Londontown

Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention. 
Be astonished. 
Tell about it.   ~Mary Oliver

It was a trip I had been anticipating for months.  A week in London, visiting my eldest daughter.  Throughout the week we talked, we laughed, we shared stories.  We went to the theater, explored Oxford, practiced yin yoga at her favorite studio, had high tea with her friends.  It was lovely.

Since Kate had to work, I spent most of the week exploring London on my own.  I had thought about bringing my trusty Canon with me to photograph the sights, but decided instead to just depend upon my iPhone 7+ and was pleased with the quality of the shots.

Marylebone Neighborhood, near the street where she lives.

Kensington Gardens

"london is a roost for every bird." ~Benjamin Disraeli

Because I was traveling solo, I was able to visit museums to my heart's delight.  Over the course of two days I wandered through the National Gallery of Art, The Victoria and Albert Museum, and The Royal Academy of Arts, where I saw an amazing Matisse exhibit.  I got about mostly by walking and taking the bus, and never tired of the street life.

The Royal Academy of Arts

Chalk art outside of the National Gallery.

Piccadilly Circus

P {for Pantry}, where I stopped for a cappuccino and pain au chocolat

"If you're curious, London is an amazing place." ~David Bailey

One of my favorite days was spent at Covent Garden.  When I set out that morning, I had no idea what to expect.  In my mind I was picturing a traditional English garden.  You can imagine my surprise when I arrived and discovered instead a bustling hodgepodge of shops and restaurants.  

Tucked down an alley near Covent Garden was Neal's Yard, named after Thomas Neale, a vibrant and colorful hodgepodge of herbal remedy shops, smoothie cafés and New Age shops.

"London opens to you like a novel itself.... It is divided into chapters, the chapters into scenes, the scenes into sentences; it opens to you like a series of rooms, door, passsage, door. Mayfair to Piccadilly to Soho to the Strand."

~Anna Quindlen, Imagine London

During my final morning we took a walk through Regent's Park.  We strolled past playing fields, a pond, canal and Queen Mary's Rose Garden.  Although it was long past their season, many of the roses were still in bloom.

"London's like a forest... we shall be lost in it." - Mary Elizabeth Braddon

My trip ended all too soon, especially the time spent with my daughter.  Although I was happy to return home to my husband and Popeye, I am already looking forward to when I visit London again.  There is so much left to see of this beautiful city.  

                                                                                                                   

 

A Shift in Perspective

Have you ever stopped by the lovely photography blog titled Viewfinders?  It is a collaboration of 15 amazing photographers dedicated to recording the world around them.  Yesterday I read a post written by Deb Achak titled Freelensing.  Freelensing is a photography technique where you create a new perspective of a subject by detaching the lens from the camera and then manually holding the lens close to the camera body and playing until you get a focus point.  

....Deb does a much better job of explaining the technique in her post!

I was intrigued by the idea, especially how it can cause a shift in your perspective of the subject you're shooting.  I decided to try it out myself.  For the shots below I used a 50mm lens and my Canon EOS T3:

This shot evokes such a dreamy mood, doesn't it?

I love the light leak in this shot.

I had varying degrees of success with my first attempts at freelensing, but I do like the way this technique brings a softness to photographs.  Unfortunately I was the only one home when I was playing; I would have liked to try it out using one of my daughters or husband as my subject.  My Yorkie, Popeye, was just not interested in being my guinea pig!

If you want to read a little more about this technique, I recommend you head over to Viewfinders and read Deb's post.  You will be so glad you did!

One Thought, Two Truths, Three Memories

"It's so curious: one can resist tears and 'behave' very well in the hardest hours of grief.  But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer...and everything collapses." - Colette

One thought:  For me it is the butterfly that lingers by the back garden.  A monarch, thirsty for nectar, flitting among the perennials and potted flowers, reminding me of his vibrant and engaging personality.  It is then the tears arrive and a little more grief is released from my body, making room for gratitude.  

"I don't believe an accident of birth makes people sisters or brothers. It makes them siblings, gives them mutuality of parentage. Sisterhood and brotherhood is a condition people have to work at." - Maya Angelou

Walking along a nature trail that I know he also loved, I come across a nosegay of Forget-Me-Nots, a flower that always reminds me of our dad and now will also remind me of him.  I will forget not his smile, how he loved to make others laugh, how he lived life to the fullest, especially in his final year.  He did not let his cancer defeat his resilient spirit.  

Two Truths:  My brother and I had to work at out relationship.  We may have been two threads from the same cloth but he was the gold embroidery that glitters and shines while I was the frangible thread, prone to fraying when stressed.  He was energy personified; I was introspective.  We often butted heads, for one of the things we both had in common was a stubbornness inherited from our Sicilian grandfather.  

And yet...

Even during the years we spent at odds, there was always a tie binding us together.  I imagined it as a silver filament, fine and yet so strong.  As we grew older we also grew closer.  The differences in our personalities no longer mattered for we shared the same values;  a love of our families, an appreciation for our friendships,  a mutual respect for one another.  We were no longer just sister and brother, we were also friends.  When my sister-in-law called the morning of his passing, it was as if the tie had been severed, allowing his spirit to move on, leaving me bereft.

                                                          Mom, Joe and Me, 2016

Memory...is the Diary that we all carry about with us. -Oscar Wilde

Three Memories:

I am seven and my brother is five.  We are sitting side by side in our shared bedroom, watching Superman on an old black and white television set.  It is late afternoon and our mom is making dinner in the kitchen.  Realizing how well we're behaving she brings us a treat, glasses of ginger ale and a snack.  "You are being so good that you deserve something special," she says, handing us each a glass.  We look at each other and grin, pleased with ourselves.

It is the night of our wedding and my husband and I are being coaxed to leave the reception so that the party may begin to wind down.  My mom, dad and brother stand by the door to bid us goodbye.  As I kiss each in turn I begin to cry, overwhelmed by the emotions of the day and the recognition that a new stage of my life is beginning.  My brother looks at me, feigning alarm.  "Grace, don't tell me you're changing your mind!  I was looking forward to having you out of the house!"  He grins and we both laugh as I promise that that is not the case.  

We are sitting on the front porch of our parents' house.  It is an early spring evening and we've just spent the day with our family.  He begins to whistle the theme music to Leave it to Beaver which evolves into our taking turns singing TV theme songs and having the other guess.  I am amazed at how many we have each remembered but shouldn't be so surprised.  We both have always loved watching TV (comedies in particular) and share an amazing retention of the most trivial entertainment tidbits.  

Rest peacefully, dear brother.  I will miss you.

Waiting on a Miracle

Hope is being able to see there is light in spite all of the darkness.  

-Desmond Tutu

It started with my questioning my father, whose spirit I firmly believed led me to discovering my ovarian cancer early.  

A prayer.  An accusation. A plea.

Dad, I'd asked.  Why warn me of my cancer but not my brother?  Why was he already stage four when his cancer was diagnosed?  I don't understand.  If you are really looking out for us, why did you let his symptoms stealthily grow until it was too late? 

Could you please explain this to me?

A month ago, my brother's oncologist told him there were no standard options left to try and referred him to a specialist at a nearby teaching hospital.  Being familiar with the hospital, I offered to accompany him and his wife on their initial visit.

The morning of his appointment was hot and humid; it was with heavy hearts that we drove to the city.  Wanting to be hopeful, fearful of hearing the worst.  Hanging on to a prayer.  When we arrived we settled ourselves in one of the examining rooms and the specialist entered, a file in his hands.  He began reviewing J's history, eventually coming to the notation that his sibling was a cancer survivor.

I raised my hand.  That's me, I confirmed, ovarian cancer.  The specialist nodded and I continued.  I was also diagnosed recently with Lynch Syndrome (a hereditary genetic mutation which makes me susceptible to a myriad of cancers).  

What happened next took us all by surprise.

His eyes lit up and he became animated.  Really? he asked.  Yes, I answered, my MSH6 gene is defective.

Realizing we were confused by his sudden excitement he offered an explanation.  Six weeks earlier a new immunological drug had been approved by the FDA to be used on any cancer patients who had Lynch Syndrome.  Studies had shown that Lynch Syndrome patients had been especially responsive to the drug.  He looked at my brother.  Do you have it as well?

As they continued their conversation I paused, stopped listening, and realized it wasn't that Dad and God hadn't answered my prayers but that they couldn't answer them until...

...until a drug was created that would open doors.

....until I went for genetic counseling and my genetic mutation was discovered.

...until studies were done which showed the drug's effectiveness for people with Lynch Syndrome.

Sometimes a prayer can't be answered until all the pieces have fallen into place.

Thank you, I silently said.  I'm sorry I doubted you.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur.  J was sent for genetic testing and blood tests were done.  Suddenly we had hope again, a silver lining behind the dark clouds.  

We are still waiting for the results, still hanging on to the hope that there is one more option available for my brother.

Waiting on a miracle.

Hope is patience with a light lit. - Tertullian

---

Waiting for answers has required so much resilience and patience.  We are blessed to have a large network of family and friends praying for my brother and his family.  As I wrote this post I thought about how many other families are fighting the same battle.  The waiting rooms at every oncologists' office are full.  

I have been recently reading Sheryl Sandberg and Adam Grant's new book, Option B:  Facing Adversity, Building Resilience and Finding Joy.  I recommend it to anyone who is going through a difficult time.  You can read more about the book and the foundation she and Adam Grant have created here.

Just Five Things

1. This moth reminds me of how fragile life is.

2. There is a storm brewing outside my window. Change is in the air.

3. I am thinking of the importance of bending with the winds of change.  What use is there in resistance?  

4. I find solace lately in quiet walks.  As Mary Oliver writes in Upstream:  "For me the door to the woods is the door to the temple."

5. I am content with not knowing all the answers.

Five Ideas for a Rainy Monday

The gray clouds have been relentless and the temperature refuses to climb much above 70 degrees.  The flowers may be rejoicing after last year's parched summer, but I find myself in need of sun.  Here are five ideas for a rainy Monday:

1. Explore a new museum.  I have been wanting to take a field trip to MASSMOCA to see this amazing exhibit by Nick Cave.
2. This article has me thinking about the downside of allowing technology into the classroom. It's worth a read.
3. Visit your local library.  I'm planning on stopping by mine today to pick up this book, recommended by Karen of Pumpkin Sunrise.  What better way to spend a rainy afternoon than by sitting curled up on a comfy couch with an engrossing book, warm afghan covering your lap and a cup of hot tea by your side?
4. Try a new craft.  I'm excited about exploring the art of making collages using my own hand printed paper.  This book by Elizabeth St. Hilaire is a wonderful resource.
5. Head to the movies.  While buzz is currently surrounding Wonder Woman, I am looking forward to seeing this.

Sending a little cheer your way,

Grace

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On Spontaneity and Fear

"Magic reveals itself in unstructured movement and communication; to hold back is to forbid the dawning to occur."  - Pixie Lighthorse, Prayers of Honoring Voice

I am not spontaneous - impulsive, yes, but that is different.  Being spontaneous requires a fearlessness, and unfortunately fear is an emotion I am well acquainted with.  Fear of saying the wrong thing, fear of criticism, fear of not being good enough...these are old friends of mine, shaped by years of careless comments said to me throughout my life, often starting with the words 'if only':  'if only you didn't wear glasses', 'if only you didn't smile so much', 'if only you weren't so awkward'.

As a child I took these words to heart and they took root in the very soul of my being.  When I was young I considered these comments as truisms but as an adult I realize I only have myself to blame for giving these seeds a place to thrive.  Instead of shining a light on them and seeing them for what they were - careless comments made by imperfect people - I allowed them to define me. 

"The bad news was that if felt impossible to be in congruity with one's true self, but the good news was that by a certain age, we understood that we had a true self, and they hadn't managed to wreck it entirely yet."

-Anne  Lamott, Hallelujah Anyway

We always have a choice, don't we?  When I reflect upon Anne Lamott's words I realize that the only mistake I made when I was young was to give others permission - by way of not protesting - to critique me when what I should have done was to tell them all to piss off.  Fortunately, I came to this realization once I reached college; I finally understood that I had many choices, the most important of which was that I could speak out when others tried to hurt me, to turn and walk away.  I understood that I had a true self and that it was good and kind (although somewhat naive) and it was my job to ensure it was nurtured, it was my job to let it grow and blossom.  Thank goodness for maturity.

But the fear is still there, buried deep, and it has taken me a lifetime to excavate it from my being.  It took root long ago and it has been hard to weed it out entirely.  And so I remain mindful of my tendency to hold back, to recognize it for what it is, my old friend Fear.  I take small steps by putting my art out in the world and, more importantly, putting my self out into the world.  Engaging with others.  Speaking up.  Using my voice.  

"Help me permit myself to know the joy in chasing amazement without over-cautiousness." - Pixie Lighthorse, Prayers of Honoring Voice

So this I pray:  teach me to trust that I have the wings to fly, to allow myself the joy of spontaneity.  It's right there, within my reach.  

Hello, again

Hello, friends, it has been a while.  The winter was long and dreary and it seemed I had run out of thoughts to share.  My overriding feeling these past few months has been that change is in the air and I have been rethinking where I am headed.

My painting life has been quiet as well, as if the great push I made before Christmas to set up this new site, to open an Etsy shop, to put my art out there either drained me of all creative energy and I needed time to refuel and, yes, revisit the reasons why I paint.  If you have been a reader of this blog for a while you will recognize this tendency I have to pull back, to reassess, to think deeply about what drives me.  And winter, well...winter is the season where I spend too much time in my head.  

Instead of fighting what was happening, instead of pushing myself to my studio each day I decided to let it be, to see where this turn would take me.  It wasn't long before I realized that one change was that I began spending more time engaging in daily life.  I volunteered more actively at Ann's Place.  I took up piano.  I allowed myself time to just sit and read for the sheer pleasure of it, going through all twelve of Louise Penny's Inspector Gamache mysteries in three months.  

I developed a beginner's mind, returning to the watercolor open studio I used to attend and requesting that my teacher, Betsy Rogers-Knox, have me start at the very beginning (a very good place to start) with graphic sketching, learning about shading and toning and drawing from still life.  I signed up for Flora Bowley's Creative Revolution E-Course, learning ways to jump-start my creativity and to weave it into my daily life.  

It was as if since I had proven to myself that I could achieve certain goals (setting up shop, and this site) I made the unconscious decision to change course, to continue my journey in a more mindful way.  I gave myself permission to grow slowly, to play, to ease up on my self-imposed expectations to get things right the first time.

Going deeper, I am no longer afraid that my cancer will return and rob me of precious time.  I feel strong and healthy.  And, let's be honest; does any one of us know how much time we have on this beautiful planet?  Instead I am trying to live a meaningful, balanced life every day, to accept life's ebbs and flows, to allow change to occur rather than fight it.

It is so good to be here with you again.   

Backyard Beauty

"I can't believe God put us on this earth to be ordinary."  Lou Holtz

I hadn't been using my camera recently.  The gray overcast skies did not entice me to travel very far from my home.  As I've mentioned before, I don't mind winter as long as there is snow. Without the snow, the world feels dreary and tired.  

Yesterday morning I awoke with a clarity of mind and lift of spirit that I had not felt in a while.  Putting out Popeye for his morning business I glanced up at the crabapple tree that graces our backyard.  Dewdrops dangling from its branches, it looked at if it had given blossom to diamonds.  I quickly grabbed my camera and headed outdoors for the shot, not caring what the neighbors may think of me wandering about in my pajamas.

                                         Fomitopsis pinicola - Red-belted Bracket

"Every experience is a form of exploration." Ansel Adams

After photographing the jeweled crabapple tree I turned my sights to a pile of old logs leaning against the post and beam railing that borders our yard.  I never pay much attention to these, except to wish that my husband would clean them up, but today I noticed that many of them were covered with fungi.  On any other day I would have just glanced at them and moved on; yesterday, I decided to look more closely.  I was awestruck by their beauty.  They reminded me of turkey tails, their colors evoking autumn.  

"It is all very beautiful and magical here, a quality that cannot be described.  You have to live it and breathe it..." Ansel Adams

Returning inside the house, I did a quick Google search for fungi and learned that fungi usually appear on trees that are diseased or already dead.  They take root in the heart of the tree and spread outwards.  Fortunately, the fungi I found was only on logs hewn years ago. 

"Art is both the taking and giving of beauty; the turning out to the light the inner folds of the awareness of the spirit. It is the recreation on another plane of the realities of the world; the tragic and wonderful realities of earth and men, and of all the inter-relations of these."                                                                           Ansel Adams

I was enchanted by the beauty that had sprouted on these weather-beaten logs and I quietly gave thanks for this reminder of the grace that can be found if only I am willing to see with clear eyes.

  

Sharing Nurturing Thursday with Becca.