Dark Autumn (and Baby Steps)

Oops....

I haven’t written since Fest, have I? 

My excuse is always that so much happens there that I get overwhelmed when I try to tell you about it; I just don’t know where to start. (If you're wondering? It was a good season for me. And I learned a lot about myself, as always.)

Perhaps I should hunt down my notebook, the one in which I jot down EVERYTHING that happens there so I don't forget, and then take the time to pen an entry for each day of the show, highlighting all the incredible magic that occurs there at Mayfaire.

Because then perhaps I can describe for once just how incredibly overwhelming (and overstimulating) a season there can be. And it starts like a storm First Weekend, and there’s no time to recover until the whole dang crazy tempest is over for the season. 

And then by the time I’m ‘myself’ again, my glorious October is almost over. Halloween is just seconds away and I’m unprepared! And then trick-or-treating comes, goes, and is gone for the year and I’m too tired to stay awake until midnight to savor the last little pumpkin spice (and pomegranate) bits, and the next day it’s like ‘anything Halloween’ is poison to me. Like anything Christmas-y is the day after Christmas…. 

But I love the grays and browns and introspection of November just as much as I love the fiery colors of October. And as long as the snow stays away until December I’ll at least have a few weeks of Dark Autumn to enjoy. 

So here’s to November. And to the days of Dark Autumn.

And thanks for reading. It feels good to write to you again.

...

A Few Thoughts About Fest Before the Season Ends

The 5th Fest Weekend has ended. I've yet to write a word about it, but isn't that how it usually goes?

I find that when I'm knee-deep in its season I have just too much to tell you and no words perfect enough to describe it all.

And now we're two weekends away from The End.

Before I know it I'll be bidding farewell to faraway friends too busy now packing up their tents and yurts and campers before heading on to the next Faire to do more than hug me and say goodbye.

Where does the time go??....

I'm learning a lot this season.

Like I couldn't continue to do what I do without repeat customers who like my work enough to annually add to their collections. (This never ceases to amaze me. I am so GRATEFUL for them all.)

And I learned to throw some of my pre-conceived ideas out the window. That the unlikeliest of customers may just be a kindred spirit in disguise, just waiting for me to initiate a conversation and turn them into a friend. That exhausted or drunk or cranky person may just need to see someone smile. And -- holy CRAP -- hugs really are MAGICK.

As always, I'm reminded that people are fascinating. And it doesn't take much to draw them out and discover just how interesting they are. It helps that after I tell them how I'm currently doing business I can just shut up and stop trying to sell them something. I love that part. And I've found that sometimes after a good conversation together that person will just grab something and buy it. Why, I wonder? Is it a souvenir of our interaction? Was it really that meaningful?? And then it dawns on me just how invisible some people feel and how grateful they are to be seen. But then I'm saddened a little to think that just really SEEING another fellow human being is monumental enough to be a superpower.

And the children.... When I was first introduced to Fest I was a young adult and the event was so monumental to me then that I promised myself I'd be a part of it someday and now I have been, for almost 35 years. But what must it look like to a young and open and impressionable mind that still believes in Magick?? I've met countless kiddos this season who have asked me the most brilliant of questions, mostly about my butterflies, of course. But thus begins some amazing conversations! And after a day of experiencing the Festival, many return before leaving for home and I kid you not, I get HUGS and THANKYOUS and fervent promises that if I ever need someone to pretend to be a dragon and stand outside my shop and tell people to 'come inside and see the best art in the WORLD!', they're my champion.

The hell?? How did I get to be so lucky!?

So many beautiful things, and odd things, and extraordinary things, and head-scratching things, and mindblowing things happen to me during my Fest days that I've taken to writing as many of them down as I have time for. Maybe I should turn them into a book someday.... 

And I'm sure I learn the same things every season, but they're always big revelations to me. And I wouldn't have those revelations, I don't think, without Fest in my life.

Two more weekends left and then I'll have to find places again for all my Fest flotsam. And then I'll have to wait a year to relearn the same lessons. And that's OK.... And I'm so grateful that late in my Fest life I struck upon a business model that works so well for me that I can let it go off and inspire people while I just listen to them and find out how fascinating they are.

It seems to be THE magickal combination that's Just Right.
...

An Opening Follow-Up

The only thing that makes me feel better (when I'm incapable of drawing) is writing.... So consider this a heads-up.

The Art Center has my apologies for being the 'artist' it assumed would be a good gallery draw. I have failed it.

My gallery opening was so bad that I jokingly asked the handful of attendees that trickled in that afternoon to please sign my guestbook at least twice just to make me feel like less of a failure.

It wasn't for lack of trying. I'd hyped the whole thing on Social Media. I'd sent MULTIPLE invites out to family, friends, and fans online. Larry organized an incredible event with printed programs and platters of fruits and cheeses and crackers, and even a vase of fresh flowers! And he even commented ahead of time that we should wait to unlock the gallery doors at the last moment to drum up anticipation. "Make 'em wait in the hall to be surprised!," he said. So I knew he was expecting Great Things. It made me wonder if his expectations could possibly be justified! I was already anxious. I hadn't slept for days, going over in my head the presentation I would give when it was my turn to introduce myself and say a few words about my work.

There was a printed program!

But I needn't have worried. The event was so ill-attended that it was laughable. And afterwards I took Larry aside and thanked him for putting together the reception in my honor. And I apologized for being such a disappointment to him and the Art Center. It was all I could do not to cry....

I went over it all in my head. I reminded myself that it WAS summer after all. And even though the day was rainy, it shouldn't have surprised me that few would care to spend it -- a Saturday in July in Minnesota -- indoors at a gallery opening. And again I berated myself for having the balls to think mine was an event worthy of anyone's attention. Take THAT, Ego!

But ignore all of the above for a moment.

Bottom line: I regarded this gallery thing as my introduction (finally!) to my fellow artists at the Art Center, who all think of me as the Leaf Lady who draws kooky faces on leaves. In October I will have been at the Center for three years (if I remember correctly) and yet I still feel like a Newbie there. Like the dorky kid still hoping for a seat at the Cool Table. And I thought this was my opportunity to say to them all, "I may draw on leaves now, but I'm so much more than this, see? Can I be an artist with you guys?"

And fresh flowers!

The handful of attendees at my opening included a couple strangers and a family that I'm friends with. No one was there that I danced with in my Eeyore jammies at the Art-a-Thon. No one was there that I've shared space with at the Studio Crawls. No one was there from the other gallery events that I've attended. No one was there from the Art Center at all, except for Larry (the host).

And Paul.

Paul Boecher is an incredible artist who teaches at the Art Center. His was the gallery opening that originally set the bar for me. (A presentation! a crowd!, a reading! live music!....) And like everyone else, he had no reason to take time out of his summer Saturday to come see my work. But he did. And when he showed up, it put tears in my eyes. He looked at my work and then talked about it with me. There's SO DANG MUCH I don't know about art, and Paul was kind enough to point out things I was doing that I wasn't even aware that I was doing. Things associated with 'design elements' and 'repetitive line' and other stuff I am completely unfamiliar with. Things I like to tell myself I would've learned had I been fortunate enough to go to Art School. He made it sound like I'm fancier than I am, more than just someone who likes to draw. It was a humbling conversation....

When the afternoon was mercifully over, I made James take me out for a drink. We talked about it for a bit (or he listened while I talked about it for a bit) and then I went home and curled up inside myself. The hubris! What was I thinking?

The show is open for another few weeks. And I should be there daily to share my work with the occasional Art Center visitor who stumbles upon my display and may want to meet the artist. But I've been unable to return to the gallery. I don't want to look at the art that wasn't worth celebrating, does that make sense?....

Someone recently shared a quote with me: "Instead of asking yourself, 'why is this happening to me?', try asking, 'what is this trying to teach me?'" And I have been thinking about this. Every day. And one of the things I'm learning is: just because someone is Family, a friend, a fan, a customer, a member of my 'tribe', or someone from the community I've personally called Home almost all my adult life, I cannot assume that I deserve to be a blip on their radar. They have their own priorities, and not everything is about Me.

And the other things I'm learning: I apparently have to work much harder on my friendship skills. I have to try harder to be more approachable and more likeable. I have to try working with my studio door open, even though I cannot work that way. (I can't; I've tried.)

And I have to ask myself if I'll ever really be a good Art Center fit....

...

A BIG P.S.: If you were one of the few people there, you have my heart in spades. I love you to the moon and back. Thank you.

Gallery Opening!

This. THIS is the reason there's been no blog activity for the last two months. 

The Rum River Art Center created this sandwich board for my upcoming event this Saturday in the Center's new little gallery. It gave me a shiver when I saw it.

"A Creativity of Muses." 

It will feature 'hand-drawn characters old and new, countenances that have inspired me, taught me, and occasionally frustrated me as I continue to learn, and some that have appeared like magic on my paper to lift me up and make me love drawing all over again.' So sayeth the blurb I wrote up for the Facebook event that I created.... (And I titled it thusly because I have no idea what a gathering of Muses is called, but if it's not a 'creativity', it dang well should be.)

As I type this, it's the Wednesday before the event, and I'm pretty ready for it, surprisingly. I've been gearing up for this ever since the beginning of the year, when I got brave, stepped out of my comfort zone, and asked director Larry Weinberg to set aside a month for me to share my work.

I could've had an opening at the Art Center ages ago but I kept chickening out. For one thing, I can't understand why anyone would take time out of their Saturday to attend (especially a summer Saturday in July!). Also, I don't know how an opening works exactly, since I've never had one before.

Since the new little gallery was christened in January, I've attended a number of openings there and they've all been cookie-cut from the same dough: there's a guestbook, some wine, other light refreshments, maybe some live music, the local press, a speech from the artist about their work, and then some milling and chatting. The end. Not that that's BAD; I've attended other openings at other places in Minneapolis and St. Paul and they're like that, too. But try as I might, in my imagination I cannot insert myself and my work into a scenario like that. If I did, I'd feel like I was playacting at being an Artist-with-a-capital-'A' or something. (Don't anyone thump me upside the head right now, 'k?)

I procrastinated for the first couple months after agreeing to this, thinking that I could just do what I've always done and chicken out. But then July got closer and I began seeing references to my upcoming show online, and then I had to proof a Press Release, and then I knew there was no running away from this. So in earnest I began framing, creating, agonizing, rehearsing, and experiencing the gamut of crap that plagues me prior to sharing my work with others.

I once thought that sharing one's work was supposed to be an artist's big goal. You draw, share, and (hopefully) sell and make money so you can continue drawing and sharing, right?

But I quickly realized that artists create just to CREATE. Because we can't NOT create. And if we didn't share our work and (hopefully) sell it (instead of destroying it or giving it away or something) we'd eventually be buried alive under our mountains of creativity and then our kids would have to deal with it all after the funeral.

And it's that 'sharing and (hopefully) selling' part that's torture. At least it is for me.... It's why I procrastinate, agonize, knuckle down at the last minute, and force myself to show up for the first weekend of Fest. I love Fest! But that is definitely not the part I love. But it IS the part I have to put up with in order to continue to do what I do.

I'm blathering, aren't I?

Anyway....

During all my preparations, I realized I'd have to eventually frame things. And the expense of going all fancy and having my work professionally framed scared the poop out of me! Especially since I have very little money and it'd take more than one frame to fill up the smallish gallery space. I wrung my hands about it, too, until one day when I was musing on money and capitalism and landfills and waste and everything else that gives me hives and makes me drink these days, I got the big idea to re-purpose already existing frames for this show. 

So I visited some thrift stores and stocked up on custom-framed work that already included mats and hangers. And then I removed the art and replaced it with my own.... 

In some cases, the frame was cool and the mat was cooler but nothing I had fit into it. And that's when I created new art. Art to fit. 

The act of doing this was like rocket fuel to me. I'd been given a strict set of limitations, and instead of shackling me they inspired me. I was reminded of the creative breakdown I once worked through by limiting myself to gray paper, colored pencils, and only drawing from imagination to create the 50 Fae that changed my life and my style. Like that time, these results made my socks go up and down!

In the weeks leading up to this opening I've kept the particulars about my show a secret, sharing bits and 'sneak peeks' about my new stuff online, trying to create anticipation and interest. I've kept it from James as well, and my hope has always been to hang the work myself in private and unveil it The Day Of so that even the folks at the Art Center itself are surprised by what they see and discover. (This veil of secrecy is vital. If I'd been sharing it all willy-nilly, then who'd show up, anyway? They'd already have seen the show....)

But I realized quickly that I need help getting it all to come together. So last night I shared my new creations with James instead of making him wait to be ‘surprised’ on Saturday. The big reveal was anticlimactic. And the result was that afterwards I just ran out of steam. I listened to music a while, flipped through what frames I’ve currently got, studied them critically (what made me frame THAT??), gave up on the idea of having a special new piece I’d hoped to unveil on the Big Day (insert eye-roll emoji here; pretentious much??), and I just made myself clean up, lock up, turn off the lights, and go home before midnight for a change.

 

And now this morning I woke and immediately understood that I’m making myself sick about this weekend’s event. I keep changing my mind, and creating stuff at the last minute, and trying to be clever, and worrying about running out of time. So today I’ve asked myself to just STOP already. Take a deep breath. Quit thinking this is important and start thinking that this is just the first of many future gallery shows where I can share new work and have it displayed somewhere for a month where I don’t have to find a flippin’ place to store it…

And now here I am. And I’m sure this blog post is the result of me just being exhausted…. So maybe the rest of the week prior to the event should be about napping, reading a book, and taking a bath.

...

Check out the Rum River Art Center (at THIS link) to find out more about this non-profit organization and all the good it does to bring art into the community. And you can check out its new gallery, too (at THIS link), to read about upcoming shows. Thank you!

I Think the Fairies Danced

May Eve came and went and my tired old self didn't observe it, sadly.

It wasn't that long ago that I would have at least lit a candle in its honor or something....

So when I left the house on May Day morning to set off for my studio and saw this cheerful gumdrop displayed front and center in my garden, I had to smile.

The fairies partied, apparently.

Or maybe it was just a mouseling. Or a squirrel. Dancing and feasting under the starry sky.

Either way, I wish I'd joined them.
...

Earth Day 2019

 Mother Earth, this day

may all that dwell upon you

 

 

venerate your name. 

~delayne.

Working...

I love working 'small.'

And when I add words, I never know ahead of time what I will write....

This one surprised me.

I like it.
...

I Survived the ART-a-Thon!

Behold: Pajama Girl!

I did it! I stayed awake, I was creative, I finished the ART-a-Thon. And then I slept my life away! And now, looking back on it all, I see that I should've done some things differently. But it was an experiment, right? And next year I'll know better.

I keep forgetting that I'm not a kid anymore, even though my head still thinks I'm one. And my goal was to stay awake and be productive for all 62 of the ART-a-Thon hours. But what I hadn't counted on was the fact that on the Friday that it began I'd been up all day preparing for the event.... Oops! So already I'd been awake for almost 12 hours and the thing hadn't even started yet....

But that was OK. I decided I'd pace myself. This couldn't be any worse than the final 3-day weekend of Fest with its crazy crowds and subsequent pack-up/tear-down after the last cannon of the season. Right? I could do this.

I'd packed clothes and toiletries for the whole weekend. I brought a pillow. I threw together some snacks and oatmeal packets and a book to read if/when things got quiet. I purchased an Eeyore cosplay costume to wear as comfy clothes when I got to the point where fabric was too painful to wear. I thought I was pretty prepared!

The mural takes shape

And staying awake all that first night was not as hard as I thought it would be. There was lots of camaraderie. People were there drawing, painting, laughing, talking, and listening to music. And I was there with them.

An idea was sketched out on a large canvas mural, and by midnight parts of it were already taking shape as artists painted in their takes on historic local scenes.

For much of that night I drew in my studio and watched the mural progress. Then at midnight a jigsaw puzzle was brought out and I applied myself to the finishing of it. Fellow artists called it a day and went home to comfy beds, remarking on their way out that we'd never get that puzzle done before morning. But we did!
 

I did manage to get some art done!

Before dawn arrived I freshened up and changed into Eeyore. The costume wasn't meant to be jammies but it was as comfortable as jammies, and it wasn't long before I became recognized as Pajama Girl. I'm not sure if Eeyore was a good idea or not.... Coffee arrived just as the sun was coming up, and I stood at one of the windows in the North Studio with a cup of it and watched the sun rise. It's one of my favorite times of the day to be there....

And soon the first full day of the ART-a-Thon began. It was a busy day! But I did manage to get some drawing done. My goal was to create something every hour, but I was too busy for that.... 

That evening my local grandbugs Avery and Erik joined me while their parents went out for dinner. Together we learned how to operate a floor loom, played with Polymer clay, and made our marks on a community canvas. James joined us later and the four of us played Pictionary together on the paper-covered art tables. (Avery drew fun portraits of me and James.) It was just the four of us, and soon we were all roaring with laughter, and the fun didn't stop until nearly midnight when James left to bring them home and tuck them in.

Guess who these two are?

Avery makes her mark on the community canvas

All that laughing and silliness gave me my second wind, but not for long. By 4am on Sunday morning I was seriously down for the count and decided to break my ‘sleepfast’ by crashing on the floor of my studio for a bit. I threw down my yoga mat, set an alarm on my phone, and tried to sleep, but I think I was just too overtired. After an hour of fighting with it, I got up, changed into normal clothes, washed my face, and prepared to continue ART-a-Thoning, but I was at the point then where my body was wide awake but my brain was full of cotton. I laid down again and was out.

There was quite the crowd!

A couple of hours later, James was knocking on my studio door with a gift of breakfast oatmeal from our favorite local diner. The oatmeal was HEAVEN so my stomach was happy, but the rest of me felt awful. I think it would’ve been better if I’d foregone the nap and simply forced myself to stay awake.

It was soon obvious that Sunday would be the busiest day of the whole event, even though those of us who were trying to be arty for every hour of it were exhausted. I was no longer playing the part of Pajama Girl (Eeyore needed laundering….) and was instead now cast as simply one of the volunteers. There was a steady stream of visitors and a WHOLE LOT OF KIDS. Instead of working on my own creations, I gave directions, handed out pencils, cleaned up messes, re-papered a table or two, dumped out dirty paint water, etc.….

Erik was a natural on the loom

Once again my grandbugs joined me. And once again we had the world's best time.

We learned how to make and operate a little tapestry loom out of cardboard, watched James’s glassworking demo, and learned how to do an acrylic ‘paint pour.’ Avery attended Larry’s drawing class and drew, outlined, and painted a picture of Blarney Castle in honor of St. Patrick’s Day and  Erik added huge swaths of rows onto the community handweaving project. Once again, they were just the burst of energy I needed.

When all was finally over and I returned to my studio to get my gear together, what should I find on my drawing table but an incredible letter written by Avery and Erik that broke my heart wide open. And suddenly the ART-a-Thon (to me) was more about the time I spent with my grandkiddos than it was about how long I was able to stay awake and be creative.

No surprise: it took me a good part of the following week to recover! But already I look forward to next year when I can do it all over again. And maybe they'll do it with me. And maybe my faraway grandbug Abigail can join us. Because that would be AWESOME.

 ...

My First Ever ART-a-Thon!

I like to think I was a derring-do-er.

Like back in the day when I was a single mom, a Festival shop builder, a 'step-out-of-my-comfort-zone-and-rent-a-studio' artist, a 'travel-by-myself-to-England' girl, a 'college-at-age-50' student....

I don't derring-do much anymore. In fact, these days, the derring-do-iest thing I can think of is to sign up for as many straight hours of art and creativity as I can hopefully manage via the RumRiver Art Center's upcoming 62-hour ART-a-Thon event.

When I initially heard about it I thought, "How fun does this sound?? SIGN ME THE HECK UP." And only later did I remember that I like to sleep.

A lot.

No; I mean A LOT. Like if this was the 62-hour Sleep-a-Thon, I'd frippin' WIN it.

So what was I thinking?....

Actually, I was thinking about hanging out with creative people non-stop for an entire Friday-night-to-Monday-morning weekend.

And I was thinking about 'arting' alongside some curious adults and kiddoes who perhaps have never 'arted' before.

And I was thinking: "Hey -- I'm 62, and there are 62 hours in this -- it just sounds like something I'm meant to do."

And -- perhaps most importantly -- I was thinking about what it would be like to be that young woman again, the one with crazy hair and bags under her eyes from staying up all weekend drinking pots of coffee and playing with pencils, instead of the grandma she is now that needs her sleep. (I swear that crazy girl is still inside me somewhere.)

Anyway. I signed up for all 62 hours and am keeping my feathers crossed that I can manage them all without snapping at anyone, locking myself in my studio with a book, or falling asleep headfirst onto my art. Maybe I'll shop for some silly pajamas for the overnight hours. Maybe I'll locate some chocolate-covered coffee beans for extra 'awakeness.' Who knows? But my plan is to do ALL the hours. All the HOURS. All. The. Hours.... (Just typing that made me shiver....)

The ART-a-Thon is open to the public and will be held from 6:00pm Friday, March 15 until 8:00 am Monday, March 18 -- again, that's 62 hours of continuous artmaking! -- and is an event to draw attention to and benefit the RumRiver Art Center (a non-profit that is close to my heart).

As stated in the link above:

'There will be a variety of art activities to participate in throughout the 62 hours, including wheel throwing pottery, drawing, watercolor painting, acrylic painting, hand-built pottery, polymer clay, mosaic art, stained glass, weaving and more! Everyone who comes to the art center can contribute to our three collaborative community art projects that will be put on display at the art center when finished. The projects will be a stained glass mosaic window, an acrylic painting, and a hand weaving. We will also have a canvas that will be painted continuously for the full 62 hours.'

And YOU can help in other ways:

• If you live close and would like to, please visit the RumRiver Art Center during the ART-a-Thon and say hi! Take a tour, check out what the wonder-filled place has to offer, see my personal studio, make some art, help ME make some art! (Go **HERE** to get directions, more info, etc.)
• SPONSOR ME or one of our other artists! (Go **HERE** to sponsor an artist)
• Make a donation. Every little bit helps! The Art Center does so much for the local community.
• Take home a piece of my work. My plan is to create one new art piece every hour I can manage to stay awake and upright! All will be for sale.

This is the first time I've ever participated in an event like this and I'm looking forward to it! I have no idea what to expect. Care to join me? If you can't be there in person, no worries; I plan to live-stream and Tweet my progress!

And in the meantime, I welcome ALL suggestions for how to keep this old young girl awake and working!
...

You Say Goodbye and I Say Hello

This post has been a while in the making.

I was afraid to write it....

My last rattie, Max, passed away from old age the summer of 2017. I held him gently under my hoodie, next to my heart, as he took his last breath. The hurt never scabbed over....

I'd planned to wait a bit before adopting another, and that wasn't hard to do since none of the area pet 'warehouses' seemed to carry them any longer.

But then I ran across a single 'blue' rat pup in a mall store crowded with kittens and puppies for the holidays and my heart stopped. James tried to talk me into him but I was just too afraid to give my heart away again. And by the time I thought I was ready, he was already gone....

I was crushed! And I've regretted not adopting him ever since....

So imagine my delight when I visited that same store this past winter just days before Christmas (and exactly one year later!) and discovered this sweet little one. Just 8 weeks old, silvery blue!, a carbon copy of the one I let get away. The salesgirl there opened the cage and put him on my palm and my heart broke wide open.

And thanks to my James, he went home with me for Christmas....

I'm not a noob. I've had ratties almost all my adult life. I made sure to continue with the food he'd started at the pet store. I made sure to use aspen bedding. I let the new baby settle in.

I wanted to give him an 'M' name, like all my other ratties. And I thought it should be Christmas-related. I began making a list:

• Marley
• Myrrh
• Menorah
• Merry
• Mistletoe....

But that night I dreamed that I walked up to his cage, expecting to find him but finding my old Max instead -- alive and well again! -- and I said, "Max, what are YOU doing here??" And Max said to me, "I'm not Max. I am so much more." So when I woke, I named this little one 'Much.'

The next day was Christmas proper. My local grandbugs visited and longed to hold the new baby, but I kept them apart just to give Much more time to acclimate.

By that weekend -- just a couple days later -- he began showing vague symptoms: repeatedly digging in his ear, tilting his head....

I've fostered a rat that had gone untreated for an inner ear infection and it wasn't pretty. I like to think that I made the remainder of his life a happy one. Seeing signs that Much could be in the early stages of something similar made me panic. He'd have to see someone immediately.

It was the holidays. What vet could possibly see him?? James phoned the pet store; it was no help. The person there had no suggestions nor any recommendations of a vet in the area that could see such a small animal. I called the Animal ER and was told we could bring him in, but when we got there I was turned away at the desk. Only cats and dogs, said the person there, and I assured her that whomever I spoke to on the phone said they'd see him. After some behind-the-scenes questioning of the staff, Much was taken backstage and given a once-over....

The doctor who examined him said she could find nothing wrong, but that didn't mean there wasn't an infection in the inner ear. So she started him on antibiotics and we brought him home again.

And he was fine.

He was fine.

Until he wasn't.

We watched television together, curled up warm on the couch, and Much was on my shoulder, tucked under my neck, cuddled in my hoodie. I loved on him a bit, then returned him to his terrarium. And when I checked on him that night before bed, he was gone.

It was the last straw for me.

The whole day had already been sad and tearful and full of big disappointments, and this just put me into a tailspin.... just as I was preparing to say goodbye to the old year and welcome the new.

I believed then that Much was already ill when I adopted him, and I still believe it. But that does nothing to assuage my grief and disappointment. The only thing that even makes me feel marginally better is knowing that for the short time that he was with me he was loved COMPLETELY and will be incredibly missed....

Not long after his death Much appeared to me in a dream. He looked just like his little self, only 'different,' and I used his appearance as the basis for a story. And here it is:

A STORY

As usual, the old key budged stubbornly in the lock, and it was all she could do to get it to turn. Forcing it gave her some quick and heated attitude.

“No, no no…. Don’t let my New Year start on a crabby note,” she grumbled to herself just as the mechanism succumbed and clunked, and the heavy glass door opened with a gentle swoosh. She swiped the light switch with a mittened hand, illuminating the darkened North Studio with its long empty tables and upturned chairs. Immediately a wave of comfort washed over her and she silently thanked the Universe that – at least for the moment – she had the place all to herself.

Her moist boots squeaked across the cement floor. One more key, one more turn, one more light switch and her own little studio brightened to life. She inhaled deeply the smell of dry paper and dried leaves, her eyes taking in the chaos of creativity, recalling happily the recent time she proudly shared the little studio with her dad. After what seemed like a stunned pause he’d said, “Well…. You sure have a lot of stuff,” and her heart swelled pleasantly now just thinking about it. She did have a lot of stuff! And reacquainting herself with it all again after the bustle of the Holidays made her socks go up and down.

Immediately: backpack on the chair, jacket on the display rack. A quick glance then into each of the empty cups on her drawing table told her which was for beverages and which was for ink water, and she dropped a tea bag into the proper one before walking back out into the North room, filling the cup at the water cooler, loading it into the old microwave, and then setting the carousel atwirl with the press of a button. As the timer counted down, she leisurely absorbed her surroundings: the color and chaos of the big room’s furnishings, the smell of paints and brush cleaner, the echoes of laughter and creativity. What a pleasure to be there again after all the stress of the Holidays!

The microwave pinged. She carefully removed the steaming cup and gave it a sip before returning to the little room again and closing the door. Instead of clearing off the drawing table she simply pushed everything forward to make space before adding a sheet of cardstock and grabbing a pencil. It was a pencil she’d found on her walk there that morning, stabbed point first in the snow on the ground near the School of the Arts. A yellow #2 Ticonderoga that had been nibbled to death in the middle. It made her smile to see this and recall her own elementary school days a million years ago spent nibbling her own yellow pencils….

“Alexa, play some ambient music.”

A pause. A little pirouette of light from a device on her windowsill.

“Playing ‘ambient music’ on Pandora,” came a disembodied female voice behind her, and a selection from a fantasy movie soundtrack began. She picked up the pencil and drew.

The music made her think of mountains. And snow…. Friends on a quest, meeting adventure head on….

By the end of the lengthy selection she was surprised to discover that her hand had drawn a tiny creature with perky ears, a long tail and long whiskers, black button eyes goggling with curiosity… and little feathered wings.

And over the figure was a word balloon.

And the word balloon said,

“I am so much more.”

The End

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