23

Recently I pondered what kind of a painter I would make.  I decided to find out, and I came to two conclusions.  1) I will not be quitting my day job to become an artist.  2) I need a better laundry detergent.

 

My recent visit to an art gallery where I chatted with the resident artist made a definite impression on me.  She suggested art as a form of therapy.  I liked that option, perhaps because I've seen way too many movies and TV shows where the shrink is a complete psycho.  Also, painting is cheaper.

 

 

Close to home, I found this wonderful place – Fresh Paint.  It is a painting studio and also a café.  The proprietor, Roxanne, is a charming lady, and an extremely talented artist.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Things got off to a messy start before I even sat down before my canvas.  I had a tendency to press the pumps on the paint containers too hard.  By the time my palette was full, I had Jackson Pollocked all my clothing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I chose an easel by the window, facing the street.  Why not let a bunch of strangers walking by outside stare over my shoulders at a physical manifestation of my twisted thoughts?

I am not known for making the best choices in colour.  My laundry room looks okay at night, but in natural light, the colour is something only a Smurf would love.  And I have a guest bedroom that is such a shade of green; it practically glows in the dark.  "Cappuccino"  sounded like a nice relaxing shade of brown for my sitting room – yep, the walls look pretty much like what you'd guess they look like.  At least all the ceilings look good.  Even I cannot get into too much trouble with white.  (But have you ever noticed how many shades of white are available?)

It took forever for me to actually touch the canvas with the brush.  But once you get going, it's fun.  I get to make a mess, nobody's grading me on it, someone else cleans up after me, and just steps away, there are cookies.  I highly recommend visiting this place.

I think I did pretty well at this new experience, considering that the right side of my brain is generally never called upon.  (Every time I've tried to come up with a really convincing lie, it has failed me completely.)  Its main job seems to be just preventing that side of my head from caving in.

 

When I was finally done swirling various blobs of paint around, mixing colours as though I had even the faintest clue what I was doing, Roxanne used a sophisticated technique for drying my magnum opus (hair dryer).  She then placed it in a large brown, paper bag, concealing it in the much the same fashion that winos on the street hide their bottles.  I was grateful. 

No, you don't get to see what I painted – that's way too personal.  This was just for therapy and stress relief.  Plus I have a feeling that if I showed it to an actual therapist, it might get me locked up.

 

 

 

One Thing That >50 Me Has Learned Along the Way...

Sydney Smith once said (sorry - I have no idea who Sydney Smith is, but I'm sure Google does), "It is the greatest of all mistakes to do nothing because you can only do a little.  Do what you can."  This made perfect sense to me the second I first read it, and I have tried to follow it as inspiration.  Then I discovered as a single homeowner that there was no choice but to apply it.  After getting home from a long day at the office, there is often no way to complete a large task in one evening – it has to be broken up into sub-tasks, and then hopefully it's done by the weekend.  If the only way that you can paint a room is one wall at a time, then that's what you do.  Making a job manageable by slicing it up into pieces makes it far more likely that you will start that job, and that you will eventually complete it.

22

When I started this project, I necessarily assumed that every new experience would be a positive one.  Who'd want to try something that makes you feel beyond awful?  But sometimes, life (or maybe our lifestyle) chooses negative experiences for us.  No pictures for this one, folks.  You want to see what it looks like?  Google it.

 

I sit here, generally behind on doing everything, as I recover from my very first (and dear God, please let it be my last) case of shingles.  If you've never had it, and you're wondering what this condition feels like, I recommend a simple, 3-step plan:

1. select at least 8 square inches of skin;
2. set fire to it;
3. catch the flu.

That pretty much covers it.

I'm grateful for the 3-times-a-day horse pills that are working to kill the active virus, but one should not necessarily take it as a personalized guarantee when the doctor says a medication is "generally well-tolerated by most people".  In my case it meant "will kind of make you feel like barfing, yet not quite, for the entire duration".

To add to the fun, this bug attacked my face, starting around my left eye – which eventually swelled shut, so at least I didn't have to look at it anymore.  But of course, the rest of it is so creature-from-the black-lagoon'ish, that I have not left the house in days for fear of large crowds bearing lighted torches and pitchforks chasing me.

One exception – night-time, with its glorious cover of darkness.  That's the only time I can sneak out to get some fresh air.  I suppose I could have some fun with it – pretend I'm a spy or a vampire, only able to venture out at night, lest my secret identity be discovered.  But I doubt too many spies or vampires use darkness to quickly run outside just to put their garbage bins at the curb for pick-up next morning.

Housebound, I look for distractions.  I have my work laptop, so at least I can work all day until I run out of energy (which I don't have much of in the first place).  Not much else to do except television and watching the groceries deplete.   (Most important thing is cat food, but I would never be stupid enough to let that run out.)

Perhaps I should be thinking of ways to avoid this condition in the future.  One of the most common triggers for shingles is stress.  Should I take up meditation?  I just can't picture it.  I'm not sure sitting cross-legged on the floor is a position I can even get into anymore. Or if I managed it, could I get out of it?  But if I could meditate lying down, I might just be willing to go shopping for a mantra.  (Whatever that is.)

One thing's for sure – I will definitely be looking into the shingles vaccine.  What's that, Mr. Pharmacist?  You don't know if my health benefits plan covers it?  Or how long it actually lasts?  And it costs how much?  You know what, Mr. Pharmacist?  Hand it over, and no one gets hurt.

 

One Thing That >50 Me Has Learned Along the Way...

The 2 most abused forms of technology are mobile phones and email.  While they may be wonderfully useful communication devices, let's be brutally honest – their existence has made our working lives much, much harder.  We're all now expected to generally be productive every waking minute of the day. And certainly for white collar workers, these technologies have increased the volume of our work exponentially.  But they're here to stay, as possibly the greatest evidence of the law of unintended consequences we could imagine.  Let's at least all try to remember one very important rule about them though, shall we?  If a matter is urgent/time-sensitive, text or email should NOT be used.  For goodness sake - TELEPHONE THE PERSON!