Holiday, Love Lives On, Motivational poster, Quote, Valentine, widow
Some thoughts on love and a little Valentine’s day heARTwork. Can you love more than one person at a time? Of course, you can. How do you hold the love for those who are not with you in this life? Do you speak their name? Share memories and stories of their life? Do you remember them in quiet moments of internal reflection that require no words at all? Do you see them in a look or hear them in the laugh of someone else you love? Love lives...
children, Father's Day, gratitude, Holiday
“I believe that what we become depends on what our fathers teach us at odd moments, when they aren’t trying to teach us. We are formed by little scraps of wisdom.” ~ Umberto Eco I’m grateful today for the awesome fathers in the lives of my children and my bonus children. They have taught lessons both on purpose and without trying. Amazing men I am proud to know and...
grief, Holiday, moving forward, Photograph by Ken Gehle, Thanksgiving
Our lives are altered now, we know that. We feel it every day. We feel it more acutely at the holidays. Traditions that we had become accustomed to are different even when we follow the same routine. But sometimes following those same traditions to the letter is not what we want anymore, or family dynamics get in the way. The first Thanksgiving after my husband died my daughter and I could not bear our annual tradition of Thanksgiving at the beach. A lump has to be cleared from my throat every time I think of that last chilly walk on the beach that turned out to be the last walk on the beach we would ever take together. The following year we did manage to go back there. It was not as hard as I anticipated but Ken’s gaping absence from the gathering was palpable. Rather than having dinner at the house we went to a restaurant. It was a good way for all of us to alter the tradition without throwing it out entirely. It was hard but it was good. Since then we have had to evolve again and, for the first time last year, I made Thanksgiving dinner myself. I’ll do it again this year. Ken was always the cook in our family so I’m still learning to time it right but it was edible. And this year I might even attempt his family’s apple pie with crust made from scratch for the first time. My son remembers it and has put in the request so I’ll give it a shot. As for the gratitude portion...
children, grief, heARTmaking activities, Holiday
Halloween marks the gateway to the holidays for me. Family traditions start to take center stage again, the air turns crisp and I can feel the ghosts of ‘what was’ starting to gather. Long-standing ways of marking the special days don’t work quite the same now. We adjust. For as long as I can remember, Ken made homemade pizza on Halloween. He was a master at making the yeast dough, hovering over it the better part of the day to punch it down when needed. I’m a decent cook but pizza dough that is consumable is not in my bag of tricks. (Our daughter helps in this photo taken fifteen years ago today.) I tried to make it myself one year but that effort resulted in a lump of goo at the bottom of the trash can and tears, mine. We ordered a pizza; it was not the same in many ways. So we adjust again. We could abandon the practice but I would prefer to preserve it for my son who is still at home. He has memories of Halloween pizza just like I do. Soon I will be off to the bakery where they sell a fine freshly made pizza dough in a plastic bag. My son doesn’t trick-or-treat anymore so maybe he will help me put it together tonight, the evolution of a tradition. Last year I offered a workshop with tips on getting through the holidays when you are grieving a loss. It included a short activity booklet with tips and tools that I include for you here. I hope you find it useful this season....
art, creativity, Father's Day, grief, Holiday
He wore a suit and hat. Always. My Papa was a Banker living in a city of flip flops, bathing suits, cotton candy, Ferris wheels and changing tides. He appeared a little incongruous in his environment. The man mowing the lawn in suit pants, sleeves of his sky blue dress shirt rolled up to the elbow. Wingtips on the beach. He wanted to be an artist but came of age during the Great Depression. There was no money to continue college let alone lead the life of an artist. It was not a sensible choice. He worked, married, had a child, and moved to the coastal town that still feels like home to me two generations later. He saw a need and worked to fill it. His family grew. The painter he had been at fourteen receded. I might have caught a glimpse of him occasionally when Papa paused in the hall next to a painting he had created a lifetime before. Yet I never had the sense that he regretted his career. He built something useful, creating it from the ground up. He was quite captivated by the people he helped in their own creation stories and even those he couldn’t help but who succeeded anyway. He spoke of them with pride and respect. Over a well-lived life the young watercolorist learned his own form of expression. He created with a different medium. Correspondence with Memory I’m taking an online art class offered by Penn State and this week’s assignment was Mail Art. We were charged with recalling a memory and documenting it by making both envelope and...
ALAL on Facebook
ALAL on Pinterest
Tamara on LinkedIn
Follow on Twitter
