Both yesterday and today I forgot that I was supposed to take painkillers at 3pm.
Not that it doesn't hurt, but it surely does not hurt as bad. At least I didn't notice it as much. Yesterday and today I spent time messing about in my studio, with pastels and oil paints. (See my other blog for details.)
Watching the color flow onto what was a blank page or canvas is absorbing, and time flies by so quickly I'm astonished to look up and find that it's nearly dark.
It's been so long since I last painted that some of my oils are dried up; some tubes of paint won't open. And yet I get so much pleasure out of mixing colors that I wonder why on earth I left it alone for so long.
Howie spent the afternoon on his carpet, watching people walk by; I know he likes the garage studio better than the one I used to have inside the house -- there's a lot more room, and the open garage door is like a giant HDTV for him. I like it better, too. The paint fumes are not so troublesome.
I needed the escape of artwork today. A friend called and told me that on his last two visits to my mother, he found her alone. The 24/7 caregivers ... are not being very reliable. The thought of forcing my mother into a care facility is sure to give me nightmares. Even though she's so far into Alzheimer's that she doesn't know the time of day, she possesses a power of will that is absolutely terrifying to me.
The power of will. Have I written about that before? If not, I will soon.