Saturday, March 15, 2008

Adios Pepa......

Earlier this evening, while at the table painting, I recieved a call from my mom telling me that my godmother, Pepa, died. And towards the end of the call she told me she has cancer again in her breast, and surgery was schedule for next week. How does a person digest or react to such news? My godmother, who I loved dearly, passing away, and my mom having cancer again shouldn't be in the same phone conversation. My senses were numbed from the shock. After telling Linda the news, she immediately was in a state of sorrow. She canceled going out this evening. I felt that I was Ok to go out. Later I realized that it would be better if I stayed at home when Linda questioned me again about my feelings. I felt a little wierd that my emotions weren't mirroring those of Linda. It usually takes me a while to process such news before I start to mourn. But I did something new that I never did before after hearing terrible news, I did this drawing - a really tiny one. This really sums up what I'm going through at the moment.
During the phone call, all I remember was trying to console my mom as best as I could under such circumstances. There is nothing one can say to lessen the pain, I wish I could be next to her and hold her silently in my arms. She was devastated, crying and regretting not seeing her in the past 4 years. 2004 was the last time they saw each other. We've always talked about making plans to go see her again, but nothing was ever decided. I, like my mom, regret not seeing her. Although my godmother and I hardly spent a great deal of time together, I felt a close connection with her. I feel awful that I didn't make more of an effort to get my passport and start saving money for a trip. I always thought of her and prayed for her since she was a sick woman and still in mourning for her son, who past away more than 9 years ago. I hardly called her, but when I did she started to cry and told me how much she loved me. Her emotions made it difficult for me to talk to her. I always believed I communicated better with her through my prayers and thoughts, and now, maybe through drawing. She was a sweet, sensitive, and kind spirit who was devoted to her religion. I will always remember how beautiful and graceful she looked. She always displayed a peaceful demeanor with a radiant smile, and I can never forget the purity and joy in her eyes that I saw constantly on our last visit at her home.

Pepa, I miss you dearly and I'm sorry that I wasn't there when you passed
away. You always had a home in my heart in which you constantly dwelled. I
promise to never forget our time together and will cherish every hug, kiss,
advice, and sweet tamales you've given me. We will see each other again,
but now you can enjoy being together again with your beloved son and
parents. Adios Pepa.
Love,
Panchito



Tuesday, March 4, 2008

A Bit of Writing

Jesus Punched Lazarus.
You see,
Jesus was burying toys and sticks in a little mud mound.
It was a nice mound.
Its treasures concealed inside.
The mud was smooth and glossy.
"That's how people should be buried," Jesus thought.
How nice to be buried with things that were important.
Some toys, food, clothing, tools maybe.
Then the earth would be pregnant with your soul, your spirit, your livelihood, your life.
We could be born again.
And again. And again. And again.
We would always have life.
We would fall in love again. Take our first steps again. Enjoy everything again.
And all the while we'd store our histories in the earth, and over time know each other.
We'd understand each other, be more compassionate...
-STOMP!-
Lazarus purposely squashed the perfect mound.
The mud spotted Jesus' face.
It stung his eyes.
It dripped into his mouth.
Jesus stood and looked Lazarus in the eye.
Lazarus stopped laughing.
Time held its breath.
Lazarus was new, as was Jesus.
Neither of them had been buried in a mound.
The earth had not been pregnant with them. Nothing was stored. Histories not yet collected.
So,
Jesus punched Lazarus.

-Linda

Good Quote About Art

"Art is what you can get away with, said somebody or other, which makes it sound like shoplifting or some other minor crime. And maybe that's all it ever was, or is: a kind of stealing. A hijacking of the visual."

-Cat's Eye by Margaret Atwood

Sunday, March 2, 2008

Getting Over Stuff

So, I've been thinking about my life. Myself. Understanding the part of me that acts the way it does without my input. Sometimes that part can be great, like if I'm quick to act in a situation. Or I go into overdrive when I need to meet a deadline or come through for a friend.

Then there's those parts that hold you and don't let you breathe. The part that makes you give and share yourself to a person who doesn't care. To a person who's indifferent. Then I think about life. There's only about, what, 75 or so years in it? And should any of those years be ignored or insignificant?

This topic has been coursing through my brain on and off for months. Today I found a sentence written about a musician, Sara Bareilles, that perfeclty words what I've been struggling with. It read that her latest album covers "her past relationships, insecurities, and inner battles with trying to trust her instincts".

...relationships, insecurities, and inner battles to trust my instincts...

Trust my instincts. Yeah. I think I oughtta do that.

-Linda