I'm Still Standing

Hello to anyone who's reading this. It's ONLY been 15 months since my last post. To list the many reasons and situations that came about to cause this to happen would take days, and it would also be super boring. Suffice to say that 2014 wasn't the best year of my life, mostly due to medical crap: surgeries, hospital stays, infections, depression. Did I mention depression? It's impossible to write anything worth reading while wishing that a giant hole in the earth would just swallow you up. 2014 was less than stellar, but it did make me face a few things I've been reluctant to even think about, like admitting to myself AFTER 22 YEARS that I do, indeed, have a chronic disease. Like how in the world I still believe I can work a full time job. Or host a full blown family party. Or walk around the best art fair in the world for 6 hours (five of which are spent "resting") and feel perfectly fine the next day.  Or telling myself lies like maybe I'm just tired and I'll feel better tomorrow, or that I'm "weaning" myself off my cane. I seriously made that statement out loud. Sometimes I even amaze myself. But those are just the physical demons that jump around inside my aching body. The bigger questions, the far scarier ones, are much deeper and so much more difficult to confront. Like who AM I without an income or purpose? How do I go forward from here? Am I a burden? Do I still matter? Those questions that never once entered my happy little mind when I was able to work, to help people, to make a difference in someone's life. The questions that haunt my mind in the quiet of the night. My mother used to say that before you could teach a Biagi anything, you first had to hit them over the head with a 2x4 to get their attention. I think 2014 was my own personal 2x4. So now I'm paying attention and I still don't have the answers, but I have begun to face some facts. I'm in the process of applying for Social Security Disability, which is no picnic in the park but at least it's in the works. I eventually want to check into volunteer opportunities and I'm leaning towards suicide support and education, to honor Beth's memory. I know I still have gifts to share with the world. I know I still matter, even when I don't feel like I do. So yeah, now I'm fully reminded of why it's been so long since I've posted. The reason I haven't deleted this post is because maybe someone out there will read it and know they're not alone. The depression hasn't gone away, and it sucks, but depression lies. It lies and tells you things that aren't in your best interest. I try to remember to tell myself this and remember that daylight always comes after the darkness. I promise. I promise that to me and to you. I also promise my next post won't be 15 months from now, and it will be about a much happier topic: my daughter's wedding. I promise.

HOPE

Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. 

The important thing is not to stop questioning.

Albert Einstein

Hope.  One of my favorite words, along with love, integrity, family, peace, and laughter. And chocolate, can't forget chocolate.  But hope?  It's played the starring role throughout my life. Even when love couldn't be found in the rubble. Even when integrity was just a silly little word that only I knew. When laughter couldn't save family or bring a shred of peace, hope hung around.  Even when I thought it was gone, I hoped I was wrong.  And I was wrong.  Hope remains alive and well and thriving in my scarred up soul.  It's made an explosive return, clobbering me with a 2x4 to get my attention and then singing "told you so" at the top of its optimistic lungs.  Can you hear it? I can. Loud and clear.  And so I did what I do when words are absent or just not enough; I created a piece of art: The Book of Hope. This particular piece is for a special person and for a very special place.  Can you guess?  

365 Days

It was one year ago today that I was 'let go', corporate speak for canned, dumped, fired, down sized, sent packing, and screwed.  Hard to believe it's been a year, even harder to believe I'm still unemployed. I know there are countless people in the same situation, millions of people in the world far worse off than me.  I personally know many people who are dealing with challenges beyond my comprehension.  I am grateful for the blessings in my life, I truly am, but when I go to bed at night I can only live my reality and my reality is that I need an income, and benefits, and the opportunity to once again make a difference in someone's life.  

Countless resumes, who knows how many on-line job applications (they're all on-line now) and no call backs. Not one.  Kinda makes me wonder how I got along in the world for so long without anything to offer. Very discouraging, pretty disheartening, and a bit difficult to remain motivated and hopeful.  I do the best I can each day and the rest is out of  my control.  So it's unconscious but probably not coincidental that I chose today to tear apart my studio.  A new look, a fresh start, a good time to clean and purge and reset the norm.  A makeover of sorts, all for the price of a can of paint, some hard work, and time.  I have a lot of time these days and while I can't control the outcome of my job search I can choose a new color for the walls. Yeah, I get it.  After all I WAS a pretty good counselor.

I'll post again once I'm done, but for now here's a few photos that aptly show the havoc I'm creating:

What WAS I thinking when I decided on
pepto bismol pink 5 years ago? 

Oooooh, who knows what goodies lurk in the closet?

Notice the two orbs?  
Probably the spirits of people who lived mean and awful lives 
and therefore get to spend eternity in a horrible pink room.

Staging area, AKA Matto's room.
Thank goodness he's in Minnesota
for the next few months.

Yeah.  I got a lot of stuff.

Keep close tabs on my de-stash progress ~ goodies will appear on Etsy soon!

Hey Doll Face

Another Friday night in the studio.  I'm busy creating havoc, trying my best to reel in all those pinballs of ideas just ding-ding-dinging in my sleep deprived brain.  I should be applying for jobs but my goal is to have that done by Monday - PLENTY of time. I need to work on creating listings for Etsy but my hyper little self can't focus on that right now. I'd like to be working on the awesome new techniques I'm learning in Full Tilt Boogie but ditto the lack of focus.  I thought about going to bed and praying for sleep but hey, that hasn't worked so far so I'm working on some new ideas.  And feeling very thankful for what I have because so many have so much less. And asking lots of questions with no answers.  And sending prayers of thanks to the friends who have supported me during this time of searching and yearning.  They are real dolls but I promise not to bring them to the studio for play time.

I promise...or DO I?  Mwaahahahahahahaha.

Lilac Time in Lombard

Lombard, Illinois is known as the Lilac Village.  Lilacia Park is full of these fragrant purple gems and most homes have a lilac bush or two.  Our water tower is even painted the perfect shade of lilac.  I've always loved lilacs.  My grandparent's back yard (which was not in Lombard) was so full of lilac bushes they made a canopy of sorts as you walked down the cement path from the house to the garage.  Such beautiful memories.  We've lived in Lombard for almost 24 years and didn't even know the history when we moved in.  It's funny how life takes you just where you need to go.

Spring time is Lilac Time, and The Lilac Parade is the cherry on top of the sundae of lilac celebrations.  We live two blocks from the start of the parade route and attended every year when the kids were small, but by a certain age their lives began to bloom just like the lilacs and they lost interest in going to the parade with mom and dad.  It just wasn't the same without them so we kind of lost interest, too.  Today is parade day.  It's a windy and rainy 42 degrees  but in spite of mother nature's unwillingness to cooperate, I can hear the bands and drums and sirens through our closed windows.  I hope everyone's bundled up because it's a BIG parade that lasts about two hours.  I'm thinking of the poor Lilac Princesses and their Queen, all decked out in lovely formal dresses that will be hidden beneath warm coats and rain gear.  Julie was in the parade several times, in marching band and on the girl scout's float.  One year the scouts were wearing black plastic garage bags as their costume (recycling theme maybe?) and it was 92 hot and humid degrees that year.  Can you say heat stroke?  At least this year's participants won't be passing out.

Lilac Time on our front lawn

close up of the front tree

I've been busy creating art as well as havoc.  Traveling, teaching, creating and selling on Etsy, looking for work, having mini break downs, and then doing it all over again.  I don't get call backs on positions that I'm eminently qualified for and I don't get call backs on positions I did 30 years ago that I'm eminently qualified for. It's such a different world out there and I would never have believed it if I wasn't going through it myself.  I've always created my own opportunities and success. I knew that if I wanted a certain job, I would most likely be offered that job and then I'd negotiate salary and benefits.  If they didn't offer what I wanted there was always another offer on the table somewhere.  Now it's IF you get a call back on your resume and IF you successfully go through six interviews and IF you are offered the position you'd better take it and be happy because there's about a hundred people who will be happy to accept what you turn down.  Very discouraging. THANKFULLY I have my art.  Even at my most depressed I can lose myself in the process of creation.  I can forget for awhile the realities of unemployment and the accompanying stress that effects every aspect of life.  I can create and I can help others create, too.  I taught two classes at C3 over the weekend and the process of teaching and sharing just feeds my soul.  So as I sit in my home in the lovely Lilac Village and listen to the parade and write these words, I am grateful for all I have. I will try to soften the focus of need and worry and stress and be happy in the moment of NOW.  It may not be perfect, but it's what I've got and I'm going with it.  What does your NOW look and feel like?

paper bag album: class sample for C3

paper bag album - what fun!

Adventure paper bag album, front and back

Quiet Courage

Courage doesn't always roar. 

Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, "I will try again tomorrow.”

Mary Anne Radmacher

Lately I've been spending quite a bit of time feeling courageous and simultaneously very fragile.  I am definitely used to roaring my way through life. Barreling ahead, taking action, making an impact.   This quiet courage thing is a whole new mindset and a way of being that is not yet comfortable.  AT ALL.  At the end of the day I whisper to myself: I will try again tomorrow.  And then the next day comes to an end, and then the next, and I DO try again through each tomorrow.  And I remain quiet when I want to roar because I don't have a clue what to roar at or about and truth be told, I'm kinda tired of roaring anyway.So my days are full of trying and my nights are full with promises of trying to try.  Again and again and again. And in between the trying and right along side of it I make art.  I found some interesting kid's books at our library's used book sale, so I adopted a few and did my best Dr. Frankenstein (or do you say Steen?) impression.  I dissected and sewed and taped and glued and created a lovely new book from an old, discarded relic.  So lovely that it was bought before I even had time to think about selling it.  It was bought as a special gift for a special person and I hope he loves it as much as I loved creating it.  Here's a few photos of the finished book:

David Goes to School - front cover

Inside cover with vintage library check out card;
 a real card but not the one for this actual book.

One of over 50 inside pages.

Lots of pockets to hold lots of memories.

Did you have a Tiny Tears doll?  I did!

Books are so much easier to re-create than people, but as I continue working to piece together a lovely new Laure from an old discarded relic, I will indeed remember to try again tomorrow. And tomorrow.  And tomorrow again.  Roar.

Garbage Day

Look, I probably should have told you 

this before but you see, well...  

insanity runs in my family... 

it practically gallops.

Mortimer Brewster (Cary Grant)

"Arsenic and Old Lace"

It's been over a month since my last post. That's hard to believe; I guess time really DOES fly when you're having fun.  I think I'm finally over the virus that kicked my butt for the past couple of weeks.  My fingers are crossed, I'm knocking on wood, and I'm throwing pennies into wishing wells; I'll do whatever other superstitious type stuff I need to if it will help. For those of you who may not know, I have fibromyalgia. Fibromyalgia and viruses do not play well together.  Fibro is the kid who minds his own business and gets along with everyone, while a virus is the stupid bully that sneaks up and delivers a clobbering punch and then runs away laughing.  A virus that knocks you out for a day or two can (and often has) put me in the hospital. So I'm happy that I just felt like crap and slept 20 out of 24 hours every day for about a week.  AND woke up exhausted. I hate being sick because that's when I'm at my absolute worst.  Not in the whiny, wait on me hand and foot, I feel awful way; it's more like the frantic, got to prove my worth as a human being, I'm probably not really sick anyway  scenario.  Oh, and let's manically ramp up the job search from full speed ahead to BLAST OFF, just for good measure. Welcome to my life, where I create insane  kinds of havoc inside my head.  I used to be an optimist.  Little Mary Sunshine, always finding the silver lining in any cloud. I want to find that optimism again.  I think it must still be somewhere inside, covered by the layers of garbage that's been thrown my way.  I've been kicking at that garbage pile for a long time and it does get smaller, but boy, does it stink.  Time to open up some windows, clear the air, and kick that garbage to the street. 

The Wilderness of Grief

I was the kid who always asked "why?"  I was never embarrassed since my grandparents raised me to believe there were no stupid questions, only stupid people who were afraid to ask questions.  I'm sure I drove folks crazy but my motivation was pure; I needed to learn and understand and make it make sense in my head and my heart.  I wasn't trying to be difficult or argumentative or confrontational, although I certainly can be all of those things when I want to be.  But not as a child.  Not when the eight year old me asked Sister George why I couldn't be an altar boy.  Not when I was quickly sent to the Mother Superior's office and I again asked why a girl couldn't be an altar boy.  Or a PRIEST. Not when I couldn't understand why I was in trouble for wanting to understand.  I had so many questions and never enough answers.

Last week presented several events that painfully reminded me of the losses in my life over the past several years.  Losses that didn't just include the deaths of people dear to me, although there were a few of those, too, but other types of loss and death: the loss of self, trust, balance, and purpose.  The death of dreams, present and future.  The loss of faith and the subsequent (sometimes) successful search to find faith once again.  So many losses and deaths, big and small, and with them come the ever present questions: Why?  How?  What if...? I'm a grief counselor and I know that questions come with the territory.  If I had a nickel for every time I encouraged people to ask their questions until they either got an answer or were able to let the question go, I'd have a lot of nickels.  When it comes to self, well, that's a whole other story.  

One of my favorite people in the world is Alan Wolfelt.  Alan's teachings entered my life at the most critical of times, JUST in time, and forever changed me. It was Alan who introduced me to the concept of the wilderness of grief, and I am indeed once again in that wilderness.  Shattered and alone, even in a room full of friends. Trying to understand and make sense of things. Asking questions in the night. Asking questions at ALL times of the day and night.  Asking questions that have no answers, but asking them just the same.  Some things never change, but mixed in with the week's challenges, I received a gift.  I was able to spend some time with a good friend of mine, someone whose opinions I value even if I don't always agree.  Through the talking and the tears, she helped me see who I am now. Now, after all the crap.  Now, after the betrayals and lies and pettiness and fear.  She helped me find the answer to "who am I now?" and I'll give you the short version: I am the exact same person I have always been.  My circumstances have changed but my core has not.  I sport a few more bumps and bruises, a few more scars, a few more life lessons thrown my way, but I HAVE NOT CHANGED.  My truth, my integrity, and my soul's essence remain the same.  I think I always knew that but she gave me a much needed reminder, and I am so very grateful. I'm still asking questions and I guess I always will, but now there's one less question on my list.  Remember, NO ONE CAN TAKE YOU FROM YOU.   And don't stop asking questions, ever. You might just find the answers you're looking for.   I stand in that truth.

"Only Today" - ATC created in memory of my Aunt Barb.

The In-Between

"The only way to the other side is through."   ~ Helen Keller

I'm playing in the studio today and thought I'd post a few pictures.  People have commented that they love my BIG altered art journals but would like a smaller version to give as a special and more affordable gift.  Here's a few of my latest creations: Junior Art Journals.  Smaller, yes, but loaded with the same pockets, tags, and charm as the originals.  Stay tuned; these  will be looking for a new home very soon:

Celebrate You

Fortune Teller 

Remember When?

Hope

The next photo pretty much sums up the question I've been asking myself since July: who are you?  Who am I, now?  It's Sunday and I'm not going to work tomorrow.  You'd think I'd be adjusted to that fact after almost six months, but I'm not.  I miss the salary and the health insurance and the role of providing for my family, but it's so much more than that.  I miss helping people.  I miss the relationships with friends, patients, and families.  I miss being part of something bigger than me. And this year, for the first time I can remember, I'll miss celebrating my birthday at work. I LOVE my birthday.  I love everyone's birthday!  It's your special day, the day your spirit came to this earth, the one day of the year when you can act like a kid and not get looked at or locked up.  I know it probably sounds like a small thing but I'll miss sharing cake and good wishes with my work family.  I no longer have a work family. I'm not who I used to be but I don't know who I am yet.  I'm trying to get through but it's a very long road.  Are we there yet? No?  Are we close?  Are we?  Am I?  The in-between STINKS.

Who Are You?

  

Making a Difference

You never know when you're making a memory.

~ Rickie Lee Jones

Today one of my former patients was laid to rest.  I promised  to officiate her funeral service and even though I left my hospice position in June, I kept that promise.  She was a real fighter who had been been sick for years, but there was still an element of shock when she died.  She had WAY more than nine lives and I guess I imagined she'd fight forever, but of course that doesn't happen in the real world.  Her nurse and her social worker were there to say good bye.  I worked with both of them and consider them friends; we had many meetings on how to best help and support this very sick lady.  It was great to see them and catch up a bit, but I've been weepy and sad since then. Not because of the death.  Her death was a blessing and something she wished for every day. When she was finally ready to shed her broken body and set her spirit free, I was happy that her suffering was over.  My sadness came from seeing former co-workers that I love and respect and realizing, yet again, that I'm no longer making a difference. Maybe that's too large of a statement; we all make a difference every day, even if we're not aware of it.  I'm no longer making a difference to patients and families at the end of life. It's what I've done for 13 years, I love hospice ministry, and I'm good at it. And I'm out of work.  I have no regrets for leaving hospice because I was starting a new job and had an exciting new position...or so I thought.  28 days later I'm unemployed and it's been five months now.  I miss my friends and the relationships built with patients and their loved ones.  I miss having a reason to get out of bed in the morning, and I miss going to sleep at night with the knowledge that I made a difference to someone, somewhere.  I know I made a difference today and that's a good feeling.  I don't know what I'll be doing in the future or where I'll be doing it, but today I made a difference.  God speed, Marilyn.  YOU made a difference in my life and I'll never forget you.

Secrets and Lies

November is my least favorite month.  The only thing going for it is Thanksgiving; you know, that silly little holiday crammed between Halloween and crazy? My dislike for the eleventh month has eased over time but there are still days when I'd be happy to go to bed October 31 and wake up December 1.  My track record for outstanding November moments isn't so great.    

My father died 35 years ago today.  35 years.  It feels like three lifetimes ago but I remember every single detail like is was yesterday.  I was 20, my baby sister was 5, and there were four siblings between us. My mother's problems escalated with dad's death and the subsequent  secrets that were revealed three days after his funeral.  Mom promoted me to 'head of the household' in the ER when we learned dad was dead; the future was far from rosy. This is how I know there's a god or something beyond right now because I survived.  I'm sure it was through no help of my own, but I survived.

Two years earlier, also in November, the man I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with took his own life.  Worst.  Day.  Ever.  It was many long years before I honestly believed that his death wasn't somehow my fault.  I survived.  I didn't want to for the longest time, but I survived.

My baby brother was born and died November 30.  He actually died shortly after midnight on December 1, but it was the day before when my mother left for the hospital and told me she wouldn't be coming home with the baby.  I was five and didn't understand why the doctors couldn't fix him from being 'born too soon.'  I remember the brother I never knew and wonder who Richard would be if he had lived.  I was sad, I was confused, and I was angry.  But I survived.

November 22, 1963.  If you remember this day, no words are needed. If you don't remember or weren't born yet, no amount of words could begin to explain.  The dreams of a nation died along with a president and November will forever wear that shroud.  The world mourned for a long time and never forgot, but it survived, and I survived, too.

It's been four months now that I've been out of work.  This is the second time in two years and both were through no fault of my own. I miss the people I worked with and the camaraderie of dealing with the good, the bad, and the ridiculous.  I miss the satisfaction of knowing that I've made a difference in someone's life.  I miss who I used to be and I hate that I have no idea who I am now.  It's been four months of tears, questions, bad dreams, sleepless nights, and a slew of irrational thoughts.  I've spent most of the time feeling like the worst possible example of me, and wondering who my husband and children see when they look in my eyes.  We taught our kids to always do their best because that's all you can do, but I seem to have skipped that lesson myself.  I am doing my best but it doesn't feel like enough. Half the world is looking for work but I somehow, magically should be working, I should have found a job by now, I should...(fill in the blank).  What I am doing is resting. Listening to my body.  Quieting my mind.  Connecting with my spirit.  Re-evaulating.  Trying to give myself a break.  Creating art that comes from the broken places that can no longer be hidden.  Learning that even though the world is full of secrets and lies it doesn't have to define ME.  Or change my values. Or diminish my truth.  I've faced so much worse than the loss of a job and hey - I'm still here.  I know I'll eventually arrive at a place of clarity and purpose but it's not gonna happen on this particular November day.  I'm not there yet but I will get there because I am a survivor.  And so are you.

TRUST THE CHANGE
mixed media collage by Laure Janus