Skip to main content

Balancing Steps

This is one of my all-time favorite cartoons.  For those of us who are as visual as we are verbal and as verbal as we are visual, it really hits the mark. I have been feeling  out of balance the past few months. I thought--briefly--that I might feel unbalanced because, according to the latest news, I'm a Libra, not a Scorpio (What's next? A special natal-chart shredder), but I've come too far as one sign to turn into another! 

Picking up a rainbow-hued sketchbook made in India that I was given at Christmas, I returned to the wordless world of shape, line, and color. It's a nice size, about 5 x 7 inches. Before picking up the sketchbook, however, I eyed two large canvases in a storage room--eyed them with longing. But, I am still in the throes of my household organizing.  Painting makes a stupendous mess if one's space isn't ready for it.  And, I return to Pamela Kristan's advice yet again for some comfort in the midst of my uneven progress.

I am closer than ever to achieving functional happiness, but I'm not there yet. Life intervened in my organizing plans with work and deadlines, fatigue, friends, weather...  My kitchen cabinet interiors are works of art, and if you can get across the storm-strewn floor to open them, you'll like what you see.  Fortunately, Kristan addresses this bumpy part of the process in The Spirit of Getting Organized in passages on how to use time in the organization process. Her insights remind me: I am not on HGTV. This will not be done in 30 minutes. It is not an event. It is a way of life.  And small is never negligible.

So, moving toward balance, I make small drawings until the time and space are right for large canvases, I straighten the sock drawer and sort the mail until I can find the spot of time I need to finish moving furniture or take items to donate to our local homeless shelter. Small steps are still that--steps. And they faithfully serve direction one at a time, just as long steps do.

Comments

My dear friend Ysabel,
I heard your delicate steps tonight. And by the way - Did you know I'm a Scorpio, too? When am I going to see you?
Catherine (aka)xxoo
jan said…
As usual, you speak to my heart. It can take so long to truly get settled .. oh, the house is already a home, but those last few boxes in the garage (and all that STUFF in the rented storage) have been demanding my attention before any creative outlet. I'm taking your advice .. a little creativity here and there will do wonders!

Jan

Popular posts from this blog

Life without Television, Part 2

I began life without television with relief, which was consistent Monday through Friday. The first few weekends, though, felt awkward, anxious, lonely. When PBS has good programming on Saturday nights, it is extraordinarily good. Father Brown, Phryne Fisher, New Tricks... Extraordinary acting, high production values, and I fantasize about the pudgy, brilliant priest just perhaps having an innocent crush on one of his special parishioners, which would be moi. 

I called a friend one Sunday. "Maybe television helped with my anxiety more than I realized," I said. She told me about her aunt who, after her husband's death, kept the television on in his "man cave" 24/7. He has been gone years now. The television goes on, everlasting, in his absence. I don't blame her. Much of my frequent and prolonged television viewing began with grief.

After my sister died, I would watch almost anything, especially late at night when sleep eluded me. I even watched Convoy with …

Whose day?

Years ago, I made some collages using pages from a desk calendar from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The image that leads this post is one. Inside the hearts and flowers is a picture from the MMA collection of  a Japanese screen made in the 16th century. It is titled Tagasode, which means Whose sleeves?  The title comes from a 10th-century poem:


The fragrance seems even more alluring than the hue, Whose sleeves have brushed past? Or would it be this plum tree blossoming here at home?
Iro yori mo ka koso awaredo omohoyure tagasode fureshi ado no ume zo mo
The word haunts: tagasode. Whose sleeves? The question floats in my mind like a cloud on a still day. The sleeves materialize in my mind's eye. I hear them move through hushed air. I can imagine, though not name, the scent of the person to whom those sleeves belong. It's not unlike smelling the scent of your infant's clothes, or holding the perfume bottle that belonged to your mother...you don't need to open it... you know tha…

Glad to Hear It

This past week, Larry Wilmore and company mentioned Rachel Dolezol again on The Nightly Show. I don't remember who made the comment, but either Wilmore or one of the panelists said, "Did Rachel Dolezol do anything bad? No, she really didn't. Why did we get so uptight about that?" I was glad to hear it. Three cheers for being human.

I looked briefly at what's on Google currently about her and the now much-discussed Shaun White. I intend not to enter any of that fray mentally or verbally. I still maintain that humanity trumps color. We have a long way to go until we can leave our "paint by numbers" mentality behind, but we've made progress. Good changes can come, even in the midst of chaos and controversy. Maybe White and Dolezal will help us see that eventually.

As long as I'm here and continuing on the subject of color, I think I'm not alone in the fact that I don't like being called "white." As for my background, it includes …