Not Your Typical Christmas
This Christmas is different from my treasured Christmases Past.
Painting Speaks When Words Fail Me
People often ask me the why of what I do, and I’ve finally found the words to explain—painting lets me communicate when words fail. When I need painting inspiration I simply go into the yard and spend a few minutes communing with my colorful, petaled friends. The flowers are my paint.
A Gift From My Mom—46 Years in the Making
A swath of royal purple corduroy is finally put to use in a homemade quilt 46 years in the making. My mom would love that her great-granddaughter is enjoying the sewing she started long ago.
In memory of my father
Gene Medaris (1929-2019) My father passed away yesterday, after a long journey through the shadows of dementia. He was my
The illusion of control
Why had I waited so long to get extra care for Dad? Two reasons: foolish pride and a foolish vow.
Still This Side of Heaven
We'd made it home for Christmas. Now it was time for the long road back, and I wasn't sure I was ready to start caregiving again.
Please Don’t Forget Me
I’m realizing it wasn’t fame and notoriety that I craved over the years, it was having influence. And as I age, I’m realizing influence comes in many forms. I’m still afraid of being forgotten. But I’m going to begin cutting back on work in small steps.
No Time for Art
Why, oh why, is it so hard for us to give ourselves permission to paint?