Dinner with a good friend at a local cafe Good food, friendship, a chance to talk Over certain topics I needed mulling over, needed a good ear And needed to become aware, what I now need. For so long I was loved well and part Of something dear. I was well loved, And times change. It’s okay.
A man on a white horse reined to a stop. It was you taking time to tell three strangers About the game. I learned polo on your horse long before I knew you. In a playful bet, I won, garnered A first date. Think we surprised each other Neither of us was much interested before. We were after.
On a late wintry afternoon, in a store facing The Common, lit for the holidays, I sold a fellow A brown cowboy hat. He, spoke of horses, Music, heading back to the Cape. I rushed For the bus, But missed his and years later, with humor, He would recount this lost chance of Loving me sooner.
Advent arrives trailing deep joy to most of holidays, For a smaller group, scarred by sorrow, the onset is A quieter march Marked by reminders of what is gone. I know, I do. Yet this year, more alone than ever past, I wish A different route. May my mind sift the loved memories of my Dear, Let a time each day regard gracious thoughts Of our time. For I am tired, hollowed by sorrow’s weight, Would welcome, respite of this measure, Hope for serenity.
If I stand at the marsh’s edge Hollering: Come back, come back, it’s Been too long. Would you even hear, or care? Too long I’ve been alone and you are just Gone, just gone. So I ask when, when again will I feel filled, again fine own my own? Will I ever.
I have leaned on others, who have Their own lives to live. Time for My own life. I will watch parades, paint, treasure My old and new friends, enjoy my Own time alone, Expand the love for my own life. Truly the last gift from you, to live just My own life.
Learned I no longer see clearly. And I'm done mastering the art how To live alone. Over these six years, I have run, Leaning on others as I could, even Beyond their scopes. Indeed, I have learned to live Alone. I can do it. Only now I want To learn more.
Japanese potters wisely Know repairs made to Broken clay vessels Can be done, only the lines Will ever be visible. So Choose to fill The cracks with gold, Giving shattered things new Beauty with strength.
Woke to the swoosh of murmarations Swirling through treetops, to run barefoot Through wet leaves, White nightgown clinging, hands clapping Encouragement onward all those birds in Their amazing flight. Now, window open to wind and showers, Under the old turtle blanket, cocooned in only My own warmth.
What do I want. What. Some body again who cares For my call, As the best part of their day. Who loves getting it. Who's day is better for a few simple words. For sharing a slice of life with One who cares.
What a string of perfectly beautiful days, Cool and breezy. Painting in my studio while Listening to music. Walk the dogs along pine-needle strewn paths. Home to fresh warm breads, a glass of wine under A moon-dark sky. Bid my dogs, my cats, goodnight, then open Windows to the last autumn air, warmly nestled Under furry blankets.
What a complete, utter fool am I to think Love would find me again. That to another I Would be first. Such is a hurtful, delusional fantasy, such idiocy, I can not any longer count love as a possibility, yet, When could I? The small equilibrium gained a half year ago, Now broken, is a cost dear. I hope only I can regain Me alone needed.
Asked what do I want. An answer overwhelms, as For so long, It was you and our life, however gone both are. These past years, an assemblage of the fallout Into only myself. Gone is the decades of love, comfort together, Now it is just me, alone, how aware of that. But body And soul remember. So what do I want. Will love you always, could Welcome another with love always, would he Love me always. If not, than thankful for the good will shared, Wish that other well, and guard the Serenity I have.
Are we just one thing or another? This or that? Perhaps at our most simplistic we are a mix, Body, brain, soul. And if bliss is a perfect blend of all, perhaps, Then, whenever one is ignored, we chance Flirting with folly. But, even when the odds are too minute, Pursuing despite the stakes, may yet be Worth the gamble And if the wager falls contrary, may the merit Of trying temper the pain in revealing the Fool I am.
I like driving, the awareness of the task at hand, Things close by, the world surrounding and The thoughts accompanying. I like being driven, to just rest, watch all, Converse or not. Now is a lot of one, too long Since the other.
I drive into the remnants of a hurricane Blown away, drive through sanded winds And deep water. The surf lays hard over the beach strand, Gales push against me, I lean into it. Only too well I know standing alone. Sometimes a body, And soul, appreciates being held up, even For a moment.
Rejection, however kindly wrapped is still a dismissal Rebuff, refusal, a go away. Beyond soft touches and words Remains only, no. I do not know, does the heart feel larger only for the hurt Or is that only the implosion before it curls smaller yet. I don’t know. Twenty eight years ago, still I wear your gold band, For five and some I’ve walked heart alone, my way now. I only know That love is a treasure. I wish for it, miss for it, yearn for it. Will it ever grace my life again, It’s likely, no.
Hah, read the last post and laugh. I may be willing to accept another, again Into my life, But, who might be willing to share Theirs with me? The field of possibilities Is quite empty, And unlikely to change. I am left realizing I could, again, be content with my own company. A wiser path.
This other stops for lunch before heading on. I enjoy his company, if not quite the feelings Rising in me. The friend who left this morning led me To believe he might be open to such. He is not, Made clear, not that way. I am left realizing I could, again, be open to such, Again, accept love, Again, welcome sharing life with another. Space in my heart for more, even while never Not missing you.
After a wonderful month here, one friend Prepares to leave, heading for new adventures Of her own. Another visits, a routine trip that coincides with this goodbye. Together we all walk the shore as the sun sets.
Drive home, I am over used to long drives but This one I am not looking for others to fill spaces. I am looking Only for my own space, for quiet and thoughts, For music. Leaving this land in warming morning light It looks sweet.
Left early to drive to Ithaca. New roads. Coming in not impressed with the countryside Glad to arrive Dinner with family for this wedding. Enjoyed Of course and of course see the huge differences Choices give life. I am glad to be here with my family, However too short the time which underscores how Alone I am.
The shop has slowed. Live and learn. Part of the fracas was over rehanging. Intentions were good Expressed but not clearly. After ponies comes Landscapes. A chance for the partner to shine Maybe. Maybe not. Next year do this change sooner. I see that She felt pressured. Is it important to consider? Yes and no. In the larger scheme of life, no. In learning the small particulars here, yes. My fault, naturally, Not communicating that.
A friend staying with me modeled today Here in my yard and was divine. A joy to paint. For the first time new painting friends came, The painting intense, fun! The day was glorious, The company splendid. An amazing respite in what is otherwise Not so easy a life to live. It's true, life's better With good companions.
Another allowed how often what upsets Us so with someone else is the recognition of Ourself in them. My impatience, lack as a teacher, carrying too much hurt and jealous of those who have Another to share, All mine, these faults, wherever I see them. Mine, yes and yet, am I really the only one At fault here?
Another friend has called me an awful person. I have treated her badly and unkindly, been Hurtful and frightening. One, I may be able to dismiss but now two? I have to own it. And must remember I can Count the people Who care for me on less than one hand. Remember, Goad self: suck in, lay low, all are better. Should, Really, just leave.
I asked as a child, please G-d don’t let me live And die in the only one place as did my elegant aunt. And G-d didn’t. Later in life I swore never again would one dear to me Die without that last voice heard, touch felt should be mine. G-d granted that. Mine was the last voice, touch for you. I am glad. I will Live alone, die alone, untouched, unheard. Of G-d, I will Ask no more.
Six decades now I have walked this earth. Never did I think at this point to be dependent Solely on myself. Half a decade, now, I have had to assimilate This through my heart and soul. Yet, ends still Dangle hurtfully raw And I still find weighing choices alone Not pleasant, somewhat easier. Just still miss you doing it, too last week was fun, this one hard. Doing things For the shop, I have driven myself past strength To bone-tired weary. It is doing well. Now for myself on this day, Another choice, give the same attention Now for myself.
Again under the pier as the ponies slip into the waters Heading home. This week I wanted to do, would’ve Gladly done alone But found friends to come along. They also enjoyed The experience, enjoyed sharing it together in my home And with me .
One friend off in a boat, the other bikes The main roads with me to meet ponies. We reach water Wade in, stand under a pier deep in muddy water, Shaded with a good view, watch as the first pony Steps onto shore. Watch this other friend work, see differences, See on this week things mesh and some photos Collected are useful.
I haven’t been writing, haven’t felt the use of it. Why, what for, who cares for all who read this. Which is nobody. My two “best friends”, the meds seem to be doing What they are meant to do, and doing more Than I need With their help, my usual not so up self Has slipped down further, just one more thing To do alone. I haven’t written in awhile, why bother, Even I can’t stand listening to myself, why Would anyone else.
Two days fly by getting things I want to do done. Done between what really needs done and what Can slide now. Slide now, is a big thing in my life and I do not Like it. Must I work against what I know I want just To get there? Probably. How do I accommodate being alone? How? Per usual, one breath, one step, however Slow it is.
I enjoy a friend’s friend. Only, it shows The cracks in life. Yes I wish he was alone, too. He is not. I enjoy time with him but it is stolen From another and I hate that, as, I know that. I will enjoy this month, these times I would do With him or not, and then it will be time To say goodbye.
Left the dogs to be groomed, the cousin cooking And run a lot getting things done, finally go To the studio. Talk with folks, learn things its good. A friend’s friend comes , we discuss a project Coming up soon. Yet all is so outside me, the cousin and his life, The friend’s,whichhas no room really in his, and
Our friend left early, I spent the afternoon In the island studio with my cousin, It was fun. Went home to dine on food he had prepared And drank enough that he too felt the need To tell me What I should do. I am angry. Will box that with all the rest that guides little, yet Hurts a lot.
Early day spent with cousin, afternoon in the island studio Early afternoon, painted outside, then sold a painting, Left early evening Joined my guests for dinner and talking, A quiet night, a good night but somehow I Am loosing connection. Beyond where am I going, who am I becoming. I am afraid, once again, not much, and should I bother, why.
Spent these last three days rearranging my studio. My studio, the one at home, changing the it’s order A new way. Had almost all in good order by afternoon today Time to cook and relax while waiting for My cousin’s arrival I am happier with the studio now, not such a matter, I am just as happy as I can be these days which Isn’t so much.
A bit of a problem today with one friend Who insists and elaborates how my life Could so improve, As if my saying no only proves she is correct, If only I would think as does she. Somedays just thinking Is so hard.
Took out your frames today, started finishing them. They line my studio wall, painted and gilded Ready to wax. Took them out, thought of your hands While I worked on them, missing your deft Touch, now gone. I’ll frame them dear to keep long as I will live. I’ll see you in them and touch them as if you. It storms tonight.
Really hate the pool, shocked today Trying to get it in shape. Bitten by the cur while feeding it, Spent the afternoon into evening at the studio Watching others go about their time off As I realize How much I am alone outside, ever looking in. Was even as a kid and then you took me in and We found belonging.
A friend talked me halfway home. A sweet pleasure, as is now knowing others Do remember us. Hate that pool but love seeing friends use it, Home late afternoon to join the pool party And settle down. Hotdogs and hamburgers and chicken Grilled at their house later, so tasty, Remember our fathers.
It is a long drive back to where we lived When one is not sure the trip will be good. I go anyways. In the late afternoon follow a familiar road To see a young woman married on this farm along the river bank. To greet folks not seen for too long and find We are both remembered. May these two find Our same beauty.
Up early, meet a new friend and go hunting, Hoping for skipjacks in Deale, looking to photo. We found three. And I liked watching him talk to folks, Finding who had boats around in that way Men have together. Listening to his stories, spending a few hours Differently. I would like to continue exploring like Men always have.
Right now I prefer painting alone In this new studio, turning on the music Painting to that, And singing to myself, because it is easier to do Than to let my studio-mate do on her own And keep shut Unless asked. It has been several decades since I so shared studio space with another. Where ever is Deanna Foster now?
First opening in the new shop No sales, but people did come through for The Second Saturday Art Stroll. Indeed, some came specifically To see us and the response online has been good Still, no sales. And although there were no sales, There was interest and conversation, Which is good.
Am feeling rushed this days and pinned, The meds don’t help and I am far behind But crying less. It helps, knowing it is not all me, helps, But part is, the part I have not addressed. Needing a crutch.
These handful of days, I cry, often, feeling As adrift as those first days without you - no better Now, than then. I cry, often, feeling bereft and alone. Well, I am. Only lately it cuts so deep. I have laid your knife hard Into my wrist, Not yet deep enough, just not the time. So, I cry often, I cry, I cry, and as ever, no longer Does anyone hear.
Swing today between what is important This shop or my thunder scared dog This shop or My dying cat? Easy what wins. Drove through rain to where those beings I care for. Surrounded by them, watching, finally A Triple Crown. Called Joel because, Couldn’t call you.
Painted in the Chincoteague studio today. I miss my dogs underfoot. I miss the life We all had. Without them just underscores what I am Now, a person alone, who has only herself To rely on. Which is not a bad thing and even admirable, But I am not that yet, neither reliable to myself Or anyone else. However I consider all this, I should include the meds, which are known For misaligning moods. I am prone to stillness, to melancholy Lately these dip deeper. I am left snared In despondency, crying.
Much of this season I am On my own and, the down days Outnumber the good. Perhaps it is true, we are not put here Solely to be happy, that even contentment Will not last. These may be true, but I am willing, however Mired and pinned I feel, even still, to flail Against this hopelessness.
And then comes along days grayed, Masked past simple contentment Choked with fears For life gone, for emptiness ahead, For moments filled with single tears. Grief for days Past, futures gone, and present asks, Finally, feel only the aches of Being fully alone.
A wonderful, rainy day, gray and enclosing. I go no where but to my easel and work Out a problem. Visit with dearest friends through phone And feel connected afar and connected Within my soul. Not always an easy place to reach And so more treasured when achieved, However fleetingly so.
By the end of the day, no news is good. Evidently I remain HCV free, however at Odds I feel. So I putz through this day doing small things That anchor me to the ground here and inside To my soul. None of it large or important, just quiet And settling to my psyche which these days Teeters on edge.
How could I have forgotten that beach towns Are filled with frivolity and sun and fun? Actually I didn't. But that so many would be couples, of course, So twos together, yes, that I did. So on top of these Past busy weeks Is too much of doing alone, alone, alone And coming home to more problems And more alone. Tonight I can say couples should all die together Wish I had, am so angry you left me dealing with Stress, misery alone.
I am not sure yet what to think Of this adventure, or why, really, I’m doing it. Oh can say to see if I like the idea Of having a studio/gallery, prefer it attached To my house. Or I need to get off this long dirt road, And that is true, I do. So this is directed Towards doing that. But I have been running off this road For the last five years and and washing back Again and again. It has been noted that meeting anyone Is next to impossible as long as I go No where new. Selling is good as it means another Likes my work. But it isn’t needed for Me to eat. Perhaps I am doing it to allow life to perhaps Open to change that can be welcoming, Rather than hurtful.
Dinner last night with friends, Whole flounder, grilled nicely Cobia was delish. Spent a few hours on the island Opened and drew, waiting to see some folks It was pleasant. Left at five and came home to make dinner Relax and catch up on bills, a different Kind of day.
Haven’t been committed to a place being open In a long time, feels burdensome and we feel Four days enough! It is pleasant to swap stories with others but I can see it is not a panacea for closeness, Although it does Allow me to appreciate the sweetness Of my solitude when it is not an unbroken Drag of time.
It is late as I sit here thinking of the last week, s toil. The shop is set up and we opened two days ago for This holiday weekend People did come in, a few here and there, summer folk. We are considering when to be open without being There all week. Easel set up, learning the dynamics needed for a small Working studio with shop, space for ball but mostly We are painting.
I have had company in my house And have started another adventure On my own I do with a friend and am helping her learn What this thing may need as best I know, I too learn I think this is a good thing for me To be doing, even as I still will Ever miss you.
Brought up on things like five year plans When I think quickly, it has been an eternity Since your death. And I have little to show for it, still living In the same place, while most every one we knew Has moved on. Read the five years of blogs in a single seating, And I now see the slow evolvement of a woman Devastated, destitute, lost, Who in time eventually learns of dealing With her horrible reality through moments, Steps and breaths To different levels of equilibrium. Not yet to The sense of place, of home, of self hoped for, and Though it feels As time has flown too far, too long, been wasted, yet while slow perhaps, progress inches towards knowing me As I am now. Who was for so long halved and pained, is slowly finding Whole again, however forever tempered by deepest hurt and Memory of you.
Two thousand nine is a lost year for me. I can find no journal, my calendar is gone, have only Jack’s pocket calendar. I am afraid I have lost the small details, Wish so to remember what I can before I loose all: Most of January, dinner with friends, Jack working for the auctioneer and doing side jobs. A show at the B&B, sell some things, riding When we can, Jack shooting as chance allows. He enjoys trap February, a gallery show East meets West. Jack Pouring more Dogfish beers over 10 ounces, staying with the Russells’. March, Joel comes to visit, of course they Go shooting and we conspired on dinner menus, Lots of talking. In March I broke that lamp and in a welling of despair Felt the toll these years here had taken on me as Well as Jack I paint Snow Hill. We work the oddi auction on Apr 22. Ian sings Time that sun sets, this outfits history - 100 Head or more. The Ward show again falls on his birthday. His mallard Garners no awards but Jack asks questions, listens avidly To judges’ advice. I still have the photo of Jack and Dover from an earlier Bark in the Park. Did he take Arlo this year? I can’t remember. May, Phil is here to visit and they both shoot, And go to the Shorebirds as once they would Go to Fenway, Jack shot as often as he could, and worked his studio, Ideas emerging and shaping as he would come ask Help with drawing. He found designs, decoys, spoons to copy, we built mock-ups of clay, allowing his touch to learn, transform. June we did not see Delbert again but at the Globe did Hear Roy Bookbinder, whose words I wrote, perhaps in That lost journal Late in the month, pregnant with triplets Delia came with Inning and Kimmi Summer with us. The pool was a favored spot, all sun drugged. Inning helped with farm chores, we shot skeet And watched baseball. Days on the river, swimming off the boat, Trips to outlets looking for deals. Old friends arriving To hug Delia. Days to the seashore, the fireman’s carnival, of barbequeing In the back yard and sharing recipes. Watching polo, Enjoying our company. Kimmi following Ahhlow, and Arlo licking her face. The joy of having this sweet family in our house. Time too short. What did we do for my birthday? I don’t know Dinner somewhere? we were together and we were happy with that And his doctors appointments were about psoriasis Not prostate and levels although I remember Talking of such. Sept 11 was Ligonier and Rich was not well. Mostly I remember the long ride home discussing Views about death. Where to be buried? Not Pocomoke and probably Not Needham, keep it simple, he needed only his ring In the grave. Oh well, when we are both buried in Needham then Will his ring rest in the grave. Rich’s memorial Was on Sept 25th. 22 years on October 4th, celebrated with each other Content with our being together. Two decades plus, Looking for more. We redo the bathroom, because whatever comes, next This time we are going to enjoy a remodeling project While we’re here Mid month an appointment with that urologist, Biopsy at the hospital results and a diagnosis It is cancer. But this Doc is confident and arrogant. We,trusting, so bewildered, everyone heals from this, don’t they? Jack signs up for a decoy show next labor day. He will need to work hard to carve enough inventory. A great idea. I will hang paintings, and can see a time we do this often, A new venture. I consider an asheville workshop For both of us. Another goose season and better a deer season By the pine Jack set up and shot his first deer A ten pointer. A shot through the jaw, dropped instantly He calls us at Faith’s to tell. I fly home in the subaru, Joel, Rico follow. We hang the rack in a tree so when it has decompsed To skull can hang in our home. Another deer later, Provides me venison. One day I will hang that rack in the kitchen above His painting and when that happen, within a year I will leave. Thanksgiving, my mother chose to go to Cheryl’s Afterall, there is always next year. Joel brings a wild Turkey he shot. We, as often we would, discuss recipes for moist bird. Presented on a marvelous old platter, the bird and all Is perfectly detectable. Saturday, Jack and Joel do not go shoot, Rather help Rico and me at an auction, so never have that last shoot. And the times we rode, the last, taking the bay, the gray To ride the back fields along the river, as ever riding touched by heaven.
December, he is content with his doctor, His choice of surgery date and I drive him early to the hospital. His doctor leaves me hanging, never comes out after to talk to me about my husband. Who stays in the hospital a few extra days Its a procedure new for the doc, has my Dear in pain, Told its normal. Jack heard from that doc, that this would be the most painful thing he would ever feel. However much I fault myself and I do, How I hold those words against that doc And hate him. The snowstorms started while Jack was still in the hospital and harried us forever with a cold I’ve never lost.
The Studio at Line's End Farm is where I paint and try to find some joy again, and some equilibrium, not simple these days. One weblog records thoughts, ideas, methods and mixtures, palettes, observations, actually anything that intrigues me concerning my painting and working in the studio. Another observes only the horse in paintings that I find influential. The last are done for my sanity. All are my opinion only, open to other suggestions.