I’m Alive!

I’ve been tired and busy.  I’m working on my RN degree while working full-time as an LPN in a skilled nursing unit.  Actually, I’m exhausted.  I haven’t had the energy to make anything lately.  It’s a triumph that I turned on the sewing machine and made this scrub top.  Now I feel like making stuff all the time again.  I’ve got a million ideas squirming around in my head.  Sometimes abstinence makes the heart grow fonder.

I used New Look 6876 to make this top.  I altered the bodice to be surplice.  I plan on using this pattern again for scrubs.  The only problem is that this top is huge.  If you have any geeky fabric ideas, please send me a link.

I know it’s popular to trash nurses for wearing cartoon scrubs, but if you’ve never spent 40 hours a week keeping 15 people alive, please don’t judge.

If you’ve never seen what kind of boogers come out of a trach, trust me that I need something fun to brighten my day.

If you’ve never cleaned a wound so foul that you could smell it in your hair after a shower, then please give me a break about my clothing.

If you’ve never spilled colostomy juice on your shoes, you get the idea…

Nurses put up with a lot of shit–sometimes literally–so please don’t pick on our scrubs.

Stuff I still haven’t learned, despite 37 years of trying.

I had a birthday and I graduated nursing school.  I was valedictorian.  It was really hard, but I did it.  I wish I could feel good about it somehow, but I just can’t.  Part of the problem was the fact that some of my classmates didn’t finish.  I would have given my blood to save them, but I couldn’t.  I feel so responsible for everyone all of the time, that I take other people’s failure harder than my own.  I guess I have survivor’s guilt. 

The other part of the problem is just me being me.

I quit running.  I’ll come back eventually.  I managed to gain 10 lbs since Christmas and it’s really pissing me off.  Don’t worry, friends, I’ll be back soon.  I just don’t feel good right now.  I can’t stand the heat and Oklahoma is full of it. 

This lack of joy at my own brutally hard accomplishment has me thinking about my flaws.  I’m not the kind of person to concentrate on what is good about me.  I try too hard.  I care too much about the wrong people.  I can’t mind my own business.  I let things get to me that other people easily ignore.  (I constantly compare myself to others until I find a way to feel inferior.)

Here is a handy little list of all the things I didn’t learn in school this year.  These are the things I might never learn.

How to ask for help or comfort.

How to keep a desk clean.

What to thow away/what to keep.

When to relax.

How to see the bright side.

How to escape guilt.

When to quit.

How to keep friends.

How to quit eating my feelings.

How to eat without slobbing down the front of my shirt.

How to feel good about something I did.

How to see myself as worthy, smart, funny, or talented.

How to look in the mirror without disgust.

How to be a better, calmer, happier mother.

How to take medication as directed without waiting to get deathly ill to comply.

How to be a good stepmother.

How to handle disappointment.

How to take a compliment.

When to stop texting someone who is obviously avoiding me.

How to stay motivated to make art when I feel empty, lost, or overwhelmed.

How to take a joke when it hurts.

How to follow my own advice.

I’m a great nurse.  I almost deleted that to say that I’m a good nurse, but I’m trying hard here.  I’m a great nurse and a flawed person.  I’ve got a year before I go back to school for my RN career ladder.  I should probably concentrate on learning to accept myself and get my poop in a group while I’ve got so much time on my hands.

Want to play along?  What do you need to work on?  Feel free to use any of my learning objectives.

 

Owl-Eyed Athena

I finished my portrait of Penny Nickels.

It took a long time.  I had a mostly finished portrait for a while, but I just wasn’t happy with it.  I couldn’t get the phrase Owl-Eyed Athena out of my head when I was working on it.  Since so much of Penny’s work is about mythology, I thought of her as a warrior/genius with big, creepy, owly eyes. 

I’m confused about this portrait.  I hate it because I’m shaking with self doubt all day every day lately.  I feel like a fraud artistically.  I also love this.  Honestly I think this is the most beautiful portrait I’ve ever made. 

Whatever.  It is what it is.  Now I need to make peace with my life and art and move on.

Submersed in the culture.

The best way to learn a foreign language is to be submersed in the culture.  You need to order your breakfast, ask where the toilets are, and pay for movie tickets in the native tongue.  Medicine is the same thing.  You can’t dip a toe.  You have to dive in.

If you’ve never been to nursing school, it’s nothing like college.  This is hard.  You study (yes, even the really smart people who never have to study have to study) like a maniac, then get up at 5 in the morning for rounds.  You take care of actual live human beings and try really hard not to fuck up and hurt them.  You work until you want to cry some days.  You run every time there is a bedpan to empty or a bed to change because you have to prove yourself.  You have to want to succeed and you have to prove it to your instructors and the hospital nursing staff.  You clean up puke without gagging, you do procedures that hurt the patient and you don’t cry.  You suck it up and keep going.  Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning.  Then I remember that drama isn’t going to help me, so I get out my books. 

This piece is called “Waiting Room.”  It is hand embroidery with cotton and linen floss on a scrub smock from the Army hospital where I was born.  This shirt used to be a deep burgundy, but it has seen countless surgeries, lives and death.  This shirt has seen blood and vomit and tears.  It’s been washed too many times to count.  Now I see the blood and the scrubbing and I watch to see how it will change my colors. 

I’m just plain grateful to be a part of medicine.

5 foot 2, eyes of molded plastic

I’ve been a little busy.  I’m in clinicals 3 days a week and working my butt off studying for two tests a week.  I mean I’ve literally been working my butt off.  I’ve lost 48 pounds.  I average over 10,000 steps per shift at the hospital.  My pedometer doesn’t measure moving patients, making beds, and generally shaking in my boots as I try new skills on actual human beings.  Then I come home and run (okay I jog) a few miles. 

I’ve managed to finish these two pieces.  I’ve always wanted to do portraits of Pez Dispensers.  They have a personality all their own.  I was playing with the concept of hero worship when I decided to use repuposed USAF uniforms as backgrounds.  They turned out okay!  I really can’t believe that I found the time to finish them.  They are headed for a show in Chicago this November.  I’ll post more details when I get them. 

In other news, I found out that I have Addison’s Disease.  I’ve probably had it for over 15 years as my body slowly attacked my adrenal glands.  It’s rare and incurable, but very managable.  My body quit making cortisol, the “stress hormone.”  You can’t live without it.    The symptoms are:  fatigue, weakness, dizziness, hyperpigmentation (my armpits turned coppery brown), low blood pressure, hypoglycemia and…depression.  I was weak and sick and exhausted.  Now that I’m taking steroids to replace what my body wasn’t making, I feel so much better.  The medication makes me hungry, but I am exercising so hard that it doesn’t matter.  I’ve also started taking some thyroid hormone.  I’m finally on a level playing field and it’s amazing what I can get done in a day with a functioning endocrine system. 

Life is good.  I wasn’t lazy and dwelling on my depression.  I was really fucking tired.

That said, I had issues.  I still have issues.  I can’t just give up on exploring my emotions because I found a physical reason for my overwhelming fatigue.  I know that a lot of you still have depression that won’t have a “quick fix.”  (It only took 15 years!)  For years and years doctors treated me like my exhaustion was my fault for not going to counseling enough, exercising enough, for eating too much sugar, because I didn’t drink enough water, because I didn’t forgive people fully, because I lived in the past, for feeling sorry for myself, for being too negative, for not wanting to get better, because I’m such a hypochondriac, etc.

I don’t think that anybody should suffer for years because medical staff act like the illness is the patient’s fault.  I was tired of hearing how my fatigue was due to my noncompliance and piss-poor attitude.  I follow doctors’ orders.  I blamed myself.  I struggled.  I sincerely hope that you don’t put up with it, whether your problem is physical or emotional.  Nobody deserves to suffer.  Keep trying.

Checking in

Nursing school is going well.  I’ll soon be on site at my first clinical experience.  I’ve learned to do amazing, healing things with my hands and I get to use my skills to help people.  It’s pretty damn exciting.

I’ve lost so much weight that I had to buy new scrubs.  My prepregnancy jeans (circa 2003) are getting too loose to wear.  Damn exciting.

I’m not running to lose weight.  I’m losing weight so that I can run better.  My running is changing my life.  I look forward to my runs like a dog looks forward to a walk.  My body is getting stronger every day.  My jiggly bits are getting firmer.  My husband can’t keep his hands off of me.  My body composition is much leaner than it was last time I was at this weight.  My resting heart rate has dropped 10 beats per minute.  I have more energy.  I’m alive and it feels great.

I updated my Etsy shop.  Shipping is free to the US, UK, and Canada. 

I recently received an award for having a great art therapy blog.  I was nominated by my readers, so thank you!  People send me messages telling me what an inspiration I am.  The truth is that my readers inspire me.  There are times when I feel uninspired and untalented, but I always have friends waiting to share their work.  You guys keep me going.

I’m working on a couple of pieces for a show this winter.  It’s really hard to find the time to work on it, but I like what I’m making.  I won’t be posting pictures until after the show opens.  I don’t want to spoil the suprise.

Papa Badger’s New Stripe

My husband is getting promoted August 1st.  I’m pretty excited about it.  I’ve been getting ready for the ceremony.  We’re also looking at houses.  Our VA loan came through and I have my eye on a 4 bedroom on a corner lot with a fireplace. 

I know that this blog uses a lot of emotions–most of them painful.  I want to make it clear that my life is full of joy.   I’m tired of keeping my happiness a secret because I’m afraid to hurt the feelings of someone who is miserable.  I’ve done that for too long.

So many good things have been happening.  I’m in nursing school.  My husband is getting a brand new stripe on his arms.  We are buying one of three beautiful houses.  I am getting close to seeing the end of 20 years of medical problems.  I’m off Prozac.  I’ve lost 25 lbs since my birthday.  I’m training to run a 5K in November.  I have the most beautiful, smart, and hilarious second grader.  My husband loves me more now than he did when we got married.  I have two of the best dogs on the damn planet.  Life is really good.

Art works.  It’s the best form of therapy in the universe.  I am a whole person.  My past doesn’t hurt.  I embrace my mistakes for making me Alexandra.

Blah, blah, blah…whatever.  I hope you readers are doing well, too!

Absence makes the heart grow fonder

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, originally uploaded by alexcateye.

Here is my self portrait. Some yarns are hand spun and dyed. The rest are commercial crewel wool. It also contains hand spun buffalo down in the hair. (I collected it from tree trunks while camping in Montana, Wyoming, and Utah.) The bottom half is covered in English paper pieced hexagons of repurposed ABU pixelated camo. They were scraps from my husband’s USAF uniforms. (The insides of pockets are sometimes cut out and sewn flat to give a neater, more professional appearance.) This measures 11″ by 14″.

The juror in a local fiber show gave me a stinging comment about my bad design. I know the formula for a perfect composition. I’m pretty sure that most high school freshman art students know it, too.   Edit:  My point is that I choose not to follow rules and formulas.  I make what I want to make. 

I hope that you can see a sharp disconnect between the head and the “body.” That disconnect represents the friction of being a military spouse. The heart and the head aren’t together. The head must soldier on in real life while the heart must stay flat. I hope this is making sense.

Soldier on, friends.

Anybody want to see my impression of Richard Saja?

If you aren’t familiar with Richard Saja, he is a fine artist who often works with textiles and embroidery.  He is often known for his altered toile scenes–French livery with mohawks and punk clothing, pastoral barns on fire, etc.  He’s actually quite a bit more interesting than that, so I recommend that you visit his blog and search the internet articles about him.

This bit of embroidery is a Father’s Day gift for my dad.  We don’t always see eye to eye, but that’s only because we are equally stubborn.  We have the same birthday, the same crappy skin, the same sense of humor, and the same horrible neck problems.  I decided to sew a neck pillow for him because I know how helpful mine is.  I hope he likes it. 

The fabric came from Hobby Lobby.  It’s nothing big, but the man is getting an Alexandra Walters embroidery piece for the low, low price of being my dad for 36 years. 

Before you start thinking that I’m a good daughter, let me tell you that I still haven’t mailed it.  I’ve been very sick for a few weeks and just found out that my thyroid quit working.  My doctor can’t see me to prescribe anything until after July 13, so I am functioning of 12-14 hours of sleep a day.  I manage to get nothing done except feed the kids and keep the house from becoming a health hazard.

Fiberworks 2010

Fiberworks 2010, originally uploaded by alexcateye.

Come see my work, Okies!

Fiberworks 2010

June 19 – July 17

Individual Artists of Oklahoma Gallery

706 W. Sheridan

Oklahoma City, OK

I submitted Mikhail Kalashnikov, but the frame broke. By the time the curators fixed it, the juror was finished and it was left out of the show. Bummer.

Crochet Pattern: Stethoscope Cozy

Crochet Stethoscope Cozy

With the original author’s permission, I am posting a crochet version of her knitted stethoscope cozy.  Thanks, Kim!  You can find her on Ravelry here.  Edit:  Kim has taken her pattern off the internet due to abuse.  People were making and selling them.  Not cool.  If it isn’t your pattern, you need permission to sell it, even if you made the item. 

I’m celebrating a new start to a new career and I want to share my happiness with all of you.  Stethoscopes are expensive and need protection from skin and hair oils or they break down.  Also, I find that the tubing pinches my neck and pulls my hair like crazy.  Plus, as a lifelong crafter, I was peeing my pants to think of some nursing-related projects to make.

This pattern would make a great gift for heathcare workers who have given great service to your family and/or pets.  (It’s hard to find a way to thank people when they aren’t allowed to accept gifts of monetary value.  When I worked in the laboratory, we weren’t even allowed to take popcorn buckets or boxes of candy at Christmas.  I’m pretty sure most hospital administrators would allow and handmade yarn present.)

Fraternal Twins

Use washable fingering weight yarn!  I used sock yarn.  I have many leftover balls around the house from knitting socks.  For vegans and wool allergies, there are some adorable cotton yarns for babies in fingering weight.   My gauge was 5 sc per inch.  I used a size D (3.25 mm) hook.  Gauge isn’t too critical, but I’d go bigger rather than smaller. 

Anyway, here it is:

Chain 16 and join to form a ring.  Single crochet in each chain.  Don’t join rounds, just work in a spiral until you’ve reached the desired tubing length, approximately 18 – 20”.

To shape for Y-bifurcation in tubing:
Flatten crocheted tube and place open ring stitch markers on the two edge sc.  (Approximately stitch 1 and 8, but we didn’t keep track while working in a spiral.)  Increase 1 stitch before marker and once stitch after marker by sc twice in same stitch (4 stitches increased.)  Work one row of sc, moving up markers as you work.   Continue increasing in this manner on alternate rows until you have 32  stitches in total.

To finish with a snap: 

Work even until piece measures 2.75 inches from the first increases.  Work several slip stitches to even out your spiral work.  (You don’t want an abrupt end to the single crochet stitches.)  Fasten off and weave in ends.  Sew a snap halfway across the wide end of the tubing.  Since crochet isn’t as elastic as knit, you may need to pop off the bell of the scope to get the cozy in place.

To finish with a button:

Work even until piece measures 2 inches from first increases.  Midway between increases on one side, create a button hole by chaining 1 and skipping one sc.  Work even for another 0.75 inches.  Remove hook and flatten tube again.  Across from your button hole, count over 3 sc to the left as the work is facing you and place an open ring marker.  Work to marker  in sc.  Turn work and sc 6 .  Turn again and work 6 sc.  Work back and forth across these 6 stitches until tab measures 1 inch.  Fasten off and weave in ends.  Sew a button that fits your hole in the center of tab. 

Don’t forget to include washing instructions if this is a gift!  I’m off to play Barbie dress up with my stethoscopes. 

Snap placement

If you have any questions, I’m always here:  alexcateye@msn.com.  Let me know if the directions make sense.

Sandra E. Finan

This lovely lady was my husband’s commander the day we got married.  I met her that morning at an orientation for new military spouses and liked her quite a bit.  She’s loud and had a huge presence.  She’s a part of my history now, not just David’s.  She’s like a great Aunt I barely remember.  She’s a part of my extended family.

I added a tiny bit of khamak embroidery to her uniform.  This type of embroidery originates in Kandahar, Afghanistan.  I was struck by how much their embroidery style reminds me of quilting blocks.  I added it, not to insult Ms. Finan, but to better understand the women of Afghanistan.  I want to know the women of the Middle East, who are as powerless to stop the war of their husbands as I am to stop the war of mine.   This touch of embroidery put Sandra Finan in context.   She was responsible for many troops during this war.  She ran the missile fields in Montana, Wyoming, and California.  I’m not attaching blame or glory.  I’m just saying…

I made a new Kindle cozy.  I use my Kindle for a medical dictionary quite a lot.  My old cozy had a pocket that covered the buttons.  The new cover keeps all of the buttons handy and doesn’t need to be taken off to charge the reader.  Plus it was a good excuse to use an old embroidery of mine, circa 2008.  I lined it with 2 layers of Timtex to make it sturdy. 

I really love my Kindle.  I know that you can get apps for other devices to read Kindle books, but it isn’t the same.  Kindle feels like a book, doesn’t hurt my eyes, it’s light to carry, I could go on for days.  I love this little thing.

Mini 'Zac

 I’m also making a mini Prozac.  My large work sold last year and I want a little mini buddy for myself.  I bought a kit to make a miniature pin cushion and promptly threw away the floral pattern suggested by the manufacturer.

36 Memories

I’m turning 36.  Here are a few memories I couldn’t live without.

1. My father picked me up from Kindergarten one day and took me to Woolworths.  He told me I could get any toy I wanted.  I got Barbie clothes.  It wasn’t my birthday, he was just being nice.
2. Sitting on my bed and figuring out how old I’d be in the year 2000.  I’d be 25.  I couldn’t believe I’d ever be that old.  I couldn’t believe it would ever be the year 2000.
3. We lived on the farm and had mice everywhere.  One day I opened up my bottom dresser drawer and saw a mother mouse had chewed a nest out of my t-shirts.  There were pink baby mice in the nest.  The mama mouse made a noise and scared me.  I slammed the dresser drawer out of shock and broke her neck in it.  I told Dad and cried and cried and cried.   I don’t know what he did with the babies, but I know they died.
4. I remember talking to my boyfriend (now my husband) on the phone for at least an hour every night, lying on my bed with my legs propped up on my orange bedroom wall.
5. I sewed a pair of red plaid shorts when I was in the fourth grade.  Grandma Clydine helped me.  I wore them every chance I could get. 
6. Playing “doctor” with the neighborhood boys while my dad was in nursing school in Bozeman.  I listened to their penises with a stethoscope.  It might have been a toy scope; it could have been my dad’s.
7. Seeing my first psychiatrist at the age of 11, Dr. Roach.  I was pretty sure he wanted to sleep with my single mother.  I hated him.
8. My dad and I share the same birthday, May 26.   I don’t remember what I got for my 8th birthday, but I know my dad didn’t get anything from my mother.  I was very upset about it.  She told me he didn’t want anything for his birthday and it made me sad.  When people ask me what I want for my birthday, I always say nothing. 
9. Watching a made-for-tv movie about bulimia starring Meredith Baxter Birney.  That was the first night of a 5 year battle with my own eating disorder.  (I still fight that battle pretty much every day, but I am winning–a little.)
10. Riding in a motorhome with my brothers, mother, and stepfather.  Mom made me so mad.  I wanted to scream, but I drew a picture of her instead.  I wrote, “I have a pretty mom,” under the picture.  On a rest stop, she walked to me and snatched the notebook out of my hands in a really angry way.  She was pleased and surprised that I drew that picture.  I learned that I should never express emotions that other people might not like.  I was an emotional liar for years and years.  I don’t really do that much now.
11. I remember playing with my grandmother’s Avon lipstick samples.  The shades were so bright.  When I saw my first cat penis, I immediately thought of those little lipstick samples.
12. In grade school, the boys at my table were drawing genitals on the “crotch” of their first and second fingers and walking their fingers around the table.  I got up and grabbed some tissues.  I tossed the tissues at the boys and told them to clean the filth off their hands and grow up.  I was probably 9 years old.
13. While taking my final for Criminal Justice in college, I suddenly got a bubbly attack of diarrhea.  I was trying to hold it until the test was over, but I had to go to the restroom halfway through the test.  Right as I was walking into the hall, I farted as loud as thunder.  There is no way the class didn’t hear that because it was so quiet in the testing room.  I sat on the toilet for at least 10 minutes wishing I didn’t have to go back and face those people.  I did it anyway.  I got an A.
14. I read Flowers in the Attic in the 6th grade and did my oral book report on it.  My teacher got upset and didn’t think that was an appropriate book for my age group.
15. We had a gray kitten named Spike.  He was tiny and I put my Strawberry Shortcake doll’s hat on his head and thought it was hilarious.  I always called him Strawberry Spike in my head.
16. My Texas grandfather always told racist jokes and I hated it.  I would pretend not to understand the jokes and he’s tell people in the room how dumb he thought I was.
17. My best friend and I tried to make paper bras in her bedroom.  Then we cut up magazines to make bandages and stuck them on our legs with spit.
18. My mother woke me up at 2 in the morning on a school night to help her hang wallpaper in the hallway.  She was manic and happy.  I was glad that she wanted me to help.  I was exhausted at school the next day.
19. When Isabel was 3, my stepmother gave her a cheap purple calculator to play with.  She used it as a cell phone and a video game.  She loved that thing.
20. I once met another Alexandra.  We talked about our name and I told her how much I hate it when people call me Alexandria, because I think it sounds too much like diarrhea or gonorrhea.  Then I found out that her name was actually Alexandria.  Oops.
21. My mother made the most horrible goulash.  It tasted like white flour and ketchup and green peppers.  Ick.
22. When I was very young, my father worked in a slaughterhouse.  He would come home covered in thick clots of dried blood.  It would stain his clothes and crust in his hair.  It scared the hell out of me.  This is why I am a vegetarian.
23. I found my stepfather and mother’s copy of The Joy of Sex when I was a kid.  When I saw the drawings of the naked couples in sexual positions, I wanted to color them with my crayons.
24. I wrote a paper about my struggle with bulimia in college.  The professor gave me a 100% and wrote a note on the back with a pink pen.  It was something like, “Sometimes I eat too much and feel sick, so I take a whole box of laxatives.  Then I get barf-smelling diarrhea.  I know it’s gross, but I love the feeling of being ‘clean.’”  The only words I know verbatim are “barf-smelling diarrhea.”
25. The best brownies I’ve ever made were from a mix.  I never remember which one, but it had chocolate chunks in it. 
26. I knit an afghan for my parents when I was 21.  I was so poor that I could only buy one ball of Lion Brand Homespun ($4.99 a ball in 1995) at a time.  It took me 6 months to finish.
27. My roommate in SLC snuck out in the middle of the night.  She owed me several months’ rent and took my favorite clothes.  I don’t hate her because I’m so glad I don’t have to know her anymore.
28. I remember every pair of clogs I’ve ever owned.  I loved all of them except the Dansko maryjanes.  The strap pushed strangely on the top of my feet and made them look like they were topped with fat-biscuits.
29. It took eight positive pregnancy tests to accept that I was really pregnant. 
30. My parents once  had a terrible fight in our kitchen.  My mother threw a cake at my dad.  The sound of the breaking dish scared me.  They were divorced a few months later.
31. David and I once fought over my stepdaughter.  (She kept spending her lunch money on ice cream instead of meals and he kept giving her more and more money to do it.)  We ended up ripping a bag of chips in half.  Chips were all over the floor and Isabel started howling.  She still remembers it even though she was only 3 at the time.  It makes me feel terribly guilty that we scared her like that.  I still remember how David sounded screaming at me with his sergeant voice.
32. I drove a VW Beetle when I was a teenager.  It was supposed to be red, but the paint was so faded that it was dusty rose.  I loved that car.
33. My hands remember exactly how to rip open an alcohol pad right down the middle. 
34. The first cafe mocha I ever drank was in a shopping mall in Layton, UT.  It was heavenly.
35. I met my husband at a rodeo.  I remember how thrilling it was to sit next to him on the bleachers and watch the bull riding.  I found out later that we were both rooting for the bulls.
36. I remember how lonely it was to spend my last birthday alone.  David will be in the country this year.  Hooray for small miracles.

You see why I get nervous?

Progress, originally uploaded by alexcateye.

35% of a portrait is enough to feel skittish. I love what I’m working on right now, though. This is a woman and I felt like my military artwork was too much of a sausage fest. I actually met this woman on my wedding day, so she’s extra special to me. I’m not going to reveal her identity until I can make her look less like a toothless hooker. (She’s actually right purty, trust me.)

I thank you all for the warm wishes and luck. I’ve always wanted be a nurse, but I felt a lot of shame for wanting it. My father doesn’t approve of nursing as a career. Plus he’s pretty convinced I’ll get HIV from it. I don’t care anymore. I haven’t been able to talk to the man since my brother killed himself in a drunk driving accident 1/1/2008. I don’t get a lot of nurture (and I never did) so I’ve turned my focus toward giving and caring for others. Now that my children are older, I can see the day when I’ll be left with an empty nest. This experience is for me. I need to give to feel good.

BTW, I just realized that I’m the Stuart Smalley of arts and crafts. That smarts a little.

Judgement

I’m trying not to hate my work, even though I always hate it at this point.  I have too many pieces abandoned at this stage.  I am holding on and keeping faith.  Maybe someone else will see what I see.

I’ve decided to strip off the insignia and make this portrait more anonymous than the others.  Soldiers always look alike to me in their helmets and sunglasses.  I want to hold on to the giddy hope than any one of them could be the one I love and long for.