Sometimes I paint pictures of everyday objects. Then I look at my pictures and know that one day the objects will break, or I will be forced to give them away when I move into a nursing home (or onto the street). But if I have my notebook of little pictures (in my bags and grocery carts) then I can hold onto the memory of my sweet life. What would it be like to have Alzheimer’s? To have my son sit with me (provided he is alive and we are on visiting terms) and point out the little pictures I had painted? Would I remember my happiness? Hopefully I would be in one of those nursing homes where therapists or volunteers do nice things like dance with patients. Oh, but they would probably play disco, thinking it was the music of my youth. And I wouldn’t have the words to say, “Could we have little Arvo Part, please?”
the sacred ordinary 
Arvo Part …… Now there’s an idea, especially for a nursing home……no one would understand but everyone would sympathize saying how independent you are…..but you might get lucky and meet someone there who really knew about Arvo Part…..and then your independence would be complete. Then you could show your pictures and dream…….
Sent from my iPad
The wonderful feeling of imperfection, of impression, of freedom of form….. and yet there is a definite form and pattern that says those are flowers, a vase, a table, a shadow and they all fit together in a floating, lyrical kind of way……..
Sent from my iPad
the painting is really lovely 🙂 and the thoughts…so many ifs and unknowns…i had the sort of weekend with many old friends thinking, who would have guessed that we’d be where we are? and we commented on all the different memories…not everyone had the same ones bubbling at the top of his or her consciousness.