Jon spent a good part of the day with Leola yesterday. The caregivers said she needed some slippers. I know she has some, but Jon thought they wanted her to have slippers that would keep her from going outside since she's still doing that. He took her shopping, to lunch and on a couple of errands he had.
He returned from his time with her depressed and weary. Her confusion is profound now. She asked him if he had children at least 8 times within a half hour, didn't know what his relationship was to her and repeatedly talked about wanting to go home. He feels she isn't happy there, but realizes she won't be happy unless she is in a childhood home with her parents again, which of course is impossible. Her health hasn't changed at all (seemingly unaffected by the cancer).
As I've mentioned, her room has been untouched since she moved to foster care 2 months ago. Maybe it was the visit with her yesterday or maybe he just needed time to process all of it, but Jon woke up today ready to start going through her things. I secretly jumped for joy since I can't wait to get that shit out of here. He is bothered by a certain fragrance that seems to permeate many of her clothes, coats, linens and throw pillows. Its origin is no doubt from a previously long-time use of a certain perfume. I don't find it unpleasant, but it is noticeable. Jon can't stand it, so he went to a carton business and got 2 big wardrobe boxes so he can put her clothes in the storage locker. So here we were once again going through her decades-old garments, doing triage with them - one pile to put in the boxes, another pile to take to her foster care and another pile to throw out. If a garment was stained, ripped or worn it went into the throw-away pile. These were things that weren't good enough for the Good Will. Sure enough, there were a lot in the throw-away category. I was pleased Jon was throwing out at least that much. I slyly threw out many kitchy nick-knacks, old pens, bows, tea towels, hot water bottles and the like knowing none of that stuff would ever sell in the garage sale we will eventually have to conduct. After going through the clothes, Jon moved the two ugly dressers under the house, but kept the other 2 in the room so as to make it less cluttered. As I looked at all the boxes of other stuff stacked in the room, I knew we still had a long way to go, but this was a start.
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About Me
- Julie Blackman
- For me, making art is many things, but mostly it is an emotional journey. Each painting I make evolves from its original inspiration – a particular place that I found so exquisite or inspiring that I felt compelled to interpret its reality in my own way. In “Naked Chronicle” I share this intimate journey so that you may take away some understanding of what happens during this process we call making art. It can be a dark struggle and is often not pretty, but the rewards are many. “Naked Chronicle” sprang from an earlier blog of mine called “Naked Metamorphosis” which was a raw unedited journal of my transition from teaching full-time, to caregiver for my mother-in-law with dementia, who had moved in with us at the time I retired. A few months later she was moved to foster and my blog dried up for lack of material. Writing the blog had been both therapeutic and enjoyable. So was born “Naked Chronicle” – a bare story of making art in all its exposed magnificence. Whether you are a fellow artist, scientist, dog groomer or postal worker, you can travel with me on this expedition into the creative process.
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