Happy Belated Birthday, Paul

"The Only Paradise", sumi ink, scminke gold ink and 24 kt. Gold Leaf on manipulated photo.

Yesterday my brother-in-law Paul would have been 43 years old.  He left this world at 38, but his presence is still felt today, although I felt so guilty that I missed his day, yesterday.  So after a good cry and some wallowing in guilt that I forgot his day, I picked myself up and made my way to the laptop to honor my old friend, bro and fellow MASSART sweatshirt owner.

The piece I am posting today is one that I did for my year long calligraphy class I've been taking.  During a visit to the pond Paul chose as the home for his ashes on the Truro/Wellfleet line on Cape Cod I took the photo I used as the background for a quote by Scott R. Sanders, a writer who spent time on the Cape.  It's not easy to reach this incredible spot.  The only road that takes you there is a very narrow, very windy, very bumpy, sometimes unpaved ribbon that weaves through unspoiled woods dotted with the occasional house.  There's no big sign that says, "Paul lives here" to let someone know they have arrived.  There is simply a presence, a light that filters through the trees and a near perfect silence.

I think Paul liked silence. Having married my sister, Liz who is the youngest of nine, I think Paul learned to value the rare moments of silence that would happen when the array of sisters, brother, spouses, nieces, nephews, friends and neighbors would disperse, whether in Provincetown or Savin Hill where Paul and Liz lived.  I remember one day when there was a particularly large crowd visiting my Mom's 2 bedroom apartment in Ptown.  During these visits it was almost impossible to have more than a few minutes alone.  When my daughters and I came upon Paul hiding in a front room enjoying a burrito, he looked at us and the unspoken message was clear, "you didn't see me here".  We understood the precious peace that he was enjoying and moved on quietly with a chuckle and a nod.

I'd like to go back to the pond and have a chat with Paul.  Much has happened in the five years since he left.  I'd like to tell him that his wife is now running DOT ART, the nonprofit that was close to his heart.  She also opened a gallery at 411 Commercial Street in PTown and has worked so hard to keep it going.  He would be proud of her commitment, even when times are tough and support can be hard to come by.  His sister has had two more beautiful daughters and his Mom showers them with love.  Which means that Paul now has 19 nieces and nephews, 13 on Liz's side and 6 on his side.  That's not too shabby.  I'd like to tell him that two of his nephews are on Notre Dame's football team, Number 1 in the U.S.  He would be so proud!  Two of his nieces are also at ND, my daughter and his sister's youngest.  My oldest graduated from UChicago and is living in his hometown.  He has nieces and nephews at BU, Florida, UMASS Amherst, U of New England (a future pharmacist!) and Northeastern.  His niece and nephews performed at Symphony Hall with The Boston Pops.  I could go on, but he would chastise me for being too boastful, and though there was much to be proud of, Paul did not boast. 

Perhaps I should start planning my next visit to Paul's Pond.  Of course, I'll have to get my tires and shocks on my car checked.  I also better be prepared to brave the elements, because it is December.  But even though winter's on the horizon, I'm sure I'll be warmed by his spirit when I finally make it to his place.  And I'll revel in the silence with Paul.

I hope this makes up for missing your birthday, Paul.

Thanks for looking.

Claire

GIVE

Give, 2011 Sumi ink and gouache on arches text

WOW!  It's been a while since my last post.  The summer has been flying by as I prepare to bring my younger daughter out to Indiana to start her freshman year at the University of Notre Dame.  The process of preparation has been emotional, arduous and bittersweet to say the least.  

But the car is almost packed with assorted essentials, sheets, blanket, comforter (all extra long! What a pain...)  Also  rug, desk lamp, electric kettle (for tea time of course!), bathrobe, flip flops, towels, bath caddy (who knew about bath caddies?), bike and helmet (please, God, make her wear it!) and clothes.  I've never seen so many clothes!  Where has she been hiding them?  I hope there'll be room for mine and my husband's sorry excuse for a vacation wardrobe.  No new stuff for us.  We've got tuition to pay, but that's life during the college years.

Life during the college years... that reminds me of the song by the Talking Heads, "Life During Wartime", and the lyrics...

        

"This ain't no party, this ain't no disco, this ain't no fooling around

No time for dancing, or lovey dovey, I ain't got time for that now..."

You're probably wondering what I'm getting at, so I'll try to explain.  Eighteen years ago we brought this beautiful sweet girl into the world, a baby sister for our older daughter.  Born on December 22nd she was our most amazing Christmas gift and we couldn't have been happier.  And from that moment on we gave everything we had for these two incredible little people who we've watched grow and blossom.  Nothing mattered more than giving.  No more parties, except the ones with homemade cake and party hats.  No more nights out dancing (unless it involved father-daughter dances).  No more lovey-dovey (well, you get the gist on that).

Yes, vanity also went by the wayside as we gave ourselves.  Fancy clothes and hair appointments were given up for bank accounts, because time was moving fast, they just kept growing and college was sneaking up on us.  But it wasn't just money we gave without question.  We gave time, attention, little bits of wisdom (not always accepted, but worth a try), patience (lots of it!), driving lessons (eeekk!) and of course, LOVE.  There was tough love, big love (not the HBO show, though I'm sure my husband would have loved having an extra wife or two...) and when we thought there couldn't be anymore, we found even more love.  

And here we are, August, 2012, car packed to the roof as we bring her to the next step in her life.  It's the hardest gift we can give, her independence.  She's our gift to the world.  

We may want her back every now and then, but for now, she's yours.  Enjoy her presence, because we surely have.  And as the saying goes, "her presence is present enough".

You'll have to excuse me now, because I'm tearing for the 5th time today.  But sometimes the best gifts are the ones that make you cry. 

Thanks for looking,

Claire

We are Meant to Shine...

"Light", paint markers, calligraphy, gouache on canson paper,  2012

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.  Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.  It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask, who am I to be brilliant and wonderful.  Actually, who are we not to be.  We are meant to shine.  We are born to make manifest the light of the spirit within us." (text adapted from Marianne Williamson quote)

I came across this quote in one of my many books that I pull out when I need some inspiration.  It struck me as odd, considering that I grew up with so many fears. Thunderstorms, earthquakes, boogeymen and of course, darkness have added to my unwarranted angst over the last 52 years that I've been on this Earth, not to mention that nagging notion of nuclear war and total armageddon.  But such is the life of your average everyday middle aged, neurotic, hormonally challenged Irish Catholic woman who's perpetually waiting for the next shoe to drop.  For as far back as I can remember, that's the way it's always been for me.  

In a way, fear has had a supporting role in my life story.  I was afraid to be confident because that would be seen as shining too much light on myself.  As the middle child of my family of nine, my father would jokingly call me the "oldest of the youngest and the youngest of the oldest".  I was the "short rest" my mother had between the older four, the surprise adorable twin girls, the only blue eyed blonde and finally, the baby.  Perhaps being lost in this group insanity was what made me the unimportant blip I always thought I was supposed to be.  As long as I was fed and clothed, who was I to expect anything more.  Blending in was what I learned to do best and I became comfortable with that.  I believed I was just bright enough, but not too bright.  Right in the middle.

I was good at some things, art being the most important thing.  Making art distracted me from scary thunderstorms, loneliness (surprising, given my place in a huge family), depression and general inability to relate to everyone else around me.  But my mom was an artist, too.  So in my eyes, that made me shine, just a little.  I was almost eleven when my baby sister came along.  She brought out a maternal instinct in me, which meant that I found something else I could be good at.  I learned that, though I wasn't very special on my own, I could brighten another life.  As long as I could be a light for others I was content.  Then, when I married my sparkly new husband and became pregnant with the first of my daughters I felt confident.  I had a way to shine as a real mother, and shine I did.  My two girls became my life and my art took a back seat.  


The girls were, and still are, my brightest light.  However now they are young women and no longer need my driving, cooking and grooming skills.  They shine on their own, and though I bask in the wonder of it, I can feel myself growing dimmer, more afraid again of my own ability to shine in a new way, not just a mom, but as the artist I was born to be.  It's scary to think that I can learn to glow with love of myself after all these 52 years (I have to remind myself with that short-term memory loss thing that comes with the age). 


There's a saying that goes, "you can't teach an old dog new tricks." Well I've taught myself some fancy tricks like pretending to be invisible, or rolling over so that the spotlight misses me.  However, it's become clear that they just don't work anymore.  It's time for me to defy that old wive's tale and shed some more light on someone who needs a little extra shine... that's me.  Who knows, maybe I'll become the woman worthy of my given name.  Claire, french meaning: clear, bright and famous.  Well, two out of three would be nice.


Happy Mother's Day, and may you shine as well.


Thanks for looking,


Claire


Oh, and if you like what you see, check out my etsy shop.
http://www.etsy.com/shop/clairegriffin164

Sing for Spring...

Well, it's the second Friday in April and I wonder, where has the time gone?  Around me I see every shade of green, and that means growth.  It seems as though I went to bed last night and woke this morning to ever more colorful changes outside my chilly house. Magnolia blossoms swing by my bedroom window.  New grass is sprouting in the backyard, trees are filling in and thanks to a mild winter, that columbine that I bought last summer and forgot to plant has actually survived!  I guess daily miracles really do happen.


Inspired, I chose this piece for today's posting because it spoke to the awe and wonder that I never cease to encounter at this time of year.  Letters in a modernized italic uncial letter style (learned from my calligraphy teacher, Gerry Jackson Kerdock) dance on the page.  The "S" is done with paint markers as a decorated versal and reminds me of stained glass, much like the way that morning light filters that through a pattern of branches with an ethereal glow.  It illuminates the orchestra of tulips and hostas, daffodils, forsythia as well as shoots of mint and chives that add zest to my menu.  In my front yard a young choir of crocus blossoms seem to shyly step up and sing together. The result is a fleeting masterpiece of sight, scent and sound that we as mere human beings are privileged to have a part in.


Yes, the regrowth and rebirth of spring leaves me awestruck.  I know it seems a little crazy, but sometimes I swear that I actually hear the grass growing, or the branches stretching and yawning after a winter's nap, unfurling their newborn leaves and buds for all to admire.  Everything is new again.  Ants and worms are busy digging in and out of the thawing earth foraging for fresh sustenance.  Squirrels, and chipmunks having wakened, perform a frenetic ballet.  They leap from tree to tree as if synchronized with robins, chickadees and the woodpeckers who use the bark as a drum to usher in the audience for the day's performance.  


Now is the time when the season's opening event comes together.  I grab the dog, a big bottle of seltzer (for the celebratory bubble effect) and take my spot on the porch steps in the front row.  Quieting my mind, I sit back and take it all in.  Bushes and trees sway as the animals and insects dance.  Winged friends flutter and sing in harmony with my heartbeat and I can't help but catch my breath in the knowledge that my presence is just a tiny piece of this incredible annual symphony.  On with the show...


Happy Spring!


Thanks for looking,


Claire

Cead Mile Failte

Cead Mile Failte, 2011, gouache, walnut ink and 23k gold leaf on watercolor paper.  @10 x 8"

"Cead Mile Failte"!  In the Gaelic that means "One Hundred Thousand Welcomes". Hence this posting in celebration of Saint Patrick's Day. I love working with Celtic influences in my art, weaving uncial letters with vines and spirals. Maybe it has to do with my Irish heritage, after all, my ancestors on both sides of the family stepped "off the boat" from the old country. I imagine them wide eyed, ready to start new lives in America, and am awestruck that myself, all my siblings and cousins have blood and dna that has travelled across the Atlantic. It warms my soul to know all that history has passed through hearts and veins over a century, shaping me into the person I am today. Add to that the lilting laughter, love of words and music that comes with the culture of the old country and you'd say I'm a lucky girl.

Being of Irish descent, however, brings a big bag of mixed blessings. Historically, the Celts have been cursed with a weakness for potatoes, melancholy and the tendency to imbibe in "the drink". So it seems I was destined to be touched by all three. Perhaps it's by divine will that potatoes have worked their way into, or should I say onto my bones. I love them fried, baked, roasted and of course, mashed with a little butter and milk. However my body does not approve, which brings me to the melancholy.

During my life I have battled bouts of depression. In middle school I had anxiety attacks whenever I took math tests. The births of my babies brought on postpartum depression and psychosis, a small price to pay for bringing two beautiful girls into the world. Menopause has given me much to panic about as hormones wreak havoc on me. All this has been managed with medications, which had the added gift of weight gain and the subsequent need for more potatoes. If I wasn't already affected by alcohol, I would have turned to the drink to deal with my moods. But that was not, nor ever shall be an option.


I grew up in the middle of a classic big Irish Catholic family, fraught with alcohol and the ups and downs that go with it. There was lots of song and drama juxtaposed with bouts of mayhem and madness. The thing about alcohol is that it seeps into the lives of the drinkers, then spreads through the family and into the community. No one is to blame. It's just the nature of "the drink". Though technically I am not an alcoholic, my "holic" is food and sugar, which brings on the melancholy, which in turn calls for a stiff drink. In my case the "drink" is in a Hershey bar or Potato Skins. Thus is the circle of addiction and the Irish. 


I wouldn't be surprised if we as Irish descendants have a genetic predisposition to react to starch in our diet. After all, potatoes are mostly starch, which manifests as sugar, which brings on mood swings and naturally leads to the tendency to "bend the elbow", so to speak. But if that's what comes with my heritage of celtic runes and knotwork, a loud, loving family in which cousins abound, sweet soda bread and Barry's tea, a fondness for little ditties and almost anything green, then I guess the sweet far outweighs the bitter. 


And so I wish you, "Slainte" or Good Health. May you enjoy today and all the rest of your days. Oh, and the luck of the Irish to you.


Thanks for looking,


Claire


p.s. Don't forget to check out my etsy shop.  here's the link,
http://www.etsy.com/shop/clairegriffin164

Just sing...

Just Sing, paint markers, pigma pen, parallel pen on arches watercolor paper, 2012

"Just sing the song in your own heart now... it's beautiful and free, like breathing."


I did this piece recently when I was experimenting with layering and texture. I started with the word, sing. I don't know what it is about that word that strikes a chord in me. Maybe it has to do with the role singing and music played in my family when I was younger, and even now. I know, I'm a calligrapher, but I come from a family of singers. You could call us the poor man's Irish American Von Trap Singers.


My folks didn't sing, but they encouraged music appreciation in myself and all my siblings from an early age. I can remember piling into the station wagon on Thursdays for our weekly invasion of the South End Community Music Center. With various instruments in tow, we'd march through the doors and find our spots in the big room where book bags were planted like flags to mark territory. Then came the lessons. Violin, piano, flute, recorder and solfege (rhythm, sound and and music exercising). Running up and down the stairs from room to room, we were like crazed sports jocks, only our equipment included horse hair bows and music books. Then of course there was the weekly search for missing violin cases, school books, borrowed pencils and the occasional family member. All the while my mom remained calm and carried on, as the Londoners did during the blitz of World War 2. When the lessons were over and the final check was made; kids, instruments, homework and the occasional rogue shoes from last week, into the big old wagon we were packed again. Off we'd go to either Regina's in the North End after we'd pickup dad at work downtown, or to the brand new Burger King in East Milton. Either place was heaven to us!  Those were wild times.


I'd like to say that all those Thursday lessons led to a career as a virtuoso violinist or soprano, but I decided to become a visual artist. Maybe it was all the raw garlic my elderly violin teacher chewed while leaning over my eight year old shoulder, or the flute that I could never make a sound on because I couldn't breathe through my upper lip. I realized that the song of my own heart was meant to be sung with a paintbrush or pen. And sing I did, in my own way. After highschool, where I was in chorus for only one year, a scandal in a family where the daughters sang for the four year stint, I moved on to Mass Art. It was not an easy journey. I had to prove myself. But I traveled to my own tune, graduated with a BFA and started my life as a graphic artist.


Over the years I've continued to sing occasionally with my sisters and brother. It surprises me how much I can still retain from my years at the Music Center. Many of my siblings have continued their pursuits of music and it shows, which can sometimes prove intimidating. I chose to be an artist, but still feel that magic when we come together, and despite the arguing and occasional memory loss, we've been able to sing at each other's weddings, anniversaries, special occasions and as we age, even funerals. It's a way that we connect with each other and a joy to my folks. In the end, that's what it's about to me. When we sing from the heart, though we may be out of tune, the feeling is always right.


Yes, music is like breath to my family legacy. In and out of our hearts and lungs it flows and dances across our history, and will continue as an instrument of our future, in song, on canvas or on paper. Now whether we can all stay in rhythm and work out the dissonance, that's something that requires some improvising.


Thanks for looking, and check out my etsy store...


http://www.etsy.com/shop/clairegriffin164


Claire

Let us Cultivate...

Cultivate Creativity, Sumi ink, Micron pens and Gouache on 9 x 12" watercolor paper, 2011.

I'm sitting here in my home in Franklin, Massachusetts and it's 55 degrees on February 22nd.  Where's the snow?  Where's the ice?  I bought new boots and a down coat so that I would be warm when I took my dog out in freezing temps.  I even stocked up on sweaters... for the dog!  I'm aware that living here in New England means not knowing what's going to happen next with the weather.  I still have flashbacks of driving home from work through a freak snowstorm in May of 1983!  So why am I surprised?

I encountered a crocus bud the other day on my way into my folks' house, which brings me to the theme for this post.  Stopping in my tracks for that split second, I thought to myself, "Wow!  Is that a crocus?  Is that a sign of Spring?  Where'd winter go?"  Maybe this bud was a sign that I should try my hand at growing things again.  Then I got home and looked at my array of almost dead plants in my dining room and reality set in.  Let's face it, I'm calligrapher, not a gardener.  My thumbs are more black from ink than green.

Maybe it's because the days are a little brighter and longer, but I'm feeling like something new could grow in this environment.  I'm excited about a new year long class called "26 Seeds. A Year to Grow" with Reggie Ezell, a great calligrapher from Chicago.  I took his other class called "Primitive to Modern", exploring letter art from the first human marks to contemporary styles and scripts.  Just thinking about all this makes me feel like exploring my creativity.  After all, my younger daughter is moving on to college and I'll have to find something new to cultivate.  

Maybe I'll take my new found resource of artistic enthusiasm and put it to good use.  Maybe I'll teach.  Maybe I'll expand my little  ETSY web-store (check out my link below).  Maybe I'll build a new studio over my garage (if I win Powerball).  

Who knows what new idea will take root... and what this crazy N. E. weather might bring next.

Thanks for looking,

Claire
Here's the link to my ETSY Web-store

http://www.etsy.com/shop/clairegriffin164

LOVE MAKES IT ALL GO 'ROUND, AND 'ROUND, AND SO ON...

"Love is the greatest Joy, Agony, Adventure, Journey, Treasure, Gift, Wonder, Choice, Honor, Experience, Dream, Education, Reason to continue Living.

And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make."

Well, it's that day again.  The day when everyone celebrates LOVE, otherwise known as the energy that make the world go 'round. Hence the posting for today.  I wanted to convey the kinetic energy that love creates.  That feeling that propels us on the carnival ride of life. I used paint markers and layers of color onto which the letters whirled in shades of grey, with the delicate black done with a fine pigma pen. I wanted to show how love drives humans like myself to do all kinds of things. 

Love from my parents and siblings gave me the foundation on which I've built my life so far.  Love of making art set me on the path of graphic design.  Love of letters moved me to become a calligrapher.  Love of my husband has brought to this place, 25 years of incredible marriage.  Love of my daughters made me the mother that they needed, and in return I feel so very, very loved.  And the love from all these experiences has given me the strength to reinforce my foundation.  All this love will move me into the next phase of life's adventure, getting back on the merry-go-round of learning how to love myself again.

I plan on making the most of my next step into the life of an empty nester. I'm going to take all the love I've gathered up and treasured over the last 50 plus years of my life.  I'm going to let it loose into the great big world and see what comes back.  Sometimes I may not feel like I deserve it, sometimes I may not feel like the world deserves it.  But that's the way it all goes 'round.  And we all know what drives it...

LOVE. Happy Valentines Day.


Thanks for looking,


Claire

Danger and Opportunity

"Wearever there is danger, therein lurks opportunity.

Wearever there is opportunity, therein lurks danger.

They are inseparable, they go together."

Earl Nightingale

When I found this Earl Nightingale quote while browsing one of my many, many books of sayings and quotes, I decided that I had to find some way to translate it through calligraphy.  The result is what I posted here today.  But first, I decided to do a little research.  Earl Nightingale was known for his radio show "Our Changing World" and strangely enough, he died on my 29th birthday, March 28, in 1989,
which was the year my first daughter was born.

1989 was the year my world changed.  Six weeks after my daughter's birth I fell into a horrible, frightening postpartum depression and psychosis.  What was supposed to be the best and most exciting time in my life became a blur of locked wards, therapy, medications and anti-psychotics.  I was truly in a very dangerous situation.  What I did not realize then was the real opportunity hiding inside the danger of those months.  During those dark days and the many years that have followed I have been given the opportunity to empathize with those many mothers I've met over the years who have faced the same horror that I did and survived like myself.  I was given the chance to really appreciate the gift of my children in my life.  I got through the murky tunnel of depression and learned to care about others who have encountered mental illness in their lives.

But this opportunity came with dangers I didn't expect.  For the past few years I have been battling type two diabetes.  I've experienced a relapse (though not nearly as dangerous as the first time) brought on by instant menopause after a hysterectomy and the expected, though not eagerly anticipated empty nest that is lurking just around the corner.  I knew when I chose to take the heavy medications 22 years ago that there may be long term repercussions and side effects (weight gain was the worst).  My only purpose for living at that time was to be a functioning mom to my newborn, so the choice was clear.  I was a mother and it wasn't about vanity or dry mouth.  It was about the new little life I gave birth to and was responsible for.  I have no regrets.

Now that my girls are moving on, it's time for me to take care of those pesky side effects and weight gain that have lurked in the background of my life.  I hope to find the pain that I pushed inside so that I could raise my babies to be beautiful women.  I hope to face the emotions and feelings that have been long buried, acknowledge them and move into a new place in my life after raising children.  I hope that in another ten years or so (no rush) I will have a grandson or granddaughter to devote myself to.  Until then, my job is to find me again, the lover of letter arts, the artist, the svelte five foot two, saucy gal, the wife, the daughter, sister and friend.  Who knows what danger may be lurking, but therein lurks opportunity.  Wish me luck.

Thanks for looking.  Check me out on etsy to see what I've been up to lately.
http://www.etsy.com/shop/clairegriffin164

Claire

We must first save our planet...

We must first save our planet. 

We will then be able to save ourselves...

When I read this quote I thought to myself, well, THAT MAKES SENSE!  Seriously, I'm 51 years old and can honestly say that I spent my younger years thinking that I would grow, my parents and siblings would age and time would go by and the world I lived in would stay the same.  

But it didn't occur to me until my daughters were born that this world, a planet that is getting more crowded every day, is not the same as when I was younger.  There are more landfills full of disposable diapers, plastic, styrofoam and many, many more piles of toxic trash.  There are more oil refineries and coal mines releasing fumes that choke our round ball of a home.  There are less and less rain forests and trees feeding our atmosphere with much needed oxygen.  Deserts are appearing where lakes once offered sustenance and rivers flowed freely.  These staples of our survival have become commodities that countries fight wars over, and that makes me fear for my childrens' future.

And so yes, we MUST save our planet if we want to save ourselves.  I should say, I MUST.  I must make it part of my day to waste less water, paper, electricity, gas, food and so on.  Do I really need to get on the highway and drive 75 miles an hour?  Or can I plan to leave my house a little earlier so that I can drive the speed limit?  Should I wear those jeans just once?  Or should I just wear them again so that my washer running all the time, wasting energy and water?  Will I turn off some lights when I'm home instead of every room lit up?  When I go grocery shopping, will I remember to grab the reusable bags I have under the kitchen desk?

These are some of the things I have to take the time to ponder if I want to hand over this planet to the next generation in the shape I found it in.

As my daughters grow and make their way in this world, it's really the most sensible thing I can do.  This piece I post today, in rich watercolor gouache and delicate copperplate is a visual reminder.

Thanks for looking.  Take care of yourselves.

Claire

5 Days in and Counting...

Well, it's officially been 2012 for 5 days now and I can say, so far, so good.


I've started a new routine for each new day in this brand new year.  I take a little piece of note paper and write on it the date, time, how I slept, my morning blood sugar reading and most importantly, how I FEEL.  The trick is not to stop and think, but to go by my gut and the first instinct I get and write it down fast.  It helps if I write in pen, not calligraphy (I just woke up, after all), because I'm less likely to erase it and re-think, which can lead to hours of second guessing myself.  At night, before bed, I do the same thing and see what happens.  I'm on my fourth day and it's amazing how emotional I get when I write down those initial feelings.  My guess is that once I write them down I have to feel them.  SCARY!  
The piece for this entry is a compilation of the feelings I wrote down over the last 3 days.  Don't be surprised if the words bleed a little.  As I said, writing them down can get me going and wreak havoc on the not yet dry ink.


The goal of this new routine is to recognize that I do have feelings.  Sometimes they're easy to accept and absorb, but sometimes they're not easy to face.  But face them I must if I want to grow and eventually, learn how to take control of my life, my health, my weight and my identity.  This may all seem overdramatic, and believe me, I'm the first to admit that.  However, at 50 plus years old I'm learning that there are many things over the years that I have not allowed myself to really feel and accept.  Instead I've stuffed these emotions and memories into the great black hole I call my belly, hoping that they would just stay there.  But guess what, they do come up as word vomit, uncontrolled outbursts, mini breakdowns and pain, emotional AND physical.


WOW!  That's a lot, but then again, I've got a lot of years behind me and hopefully many moons to go and so, so many feelings still floating in and around me.  


I think I'll call this the year of exploration of the celestial being I like to call, ME.


Thanks for looking,


Claire