I Wanted to Go to Paris

"In the Darkest Place", 6"x6", oil on canvas.

One of my funny new ways of grounding myself is to meditate, after my early morning exercise class, in the gym's sauna. It is amazingly hot and amazingly challenging and amazingly soothing! With all the sweat equity, this obviously requires a warm shower afterward. Well today, the shower was freezing cold! Perhaps as cold as the ocean off of Iceland.

Oak Leaves in January #2, 6"x6", oil on canvas.

Early in this cancer journey, my brother Dan once told me, "Sometimes you get on a plane thinking it is going to Paris in the springtime, but instead find it's going to Iceland in the winter. You learn to appreciate Iceland." It is hard to get used to ice water after a sauna in the winter. More often than not, you need to jump in and out really quickly or your heart may stop.

Vista, 6"x6", oil on canvas.

However I was able to jump in and out today and lately I've been feeling that Dan was right. That somehow I've gotten to appreciate Iceland. Perhaps that is why I started painting my tiny paintings of winter. I've been looking closely at the loveliness of here and now, of snow and lots of it. I've been learning to project my life out 3 weeks (each chemo cycle) and 3 months (each scan cycle). I've been able to complete tiny paintings only 6"x6" and become absorbed in them. Part of this has been my commitment to walking all three dogs almost daily (with a camera) and to working out 3 times a week. Part of it has been this new commitment to meditation, not quite daily but often.

The New Haven After the Snow, 6"x6", oil on canvas.

But then like ice after a warm spell in February, things seem to break apart and re-challenge my resilience. This winter Bella came into heat between Christmas and New Years and the breeding didn't take. So major vet bills but no new puppies this Spring. Then my incredible life saving trainer who I've been working with for 4 years had a blood vessel go bad in her brain. After a day of much panic on our classes' side, we find what happened and fortunately she is now progressing quickly in rehab. She is a study in resilience, determination, positivity, and taking care of oneself...but I miss her mightily.

Beech Forest, 6"x6", oil on canvas.

Jim is another study in the power of positivity. He seems to keep on cruising with his lovely joie de vivre. I watch him in wonder and hope some of his magic will rub off on me. A month ago, he had a severe allergic reaction to one of the chemo drugs. His medical team worked quickly to bring him back around. When he awoke from his internal fight, he saw all of them in front of him. His first words were, "Don't you have other patients who need you?". They love him in oncology. He spreads good cheer. This past week as we all worried about the re-challenging with the drug, he was nonplussed as a newborn in their mother's arms. Despite the need to slow down the treatment, within 15 minutes he was up dancing with the nurses—IV pole as his dancing partner! Iceland can be really a surprising place sometimes. My growing appreciation for it may be inspiring my paintings: the light breaking through, water beginning to run again, and even the trees are dancing.

You and Me or Simply Us, 6"x6", oil on canvas.

But then after the chemo fright, I painted one nostalgic piece about the notion of home. Where is home? Where love and comfort is found is a large part of that answer.  Yet sometimes home becomes a place held back in time, held in memory. For some it is a frightening place - or conversely a place that keeps out the terror. In my case, the painting may have been prophetic. As Jim healed this past week, we heard huge cracking noises in the windy night. The next day we discovered neighbors had lost some of their roofing. At first glance we seemed just fine but then to our chagrin, we discovered damage to our home that may impact its foundation. As if I needed a new challenge, a new metaphor about the foundation of our lives being shook or the love it will take. I'd like to think not but perhaps I do. Or perhaps it's a metaphor that we've reached the bottom and now the true rebuilding begins. Either way Iceland can be pretty darn cold, Dorothy was right about home, and I'm betting Paris - it will still be there next Spring. I can wait.

Remembering Home, 6"x6", oil on canvas.