-style that made me crack-up.

 



 

And our anniversary lunch earlier that day had been enjoyable, but the local restaurant is off our list for future visits. There isn't much to choose from around here, so it is hard to mark one off, but usually for good reason. At least we had a great lunch that led to our outing at the Dream House!

 

Being married for 27 years is not an easy task, but we've come to the point to where we are in a great place --- in all areas. It's definitely a "feel-good" time of being happy and content and thrilled about our new direction.

 



 

Shirley, and her friend, BJ who is a World War I AND a World War II veteran have invited us to come back or to meet them for margaritas at a nearby Cantina where the locals love to go! I am not much for drinking, but I do like chips and salsa, so I will probably hang out with them.

I better start sketching some chickens so Shirley can get a few laughs of her own.

My dream home led us to make new friends. Bravery and graciousness combined to make for a beautiful 27th anniversary adventure.

# 346 - Old Age Anticipation

Purple was her favorite color. My mother loved purple. Even her van was purple, so we called it the "Purple People Eater." But, in the last couple years of her life, she chartered her own Red Hatter group and did some funny things to spice up the remainder of her life. In the midst of her most fruitless battle, she tried to live it up to the fullest.

Since she had been battling cancer, she indulged in hats and head coverings of all sorts, the Red Hatter group gave her an excellent opportunity to wear the most outrageous ones of all.

My sister and I groaned and moaned about it, but we joined the group. However, since we were under a certain age, under the "Red Hatter" age of 50 I think, we could not wear red. We had to wear pink hats. Outrageous hats. My hat had a pink boa around the edge with huge plastic flowers glued to it.

But today, I look on one of my shelves and see my mom's favorite red hat made of felt. It is such a beautiful design, it looked great on her.

And I remember my mother's favorite poem because it explained how she was going to be when she reached old age, but she never got the chance to wear purple while in old age. Dying at 57 is not exactly considered dying "old." It is older, but not young, yet still, it is not an age considered to be of old age.

I wish she had gotten to chance to live out her poem, maybe I will be able to do it for her. After all, it has become my own favorite poem for me to focus on as I face each passing day.

I hope you enjoy the poem titled "Warning" by Jenny Joseph" which was published in 1960 as much as I do...maybe we all, man or woman, can relate to the days of wearing purple in our old age.

**************************************

~ Warning ~

 

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

-Jenny Joseph ~

 

# 331 - Sketching Again...

My youngest daughter's 22nd birthday this past Friday presented me with a dilemma, mainly stemming from the lack of funds in my pocketbook. If I have a few dollars to my name, it often goes toward the cost of seeing a doctor ---- my 2nd life is spent in a doctor's office ---- and paying for gas, food, and maybe a small splurge here and there. This past week, a treat I splurged upon was to buy a few new art supplies.

Many artist-types have a preferred medium they like to use...some prefer oils, some acrylics, others opt for watercolors, but I first fell in LOVE pastel chalks that require intense blending and attention to color.

Working with this medium often requires that you be prepared to be covered in a mess. As I work with chalk pastels, I am holding colored sticks that are not protected by paper, and I use all parts of my hands and fingers for blending. For blending large sections, I use the lower side of the palm. My hands, arms, and front side get covered in bits of powdered chalk. Using cuts of newspaper, I lay the paper down to help me get sharp lines or a specific curve that needs to be held firm while blending takes process.

I have worked on large projects with chalk pastels to the extent of my fingers having their skin rubbed off. Nothing puts a project on hold faster than swollen fingertips and busted skin from intense, vigorous blending while in the zone.

After everything is finished, I make sure the excess chalk powder is blown away and I spray the project with a Fixative. This helps keep the chalk from coming off and sets it better than if left on its own. It's very difficult to frame a project with this medium because it will so easily smudge the glass.

Good luck.

However, since I like working with chalks, it would follow that charcoal would be right in line with my preferred art medium. Yes, it is. A mixture of graphite pencils with soft and hard charcoals is right up my artistic alley. As long as the medium lets me use my FINGERS and hands for some blending, along with other tools such as the stump, as needed, I am one happy woman.

Similar to what my hands and under parts of my forearm look like
after a session with drawing. I usually wear an old T-Shirt or a
fuctional apron while at work. This stuff does not wash out easily either.
(Photo take from public internet image.)

For Stefie's birthday, I took a photograph to use as my still art subject and I sketched it over the span of a couple hours. Sometimes I like hard lines and other times I like everything willowy and soft. For this sketch, I put hard and soft together; I love that combination. I love KNOWING it is a sketch; I don't want it to look just like the photograph. If I could get my subject to pose in the same place, during the same time of day, with the same lighting...I'd go by them personally standing in as the still subject and I've done this in my university studies for still life drawings. It can be torture to sit in front of the same object, especially if they are large, inanimate and immobile.

Of course, if I am outside among nature, I'd never get tired of the "still" life in front of me. But, don't ask me to do the bowl of fruit; I despise painting or drawing fruit, but I've done it as required while studying art at the University of Houston in Clear Lake for a few years. Good thing is, I soon forget about the dang apple or other challenge I'm working on, but having a subject that fills my heart with love is a joy to recreate. Eventually, when I am working on a project, all I see is light and shadow.

My working situation for sketching is to sit down at night, in bed, surrounded by my tools and with a sheet pulled up over the bedding to protect it. I keep a lined trash can on the floor next to me so that I can brush off residual charcoal, graphite or eraser bits that come off during blending.

I turn on the music --- to Stefie's project, I listened to Rod Stewart classics. Usually, by the end of the album, I am finished with my project. If not, I start on the next album, perhaps Billy Joel or the Police. Something to get my blood pumping and help get me into the "zone" of creating art.

It works for me.

Of course, I can easily work fast, furious and intensely on a project while listening to Tchaikovsky. Wow, that always does it for me!

My daughter sat opening all of her gifts at her birthday party and she finally opened the bag holding the sketch I'd drawn. I felt nervous and nearly held my breath. What would she think? Would she be embarrassed? Would she feel it even looked like her? The truth is, you never know how a person will respond to how your artist's eye sees that person, even if using a still photograph as the "model." It's the main reason I've been hesitant to sketch people I know and love.

My main effort had been to capture my daughter's eyes in the sketch...if you can capture the person's eyes, you've got the hardest part figured out. I know I could've worked longer on this sketch to make it better, but I've been babysitting a five year old for several weeks and this leaves me truly worn out at the end of every day. So, I don't have much umph to put into extra things besides watching the next movie on my list.

Still, I try to pull it together and to produce a new sketch on a regular basis...even if it ends up shredded, never to be seen by another person.

At her birthday party, Stefie pulled the framed sketch out of the gift bag, stared at it for a tense moment, then she lifted the frame and put it against her face so that everyone could see her big smile next to the sketch for comparison. I must say, the real deal is such a beauty...I could never capture all that Stefie radiates.

I love sketching. Photography is wonderful, but it is a direct medium. It can be altered here and there, a little burning there, a little dodging here, but it's the camera's eye directed by the photographer's eye that gets the image. I want my hand to replicate the finished image instead of an actual photograph. Yes, I use either live "still" art or a photograph for my drawing, but I believe, instead of photographs, from now on, my family will get some kind of sketch from me as a gift. Well, either a sketch or a warped poem about some embarrassing event in their life.

Also, for my blog buddies potential question, I sign my family's works with my middle name...the name they call me, "Rayshel." For obvious reasons, I don't use that name on a daily basis with blogging or with new friends because hardly anyone can even say "Rayshel" correctly, let alone spell it. Yes, I had Hippie parents. The "y" is not pronounced in a hard sense. My middle name sounds like Rushell. However, many of my art pieces, even those that were on gallery exhibit with the university were signed with my first name, "Lana."

My identity crisis continues.

But, my art is moving forward, into the hands of others. They might choose to use it as kindling, but at least I am focusing on doing something different that I love and that keeps the mind and hands busy doing something productive.

I hope to keep sharing some of my work with you. I think this next week will be dedicated to sketching chickens and dogs. Besides, if my feathered or furry friends don't like the results, they can't exactly be offended! What chicken is going to complain that her beak is too big? Such criticism might get her into the chicken-n-dumplings pot. The nonspeaking subject, that's the best kind to sketch.

Yes, my daughter loves her sketch...she has a special token of my love to mark this amazing time in her life. I look forward to presenting many more gifts that come from myself instead of a department store...it feels right. Life is good.

# 314 - Magnificent Chair is NOT a Drink Table!

I have a magnificent chair, a family antique that I treasure. I am the fourth generation to have this chair in the family. It came from my Great-Grandmother, to my grandmother, to my parents' house and now to my house for the past several years. To be honest, I don't know if it goes back beyond my great-grandmother, it very well might have belonged to her parents, so the history is likely further beyond than I personally know.

Needless to say, this chair gets a high level of respect from everyone in this household because we know it's been around and has seated generations of family members before us that are now gone and buried. It's a heavy concept. I've calculated that this chair must be at least a century old.

My great-grandmother lived in Palestine, Texas and she lived with sophistication and elegance as a very educated, progressive woman for her day. Her family owned and operated the local grocery store. In fact, in the photo below you will see the parade cart pulled through town to advertise their store while participating in the festivities. They lived in town, in a large three story Southern house that would make your jaw drop open.

My great-grandmother Boyd's store advertisement
during the town parade. I can only imagine the year.

Every detail was important to Grandma Boyd. She taught her children how to be successful business people and to entertain with elegant flair. She thrived in an environment that was disciplined and every detail had to be "perfect." As a small child, sitting on her soft lap, she'd read book after book to me as I played with her drooping earlobes that were casualties of wearing elaborate heavy clip-on earrings every day of her life. Pearl's daughter (my grandmother) did not like reading books to her grandchildren, but Pearl, my great-grandmother loved reading any book I'd bring to her as her daughter would sit and smoke and do crossword puzzles while watching television.

I never saw Grandma Pearl Boyd's formal dining room displayed in all its Southern Grandeur, but I did have one chair in our house while growing up that had belonged to her. It seemed everyone got a little bit of everything once she passed away. Since my family was the last to get into town once she died, we were literally left going through the debris everyone else had left behind. This chair was one of the things that someone didn't want or didn't have room to stuff into their loaded down vehicle. That's how we ended up with it. The chair had been left behind in the rambling old house along with papers strewn about the place and empty closets full of discarded hat boxes that I also brought home. My mother would later give the hat boxes that I'd kept in my room to someone else, without asking me...she never realized how important those hat boxes had been to me. Oh well. At least I have this gorgeous chair!

Years later, another family member would like to have this chair for their own house. But, it's been with my immediate family for more than 30 years and with our immediate family it will stay. One day, it will be passed down to the next generation within our immediate family.

Pearl Boyd died in her late 80's, about 34 years ago.

It is nice to have a part of her in my house, a part of her that meant something to her. I have such sweet memories with Grandma Boyd, especially her willingness to nurture the love of reading.

The chair that had been part of her dining room table set is made priceless by the needlepoint design on the backrest and on the seat that Grandma Boyd stitched and upholstered herself. This particular chair is a "head" chair because it has arms. She would have had two of these, at least. I feel incredible that we have been blessed to own one of these end chairs.

An antique chair like this is properly moved by picking it up by the seat, not the arms. Since this chair is more of a "display" piece, we keep it in a certain place that highlights its beauty, but we do not leave it in a place to be incorporated with the regular seating. I especially work hard to keep the needlepoint work preserved for as long as possible.

However, we did have a couple come to stay a few nights at our house so they could take care their personal business in the Houston area and with me downstairs, they decided to make use of this antique chair in a way that would be odd and truly disrespectful. One evening I walked into the guest bedroom to find them unpacking, and I had brought in a couple of extra pillows. Looking over next to the bed, I was shocked to find they had appropriated that antique chair; it had been wedged in between other furniture and scraped, so that its needle-point SEAT could be used as a nightstand table, complete with a iced-tea drink sitting directly atop the threads - the threads that my great-grandmother had hand-sewn.

I looked around at all the other available furnishings that could've been used to suit their purpose and was stunned that this chair, a chair that was KNOWN to be a treasured antique could be so carelessly appropriated. It seemed to be an ugly act to state their feelings of disrespect without having to say a word.

The people making this grave error in judgment were not young adults, they were old enough to know better and should have attempted to use the brain God gave them to not have used this chair in this manner, a chair that is obviously a prized antique. Worse for them, this couple likes to brag about being self-taught antique experts.

One thing it did teach me that night...that some people think everything you have is worthless because it doesn't belong to them. My husband and I take very good care of our antiques. With our care, these furnishings will be passed down to our daughters and hopefully will be used for many generations.

I've learned to put some things behind a locked door when these people come to visit and let me tell you, this person gets set off like a firework when there is a locked door she can't open, even though it's not her house, none of her belongings are here, and it's none of her business what is behind that locked door, she goes a bit nuts wanting the DAMN KEY to unlock the door! It's been very revealing and a bit humorous!

As for the chair, I love looking at pictures of my grandmother's house from around 1930 and to see a piece of furniture in her living room that I now use in my own house. There's a sense of stewardship over antiques. The way I see it, all of those former generations were able to keep these furnishings nice and in good shape through their own years and I certainly don't want to be the owner who was the one who screwed up with keeping the furnishing in good order. If the person before me could keep it polished and kept clean in the 30 years they cared for it, surely I can do the same.

Needless to say, I try to keep the antiques free from damage by people who may not realize an antique is in their presence. But, most anyone on the planet can look at this old chair and know that it is special and probably very old. Most anyone would not dare to look at this chair with the old fabric seating and delicate needlepoint backing, then say, "Oh, I think I'll use this old chair as a make-shift table to hold all of my things, including my drink that's dripping all over the place." No, I don't think many people would be that dense or perhaps that calculating in their resentment at the family treasures we've worked hard to maintain.

But, careless behavior is definitely revealing. Sometimes our actions are indeed worth a 1,000 words.

I am doing my best to make sure my children have some of the best pieces in their own homes one day. I think the passing down of antiques does not happen until each household has raised their own children. So, we'll see --- our antiques have a lot of aging to still do before they are passed to my own children.

Until then, with proper care, our antiques will continue to accumulate value both monetarily and to grow more endearing in our heart, day by day.

# 312 - Sharing the Soul

As a mom, I've diligently kept all of my daughters' art work from their childhood. Years ago, I made extra large-art portfolio holders by stapling two posterboards together, leaving the top open to slide in their artwork. This kept their work from being bent and creased.

In an easily accessible area, the portfolio was kept behind my china cabinet with the edge of the portfolio barely sticking out to make it easy to retrieve for adding new artwork to it.

Recently, I took a day to spread out some of their work and to simply gaze upon the beauty of each piece. I'm considering buying very large frames so that I can create a collage of framed artwork for each daughter; I plan to put these collages in the guest bedroom for everyone to enjoy.

I imagine, one day, when my children have children of their own, my visiting grandbabies will get a kick out of seeing their mommy's art, created when their mommy was a child. It will be a link from childhood to childhood.

Some of their work is abstract, other work is "still-art" and a few pieces reflect a historical event. Each one is precious to me.

Most moms love to get their child's artwork, but I can't express how excited I had been to get each drawing, each painting, each sculpture...I never wanted to buy any art because I had little artists living in my household.

To add to the art of my children, I have my own artwork throughout the house that I've produced for years and years, especially some larger pieces that came with studying Visual Arts and Design at the University of Houston. I've been blessed to work in the Arbor Building through many art classes and to have professors of great artistic standing be my teachers in specific art methods.

Obeying my own need to create art is a tremendous stress reducer for me. However, I had some serious health battles that would put a wall between me and my need to create art, especially the battle with being able to use my arms since they were not getting adequate blood flow. But, I had two major surgeries to better enable blood to get to my arms and hands, a two year process of surgical intervention that went into three years after they decided to remove my minor pectoral muscle on the right side since it was shredded by bone shards. Even if the major surgeries were horrific and came with critical complications, I'm happy that my left side works wonderfully, but my right side was never properly "decompressed" by the removal of my first rib along with the removal of the anterior and scalene muscles in my neck --- I also have artery clips along the thoracic arteries as well, both sides.

The surgeries had to be done a year apart. Each one required approximately one year recovery, mostly because of the collapse lung that each surgery left me to deal with --- because of a paralyzed diaphragm. The nerve in your body that is the "control wire" for the diaphragm, which controls the lung, well, this "control wire" was impacted by each surgery, so each side ended up with a collapsed lung following surgery. It would take about 9 months, each time, for me to again be able to inflate my lung. Let me tell you, everything done to me in the dice and chop operating room could not compare to the lung collapsing. It's not a good feeling when your lung collapses and you can feel the lung sticking to itself --- to inflate it, with each labored breath or with pulmonary rehabilitation causes tremendous agony.

My left side was surgically decompressed by this method in 2005 and the right side was done a year later, in 2006. Since I am still unable to freely use my right arm, it's an ongoing battle. Even the simple act of blogging can cause me trouble as the right arm goes numb and pain from the lack of bloodflow creates pain down the arm and a sensation of choking on the right side of my neck. It's a big price to pay, but I try to position myself the best way possible so that I can type, type, type. I can use my arm for a short time, but it's never felt the same since the days when I could use my arms without a second thought and that was ten years ago.

I guess this is another reason I've treasured my daughters' artwork. If anyone understands the desire to create art, to play instruments and to do things that are ordinary daily activities without a thought about anything other than "Which color to use next," or "Which key to play next?" -- I do understand having the burning desire to do such things, yet not be able to do them because of physical limitations. I also understand what it means to push past the pain, to keep going in spite of challenges. Sometimes I've paid heavily for those decisions, but I rarely regret it.

Good thing I have partial use of my right arm since the surgery, it is better than before surgery, but still not completely workable as is my left side. I can often work around my incomplete decompression. Maybe one day I'll have the luxury to have the right side fully decompressed so that I can do normal things again, like drive to see my daughter in Dallas without it being a huge undertaking that causes me major issues, such as being able to feel my arm. Driving requires limited mobility, a huge issue for me.

Yes, maybe you can see a little through my eyes as well that this artwork is more meaningful than I can express.

Living life as fully as you can means different things for different people. Some people are given every tool and every healthy benefit to be able to live a beautiful life, yet they still take it forgranted. My mindset feels that there are enough problems, day by day, for me to conquer; I certainly don't need to add any more problems to what I already face. For many, like me, just getting through their day is a personal battlefield that brings constant reminders that simple things can be great challenges.

Others seem to look for problems because it seems they need more drama in their life or they are not satisfied with having an "ordinary" life full of blessings that deserve focus instead of contrived issues stemming from owning an ungrateful heart. I've seen so many people create their own problems and these same people proceed to wonder why their life is full of problems?

Personally, if I have extra energy and physical capabilities, it must go toward the constant effort to keep my health balanced so that I may have that awesome day with a few minutes at the piano or to do simple basic tasks, such as the laundry and dusting the furniture. One thing I must say is that a good day for me can indeed be jam-packed; I've learned to fully take advantage of a good day, probably much better than a "regular" person without any health hurdles.

However, once my neck broke, in 2009, it required massive reconstruction and double-sided hardware to support the neck so it would not collapse again. To add to the thoracic artery issues, I found myself confronting more challenges on top of existing challenges. It felt like I was being sandwiched between major health assaults that I had no control over and I did feel squashed like a bug. For a while, I didn't feel very excited about the added loss of sensation in my hands due to a spinal cord injury. I didn't like the struggle to move my feet forward and to lift them to take a step...all of it took more effort than could be expressed, even to those closest around me.

The spinal cord was squished between two bones that had broken, so it damaged the spinal cord in a manner that could not be repaired. It created a large lesion on the C2 section of spinal cord that is still present and visible on MRI scans. Still, I regained more feeling and better use of my arms/hands and legs/feet than the doctors thought were possible. I've been given more than my fair share of miracles, even if I've been given more than my fair share of physical hurdles.

Through it all, I've learned there is something powerful about art --- it is a healing expression of humanity. I finally understood that for many people, especially for those who have suffered deeply from physical or emotional pain, a piece of art can seem to speak to you or for you. Art can capture a feeling, it can represent the best in you, the worst in you or it can bring hope beyond words.

For some dedicated artists, on any level, from novice to accomplished, there seems to be a sharing of the soul in some of the work produced by particular artists. Often, you can feel pulled into a piece of art. If you haven't had this experience yet, then I recommend that you view art differently. Try to search for a piece of art that truly SPEAKS to you with such depth that you feel knocked out of your shoes. It's out there, you might have just not found it yet, but when you do...you'll know it.

I have a few personal favorites that definitely evoke great emotion from within the well of my soul.

In fact, I'll be scanning a few pictures of historical art that have brought me great comfort and hope during times of great turmoil.

But, there is a certain peace, joy and innocence that comes with looking at a child's artwork. It's like looking out a window to see a different view of sunshine.

How many times have I been delighted by these works of art created by my children? I can't count. Even through difficult times of their own...my children created with bright goodness, always doing their best to get their mind's eye down on paper.

I love the effort. I love the result. I love the sharing of their souls.