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    I am a terrible blogger. When I realized right now that it was over a year since I last posted anything, the truth about my commitment to this section of my webpage was revealed. I just didn't really care. 2020 to 2021 was, and has been, the year of Covid 19 pandemic. Keeping up with my blog just was not a priority this year with everything else that happened. Riots, elections, and so sadly, people getting sick and just dying throughout the world. My own little world seems insignificant in light of all I had witnessed up to this point.  


    I had my own drama to deal with on top of all that the world was going through. I found myself having to move in with my youngest son. That was a 450 mile move from one state to another with no job in place and a few bucks to my name. This was during a pandemic, while still grieving the loss of my oldest son from the previous year. Once I got to his apartment, there was literally no furniture other than his one desk and bed. For the next two and a half months, I would decorate and furnish our two bedroom, one bath haven into a real home. Which, I knew at the time, would welcome my elderly mother with dementia. She moved in with us on month five in my new home. She has dementia.


    My world had to rock back into caregiver mode once again. The little stream of income I received monthly was never going to pay all of my expenses. The trick I had to do was find a part-time job that would keep me and my family safe during this pandemic. With my prior experiences in caregiving, I found that was actually a very safe job to do. Most of my clients were homebound, never going anywhere other than to doctor's appointments. My mom only needs part-time assistance with her needs, so two to four hours shifts worked well for me. My son, on the other hand, decided to go into trucking to survive the world-wide health crisis. He was gone so much, that it was really easy to live in this apartment. When he comes home, I sleep in the living room. When he is on the road, I sleep in his room. My mother took over my bedroom. It has been how we have survived this crisis year to this point.


    And, in spite of it all, I did try to continue my art making processes when I had the free time. I manage to crank out two paintings since moving here. That does not seem like a lot, and it isn't. But, my days are punctured with needs of people who, on different levels, need my assistance in helping them live in their homes with their health issues. When I wasn't dealing with caregiving, I do confess to struggling with my own physical and mental health issues. There were days I just could not bring myself to paint. When I did paint, I decided to chose old photo's from places that mean a lot to me. Places I lived in and have a history to.


    My last painting, " A Blue Vase" is actually the compilation of two photo's into one. At the time that I began it, we were in a typical Pacific North West dreary winter. I missed the sunlight and the clouds that once graced my vision, bringing hopefulness. The photo I liked, by itself was not enough to make a good painting. Since I was playing around last Spring with florals, I decided to add the photo of some daffodils I had taken. Thus, "A Blue Vase" was begun. The background depicts hope and the power of this world to create change. The middle ground is the trees and the dark bushes that stand between us and the changes we wish to make. The shadows of the middle ground is the grief that encroaches our lives. The blue vase and flowers are the shortness of life we all live. We only are here a short time. Yet, we are the foreground. We dominate the painting. We are the first thing we care about. In this pandemic year, our short time to live has been brought to our attention. This painting is about the power of nature, the grief we must carry, and the fragility we are forced to reckon within ourselves.