In honor of this Blogger birthday, which is next month, and their interest in why we are blogging, I not only started to think about it, but decided to participate.
I restarted to blog, in 2008, I did it for a number of reasons. I still wanted to do what I had wanted in 2004, I needed another outlet for my stress, and, being honest, I need to sell some of my artwork. I always feel like I am not contributing to the household, by staying home. (Tho' everyone we know argues that it is more important for Bubba, our special needs son, to have me home to care for him, than for me to work.) Yet, it is for him, and because of my husbands health, that I want/need to work. I want us to have a home we cannot loose, even if Bob has to go on disability and I want Bubba to have a home where he can feel secure. There are no beds for him at the moment, and if he has to stay at home, which we would love, then I am going to need more help, and I need a place that is set up to be more accessible and protective for him. No one is going to give that to us...so that leaves me to make my dream come true.
I am hoping that one day, selling my artwork, will allow me to satisfy that need in me to 'do my share', and create that dream. My hours must be flexible, because I never know how my day will go. It can be calm, with a wonderful son who can be amusing and alot if fun...or it can be combating a 205 lb. angry 5-8 yr, old in a 22 yr old body. I do have a lady from the state who comes in a few hours a day, to give me some relief...and some time to paint, if it is a good day for Bubba. I never know when one of Bob's heart attacks, will be the last. I still don't have as much time as I wish, and alot more stress in my life than I would want...so I have combined my two blogs into one, in hopes that I can keep up better.
Back in 2004, I started a blog, planning on sharing my thoughts and feelings with others; I was frustrated and irritated with all the contention that still existed over President Bush's first election, let alone his second. I was upset that it seemed as tho' everyone was doing their best to forget and ignore 9/11. My personal feelings, as in the song by Darryl Worley.
"...They took all the footage off my T.V.
Said it's too disturbing for you and me
It'll just breed anger that's what the experts say
If it was up to me I'd show it everyday..."
There is still nothing more irritating to me, than people telling me how or what to think, how to feel about things, or what I can and cannot do. I suppose, somehow it sets up a challenge in my mind. Normally I am a rather shy person with low self-esteem. I have clinical depression, and it tends to make me appear to be introspective and weak-willed. I tend to vacillate on making decisions, and absolutely hate confrontation.
Over the years, I have learned to compensate for alot. I do what I have to do, to survive in this world, to raise my children, to get thru' all that I have had to face...from a child's suicide attempt to the false accusations of another, from the death of two grandchildren to the raising of my special needs stepson, from divorce to an auto-immune disease.
The problem in 2004 was that I simply did not have the time between the health of my mother,a kidney stone, and the behavioral problems my stepson developed. In 2008, a cancer scare, on top of everything else, overwhelmed me! The stress generated by this and other things, made me seek an outlet. The computer graphics and digital art were not enough anymore, nor the poetry I wrote, not even all the web pages I had built. So, with a challenge from my daughter, and an unexpected break from my son...I began to paint.
I loved it...I found it soothed me, restored me, and challenged me; it gave me peace in my soul to paint and create. It is addicting in a way....I cannot imagine not painting, or at least sketching, every day! I am trying to make up for lost time I suppose, and want to learn all I can as fast as I can. I only have a limited number of years left to paint, since I waited to start painting till I was 57 to start to paint.
I have been told that I am a quick learner with a natural talent, that I had not known I had. You would have to be the judge of that, as I am my own worst critic!
So, here I am....displaying my artwork, and writing about my feelings, sharing some of my poetry. All courtesy of Blogger, and the ease of set up.
I will leave you with a poem, a photo, and part of a painting....
Miles pour out from under hot smoky tires;
the winds of time slipstream;
air and gases intermingle in the night;
the darkness rolls us along.
Reefers, covered wagons, skateboards, and gas pumps,
vans and pups form caravans;
disembodied voices in the night call out,
fading as east passes west.
Wit and banter, stupidity and wisdom
float on, some heard , most lost, as
north pulls away from south, through hills and valleys,
horizons stretch and recede.
Sunset and dawn superimpose and tangle;
hot and cold, rain and sere--
seasons pass on in seconds, unending vistas,
all changes, yet is the same.
Families wait, unseen, their presence in the cab
blends with lonely solitude;
music soars, rhythms flexing, crescendoing,
as tempos range far and wide.
Rock, country, soul and blues mix classical airs,
leaving tears and tapping toes;
feelings merge as lanes of superhighways do,
there, but ever left behind.
Warrior and cowboy, adventurers all:
lost souls, clowns, and romeos,
flirting, teasing, wanderers of the byways,
gamblers and heavy thinkers.
Tarps, chains, and straps, molding shapes of abstract art,
while shimmering lights outline,
forming shadows that flicker in the darkest hours,
rays of caution and of help.
Mounties, bears, and DOT, lie in ambush:
stealing time, and money too;
hold-ups as costly, bandits of a new era,
hazards of the present trail.
Log books and bills, replace the journals of old;
sail and oxen, gone for tires;
cargoes pre-sold, haggled over by brokers,
Friends of the moment, news shared, handles exchanged,
comrades of the road;
with a see you on the flip side, my brother,
we may never meet again.
Yet in the dim light before dawn, the mist
of the present and the past,
converge together, echoing each other, as
the darkness rolls us along.
My favorite trucker, and his truck.