get me off this ride

this summer has been a bit of  a roller coaster emotionally.  some breathtaking highs and some plummets that pull your stomach up into your throat.  all in all a good ride that's left me a little shaken.

and, as a shining jewel to top it off, my summer ended in my 39th birthday last thursday.

last thursday was one of the best days of my life.  i woke up at 8, grabbed a delicious coffee and my robe, and scooted downstairs to paint for two hours.  it felt like a dream.  my son quietly opened the door to my studio and threw in a paper airplane with birthday love written on it.  my husband made me breakfast.  and i painted and sang and sank into the goodness of my family and my gifting and my life.  later i went shopping with the kids and bought some new plants and gardened in sunshine.  then i headed off to my dear friend leah's birthday party - it was perfect!  an amazing party that i didn't have to plan or execute or clean up after, filled with close friends and delicious food.

at this moment you might hate me, but remember:  the roller coaster.

the next morning i brought the kids to the doctors because i had this insanely itchy scalp.  i had looked up symptoms of candida on the internet (candida is something i'm dealing with, hence the annoying sugar free diet), and confirmed that an itchy scalp is totally related. scott is the one who basically forced me to go to the doctor, so i explained everything to her, in a tone that was saying "i'm sorry i'm wasting your time, since i've self-diagnosed my issue, but my husband made me come...". She smiled and gently pointed out there are many reasons for itchy scalps.  she had me pull my hair up off of my neck and she shone the light on the back of my head.  i think it was instant.  no, i'm almost positive it was instant - her reaction i mean.  she stepped back.  she said "oh, yes, your head is infested with gnats".

INFESTED.

i calmly yelled "GNATS?!!!!" and then immediately realized i had just informed the entire waiting room of my condition.  i confess i fleetingly had the thought that maybe gnats weren't the same thing as lice.  maybe they were a higher more rare breed or something.  the caviar or infectious head-biting diseases.  no, no, they're not.

let's just get it out there:  my whole family has lice.

so, friday, the day after one of the best days of my life, was filled with chemical treatments, lice combs, laundry, vacuuming, more laundry, and sticking hats and dolls and one of my favourite dresses in quarantine.  this was a plummet my friends.

by monday, we'd gotten into a groove as a family.  scott and i would get up, make the coffee, and sit on the back deck in the rising sunshine and nit-pick.  not "i hate it when you leave your flat iron on the counter" nit-pick.  no, the reason the entire phrase was invented.  we pick little spider-like bugs and their eggs off each other's heads (and you know how much i love spiders!).  scott wanted to add "professional de-louser" on his linked-in profile.  actually, truth be told, he's very good at it.

anyways, on monday we're in the groove, no longer completely grossed out, and trying to find the beauty in early morning shocks of sunshine.  it could even be romantic if it wasn't completely disgusting.  i decide, after i've been cleaned, to workout.  to not just do yoga this time, but a weight-lifting routine.

and i put my back out.

and i was lifting three pound weights.

and, yes, now i feel like a louse-y old woman.

do you see what i'm saying about the roller coaster?  don't get me wrong, i know it could be a pit, i know there's worse things than being on this ride, but i still want off.  give me a prairie field of flat predictability.  at least for a few days.

  

oh to be wise!

I've been thinking about wisdom the last few days.

on sunday Mike, a pastor at our church, preached a sermon about spiritual gifts.  usually a sermon on this topic touches on the different "gifts" (teaching, encouraging, serving, exhortation, prophecy, etc.), then explains how you know you have these gifts, or how they should be used, and a "spiritual gifts inventory" is sometimes handed out, and a passionate plea is given about how each member of the church needs to use their gifts in order for the church to work effectively.

this is what i was expecting.  this is not what i heard.

instead, Mike, got right down to the root of the matter - why does God's Spirit gift us in certain ways?  what's the point?  sometimes we have gifts that come naturally to us, sometimes we have them for a specific time or place - but all of us are gifted in some way to do something, or be something.  short answer:  the reason we have gifts is to give them, to use them as a means of extending the grace we have received to others.

there's no ego here.  no comparing my gifts with another's.  there's no need - every gifting has the same purpose.  we, each of us, are a gift to God's people and the world in unique ways.  we are each presents, put in place for the good of all.

therefore the question isn't "what's my gift?", but "how am i giving myself?".

i apologize for the little sermonette there, but that is the context to my ruminating on wisdom.  and the short story is: i want to be wise.  i want wisdom to be one of my gifts to my community.

as i was gardening on monday, stewing on this thought, i glanced up at my husband.  he was sitting in the front yard reading theology.  i thought about the fact that he loves, (LOVES) to read theology.  he loves to read autobiographies.  he loves documentaries. my husband is a gleaner of information and the wisdom of others.

i glanced over at the book i'm reading.  no, that is a lie.  i'm not reading it, i'm listening to it as an audiobook. i am not even making the effort to use my eyes to decipher letters.   it's from the "young adult fiction" section at the library, and is about a future distopian society where everyone gets plastic surgery to make them beautiful at the age of 16, thus making everyone "equal" and eradicating crime.  i won't say this is as far from theology as you can get, but it's definitely past the mid-line between wisdom and stupidity.

suddenly something became clear:  i may want to be wise, but i'm not drawn to gleaning wisdom.

i'm drawn to story and beauty and romance, to delicious smells and tastes, to laughter and colour and lilting melodies and complex harmonies.  i can honestly stare at the colour of our kitchen walls and feel this great sense of thankfulness.  i will shove my nose inside a rose and feel pleasure ripple through me.  i paint for an hour and feel restored, or sing with scott and feel blessed beyond measure.

i am gifted with the arts.  i love the arts and the arts love me.  they rejuvenate me and push me to praise.

i thought about this while weeding around our japanese maple and came to the conclusion that i need to just let go of my wisdom fantasies.  surely harry potter and van dyke brown (my favourite brown) and the indigo girls will not end in me being wise.

and then today i was talking to scott about the whole internal process and he said - "you're kidding!  you'll never believe what i was reading while you were thinking that "and he started to read to me from his theology book:

one of the urgent needs of our day is to recover an understanding of the interplay of wisdom with the arts - to speak to how the arts are vital to the formation of a Christian mind, the cultivation of a Christian imagination and the nurturing of a deep love for the good, the noble, the excellent and the worthy of praise. (Gordon Smith, "Called to be Saints").

well, would you look at that!  the arts are vital to the formation of a Christian mind.  hallelujah- i'm not a lost cause after all!!  and maybe (maybe) my young adult fiction isn't an embarrassment - at least it's an inventive and interesting story that's not filled with sex.  and maybe my dream of my paintings pulling others closer to God is not a fantasy.

maybe the Spirit of God is using the arts to build wisdom in me.  a love for beauty, a passion for imagination, a gratitude for creation:  a trust in my Creator.

i must hear more of Gordon Smith!  i'll get Scott to read the book and give me a summary.  maybe in the form of a dance, or a haiku.

holiness and husbandry

yesterday i puked my guts out.  or, at least, the entirety of my stomach contents.  in truth,  it felt like some guts snuck in there as well.  perhaps a little spleen?
but let's not dwell.  instead, let me tell you about my incredible husband.
there i am, lying on the floor, half in the en-suite, half in the bedroom.  i am clutching a green plastic bowl at my side, as though it is a flotation device.  i am covered in sweat.  my hair: a rats nest halo.  lets not even mention my breath.  i'm moaning and would be crying if not for dehydration.
scott stands above me, having just saved me from passing out.  the dear man looks down at me and says: "Janet, you are not dying".
(for those of you who are not familiar with my tendencies to over-dramatize my illnesses, feel free to read my past blog post entitled hypochondria).
he then tucks me into bed, washes out the bowl (unbelievable!), researches and buys something sugar-free to re-hydrate me, and sets up netflix on a pile of blankets beside me.
i mean, seriously!!!.

i once read this book. ok, i once read the first few chapters of this book (as is my practice with non-fiction) called "sacred marriage".  the thesis was that marriage is not primarily for personal happiness, but as a means of building holiness.  (i know, that's a slap in the face to popular culture, and me, quite frankly).  the author encouraged his readers to pray something along the lines of "God, help me to find my husband the most attractive man in the world.  may my definition of beauty be all that he is.  may my eyes be for him alone".  so, i pray this every so often (possibly after watching james bond).

as i lay on the floor, my legs stretching into our bathroom, literally wondering if i was at death's door, and he said those words "Janet, you are not dying" i thought "he is the most beautiful man in the world".

answered prayer!

and now i'm typing on my laptop as he sits across the family room, guitar in hand, singing a worship song he wrote when we were first married, and my heart is bursting.

the catch for this marriage-for-holiness thing is that holiness breeds happiness.  when scott was serving me he was acting out the character that God has been forming in him.  who else could make him into a man that deals with his wife's puke and hypochondria but God in heaven?  my hope and prayer is that I am being transformed into someone that reflects Christ too.  that scott will see in me what i see in him.  for the closer to Jesus we become, the more deeply we will love each other, and the happier we'll be.  (which makes me think i'm in this for my personal happiness... perhaps i should read a few more chapters of the book).

oh dear, now he's doing handy man jobs.  this man needs to be kissed!  i must go.

memories of kauai

i'm back from Hawaii.
i know, for some of you it's like i never left, like the blink of an eye.  but i did.  can't say i have the tan to prove it, but i do have sand around the edges of my dryer and some new shells scattered about the house, and, most of all, memories.  want to hear some?...

...it's mother's day and i'm sitting on a manicured lawn which borders a small beach.  my hair is ridiculous -curls curlier than i've ever seen them, splayed around my head, thick with salt.  again, i wish for some sort of hat to cover up the travesty.  the sun is setting.  i rip a piece off the costco roasted chicken with my hands and shove it in my mouth.  scott smiles beside me.  on the beach, my children are building a hill of sand.  they've named this hill "fat joe".  when my son told me it's name he said it a little sheepishly, knowing that i don't like to hear the word "fat" as a descriptor - but i assured him that naming a hill of sand 'fat' is appropriate.  they squeal every time the waves surround them, and cheer for fat joe surviving the onslaught.  they are sun-kissed and filthy and happy down to their bones.  i turn to scott and say "best mother's day present ever".

...we are at secret beach: a series of tiny inlets, framed by mounds of volcanic rock.  we climbed over a few of these before settling onto this stretch of sand.  behind me is more rock and then a jungled cliff-face.  ahead is pounding surf.   beneath me, warm sand.  to my right, a jumble of dry rock.  to my left, wet rocks as the waves crash against them, sending spray up and over to form a small pool.  my husband is in this pool, his back against the rock, smiling at me.  it's deep enough that when he crouches down it hits his shoulders.  suddenly, an enormous wave crashes and scott is under a waterfall of water, laughing and yelling.  i think to myself:  "scott is standing under a waterfall.  i am sitting on a towel reading.  i have to get up."  i'm not the type that loves to play in the surf, not being a great swimmer.  i also abhor being cold.  warm sand and a good book is my circle of happiness.  but something bloomed inside me, when i jumped up and ran into that water.  when i was kissed under a hawaiian waterfall.  something like satisfaction.

i am floating in the ocean, the sun hot on my back.  i hear my breath moving in and out of my snorkel.  salt stings the corners of my eyes.  i hear a little squeal through the water, it's scott.  he's pointing to a school of white tropical fish eating along the edge of the reef.  there's fish everywhere i see, all colours, shapes and sizes.  i love the little round black ones with white polka dots, they make me think of Audrey Hepburn.  a fashionable lady in fish form.  and those longer ones with the florescent purple streak along their backs.  for a moment i am transported above myself, and i see that i am being filled with beauty and warmth, more than i am able to receive.  i squeeze scott's hand.

i am standing in water up to my waist.  the car is packed with all of our suitcases, and we leave for the airport from this beach.  here there is an oval pool, protected from the waves by another rock cropping, but unique in that the rock reaches fully from one point on the beach, to another - one half of the oval.  as i stand holding my daughters hand i see a glint of blue in the water.  as we stare a school of large blue fish with bright yellow side fins comes into view.  my smile must reach my ears.  smaller silvery fish are swimming around us, and then, oh my goodness!  they are circling us - around and around they swim with my daughter and i forming their epicenter.  it is an extravagant parting gift.   i think that i must remember this moment later when stuck in a cramped plane.  and i do.

we arrived home to a cacophony of colour in the form of front lawn flowers.  our personal paradise.  how incredible is my life that my home boasts as much beauty as my vacation destination.  i stand amazed.

now it's back to work and vacuuming and painting and gardening - this abundant life.  hopefully i carry the lessons of beauty and warmth and rest that i experienced.  hopefully i am more grateful and humbled and awe-struck:  some holiness gleaned in the holiday.

emmaus

this Easter season, I spent a lot of time meditating on the story found in the last chapter of Luke - the disciples travelling to Emmaus.  in it there are two disciples and they are leaving Jerusalem, weighed down by the grief of the crucifixion.  it is sunday.  Jesus has been dead since Friday, and although the Bible does not detail what happened on the day between, I am positive it was a drowning experience. unrelenting waves of hopelessness and bewilderment.

a week prior these two may have been in the throngs of people welcoming Jesus into the city, laying their coats down for the donkey he rode to walk upon.  they had plans, they had hopes and dreams that were being fulfilled in the person of Jesus.  their entire lives were centered around this - they followed him from city to city, they digested his teachings, maybe they worked crowd control on one of his healing nights.  maybe they were in the temple when he rampaged through, and silently cheered him on. they must have lived with the thought "it's happening!  it's happening!" for weeks on end, sure that Jesus was the long-awaited Messiah, come to free them from Roman rule, but also it seemed from disease and hypocrisy and maybe even death.  no more death.
and then Jesus is arrested.
and he doesn't deny the charges.
and he's crucified.
and he's dead.

and hope is crucified with him.

where does a disciple go from there?  what does one do when your life's' purpose has been murdered?
not stick around, that's for sure.  as soon as it was lawful to travel, as soon as the Sabbath was over and there was light enough to travel, they were gone.  off to Emmaus.

there are days in my life where I feel like i'm plodding along, possibly looking for escape, bewildered and wondering.  why aren't things turning out as I hoped they would?  where is God?  how did i get there and how do i get out?
I can definitely empathize with these disciples, and picture them, unkempt, tired, eyes red from nights of tears, stooped and shuffling along in the rain.  the road seems to stretch forever before them.

and they meet another traveler.
and he begins to change the lens of their worldview.  he pulls out old stories and scripture they hadn't heard for years, and suddenly their perspective is changing.  they start feeling some excitement - which i'm sure was a little terrifying.  their hearts start to burn.
they sit down to dinner and this traveler breaks the bread.  wait a minute....did i just see?....were those nail scars in his hands?!!!
and he's gone.
and they're up from the table.  and they're running, sprinting, back to Jerusalem.  back to the city that stank of death and fear and hopelessness - they can't get there fast enough.

all hope is reborn.  truth has come burning into the hearts of the disciples, and they tie their shoelaces tightly and RUN!  I see them laughing and hooting and praising, looks of wonder and joy and incredulity on their faces.  

"remember when he said...."  

              "when did you know?" 

                             "i can't believe it!!  we have to tell...."

like you, i wish that resurrection could happen without dying.  i wish that the fire of sunday didn't require the bleak hopelessness of saturday, and the agony of friday.  but each year Easter reminds me that it does.  i look around my garden at the little green shoots springing out of what seem to be dry and dead stems, and i'm reminded again.  life from death.  and this life, stronger and more beautiful than the previous one.  and the death has, against all odds, been made worth it.  

woman's lib

i've been dealing with some anger lately.
here's where it began.   a few weeks ago Scott bought us some tickets to a concert.  it had been AGES since i saw live music so i was really looking forward to it.  we invited some friends and went out for dinner and then hit the club.  first shock:  we were carded at the door.  i asked "is it because i look younger than 18?!" and the doorman said "no.  you definitely look old enough.  i just have to do this."
nice.
not that i want to look 18, but well, i want to look a little like 18...
second shock:  no seats.  looking around the room my friend and i quickly ascertained that we were indeed among the aged in the crowd.  we were delighted to see a woman older than us who took out her reading glasses to read her iPhone (bless you angel of age).  it seems young'uns these days don't require chairs.  we squeezed onto the side of the stage to give our poor legs a rest and managed to have great views.
here's where i start getting angry.
the band finally (FINALLY!  is that seriously the time?!) gets on stage and here's what grates my anticipatory eyes:  slobs.  amazing musicians - beautiful harmony and lyric and musicianship, but what the heck are you wearing?  and when's the last time you looked in the mirror?  and why do you all have beards like tom hanks in castaway?
i'm noticing more and more that women these days are wearing less and less and men these days are looking worse and worse (could there be a correlation?).   i think of female performers i've seen on tv lately - most are wearing what look to be hard plastic swimsuits.  fishnet stockings.  stilettos.  they look like they've been in the makeup chair for hours.  their bodies are a major part of their performance.  contrast that with ripped t-shirts, shaggy beards, baseball caps, the "just rolled out of bed!" look that frankly, i believe.
  
last night scott and i went to a movie and in the elevator we see two girls dressed to the nines - pretty dresses, sparkly purses, heels, you get the picture.  and with them:  boy in sweats.  i'm starting to see why my mom was annoyed in grade 9 when my date picked me up wearing shorts, socks and birkenstocks.

this is my angry thought:  where is the liberation?  what have we been liberated to?

and do not get me STARTED on miss mylie cyrus.  i've counted two magazines in stands that have headlines like "why we love mylie!".  one of these magazines, 'seventeen' to be exact, sent a free copy to our house (i suppose there was a teenage girl living here before us), so i read the article.  here's why seventeen magazine loves mylie - because she does what she wants and ignores the world.
wow, that's a fantastic reason to love someone.  how admirable to ignore all wisdom, all mentorship, all societal practices of decorum and decency and just do whatever you like!  naked!!  is this seriously what it takes for a girl to make something of herself these days?  justin bieber seems to have tried the same tactic and failed - nope, only girls allowed on this ride of humiliation.

ugh.
this frustration is simmering.
and then, thankfully, Easter.
once again i read the resurrection story, of women, stooped with grief, carrying jars of spices to the tomb. preparing themselves for a corpse that is hardly recognizable.  bowls for water to wash him, to speak tenderly to his body, to honour a man they loved with this last act of hospitality and sacrifice. what a beautifully feminine thing to do - we swaddle our babies, and swaddle our dead.
and then the shock of sleeping soldiers, a vacant tombstone, and no body.

grief added to grief.  

now there will be no tender goodbye.  no mutual consolation between the women who loved him.  no part of closure.
Mary Magdalene cannot move with the pain of it, and starts weeping in the garden.
and then a gardener....the same gardener who planted the world in Genesis and walked in the cool of the day with another woman, Eve.  a man who is God, who has just defeated death, who could have proclaimed his resurrection in truly mind-blowing fashion (explode out of the tomb?  come down from the clouds?  fall from the sky on a giant throne?) chooses his first act of revelation to be to a woman.  and not the queen mother or even a woman of noble character - no, a woman who had been demon-possessed for most of her life.  an utter outcast.
he says her name "Mary" and suddenly she knows him.  and her life is in that moment given incredible purpose.  and all of the female sex in that moment are valued, upheld, honoured.  the men didn't believe her story when she told them later (how incredibly frustrating for her!) - so Jesus didn't choose her because she was the most believable witness.  quite the opposite.  he chose her to reveal the worth of a woman.  this is true liberation.

and i'd bet my bonnet that his beard was nicely trimmed, even having been dead for 3 days.

why i cry and other sundry items.

Picture this:
i'm sitting on one of the Adirondack chairs in my front yard.  beside me is a Camellia tree - huge, over 10 feet i'd say, and breaking into bud.  i hear the creek laughing.  i see tiny purple pinpricks of flower on its bank.  it smells like spring.  the warm breeze feels like spring.  the blue sky and mountains surround me.  i breath deeply.
my son, who is home from school because he's sick, is kicking his soccer ball around the backyard (yes, obviously sick-as-a-dog).  he looks down the side of the house and sees me sitting.  he yells "he mom, do you remember this?"
and then he sings "i've been dreaming of a true loooooves kiiiiiiss".
from the movie "enchanted".  have you seen it?  you should.
his pitch is perfect.  he even works the vibrato and extends his arm out as he holds the last note.
my son, at the age of almost seven, is a hopeless romantic.  and i am the object of his affections.  i love it.  i know it won't last (it better not last!), so i will soak in every ounce while i can.
and that was my perfect moment of the day.

i love spring.  i love love love spring.  and here, being in a home with a beautiful established garden, every day is a treasure hunt.  today i found new purple hosta shoots, 2 inches out of the ground, that i swear were not there a few days ago.  there is a tree blooming with some tiny fuschia clusters of flower.  something is green and leafy everywhere - i'm hoping it's hyacinth (otherwise i have a truly invasive weed that i'm smiling at daily).  i found tulips today that i hope will be out for Easter.  i truly feel like there is magic taking place out the front window.  it fills me with wonder.  what an incredible gift to be reminded, year after year, that death and rest bring lift and flourishing.  that even the lifeless rotted sticks of a plant can be made new.  i love seeing the dahlias returning - the new red shoots pushing up right beside the dead brown ones from last year.  pure miracle.

i am realizing more and more in my older age that i love tradition, rhythm, ceremony.  i was reminded of this last week when i cried at my sons little league parade.  what was there to cry about?  a row of boys in too-big t-shirts plodding behind their coaches.  and bagpipes.  but i looked at the crowds of people cheering on their sons and brothers, and these awkward boys, and thought of how this organization has been doing this for so many years... and i was done-in.

maybe it's the public encouragement that makes me cry, i don't know.  i cry when we watch "the voice" and one of the coaches gives a heartfelt congratulations to their team member.  i cry in Christmas productions when everyone starts clapping. do i just tear up with applause?  man i'm strange.

i keep reminding myself that tears are the storehouses of disease and stress and they just need OUT.  i think i've kind-of made up that philosophy/biology, but it works for me.

i've been painting non-stop the last 3 days, trying to finish two pieces for our church's Easter service.  i'll post them when they're completed.  as i've been painting i figured out how to listen to audio files through the library.   what fun!  painting while listening to a story.  i've been listening to "big stone gap", a story set in the blueridge mountains of Virginia.  the author (Adriana Trigiani) is reading it (i love that) and she has this magnificent southern twang that i simply can not get out of my head.  i keep asking Scott "am i talking with an accent?" and he just smiles.  what's weird is that i'm thinking with an accent.  as i type these words i'm hearing them with an accent.  and i want to say "corn grits" and "higgeldy-piggeldy".  now, that felt good.  i've been listening to Adriana's voice for three days straight and i'm still not finished the story.  i haven't seen the physical book, so it could be 600 pages long, but i think it's taking so long because she just takes her time.  this manner of speaking does not rush.  i'm listening to the story in blueridge mountain time, and i wish my whole life lilted and paused and swaggered like her voice does.

tomorrow is a busy one with my daughter's 10th birthday party. the theme is "cupcake spa", and, being the sole spa employee, i hope it doesn't kill me.  death by cupcake and face mask.  hopefully i will find a moment to peruse my front yard miracle, and speak to myself tenderly in a southern drawl.

maybe i'll even be serenaded by a little prince in t-ball uniform.

the grass is greener (much greener)...

i hesitate to say this, thinking of my dear prairie and ontario friends, but i weeded in my garden for over an hour today.  do you hate me?  i noticed this plant sprouting all over the place, so i ripped one out of the ground and made the trip across the street to my neighbour Shirley, who just happens to be a horticulturalist (praise the Lord above).  she told me it was something that had "californian" in the name (my mind has a bucket for plant names that is riddled with holes).  i asked "is it a weed?", and she said "well.....".  it seems that this particular californian sprite is quite pretty when it flowers, but will take over the entire lot.  she said "if it was my land, i'd rip them all out".
so, i squared my shoulders, marched back across the street, and did just that.
as i was uprooting these leafy wonders, i started feeling the guilt descend.  i knew it would.  Shirley said they would become beautiful.  and i was de-beautifying something.  killing something beautiful.  i remembered that i had recently stated "God is beauty".  as i dug down in the soil, caught hold of the deep root and yanked it out i thought "i'm pulling God out of my garden".

and then i thought "janet, does anyone else think like this?  are you totally weird?"
and THEN i thought "i'm sure psychopaths and philosophers have self-conversations like this one all the time".  somehow that was reassuring.  (!!!!) [no offense to philosophers].

Scott came out to join me and we raked and cleaned and the kids came out and collected bugs and snails with the neighbour-girl.  perfect.

but back to killing beauty:  a bird flew into our kitchen window today.  i know what you're thinking "it's because it's so clean Janet" - and i know you're thinking it in that snotty voice of yours because you're one of my friends who rolls their eyes at my habitual cleanliness.  but i swear, it's NOT clean.  it has nose prints and hand prints and food and winter grime all over it, so HA!  i was in the kitchen with my kids (probably wiping something), and they were eating breakfast (probably singing to each other and hugging, as per usual**) and BAM!  this bird smacks into the window and then flies/falls into the tree/bush next to our house.  we were stunned (probably not as much as the bird), and then we heard this horrible crying sound.  seriously.  the bird was crying - this hauntingly mournful caw.  i think it was a seagull.  what's amazing is that it left this incredible print on our window - you can see the shape of it's body and then the feathers on its wing splayed out - as though the bird was dipped in chalk before it hit the glass.  it's horrible and beautiful at the same time.  i keep starring at it but the whole time i'm telling myself to look away - like when scott is wearing socks and underwear but no pants.  it's so horrible, but i just can't stop myself.

i spent five hours starring at a screen, clicking a mouse, typing names, preparing client statements today.  five. hours.  straight.  i can't believe i have the gumption to be typing right now, especially since i'm going back for more tomorrow.  sometimes i wonder what the worst job in the world is.  here's some ideas on my list:

• anyone at the end of a 1-800 number that has the words "customer service" attached to it.
• a disney princess.  at disney world/land.  you might disagree (sorry ruth, and sarah), but i think that attempting to please four year old girls 8 hours a day, wearing satin and gloves and a wig, and never being allowed to just ONCE tell a whining parent to grow up = hell.  i remember seeing those little girls, waiting in line to see the princesses, their hair curled and eyes covered in blue eye-shadow and dresses puffy with glass slippers and fairy wands.  terrifying.  i'd rather work with prisoners.
• a doctor who specializes in hemorrhoid removal.  
• a mother of quintuplets who believes that breast milk is the only option.
• truckstop bathroom cleaner.

tomorrow, when i'm in hour four of computer face, i will remind myself of these other jobs and smile.
but now i really need to stop feeling the glare of laptop light on my face, so off you go.  try not to kill anything beautiful.



** when i say "singing" and "hugging" what i mean is arguing over who's foot is on who's chair and attempting to be first at everything and trying to get the other in trouble and laughing about the word 'bottom'.  it's code.

spring clean

isn't it amazing what sunshine can do?  yesterday i awoke to grey skies and muddled my way through laziness.  today:  blue skies, puffy clouds, sunlight streaming in through the windows and sha-bam!  i was a cleaning tornado.  i dusted my baseboards.  i vacuumed my bathroom fans (which, by the way, were disgusting).  i bought a groupon for my furnace and vents to be cleaned.  i even fertilized my succulents!  a good spring clean, and man!  does it ever feel good.
we just spent four nights at a cabin on Galiano Island.  and when i say "cabin", i mean ginormous house on the edge of a bluff looking over the ocean.  we went with scott's brother and family, and scott's parents also came up for a night, with two of their friends.  it was a lively, full house.  incredible amounts of noise.  lots of food, games, rainbow loom bracelets adorning every wrist (my son had them lined all the way up to his elbow), sea shells and naps (sporadic, due to the incredible amounts of noise).  on monday afternoon, my favourite day, i experienced the sheer bliss of spending hours lying in my bed, with the window opened and a warm breeze blowing and the sound of the ocean humming, drifting between sleep and reading the latest flavia de luce novel.  i mean, YES!  that's what i'm talking about when i imagine the word "holiday". it was a holy day.  not because i was doing any 'spiritual' work, but because something magically holy happened inside of me.
here's what took place right before i had this amazing afternoon:  i cried.  i cried while i was out on a walk with my husband, having just come from gathering shells at the sea shore.  i cried because i had just made it through 6 very intense weeks - starting my new administrative job, as well as teaching two art classes - and the vision that helped me make it through, the vision of 4 nights at a cabin relaxing with my family, was not coming true.  i was not relaxing.  i was cooking and parenting and cleaning and sharing.
we came back from the walk and had lunch and i felt overwhelmingly tired.  emotional.  spent.  i told my brother and sister-in-law that i was going to have a nap, and apologized for not helping with the lunch dishes, assuring them i'd take care of dinner.  and my brother-in-law said "nobody's keeping track.  there's no checks and balances here.  go take a nap".
i walked upstairs with his words ringing in my ears: "there's no checks and balances here".  i slept, i woke, i slept, i read, and all the while these words were digging into me.  sanctifying.  cleaning.
                 nobody's keeping track.
                            there's no checks and balances here.
my dear brother extended grace to me.  a grace i was not extending.  i was keeping track.  i was checking and balancing my own sacrifices with those of the people around me.     yuck.
how many times am i checking the score in my marriage?  in my friendships?  in my roles as daughter, daughter-in-law, sister, pastor's-wife?  why do i keep track of how many nights i've put the kids to bed by myself this week?  why do i carry those actions like trumps in my hand?  i know - because i am not living in grace.  i'm living in a system of debt and payment.
how immensely freeing it was to rest that afternoon, knowing that no one cared,  that i would not have to make up for it!!  and let me tell you, how freely and joyously i wanted to make dinner that night!  i wanted to cook and clean and parent and share - out of a place of gift instead of duty.
and now i have an even greater appreciation for my in-law-siblings, and see how they live with this gracious extension of hospitality.  it's beautiful.  jon and alyssa, you're beautiful people.  i am honoured to be related and in relationship with you.
what a timely gift this grace received has been, as i travel through Lent considering the grace i require in my every breath.  an inner spring cleaning - and in such a gentle way.   i see my motivations are in desperate need of a good vacuum - if only i could get my dyson down in there.  i long to operate my life by inhaling and exhaling gracious deeds, gracious thoughts, gracious attitudes.  to give for the simple reason that i can.  to love and be loved freely, without tally or debt.
and i pray the same for you.  as the sun creeps back into our lives, may we find the motivation and energy we need to scrub away the accumulating mess.  a truly thorough spring clean.

crustacean and creation

I am sitting at my kitchen table with sun on my back.  the window beside me is open a crack, just enough for a sniff of freshness and the enchanting sound of our creek babbling away.  it feels like spring.  it looks like spring - crocus are popping up to my delight all over the yard - but I will not be fooled.  yesterday we nearly drowned in torrential cold rain and last week there was actually snow (!!!), so i will embrace this day as a miracle and expect nothing more.  this is how my mother encourages me to live - keep the expectations low so as to minimize disappointment.  i usually find this life-orientation depressing,  i would much rather live in anticipatory excitement (naive though it may be), but sometimes it's necessary.  March in BC is not a time for getting your hopes up.

and on that sad note, we have as of yet not located Curious, the lost hermit crab.  i think my children have moved on though.  my daughter has been researching turtles and my son informed us that his pet of choice is a lobster.  sorry?  yes, a lobster.  here's a dinner conversation you wish you had been at:

"i wish i had two lobsters, like my friend at school"
       "your friend has two lobsters?!"
"yes, they're his pets.  and i wish i had two lobsters as pets because then if there was someone being a bully at school i would just run home and get them out of their tank and run back to school and then they would snap the bully and then he would stop".
       "your friend has two lobsters?!"

this is what i imagine occurred at this "friends" house.  dad comes home with two lobsters "look what someone gave me for that job i did for them" (this would have had to be the dad, no way the mom would fall for such a scheme), mom says "wow....?".  they research how to cook them and fish out the stock pot from the crawl space and get the water boiling and are just about to put them in when the mom says "i hear they scream" and then the "friend", who has just come into the kitchen with a lego problem, says "what?!  they scream!  you can't kill them mom!!  i want them as pets!" and the mom and the dad are that type of mom and dad that don't ever want to disappoint.  so they put the lobsters in the bathtub and go to the pet store and spend hundred of dollars on a salt water tank and every time mom walks in the friends room she wants to swear.

we will not be purchasing lobsters as pets.  even if they are anti-bullying ones.


this week i had the honour of being the chapel speaker at Langley Christian High School.  i was asked to share about my identity as an artist, and what it has taught me about God and myself. i will sign off by including a snippit of what i shared.  it was a great experience for me. it seems whenever i speak to a group of people i am struck with two things:  i love public speaking, and i learn so much when i prepare a talk. maybe i'm not learning new information, but i'm solidifying some understanding, either about God or myself.

I spent a lot of time in my presentation talking about my struggle with accepting that i actually am an artist. later in the day i was told that a teacher, after hearing me speak, decided that he was going to start painting again, and i instantly teared up with excitement and gratitude.  how silly that i so quickly recognize and celebrate artistry in others, but downplay it in myself.  silly silly girl.  here's what i said (although in person i ad-lib with bits of silliness).

when I create something I am echoing the work of my Creator.  sometimes it’s difficult to label sitting down at my easel, with a movie playing on my laptop and a cup of tea beside me,  pushing paint around a stretched piece of cloth, as work.   recently I read this quote, which really encouraged me,
“many of us equate difficulty with virtue – and art with fooling around.  hard work is good.  a terrible job must be building our moral fiber.  something – a talent for painting, say – that comes to us easily and seems compatible with us must be some sort of cheap trick, not to be taken seriously.  on the one hand, we give lip service to the notion that God wants us to be happy, joyous, and free.  On the other, we secretly think that God wants us to be broke if we are going to be so decadent as to want to be artists. do we have any proof at all for those ideas about God?
Looking at God’s creation, it is pretty clear that the creator [himself] did not know when to stop.  there is not one pink flower, or even fifty pink flowers, but hundreds.  snowflakes, of course, are the ultimate exercise in sheer creative glee.  no two alike.  this creator looks suspiciously like someone who just might send us support for our creative ventures.” (Cameron "the Artists Way")

the God we worship as Christians is a God of extravagant beauty.  He’s a God who is unceasingly creating,  boundlessly creative, and lavish to his creations.

my tagline on my website is “create beautiful”.  I heard a quote years ago from Dosteovsky:  “beauty will save the world”, and on some levels I believe that it is true.  because God is in all that is beautiful, and it is His desire to make all things beautiful, redeemed and holy. 
 I read this sentence recently: “the world is more delicious than it needs to be”, it’s also more fragrant, more melodious, more colourful.  God creates because of the sheer delight he takes in creating, and He wants us to delight in it too.  Food could have been tasteless fuel, colour just shades of grey, no singing, or dancing.  the arts are not necessary to the survival of a species, but they are essential to the enjoyment of life.   art in all its forms is a gift of love.  it’s also the Creator wanting His Creations to know Him, to look at a flower and think “wow.  God must deeply love me to create this just for me to enjoy”.

my hope is that one of my paintings, hanging in someone’s home or in a board room or school hallway, will incrementally change the space it’s in, from something utilitarian, or sterile, or boring, to something refreshing and encouraging and lovely.  a little echo of God on the wall.
sometimes I annoy myself with how I paint flowers.  what’s the point of a flower?  I look at other artists who create works for social impact, to fight injustice, to expose darkness, and I think, why am I painting flowers?  who cares?!

I was in one of these self-condemning moods recently, and I happened to read the sermon on the mount - the greatest sermon preached by the greatest preacher, the smartest and most creative human being of all time -  and I realized that he talks about flowers.  “consider flowers” he says.  “how they don’t work, they don’t sew, they don’t purchase, but they’re dressed better than any human being, because God dresses them.  so don’t worry about what you’re going to wear, God will clothe you”.  He was speaking to people from every social class, but I bet the bulk of them were poor, and lived with an undercurrent of worry.  Jesus looks at them in their distress, knowing the weight of worry on their lives, and his words for spiritual, social and economic impact were “look at flowers”.

so I do.  I consider flowers.  I look at them deeply.  I revel in their intricacies.  their colour and shape.  from bud to flower to seed head – they’re so incredibly beautiful.  I consider how their needs are met.  how utterly dependant they are.    how they live in the rhythm of the seasons, and they reproduce themselves through dying, and gain more lustre through painful pruning.  there’s a lot to learn from a flower. 
  

don't you just want to hear more?  sorry folks, you'll have to track down a high school student, who probably has forgotten me already. (insert debbie downer weh-wah sound here).

i must be off to make some gluten-free dairy-free cornbread, a.k.a. to create something beautiful.  i hope you find your Creator in your creating this week, and are not attacked by crustaceans.

a curious tragedy.

well, as if dead rainbows last week wasn't enough, tragedy has struck the anderson household yet again.

on wednesday it was discovered that our hermit crab, curious, is no longer in his cage.  his cage which is on my daughter's bookshelf, around 3 feet from the floor.  curious has escaped.  has flown the coop.  has kamikazed to his death.  or, disintegrated.  i even had the thought that maybe curious was a very spiritual hermit crab (he has heard many bedtime prayers) and was just taken up into the air like Elijah.   because the truly shocking part is:  his shell is still there.  in the cage.  curiouser and curiouser.

now, anyone out there who is remotely like me, is instantly picturing a naked hermit crab (as much as one is able to - what does a hermit crab look like with no shell?) lying in wait in some dusty corner, desperate for a stray toe, a wandering finger to come to close, and then, NAB!  i know, it's terrifying, even if the crustacean is less then 2 inches long.  it's been 4 days and it's quite probable that curious is dead, but if i start picturing him lurking...

okay, i have to stop picturing that.

when we first discovered the break-out i very bravely picked up all four shells in the cage and brought them frightfully near my eye to see if there was somehow a little crabby hiding in it's depths.  but i have to confess to you, that every time i turned a shell over there was a voice inside me saying "please be empty, please be empty, please be empty".  incredibly selfish when my daughter was looking at me with her huge despairing eyes.

she cried in bed the following night.  "i loved curious!" she moan,.
"well, honey, he wasn't exactly a cuddly pet"
"no"
"he wasn't a pet that played or that was even friendly, really"
"he was more friendly than george!" [the other hermit crab that died on the drive here from saskatoon]
"yes, i'll give him that.  but... he was a.... hermit."

who thought of making a hermit crab a pet in the first place!? didn't the word hermit clue them off to the fact that these crabs are not looking for loving companionship?  [just to remind you, we were given these crabs, so you can just stop that train of thought about how stupid we were to buy them to begin with].

if i don't sound incredibly sensitive or sympathetic to my daughter, trust me, you wouldn't be either.  one look at those wandering antennae eyes and snapping claws...what if he's under my bed right now?!  no, okay, i did try and console her with the fact that curious died in a fitting way - on an adventure.  he lived up to his name.  "curiosity killed the hermit crab".  he threw off the confining structures of his world, broke free from stereotype and conventional thought, and walked out of that shell.  he died a free crab. (as i was waxing eloquent on these points she looked up at me and said "in this light, it looks like you're joking" - as though, the dim light of her bedroom must be tricking her eyes because there's no way her mother would be trying to comfort her in such a manner.  whoops!)

and to her credit, my daughter has handled the searing loss quite well.  just last night she was online researching turtles.  which, from what we can tell, are highly poisonous and should never be considered as a pet.  fantastic!  my life as an adult pet-owner has been quite the ride:  gerbil poop in the kitchen, escapee hermit crab, why not add poisonous environmental hazard to the mix?  how about a komodo dragon?  electric eel?  baboon?  oh the places we can go.

and to you curious: despite your general lack of affection, gross ugliness and obvious unhappiness, you will be missed.  my daughter's heart was big enough to welcome you in - as she makes pets of wood bugs and names earth worms and once carried a wounded dragon fly around on her shoulder for an entire afternoon.

please don't take it personally when i say that, wherever you are, i hope you are no longer among the living.

okay, i have to stop picturing that.

dead rainbows.

'i saw a dead rainbow today mom.  it was lying in a puddle.'
                                      -my son, this week, 6 years old.

i started to explain that there was probably oil or gas or some sort of chemical in the puddle, and that it wasn't the same as a rainbow, and that nothing had died.....
scott started explaining that that's what happens to rainbows when someone finds their pot of gold.  scott is by far the best at 'creative explanation' in our family  (he hates it when i call it what it is: lying).   i wonder which of our children will inherit his giftedness.  since i found an entire game hidden behind a lunch box today, a game my son had assured me he had cleaned up, i think i know who to bet on.  along with the fact that he saw a dead rainbow.

i have made it through my first of five weeks of crazy, where i'm working at my new job and teaching two art lessons on top of what has here-to-fore been my full time job of being a housewife and artist.  in the last two weeks i have moved from having no schedule, other than housework and painting, to having to colour coordinate my day planner.  well, i probably don't have to colour coordinate, but it does give me a sense of satisfaction :).  green for meals, blue for household, black for appointments, purple for work, pink for art classes.  it's a freakin' dead rainbow!

there is definitely a degree of satisfaction when i hit the pillow at night - like, "i'm doing it".  i'm the modern woman who works and keeps the house humming and makes valentines and attends PTA meetings and does her hair.  i have joined the ranks of bagged lunches and professional dress and speaking sentences like "sorry, i work that day".  it's been almost exactly 10 years since i've done this, and MAN am i ever filled with gratitude that i didn't have to when the kids weren't in school.  and MAN am i ever filled with awe at my friends who do!  it is a constant rotation of responsibilities.  but also a satisfying sense of competence - like i'm living at my highest potential.  add any more speed and i might literally explode, but i'm humming along the highway, marveling at how quickly the trees are flying by me, and periodically enjoying the wind in my hair.

and tomorrow i stop the car.  sabbath.  hallelujah.  hopefully the rain will slow and scott and i can find the ocean tomorrow.  it's harder to find than you'd think - like all of your responsibilities and worries and laziness keeps you from its shore.  but the last time we were there it felt like we were at heaven's edge.  we were shrouded in mist, rocks jutted out eerily from the cloud and water, seagulls walked right up to where we sat and looked at us questioningly.  we saw a seal pop it's head silently above the surface, and scuba divers waddling to shore.  it was silent, save for a few bird cries and the lap of the small waves.  it ignited something in me - dissatisfaction? desire? and also quieted me.  the seemingly endless vista.  i wonder what it must have felt like before people knew vancouver island was there, before the world was mapped, and the ocean spoke of chaos and the unknown.  to some the brink of adventure.  to some the brink of terror.

and now i stand at the brink of a new week, my toes wet, the tide pulling me deeper in.  will i let the rainbow of my weeks work terrify me, or will i adventurously plunge?    will i kill or be killed?

right now it's 50/50.

movie lesson

on wednesday night scott and i, exhausted and in need of escape, watched the movie "about time".  i won't give anything away, except that it's a great movie, and that one of its themes is the pleasure of living life to it's fullest:  eyes open to wonder, a heart of gratitude, simplistic enjoyment.

friday was a pro-d day, and a day for me to gear down from my recently accelerated life of work and art classes and painting and mothering and housework and wife-ing.  a day with long stretches unclaimed.  i thought i would do my best to enjoy it 'to the fullest'.

i kept my ears open, and heard the hygienist in the cubical down the hall exclaim over my son "best seven year old ever!!!"  i then marinaded in the moment of telling her "he's actually six".   i listened as my daughter explained to her little brother that the tooth fairy couldn't bring him the giant pokemon tin because "she can't carry it in her little hands!!".  i cherished the little smile the sales lady gave me when i quickly bought some pokemons behind his back.

i washed the floor to taylor swift.  seriously - if you start feeling sorry for yourself halfway through your vacuuming, i highly suggest her "red" album for a quick cleaning pick-me-up.  there's something about the tune "i knew you were trouble when you walked in...." that just makes my cleaning regime as close to fun as i think it can be.  i belted it out and set my floor to sparkle.  my kids sang along as they built lego.

i told my little ones the story of how their father showed me my first blue angel when we were first married, and how i laughed the hardest i have ever laughed.  and how lighting your farts on fire is actually akin to waving around an uncontrolled flame thrower so under no circumstances should they attempt it.  and their eyes were round as saucers and they covered their smiling mouths with their hands and looked at their father like he was a walking miracle.

i kept my eyes on the row while my family watched the lego movie, watched my son look like he was on the verge of tears when the main character was told he wasn't special, later watched both my kids laughing their heads off, teetering at the edges of their seats, and my husband smiling with his mouth wide.  i was sitting beside leah and at one point i said "i am seriously crying in the lego movie" to which she responded "i'm bawling" and then we laughed and laughed.  i love watching movies with leah, i can always count on her to have my emotionally sensitive back.

later we crossed the street walking like lego characters - "no knees!" i cried.

so, i would say it worked, this "in time" theory.  i thoroughly enjoyed my highly normal day of dentist and cleaning and mothering and friendship.  i suppose walking through your day with the expressed desire of looking for the best in whatever comes is a lot more fun then my usual - just making it through whatever comes.

so here's to tomorrow with open eyes and ears and heart, tastebuds ablaze, deep breath, fingertips alive, and spirit soaring.  i hope you live it to its fullest.

(whoops!  i posted this three days ago with the wrong movie title at the beginning.  yikes!  that could have got me in some serious trouble...thankfully the movie "in time" which i had mistakenly referenced is a Justin Timberlake movie, which i have also seen, but did not learn any life lessons from)

grump

i woke up grumpy today, for no apparent reason.  i ran through the scenarios while journalling...am i sick? am i over tired?  did i eat something i shouldn't have? am i stressed?  over worked?  pms?  nope, nothing.  just grumpy.  so, shoulders back, smiles on, fight fight fight!!!  working through a day where your reflexive expression is "be quiet!" is a lot harder than surviving a day founded on a positive outlook.
but here i am, children reading in bed, a small bowl of olives and my computer.  i've survived.

my children are actually reading in the same bed, side by side on their tummys, one with garfield, another with a junior novel about pre-teens who are remarkable responsible for their ages and have started a cupcake company.  man my nine year old is sheltered.  she stirred a pot at the stove for thirty seconds today, terror written all over her face, until she finally bailed with a "it's too hot!".  she did however let me know that cooking safety dictates saucepan handles face into the stove.  and people poo-poo our public school system.

the reason they are sharing a bed is that today one of my husbands dreams for our home came true:  we bought a loft bed for our son.  his room is teeny tiny, covered in lego, and sticking his bed four feet in the air has literally doubled his play space.  yippee scott!  he's been researching and checking craigslist and dreaming for months now.  i don't know who's more excited about the purchase, my son or my husband.

maybe that's why i'm grumpy - images of my 6 year old careening off his bed in the middle of the night.  stop it janet! stop it!

there is much to tell you in the way of celebration.  it has been a full month, getting my website up and running and planning two art classes that begin in february.  the plan back in september when i entered my season of "rest" was that the season would end in january.  things looked a little bleak when the second week of the month hit and i was still unemployed.  i have been putting a lot of pressure on myself to make some money - pressure that feels like i'm a boiling pot with a too-tight lid.  my mind swirling with ideas and what ifs and hows, and sometimes why.  guilt.  dismay.

needless to say, i was in no mood for blogging.

but something miraculous happened this week.  truly.
to give you the full girth of the miracle i need to back up a bit.  in november i was offered a job as an executive administrator for the hypnosis society of canada.  i know, totally random, but a friend at our church currently holds the position and needs to give it up.  it was great hours, great pay...great.  but there was this little niggling feeling about it that wouldn't let up.  i talked to multiple counselors that i admire and all confirmed what i believed, that hypnosis is a viable and helpful psychiatric tool.  i had seen an ad for one of the society's functions though, and it mentioned something about accessing your past lives.  i was concerned that i would be working for a foundation that i could not wholeheartedly endorse.  so i said no.  which was difficult, let me tell you.  definitely a step of faith.

last sunday one of the counselors that i had called to chat with about the hypnosis society position beckoned me over to him. [ it was one of those movie scenes where he's across the room, curling his finger my direction, telling me to come over, and i'm looking behind me wondering who he's summoning, and i point my finger to my chest - "me?!"  yes, me.]  he let me know that a man in the church who is a financial adviser was looking for administrative help.  "should i give him your name?" he asked.

by friday i had the job.  and it's awesome.  walking distance from my house - i could walk with the kids to school and just carry on.  positioned in the neighbourhood shopping complex - above the library of all places (!!!), beside my dentist, and meters from my grocery store.  really flexible part time hours where i can still be home when the kids are.  good pay.  and, best of all, i am working for a man that uses his financial wisdom to make the lives of others better.  a great, god-fearing man who i can wholeheartedly endorse. yay!  it is such a gift to find meaningful work that will not follow me home and will not place me in any moral dilemmas.  seriously.  miracle.

my step of faith was met with great faithfulness.  thank you God.

one of the really fun things is that he told me i "had him at my handwriting".  he had been complaining that a previous-hire had really bad handwriting "in this business a 6 needs to look like a 6!".  i discreetly give him one of my business cards and hand wrote my new website address on the front (what a clever girl i am).  "oh my!" he exclaimed.  and that, my friends, is how it's done.

no, seriously.  praise God that there is some good reason for my lifetime of anality when it comes to my penmanship.  

so, truly nothing to be grumpy about.  actually, writing this seems to have cleared away a few cobwebs.  or maybe its the fact that the kids are falling asleep and it is now adult time in the anderson household.  cue the popcorn and Doc Martin!  i know, good thing we wait until the kids are down.  so feisty.

i wrote in my journal this morning that next week the gun goes off, and i start running again.  i hope i have set a good pace for myself - monday sabbath, tuesday and thursday work, wednesday and friday paint and teach an art class.  i must remember to keep hydrated, breath deeply and stretch out a few times a week with yoga.  i feel ready.  i am at the starting line and i'm smiling.

we'll see how long that lasts grumpy pants.

ps.  my husband just read this and said "you should have blogged earlier in the day if it helped you get over your grumpiness".  hmmm.  i guess he noticed.

oh my goodness oh my goodness

it's finally here!!!!
www.janetspaintedlife.com

and to celebrate, i'm reducing my prices!!!!  did you read that right?  yes you did.

no seriously, due to the fact that i live in a city that is literally bubbling over with artists, and drowning in art, i am reducing my prices.  this is not a joke.  and although i feel a little like i have a clearance sign on my back, i think it's a good step.

and since i am just using this post to shamelessly plug myself, why don't i let you know that i'm teaching a class as well?  it's an oil painting class, thursday nights or friday mornings, in february and the first half of march.  don't you want to paint with me in my kitchen?  i know you do!

soon and very soon i'll actually post something that's actually a post.  but in the meantime....did i mention my new website?