Reconnecting with you...

I haven't been much of a blogger while feeling my way through sooooo much life, love and loss these past months. Challenging is hardly word-enough to describe events since the dog pack attack last spring.  Grief is healthier felt than oppressed.  I have cried buckets of tears over the loss of my mother and Cliff.  I have been scared to the point of puking in attempt after attempt to navigate the horrific pot-hole-ridden road of PTSD.  I have not created much of anything in the studio but I have lived so much outside the studio. I got married.

I managed the emotional task of sorting through the myriad of things left behind by mom and Cliff.

The list actually goes on and on but the point I want to share is that now and then I thought of you...!  Honest.  You entered my mind after many of the beautiful, funny, interesting, news-worthy moments (which have been plenty).  I have so much to share!!!  Grace and Gumption have stood by my side during crises after crises.  Thank goodness for Grace and Gumption, they team up to point me in a colorful direction or paint a crazy-beautiful skyscape or hang a fat oozing moon or tickle my senses or slide a random bit of beauty and lots of love into moments just when things seem unbearable.  I also have Raymond, who's strength, patience and love bless me day and night.  Of course there is Tala.  Smile-inducing energetic little bugger who entices me to pull on hiking boots or running shoes even when my body and mind don't want to.

Meanwhile, I just want to say hello.  I'm back on the blog...

Cliff's birthday...

Awe Cliff. We took this selfie before "selfies." Before we had power in this cabin you built by hand (with trees from this land cut on the old tractor-powered sawmill). The cabin I moved into over twenty years ago, afterwhich you said, "You doilied it up Honey" -not because I actually had a single doily in this cozy home but because I took down the giant elk head that hung low enough above the old plaid couch to bonk us on the head. I hung nude paintings by Freeman Butts of myself and Stacey Herries on the walls, cooked on a gas stove instead of a wood stove and kept up the place better than "mountain man clean."

Today would have been your 69th birthday.

I miss you more than I've words to express - tough to type through tears. You hated it when I cried but you were a constant caring witness for sob after sob, no matter what time of day or night, no matter the reason (or no reason). Your unconditional love and companionship made me a better person; and that's a damn dumb way to try to say what a gift you've been. I still don't know how to manage without you. I can't believe you are gone. I love you so much dear Cliffy. Happy Birthday.

Happy Birthday dear Mother

My beautiful mother would have turned 76 today. Let me share with you one of her last gifts to me - a magical moment last month... [embed]https://youtu.be/kU5Jrxzrc9k[/embed]

Rest in Peace dear Mother...

Alzheimer's stalked my beautiful mother for twelve long years. Her own father died from Alzheimer’s. During my grandfather’s progression of the disease, he did not know his own wife of fifty years. Yet somehow - no matter how many parts of my mother's mind the vicious disease claimed, mother has always known me. She forgot where her mouth was, how to eat and what to do when I helped her onto the toilet but Mom did not forget that her daughter was going to get married. Mom loved the man I planned to marry and somehow rallied beyond the limits of body, mind and spirit to witness our wedding. Her doctor and I realized back in April that mother was hanging on for the wedding but as her condition deteriorated, it became necessary the first of May to enter her into Hospice care so that her live-in caregiver and I could continue to care for mother at home. Raymond Ansotegui and I considered staging a wedding so that mom would not have to wait to be free from her ever-present anxiety. We wanted to spare her the frustration, humiliation and dark depression that plagued her via Alzheimer’s. But my gut was pretty certain that something about the energy of the event was beyond our ability to stage. Two days before our ceremony mother was convinced all day that it was night; the day before our wedding mom slept all day, which she had never done but the day of our wedding Mom rallied beyond her "normal" state of confusion. She was more present than seemed possible. Just the logistics of getting her to our outdoor mountain wedding obviously drained mother but following our ceremony she was reluctant to leave. I have been told there was not a dry eye during the impromptu moment when I tenderly kissed my mother and told her “I love you,” just before Raymond took my hand in front of our guests at the juniper altar we made to honor my dearest friend Cliff. My high-anxiety mom was more calm and content for a few days following the ceremony than we've seen her in a year. Then she was simply “finished.” The day after our last wedding guest left, just five days into my marriage I packed and scooted to my mother’s for her final chapter. Good karma blessed me with a loving live-in caregiver for mom this past year and added a blessed bonus of the caregiver's spirited spiritual sister during mom's final two weeks. I dubbed Linda and her sister Debbie "The Angel Sisters." Together the three of us tended each other and my mother so that during mom's final eight days and nights she was never alone. We played old hymns, read aloud, sang, kept mom clean and comfortable. We laughed and we cried but mostly we beamed love. The gift mom gave me of her potent remarkable presence on my special day is beyond endearing - the stuff of magic - a treasure. Her gift powered me through the long bedside vigil and will remain a vivid miracle of love.My dear mother, marvel of grace and beauty. I love you. I hear your beautiful singing voice when my heart plays the lullaby you used to sing to me, the same lullaby I sang over and over to you while you lay dying: "Now the light has gone away Father listen while I pray Asking thee to keep, Quiet watch while I sleep."

Rest in peace dear mother, Betty Jean Reinhard, August 13, 1940 - July 21, 2006

(photos by Jonelle Pollock)

Ritual for Cliff

A big bird landed with a loud flutter in a tree at dusk Sunday night. "Is that an owl?" Wynn asked. The calm strong HOOT answered her question and sent a flood of warmth into numb cold-with-grief bones. We had just turned back from the river after sharing yet another crying session. Cliff grew up on the banks of the Yellowstone - the river his backyard. Literally. One spring he and I waded the river with furniture over our heads when it flooded his parents' house. Dinner by the river was Raymond's idea. "The owl will be here when we return," Raymond said with confidence when our waitress announced with a friendly yell that our appetizers were ready. We climbed the stairs to our table outside the Yellowstone Valley Grill and shared a meal so impressively delicious it coaxed joy into deep sadness. We celebrated our love of Cliff and his love of life. After dessert the three of us walked past the fire pit to the bank of the river. The owl hooted in darkness, we lit candles, Raymond pulled off his boots, waded into water more-than-refreshingly cold and launched the floatilla crafted with love. I marveled at the magic of place, the strength of love, the ability to endure and the encouraging enchanting befitting presence of the owl.

Cliff

"Ah Cliffy!!!  I feel so thankful for you as I enter my studio and the warm fire.  I feel so loved and lucky." "I feel the same way honey" Cliff texted back Thursday.  Cliff built a fire in my studio each morning last week while I was gone to town for 6am workout.  I'd spot the smoke billowing from the chimney on my walk through the woods from the cabin to work and smile.  Early morning thank-you texts to Cliff were launched each day.

Later Thursday morning when I texted Cliff to confess that actually calling the doctor to begin the process to enter my mother into Hospice care was more difficult than thinking about starting hospice, Cliff texted, "I'll be right over honey."  The sound of his four-wheeler announced Cliff's arrival.  I cried.  Cliff listened.  Cliff and I have taken care of each other for 22 years up here on this mountain and out in the world through a full variety of life's intense storms and all the mellow stuff.  He took my mother cookies on Friday and stopped by my studio with the mail to talk about mom and give me a hug before I was off to meet with mom's doctor.

Cliff didn't answer the phone when Raymond and I called Sunday night to invite him over for dinner.  Cliff always calls back but a massive heart attack took his life earlier that morning.
  The magnitude of loss is unbearable.
  The shock immense.
  Sorrow sooooo deep.  Piercing.  Painful.

Cliff was one-of-a-kind (with an emphasis on KIND).  I do not know how to be in this world without Cliff but much of what I know about being came from Cliff.  I will share more once I can wrap myself around the word "was" as I'm too wrecked to write.  Thank goodness for Raymond, his family and an amazing force of friends and love - this chapter takes troops to bear...

McNair Hare

I enjoyed creating a piece of art from a skateboard deck.  I dug into some very old acrylic paint which originally belonged to my dear artist friend Freeman Butts.  Fourteen years I modeled for Freeman.  I was by his side when he died of congestive heart failure.  Looking back at the finished skateboard I believe I see a hint of Freeman and his love of flesh and paint: The skateboard is in an online auction to raise funds to build a local skate board park.  (LINK to auction)

The project rekindled the desire to create a series of paintings I dreamed up seven years ago.  I would love to pursue my vision of the Madonna Bunny series...

Photos taken by my friend Andy George

Tough stuff

Tissue.  Mom won't go anywhere without it.  She hangs onto Kleenex like a toddler hangs onto its favorite blanket. She may ask where we are going six or seven times during the time it takes to tuck her into a coat and zip it to her chin.  Alzheimer's won't allow mom 10 seconds of retention but the button in her brain marked "tissue" is stuck in the "ON" position.Mostly she dabs the Kleenex under her nose or the corners of her eyes in a movie star gesture noticeable for its hint of grace even with the awkward shaking in her arms and hands.  Since the beginning of March, the ever-present-tissues soak up horrifying amounts of tears and snot.

Mom's been crying. A lot.

On good days Mom is simply "weepy" (the term her caregiver uses).  The bad days (solid weeping) are extra tough.  Mom cries for me when I am not there and she cries on me when I am there.  I hold her.  I hold conversations with her doctor.  I juggle medications.  I give her chocolate. Sometimes I make her laugh.  I replace limp flowers with fresh flowers and arrange her lovely vases throughout the beautiful home I work hard to try to keep her in so that she can be surrounded by her things in a familiar place.  I sound like an angel as I write those sentences but here is the raw truth:

I am sad and mad and frustrated and impatient and just plain exhausted. I feel like a rumpled up Kleenex soaked in impossible amounts of tears and snot.

Here is something I noticed recently about Kleenex: The stuff is disarmingly resistant.  I have wads of it stuffed into the cup holders in my truck. Somehow even the heaviest wet wads of seemingly delicate tissue eventually dry out and can be used again.  I reach for crumpled Kleenex when crying my way over the mountain pass to home where my happy puppy and calm fiancé greet me and treat me as something more than just a sloppy snot-filled, tear-ridden rumpled mess of easily discarded tissue.

Love is a ray of warmth; a crazy miracle of drying strength. What could be tossed out or overlooked as used-up-tissue resurrects for another day within the embrace of love.

Back in the saddle...

Cathy Weber is a fabulous artist and inspiring friend who has urged me the last few years to join her at CRatpod - a 140 mile ride around the Pioneer Mountains to benefit Camp Mak-A-Dream.  I have actually signed up twice but life intervened.  So this year I am IN...!  I must be nuts.  I am juggling so much on my plate right now - the last thing to add to the list is a HUGE ride over several mountain passes two weeks before my wedding (I just have to say my tummy did a happy little flip when I typed the words "my wedding") Frankly I am not very much into road biking.  I LOVE mountain biking but paved roads and traffic are not my thing.  I got the road bike used from friend a few years ago just to enjoy the brief period each spring when Yellowstone National Park is closed to vehicles but open to bikes.  The park is MAGIC on a bike...!  Springtime in the Rockies most often doesn't allow for much single-track biking so the road bike is simply a fun way to get out with a friend, talk, take in scenery and catch up.  Last year an early spring ride ended in horrific disaster when I was attacked by three pit bulls.  Severe PTSD kept me from creating last year - the  journey was dark and challenging.  The act of registering to join Ratpod was a gutsy leap-of-faith and a purposeful challenge to myself.  What better way  to motivate myself back onto the road bike than to join a wonderful good cause and dangle the challenge of a BIG ride to get my butt back onto the skinny-tire bike.

In between spring storms, work and intense "momma-care" I have begun to squeeze in moments to ride:

Skateboard for Charity

I really need to get to work and should try to make some much-needed moola.  I have a zillion ideas.  If you follow my work you know I like to work in series because there is always so much to explore when I open my heart, engage my curiosity and dive into a theme.  When I adventure or create, I most often love the MAJOR expeditions.  But major expeditions take a large focused commitment of time and resources.  I am currently short on both as the intensity of my mother's care takes major portions of my time and resources.  So I find myself settling for more simple quickie excursions - both inside and outside my studio.  I must be patient and wait for the correct time to launch another major series. I found myself alone in the studio with a blank skateboard deck.  Many local artists have been given a blank deck to decorate to raise funds for the local skateboard park.  I was never any good at skateboarding myself - but I find it encouraging when youth and adults alike are motivated outside to play. 

I found myself playing with a box of scrap woodcarving leftover from earlier bronze vessel projects (the carved wood vessels are sacrificed into several pieces during the mold-making process).  The carved trout would have been a crowd pleaser in this fly fishing community.  Of course I want the project to bring in good money for McNair Skatepark but I felt myself more drawn to the carved leaves and my desire to paint a bunny...

Radiate Confidence

 

Many years ago someone from the Oprah Network wanted me on their show called, “Fearless Women.” I laughed. I am anything but fearless. I told them they should name their show “Gals with Gumption” to honor those of us who pursue our passions despite our fears. You can watch a five-minute segment from the show here:

Compelled to explore - I push boundaries and scare myself. I have been shipwrecked on a Mexican island, stepped on by a bear while sleeping alone in the backcountry, nearly blown off the top of Mt Rainier, flipped in Class Five rapids and completely mesmerized while climbing frozen waterfalls. Do you feel tempted to embolden yourself and step up your participation in a more adventurous life?  If you are inspired, sign up for the FREE online Radiate Confidence Summit to hear from me, Katie and a whole line-up of remarkable women.

Easter message...

Growth does not happen without uncomfortable moments. PTSD after a traumatic event last spring kept me from creating in my studio. Months and months (and months) passed without inspiration, a hard protective shell within which frightening darkness enveloped me. Painstaking patience, persistance, faith and love from friends, sips and dips in the spiritual essence of Momma Nature and a disciplined determination to peck my way through the the shell that protected me when my innards crumpled...FINALLY a completed sculpture...! The little bronze hatched from an act of love for an inspiring community of people who consistently break through shells, honor boldness, embrace raw realness and nurture. HATCHing = Fragility and strength. Bold breakout. Vulnerable exposure. Tender warm feather nurture. Encouragement. Celebration. New chapter (after new chapter after new chapter) Life embraced. Community. Protection. Freedom. Love. Generousity. Happy Easter dear peeps (with lotsa love... )

love note

Rewind to Fast Forward

Pete Strom introduced me to Sasha.  I knew I would like Sasha before I met him simply because he is Pete's friend.  Pete is pure blue/white light - a warm hearted BIG soulful being I met through HATCH.  Sasha is an instant friend but mostly I admire his gumption - what a brave open soul....!  Please take time to watch the video introduction of his story.  I wanted to support Sasha's fundraiser event.  Brandon Weber of Upworthy called Sasha's project, "horrifying and enlightening and beautifully healing all at once."

My sculpture "I Have Heard the Dead Singing" perfectly expressed Sasha's fundraiser theme so I donated the $10,000 sculpture to a silent auction that took place on a Friday night which I happened to spend in ER with my mother.  Raymond went to the event without me.  Raymond is more-than-perfect advocate for me, my art and Sasha's cause.  Karma arranged for the perfect person to buy the sculpture - she was beside herself with joy since the sculpture spoke to her spiritual journey.  A good cause was supported by a piece of my art, good people connected and one of my favorite early reliquary sculptures found a new loving home - warm fuzzies shared by all...

Inspired!!!

At last.....! For the first time since the horrific dog pack attack last spring - I find myself actually inspired to create.  Phew...!

Life has blessed me with inspiration - usually almost more than I can bear.  My head most often overflowing with creative ideas like a room full of monkeys all wanting attention at once.  Sometimes life shuts the door on the creative room but not often and never for long.  The dog pack attack slammed that door shut for longer than I have ever experienced.  I took disciplined steps toward busting the door back open.  Patience is not my strongest suit but I had no choice.  I simply could not forcibly push myself any sooner.  I completed the sculpture for HATCH - months later than planned.  But I did not have that excited "cannot-wait-to-get-to-work-in-the studio" feeling.

Until now...

Yesterday I even blew off the demands of my desk and dedicated the day to the studio.  I'm working on the drawing for our wedding invitations (which of course is more than just a drawing for an invite).  I will post some progress photos for you (stay tuned for the finished drawing...)

Yellowstone Art Museum Auction

“Secret Miracles at Work” – my very first tree reliquary sculpture created years ago has been shown recently at the Yellowstone Art Museum in the exhibit leading up to their annual auction fundraiser. Raymond and I “gussied up” and had a blast at the auction Saturday night. The theme was “fire” (which I LOVE on lots a levels). The food was amazing (ask Raymond about the impressive BIG bowl of bacon at one of the buffets). Art auctions can be a bit stressful on donating artists but I felt quite “zen” about it that night (not always accomplished by me). Mostly we enjoyed the energy of being around artists and collectors in the museum community.

(I got the sweet bunny ring in Panama - love'n it SO much I might have to start collecting bunny rings)

Tender heart moments

"Where are my legs?" Mom asked in response to my suggestion that she dry her legs while I dry her upper body. Her hands fluttered in an airy gesture; lost. I had carefully sat her down on the orthopedic shower chair which I hide in her shower next to the tub framed by pale pink lace decorative curtains. I've learned to pull the chair out and lay a soft towel on it when I'm nearly finished bathing mom so that when I help her out of the tub she has an instant place to sit. Eight months ago when I showed up with two pieces of bathing aid furniture lent by a friend mom was indignant. I hid them. Several months of bathing mom went by before she was ok with the chair (hiding the chair under one of her decorative towels helped). Each bath she becomes more dependent and I become more competent. Certainly in the beginning I felt uncomfortable washing the single little breast cancer left her with and even now I find myself tentatively working toward other intimate places. Today when I gave her the washcloth and asked her to "wash her girlie parts" she quickly became distracted, carefully washing the inside of the tub instead. Sensing her need to feel useful, I let mom slosh the washcloth around the tub for a few minutes, admiring the determination she displayed in her task but her 95 pound frame gets cold easily so I eased the washcloth from her hand, wrapped her in a towel and assisted her in the unsteady chore of standing up. She tried to dry off with the lace curtains, caught herself and looked at me with total disbelief, like a child who farts and isn't quite sure where it came from. I made a lighthearted comment about how "obviously the towel must not have enough lace for her taste," but the flicker of fear in her eyes that broke the more standard thick wooly blanket of confusion stabbed my heart. Hugs. Hugs tend the tender places as Alzheimer's amps up its vicious attack.

A birthday gift for my fiancé

Unforgettable birthday

I celebrated an unforgettable birthday in the jungle of Panama.  Fred Dent (HATCH board member) and David Purkey (US Water Group Leader) were both born on the cusp between Pisces and Aquarius on February 19th.  The highlight of my birthday was the moment I gifted Yarrow and HATCH with the sculpture I created earlier this year as a fundraiser for the organization.

HATCH Latin America

What happens when a thoughtfully curated group of “Dreamers who Do” from fourteen countries go “off the grid” together in the jungle with intense authentic soul opening, heart touching, thought provoking agenda and integrated programs to “HATCH a better world?”

Magic.

I have soooooo much to say!  Yet. I have no words…

(lots of goodness to process).  I am changed (for the better).  Full of gratitude...