Meandering through memory loss

It snowed today. A lovely sticky snow that stuck to branches.
a person could say winter is still here, but it is Spring.
The calendar says so. Here in Minnesota the usual two step waltz forward and back between the seasons....warmth and cold.


Somehow refreshing to have a simple blanket of white. as if its purity could blot out the terrible world news of terrorist attacks in Brussels....as if...as if...once again trying to understand news that is too hard to understand..but feel...and wishing all the lit candles in memory cleared a way...and as fragile as those hopes are, they flicker and are strong.


It is Purim and the celebration of good over evil  in the ancient story is all the more poignant at this time of extreme brokenness with the rise of irrational and dark forces...


I visit my dear friend as always on a Wednesday afternoon..the news of the day is spread across her red bedspread...we reach as always for art and music as we begin our meandering conversation amid the synchronicity of a Vienna waltz that signifies and symbolizes my mother's presence, her best friend for decades..every day marked by a long philosophical conversation in which they shared troubles, rose up above them to discuss world events and then shared troubles again...somehow resolving so much along the way...and the bond of friendship so deep..and our families so woven together.


Even though my friend suffers from memory loss, we navigate our beloved territory of art with ease..I take her on a journey and read to her the NYT  descriptions of museum shows around the country..we soar off to these places in our imaginations and imagine all the beautiful art there is to behold. We make it to the Houston Museum, the Norton Museum in West Palm Beach and then with certainty back to the beloved Metropolitan Museum of Art....from moment to moment we meander through memory loss, but art anchors us and we find sure footing as we journey..landing at a show at the Met about Unfinished works of art by many artists..
My little phone takes us there and back...and we look at each piece carefully and find what is mysterious and unfinished in the works of art with blank faces and unpainted bodies...all of it complete somehow..and despite the empty space of memory loss and the meandering corridors it leads us down..we find our way home as art holds our hand.


darkening twilight descend..and I share the details and inspirations of my walk around the lake yesterday...my friend receives my inner life and holds it in her heart with clarity and enthusiasm...I feel like a ship who has sailed into a good port as we talk into the oncoming darkness of the evening.


the pure white snow holds each foot step of mine as I make it out to the car... renewed by our time together.....I feel the sadness of the world..distanced  a bit .....I feel healed by the circle of light created in our conversation


I drive home into the mystery of night...allowing my deeper questions to float down river where they find a home in larger answers out of sight where river meets the vast sea..

My Day.Entering the philosophers labyrinth of veiled memory and forgetfulness

My day


    It's a sunny day with crisp cold undertones. Still March in Minnesota, but spring is in the air. By the lake I take delight in hearing the lapping of the waves at the shore..The beautiful stick sculpture I saw a few evenings ago at the sandy edge of the lake is long gone......I muse on it's perfect airy nature and the way it was just held together with almost nothing..and how it held space and beauty. A structure about 6 feet tall, with a perfectly placed nest of grasses at the top..Fragile and yet there for the ages. At least for the philosophical memory of it all.
     The ice is gone...the water is warming. I walk in the cold wind.
******
     I drive quickly to work at the nursing home. My car full of tissue paper, bags and boxes that were made into Purim boxes 2 days ago.
     Mikey is waiting for me as always, sitting proudly in his wheelchair ready to go. I cut out the Easter egg shapes, set out the paints and away he goes..painting beautiful stripes on his oval shape.   My dear Rachel is ailing, but still wheels herself with pride to the table.. there she suddenly rights herself and instead of watching as she said she would starts aligning her dainty rick rack pieces with care on her paper egg.
     Jessica arrives with her southern grace, intelligence and charm. She and Rachel are both from Mississippi and often tell me in great detail how they picked cotton in the hot sun...Jessica is well read and sharp as a tack. She proudly brings the whimsical St. Paddy's day hat we made 2 weeks ago and decides to turn it into an
Easter basket. As luck and art would have it...I happen to have a nice piece of paper all cut and ready for weaving right on the table. She starts and then soon opts for the "shocking green, orange and pink fluorescent paper..that I secretly can't stand..but have learned with humility isthe favorite of All my students!!! She carefully weaves the strands, Mikey adds rick rack to his after I make the glue lines, 98 year old Mary watches and Rachel hums her happy tune.  Carla smiles and keeps up a constant. banter as she decorates her egg. We are all in subtle lovely harmony.
    Now if you the viewer stepped back from this table, your gaze and perception might be stopped by the walkers and wheelchairs and obvious infirmities each one struggles with. All those aides are of little consequence though as each one soars like a bird in their own way. My philosophical silver thoughts hover over each one and my ongoing musings that
musings
that
Each One In Their Own Way Finding Their Way to Beauty remains.
      I take a moment to show my drawings of the morning: my cat at the vet and the lovely pharmacist who helped me with my prescription this morning...Rachel smiles at this drawing and leans back in her chair reciting a poem she wrote about her pills and eventually meeting her maker and will he recognize her with all the new parts she has in her body..she smiles, saying she is just waiting to tune up her autoharp so she can sing it..
I marvel and I marvel as the rick rack pokes up its head again and again until I firmly glue it down..I marvel at the rich treasure trove of creativity I bear witness to again and again....
******
and then our time is over..I wheel Mikey back to his room. He never stops smiling. I turn the corner and see the ministers I know in their room.. a brief conversation turns into an insight..as I allude to the icon on the wall and note my Greek Orthodox and Southern Baptist upbringing as well as my Jewish life now..the lovely  young minister says the icon represents the 3 visitors that Abraham welcomes in and in one brief silvery insightful moment I see with alarcrity that the 3 spiritual visitors I have welcomed in are mirrored in this icon..that somehow it holds it all.
    I stop at Rachels Room. Her lovely St Paddy's day hat and Easter basket are already hanging up. we visit briefly and then I am on my way.....wheeling my cart full of goodies up to the locked ward of memory.
***
There I enter the veiled rooms of time, where the residents are fully present and yet vaguely aware of where, who and what they are doing...I slip through the veil of memory and set up the art project. It will be Easter baskets embellished with all kinds of foam art bunny rabbit and chickadees and carrots for the bunnies. It is so relaxing to peel off the back paper and stick them all over the boxes in some kind of harmony. I sit next to Mary Jane who asks each time again and again. Do I put it here??????Do I put it here? here? and my well of patience is full. I draw from it easily and answer her each time.Yes...yes..its fine wherever you put it..yes. yes yes yes.
   The other residents add foam and I decorate the other boxes. It is so relaxing. I think I will get a Phd in Foam Art and let go of my serious Real Artist Aspirations!!!!
   As we work the sun is setting. It has set on memory a long, long time ago...We sit amid the last rays of this day..I hear memory lapping at the shore..I look out across the lake and see the distant horizon..which is how so many events must seem to each one of these dear people now....Easter that once happened, now seems distan and far away..and yet the waves of the present moment feel good as we put our foam bunnies on a box. Carl says its okay but he would like to go home.
    
    I drive home into the setting sun. The waves are still lapping gently on the shore, even though I cannot hear them..