When Life Gives You Lemons…
Get on with it.
Months ago, when I started this blog, I decided to call it My Creative Process because I thought people who are drawn to my work might be curious about my process. I’ve always enjoyed learning what’s behind an artist’s work, because I feel it enrichens the work. But I also entitled the blog My Creative Process because I wanted to give myself free rein to write about a broad spectrum of topics, in a variety of ways: expository, story-telling, prose and poetry.
This week, I was diagnosed with a new case of Lyme disease, from an embedded tick I found in my ear (!) a week ago. My daughter dug the tick out with tweezers, and we sent it off to the lab. Sure enough, it tested positive for Borrelia Burgdorferi (the bacteria that causes Lyme). Because I started feeling flu-like symptoms within 3-4 days of finding the tick, my doctor assumed I have Lyme, and started me on 20 days of doxycycline, yet again. Some of you may know that my Lyme diagnosis in 2018 was what seemed to trigger the cascade of illness that’s been plaguing me since… my overarching diagnosis being CIRS (chronic inflammatory response syndrome) escalated by Lyme and mold toxicity. I tested positive again 2 years later, and I’ve had multiple rounds of antibiotics for Lyme, but they didn’t always seem to get rid of it.
Of course, my first response, upon finding the tick in my painful, red ear was complete panic. “Just pull it the fuck out, yank it!!” I shouted at my daughter, between grimaces and yelps. My poor daughter, who hates all things medical, was the only one who could do it, since I could only get a glimpse of it in a mirror. After a miserable digging process, she got most of it out, and the rest, unfortunately stayed in my ear and will have to work its way out over time.
My first reaction when I got the tick’s lab results back was “Omg, not AGAIN!” And I confess there was some sulking and self-pitying going on for a day or so. But then I decided that the best thing I can do is just: get on with it. Specifically, keep painting, keep writing, taking care of my puppy and myself, and get the treatment going. And then, get on with it some more. Live my life despite Lyme.
I have been extremely tired this week and being on puppy-duty on top of feeling sick, I’ve had very little time and less energy to paint. But I am still painting every second Leo is napping— I’ve learned that everything else can wait, because those are precious quiet minutes! And I’ve continued to write my poems in the mornings, which is my best time of day right now, before the headaches get worse and I lose my ambition! I still love composing them, even though I still feel like I don’t know what I’m doing. And maybe that’s exactly why I enjoy them!
So I offer you Part II of my poem-share. I Dream in Green is a poem written about the painting I just finished, that's near the end of this post. The others all revolve around the current, dominant themes in my life: my puppy Leo, experiences of nature, illness, and dreams. I hope you enjoy! And I am always happy to hear from you, dear reader. And thank you for staying with me. ❤️
Oh, the Stars
Oh, the stars. What I thought was
the little dipper is actually
the great empty square
full of the darkest midnight
blue, seven points beckon me.
Imagine: the billions of years
the universe has existed,
and the billions of eyes
of all the earthly creatures
that have gazed upon it.
I am a spark, ephemeral
yet inside me exists
my own universe, vast
infinitely expansive, emotions so
high and low, far and wide.
I have my own constellation
of thoughts and feelings
illuminating my night.
This dark dawn I recite
my simple grace:
my puppy slept all night;
my mother, also my child
dozes nearby;
and my three children
safely slumber
in their own beds.
I lie awake, awash
in the sweet epitome
of silent tranquility,
amazed by the umbrella
of the universe inside
and above.
Fuzzle
Tiny fuzzy muzzle
Bright miniature eyes
Always watching me.
Lamb-fur-perfection
Licky-kisses on my chin
The odor of puppy-breath
Elicits a rush of memories.
We will find our rhythm
In the meantime
I sync my body to yours
Sweet Little One.
Sunrise
Sunrise is my favorite part of the day.
Cool light bringing so many possibilities,
the sky showing off different palettes
dramatic and moody and defiant.
So much to do, so many hours ahead
one cup of deliciously aromatic coffee awaits.
My little pup is feisty and spicy
piss and vigor, nips and bursts
manic energy seeking release.
It makes me smile and feel old
aware of my aching muscles
my swollen joints, and last night’s
anxieties that kept me wide awake
while the Little One slept by my bed.
Mother isn’t well, did I miss something?
The numbers said my kidneys are failing
am I running out of money,
destined to be alone, losing my mind
cursed by a genetic affliction?
My dreams run on, repeating persistently
unrequited, relentless reverberation:
a dinner party that never happens
a murderer with an obsession for me
who never dies, despite being shot
my daughter has diarrhea
and worries me into a stomach-ache
she looks for the bathroom
in a huge auditorium of death-watchers.
With the relief of dawn
I make a new pledge
to refocus, and readjust
to recommit, and realign
to somehow touch the smooth
white paper that patiently awaits
to care for my mother, my children
myself, my creatures
to try and do better
and also to forgive.
I Saw a Spaceship in a Tree
I am walking down my road
marveling at how the dried, dead
meadow grasses and shrubs
harken Reuben’s disheveled fur
when I see a small spaceship
in a tree, with its one eye
watching me, wisely.
The size of a football
smartly camouflaged in browns
it sits high in the leafless branches
next to my neighbor’s house.
I’m sure its gaze is what
urges me to look up and make
eye contact. But before I know it
I look away, pretending
not to notice it. How strange
this little thing looks
with a wrinkled Yoda-like eye
and feet like sprouts
catching the sunlight.
Maybe it’s solar-powered
maybe it knows the future
and surely it knows what the vastness
of the galaxy feels and smells like.
And also, more importantly!
We both depend on a star
that we call our glorious sun.
Is it intentionally small and
cute, like my puppy
so I find it irresistible?
And in fact, I do.
I glance back at it
but it has already transformed
into a bundle of
dried leaves, like a ball
like a silent magician
and I smile at myself.
My brain isn’t fooled
and that comical truth
is all that matters in this
delicious fleeting moment
on a November afternoon.
Lyme-Dreams
In my dream last night,
my mind made up
a man whose name
I might know;
something
may have happened
between us
but in the dream
I can’t quite remember.
When I'm awake, I realize
I don’t know that man.
How did my mind
a jumble of neurons
create a face
I’ve never seen?
A talking, living human
no detail left out
down to the sound of his voice
his awkward gate
the scar on his chest
just six notations
and the stubble on his chin.
What missive is my
Unconscious sending me?
Sometimes, in dreams
memory is like walking
with sunglasses in the woods
shrouded in early morning darkness:
I search for the trees with
a hint of light, barely discerning.
As night reveals morning
my thoughts become clear,
apprehension subsides.
Or does it just retreat?
Hiding in the forest, waiting for
me to roam around, as I grope
and feel my way through another
fitful night of Lyme-dreams?
Ode to the Little Tick in my Ear
Little tick, little tick
In my ear,
Your legs in my mirror
Make me shriek
And your tiny needle mouth
Feels like a little spear.
Little tick, little tick,
In my ear,
You are only doing
What you were designed
To do on this earth, but
I wish you weren’t here.
Little tick, little tick,
In my ear,
I don’t love you,
I don’t even like you,
But it’s really your diseases
I fear.
"I Dream in Green", gouache on paper, 30" x 22", 2024.
I Dream in Green
One foggy San Francisco night
when I was reckless and headstrong
I dreamt I birthed a gorgeous
Sea-Green-Patterned-Painting.
Interlocking shapes: kilim and claws
turquoise greens, phthalo tints and raw siennas
and warmth radiating from the scent of oils
a meadow of saturation I breezed into.
I was wild and stubborn then
(maybe I still am, today)
intolerant of conventional confines
seeking hedonic pleasure
and living for moments when
catecholamines flooded my brain.
My canvases were huge, and muscular
bathed in the resins of trees and petroleum
the fumes made me dopey and dizzy.
Or was it the self-starvation?
Every few years I attempt to recreate
this evasive green pattern, searching
my memory, revisiting emerald
surfaces in my mind, craving.
Each time, impossible and thrilling:
a new life, a new work, bearing new references
of grasses and leaves, of oceans and flowers,
of the land to which we all belong.
Today, a proposal:
to respect and honor the planet
so that each tiny microcosm, a fractal
within the infinite macrocosm
can flourish, bloom, and complete its cycle.
Maybe love is this way too: a life cycle that is born from
a chance more meaningful than God, the reason
for being that ages and changes, just like
the plants that sprout and the animals that die
leaving us heartbroken, yet unbearably grateful.