Life's a garden

"Dusk in the flower garden" by Hilary J. England
11" x 14", oil on canvas, 2016

I can't believe a whole month got away from me.  I have been working on various projects, including a book, and I had two different commissions, so this work has kept me very busy.

This week was a sad week.  News of death arrived, and that always hurts and is a wake-up call of sorts: Life is hard, but life is beautiful.  Along with the death of my friend, and there was also the death of a young man -- the son of an acquaintance from long ago -- very very sad.  These type of inexplicable events always give me pause to stop, and reflect.  Yes, life is hard, but life is beautiful.

So, I began to paint from some old photos I put together.  I really wanted to cheer myself up and just paint something that would warm my heart up again, and for me, that is always children.  And gardens.  Because after all, life is a garden, and children are life, so I painted this little painting, outside in the beautiful warm air, just lost in my own thoughts. Life and truth and beauty.

And -- I also reflected that with the sad news came sweet news also.  News of babies being born, and others to come -- quite a few of them are on the way with Spring and Summer -- and that made me smile.  Who doesn't smile when life renews itself?

So, I look forward to the Spring with renewed vigor and a positive joy for things to come!

~Enjoy

Replays

"Calm seas before a shower" by Hilary J England
oil on canvas, 8" x 11" x 1, 2013

My mind keep returning to the beach...it's where I feel closest to God for whatever reason, but when my mind is under serious, ongoing stress, it seems to return there, to the peaceful cool of the salty air, the smooth resistance of the sand, the majesty of the enormous vistas, and the sound of the waves, either lapping or pounding the water's edge.  Today, the waves were gentle, the breezes, soft.

Mark is still in the hospital.  It doesn't appear that the chemo has had any effect on the tumors, which is disheartening.  They are trying to get him strong enough to come home, and then in another week, we will have to make a decision:  go forward with more treatment, or not.  This is an excruciating decision, and one that can never have a "right time."  The implications are obvious, and it seems surreal that from St. Patrick's Day to now, this situation has surfaced, mushroomed, and has sucked our entire lives into its vortex.  I don't know what to do or say to be of support or help, since it is Mark's life, it is ultimately his decision.  I support either decision, and will help him through it either way.

So, like water dripping from a faucet, I feel the tension in the air, the catch of breath before exhalation.  I am optimistic to get through these trials, as it is the only thought that moves me forward.  This too shall pass...happy days will come again, one day, soon. I feel that is certain, I hope on that, I count on that, I dream on that, I live on that.

Snowy peace

The East is being hit by a blizzard tonight...but not us.  I know my friends in New York are seeing up to 20 inches of snow, but here, the snow has circumvented us...it skirted the mountains, gently touched the edge of the pine trees, and left us a pocket of flurries...a light snow dusting covers the grass, and nothing more.

Yesterday, Christmas Day, was a riot of noise.  My parents, my sister and her boyfriend, and Gabby and the children arrived, and the kids dove in to opening their gifts.  After all of the hysteria of that, we sat around in the kitchen, eating and drinking, and recalling good times of Christmas past, and had many laughs, and again, a tear or two.  We enjoyed each other's company all the more, it being recognized as precious, in light of Nicole's passing the day before...

After everyone was gone, and the house was quiet, Mark and I began the clean up, and quite exhausted, we both went directly to sleep.  This lingering sickness reared it's ugly head at night, with aches, congestion, sore throat, etc., and along with a general malaise in my mind, sleep was hard to come by.

We arose early today and headed out to Church, which was quite empty, since of the approaching snow and recent holiday, but the message was comforting, and I was glad I made the little effort to get there.  I got home, and everyone just quietly went to their own little corners of the house to do their own activities...Mark and Anthony sat to watch football, Noelle to play on her new iPhone, and I headed out to my studio, for the first time since the day before Christmas Eve, to do some work.

As the fire crackled in my little potbellied stove, and the snow gently fell, I felt such a peace wash over me.  It was like a little pocket of Heaven, a moment frozen in time.  In that moment, I felt a radiant love in the midst of the mental queasiness that had been hanging over me for the last few days.  Then, as quickly as it came, it evaporated, and I stood there, in front of my easel, and I could just feel the paint jumping out at me, the colors blazing, with a sense of urgency...As if all of my fears were tied into that painting...the ridges and swirls of colors, the smooth expanses of creamy hues, and I felt an appetite arise in me that became as big as the room itself, and again, I felt peace.

I don't know what this New Year will bring, none of us do.  Sadly, I have reached some sort of proverbial "hump" where I don't really look with excitement toward the New Year, more like with bated breath and a bit of trepidation, but I won't do that.  I staunchly refuse to let fear creep into my life...An old friend of mine used to say, "Do all you can do, and then stand."  That's what I plan to do. Stand, not cower.

Nicole's wake is set for Tuesday and Wednesday, with her burial on Thursday.  It was a long, suffering journey for her, and now, she has reached her destination, the Heavenly realm.  I pray for the strength to go this last distance with her earthly remains, as the parting point for us here, and we will meet again in the next life...that thought brings me comfort, and shores me up for the difficult next few days...

A Devastating Loss

It's Christmas Eve, and I'm very exhausted.  I have been battling a flu that won't go away, and I woke up to very sad news I have been dreading...  My sister in law Nicole, has died.  Her battle with brain cancer is over.  She was called home to Heaven this morning of Christmas Eve, and she is now with Jesus. 

Even through all of her suffering and her struggles, she was so strong, and so beautiful.  She fought death for  months beyond what anybody would give her.  She entered hospice in early September, and she amazed everyone with how she survived.  She wanted so much to be with her boys, my nephews.  She fought through the pain, to the very threshhold of death, and stilled and poised, there she stayed for over three months. 

My brother and her parents are devastated, as are we all.  Even though we knew how gravely ill she was, every day she stayed alive was a gift, and somehow gave us a strange hope...a hope against hope...even though we knew what the end was predicted to be, still we prayed and prayed...first for the cure, for her miracle, and in the end, for the release from this mortal pain. 

After much consideration as to what we should do, we decided to go ahead and gather for Christmas Eve dinner, and we will gather for Christmas day dinner as well.  We decided that we would have a rememberance of all of the wonderful times we were blessed to share with Nicole, in honor of our girl, who was taken much too soon from this life.  We shared alot of laughs, and also tears.  It was hard to be around the table, thinking of earlier, happier days, and know she will not be there again...not in our earthly lifetime.

So, until we meet again, sweet Princess, you are in all of our hearts, always.

Rest in peace, Nicole, age 37 years, and 3 months, to the day. May flights of angels see thee to thy rest.