It’s no surprise really, that when I first started to paint, a lot of the women looked like my mother. Even the greeting cards that were a bit cartoonish, carried her smile, and that unexpected wit. Proof positive, I guess, that what’s inside of you will always find a way out.
It’s still happening, without my knowledge, or permission, people get in and come out on the canvas. I finished a small painting in my sketchbook the other day. Dominique said, “Oh, that looks like my cousin.” His son agreed. And now when I look at pictures of her, I see it. I see her. People get in.
This, I suppose, is why it’s so important to surround yourself with good people. Positive people. Positive information. Books and music that teach us. News that is actually news, and not propaganda. Because it all gets in. And if it gets in, the negativity, it will have to find its way out. And then it just grows and grows. I don’t want that passing through the stream of my heart and mind. So I make choices. Some are easy. Some are not. But all necessary. Leaving space for the joyful surprises of the goodness that travels all around me. All around us.
The canvas continues to remind me, to “Let someone in. Let someone go. After you’ve seen it all, you won’t remember the windows and doors, but who passed through.”
We went to Cocoa Beach, Florida in the winter of my Seventh Grade. It was my first, I guess only, school vacation. We went to see my grandparents. I looked out the airplane window into the blue sky and wondered what they would be wearing, these Minnesota farmers. I had never seen either of my grandparents in shorts. Not to mention on vacation.
They picked us up at the airport. He in pants. She in a dress. I hugged them so hard, these new people that we had all to ourselves for the very first time. The same sun that lit them in this new color, jumped into my heart and filled it.
I heard it before I saw it, the ocean. My grandpa stood near the deck of the condo and waved me out to the beach. He was in shadow then as I looked back. But still so tall. So recognizable. And I was old enough to know it wasn’t true, but it felt like this was his, and he was giving it all to me.
I stayed out too long in my newly found gift. My lavender/white skin burned to a crisp and bubbling red. My grandma rubbed me in vinegar and slept on the floor beside me.
Creamed and covered for the next 6 days, they took me to Disney World. Cape Canaveral. The dog track. The outlet mall. This was a once in a lifetime, I thought. Not because of the sites, but because of them. The time. Oh, what a time!
Returning to Central Junior High after the break. Everyone was exchanging vacation stories. Most were fascinated with Janie, the surgeon’s daughter. They had gone skiing. She had the deep dark face tan, but for the goggled area around the eyes. Everyone oooed and aaaaahed. Someone looked at me and said, “I thought you went to Florida.” “I did! I did!” I said in delight. “But you’re not even tan.” No, my burn had peeled away and slipped down the shower drain the night before our return. “It was wonderful!” I continued. But they wanted proof. Evidence. I couldn’t believe they couldn’t see it. My full heart.
Maybe they were ahead of their time. Wanting to see the selfie of the moment. But I knew I had it. I carry the evidence with me daily. Maybe these words are my proof. Maybe not. It doesn’t really matter. Because I know. I know what I had. What I will always have. I look back, and I see him standing there. Smiling. So recognizable, even today. He, they, gave it all.
