Moving more, reading more

An update on my January 1 entry below. I (we’ve) sold the car I drove the most, the ‘95 Ford Escort. I did this, most, to make myself have to walk on a daily basis. I’ve been walking to work now for one week. I feel different. And things are changing. I have to think “lunch” in a different way. I have to bring it, or know I have to walk to get it, so I’m spending my lunch hour, now, staying in the office for large part. During my lunch hour, I’ve started to read. Coupled with my reading at lunch, I’ve decided to read, first, when I get home, before opening this laptop to see what news there is, in the internet worlds I inhabit (outside of the email I use profusely at work).

I’m discovering how much I’ve missed opening a book, how out-of-practice I am with turning pages and making my eyes follow the lines, as opposed to scrolling down the lines, of text before me. For the walking, I’m very much enjoying moving my legs in ways other than pressing an accelerator, clutch and brake.

It’s only a mile to work, about 16 minutes at a brisk pace. The surroundings are pleasant.

As for the rest of my January 1 list, it seems these two changes in my day-to-day bring the benefit of covering most of the other items. I’m thinking more by virtue of my spending about a half-hour walking and a couple hours reading. The reading brings things to mull over while I’m walking. I’m writing a little, though by “writing more” I meant time spent in “artful” writing pursuits, of which I don’t quite count this blog post. But by virtue of this blog post I am sharing more. And by virtue of the reading, walking, thinking and sharing, I find myself thinking on others with more love.

When I made the list, I didn’t realize I only had to make an attempt to change two of the items on it to have the rest start to fall into place. Stay tuned for further developments.

XOR

Tits Up in a Ditch

I just finished reading Annie Proulx’s piece Tits Up in a Ditch in the most recent New Yorker.

I’m taking the weekend off, since 10:00 this morning, “to center myself and get some things done around the house,” as I put it to my boss, to my co-workers. I apologized for the short notice, but begged they would understand I “wouldn’t do it if it weren’t absolutely necessary.” And that “I would rather not say more just now.”

I went in to the office this morning at 6:45 knowing I would make this announcement. It was raining when I got up. Again. And the plans I had made yesterday for work, for workers to do the work, with the managers who direct the work, was once again in need of re-planning,  re-adjustment almost as soon as it was planned. 

(Nevermind that there are folks with far worse issues than mine where rain is concerned and that I should count my blessings we’re not in Cedar Rapids, or any other town along this neverending rainy front stretching from Canada to North Texas. I hold all positive thought I can hold in my heart for those with real loss. For us it is, at root, a mere slow-down of work. Still, I’ve made promises I can’t keep.)

I feel ashamed. I like to think I’m resilient, able to move at a moment’s notice. I’d like to think I’m not a whiner, but this Winter-into-Spring-into-Summer has taken its toll on me. I’m exhausted.

It was wonderful how the folks around me at the office this morning asked no questions after my announcement. They offered support, “Yes, I can take care of that,” and “Take the time you need,” as I sent email after email to them of the loose-ends I had not been able to handle in the past few days. I tried to release as much information as possible of the undone things I had inside me and on lists I’ve written day after day. I’m so blessed. Alan, laurie, matt, paul, charles, meri, les and kristopher, thank you all for your support. Danny, you too, don’t know where I’d be without you.

Please know I’ll be fine, I just need a break from obligations. All are real. Some self-imposed, some imagined.

R

 

What Does It Take?

This is preying on my mind. What makes great art? Whether painting, drawing, sculpting, writing, film-making. Or whatever other form it is. Does it take a singularity of focus? Whereby one abandons all other things in the world around them to make the art one feels compelled to make? What compels one to abandon all to focus on the creation of what one sees. Or feels.

I fear, for all my love for the thought of it, I will never be that person. I am too concerned with the day-to-day–with making money to pay the bills, with having food on the table. What might I make that might stand the test of time? Still, I appreciate it. I see it delivered in fabulous ways on nearly a daily basis.

I suppose, there must be room for the appreciator. Without us, where would the artist be? Without us, wouldn’t the great works be? Lost, forgotten. Perhaps we are the keepers of the archive. The “critics” we are, serve to hold these works in a place of protection.

I’ve scarce started to talk about this. All y’all! Some of you are true artists, some of you are appreciators. Help me figure it out. OK?

Coloring Page 1

An experiment in posting a scanned coloring.