Writing Again
It has been a while since I last wrote my blog. My small world seemed to fall apart when I became unwell. I didn’t have covid, which was great. I didn’t have a head cold or a sore throat. I have a wet cough that I couldn’t stop and still can’t. Then I received a message; the beloved and devoted husband of a cousin in Australia had died. I had the chance to meet Bruce four years ago for the celebration of my mother’s ninetieth birthday in England. More sad news followed; a well-known artist and advocator for the Allied Arts of Whatcom County, Rick Bulman, died. Both men died of cancer.
Rick and his partner Jim were long-time friends of my friend Paul who visited a few weeks ago. I had only met Rick and Jim once or twice before. They had a lovely hillside garden with a waterfall coursing through the foliage. They also gave me their hot tub, which I enjoyed for many years, before passing it on to another family. I hope the family enjoyed it as much as I did, with my neighbor and friend from across the road. Paul and I visited Rick and Jim while he was in Bellingham. We only stayed briefly, but I was glad we got to stop by and say hi and give them both a hug. Rick’s eyes were smiling just as I remembered them from meeting him the first time.
My visual art is my garden. It means everything to me. I love it and hate it. It is my nemesis; I never seem to finish working on it, just like a piece of writing. Yesterday I spent the day outside, battling the moles that have decided to invade my garden this year, creating their own artistry of tunnels beneath my flowers, rocks, and rainbow-colored bricks that hold many memories of people I have known here in Bellingham, and my family, no longer here. I am frustrated that I have not been able to persuade them to move on to other pastures.
When I can’t complete a specific task, I find I begin to emotionally and physically unravel. If I am lucky, a dog antic, a text from a friend or family, or a great gathering of The Blue Bottle Writing Studio around my table will be positive enough to change my perspective. Unfortunately, none of that happened last week. Of the six people I was expecting, only three came, and one was a possible new member. Not feeling 100 percent, I might have canceled if I had known.
After a long day working in my garden yesterday, I see no evidence of the moles’ return today. Long may it last! I also completed and checked for breakages in three of my six zones for watering the garden. I was exhausted at the end of the day but happy I had finally achieved a minor success. I take this as a good sign. I am feeling able to write. I expect to be recovered by our next Blue Bottles Writing Studio meeting when we will meet to read our stories on a new session; writing fiction stories.
A Found Poem by A.S. from Ethics for the New Millennium by the Dalai Lama
