Just after we got home from walking the street in case he'd been hit by a car I received a text from our neighbours on the ridge above us. A text with photo. A photo of Matisse sitting on their wood box, looking sleek and at ease.
By the time I'd rung them back he'd disappeared. Disappeared because they'd chased him away. Or tried to. To protect the many little birds which live there. Matisse, people lover that he is, couldn't understand why these people were chasing him around the house shouting. So he hid.
I combed their hillside looking for him, calling and calling and calling. My usually voluble Meezer Cat stayed silent. After an hour I gave up and came home. At least he was alive. Whether he'd find his way home or to another house was the question. To make matters worse we had severe thunderstorm warnings. I could see muscular clouds swelling on the horizon. My poor coddled cat.
But we had things to do so Richard and I drove to Bray Park for fuel, intending to carry on to town for groceries. Then the phone rang. It was Tina. She'd found him. Would we come right away?
You bet!
Poor Matisse was hunkered down behind some yoga mats right next to the house. He hadn't gone anywhere after all. He was stiff with fear. Even his tail was fluffed. After all that time had elapsed, still a fluffed tail and dilated pupils. I carried him to the Caddy and we came home.
It's taken him almost 24 hours to return to normal. His faith in humanity has been severely shaken. His entire life has been one of love. Even going to the vets he has been treated with kindness. No one has ever chased or shouted at him. He has always been a People Cat. Loving attention and giving attention.
I thought when he came home he would, after eating, go to sleep. He didn't. He stayed alert and on guard for most of the day, only falling asleep in late afternoon. He was also a little distrustful of me. Wanted to be near me but not too near. He wouldn't purr for me until late afternoon. Happily he did sleep with us last night, even changing his usual sleeping position from the bottom of the bed to the middle.
I lock that door now.
Sunday, September 30, 2018
Saturday, September 29, 2018
Matisse is Missing
My darling 15 year old Siamese cat, a strictly suburban cat with no street or bush smarts, cracked open an unlatched door and got out some time during the night. This is a cat who loves his food and when he didn't turn up for breakfast it got serious. It's 8:30am and no sign or sound of him. I am very worried.
Friday, September 28, 2018
Post 42 of 92
Have no idea why I am still numbering these posts as the original purpose (getting me to write regularly) has fallen by the wayside.
Am writing today as I want to record - just in case it is of interest later - just when I started trying to learn classical guitar. A couple of weeks ago, at a garage sale, I bought a beat up (broken bridge with screws to hold it together) Valencia guitar for $50. It had steel strings so found a reasonable website devoted to teaching beginning acoustic guitar (justinguitar). After a few days and excruciatingly painful fingers, realized I didn't have any desire to learn blues or rock or jazz - that what I've always enjoyed is classical guitar - a cousin to the harp - my real but unattainable love. So off to the local music shop where I looked at $300 and $400 and $1000 guitars. Then I looked on ebay and found a beautiful (to me) Yamaha G-55 guitar for sale in Brunswick Heads. With nylon strings and good, to my uneducated ear - tone.
What is surprising is how much I am enjoying this. It's been 50 years since I read music while taking piano lessons - so that is as good as never knowing. Yet there is no pressure. My fingers get tangled, the tips of my fingers are sore - my mind hurts with trying to memorize things but because I can stay on the same 'page' virtually forever, it's enjoyable and oddly relaxing. A friend said when she was going through a particularly bad time learning the guitar helped her cope with the stress.
Another good thing is Richard. For a very long time now he wages war during the night, or attends parties with lots of conversation and laughter, or runs half marathons, or practices boxing. He wasn't sleeping a restful sleep and I wasn't sleeping much at all. Even bought a cheap single bed so I could have a place to crash after an unsuccessful night on the couch.
On a punt, reduced his Madobarb by a quarter of a tablet every four hours. Voila! He's sleeping through the night and I, although still coping with insomnia, am sleeping better too. He also said he feels 'lighter'. Know when the specialist increased his dosage Richard was affected badly, became 'lumpen', even sitting at an angle for minutes on end, or not moving at all during the night - fairly unresponsive during the day too.
It's only been this week but I notice he's been busy in the shed, doing odd jobs and generally exhibiting more energy - and interest - than he has for awhile. So life is good again. Sleep makes all the difference in the world. Even spurs one on to learn something completely new!
Am writing today as I want to record - just in case it is of interest later - just when I started trying to learn classical guitar. A couple of weeks ago, at a garage sale, I bought a beat up (broken bridge with screws to hold it together) Valencia guitar for $50. It had steel strings so found a reasonable website devoted to teaching beginning acoustic guitar (justinguitar). After a few days and excruciatingly painful fingers, realized I didn't have any desire to learn blues or rock or jazz - that what I've always enjoyed is classical guitar - a cousin to the harp - my real but unattainable love. So off to the local music shop where I looked at $300 and $400 and $1000 guitars. Then I looked on ebay and found a beautiful (to me) Yamaha G-55 guitar for sale in Brunswick Heads. With nylon strings and good, to my uneducated ear - tone.
What is surprising is how much I am enjoying this. It's been 50 years since I read music while taking piano lessons - so that is as good as never knowing. Yet there is no pressure. My fingers get tangled, the tips of my fingers are sore - my mind hurts with trying to memorize things but because I can stay on the same 'page' virtually forever, it's enjoyable and oddly relaxing. A friend said when she was going through a particularly bad time learning the guitar helped her cope with the stress.
Another good thing is Richard. For a very long time now he wages war during the night, or attends parties with lots of conversation and laughter, or runs half marathons, or practices boxing. He wasn't sleeping a restful sleep and I wasn't sleeping much at all. Even bought a cheap single bed so I could have a place to crash after an unsuccessful night on the couch.
On a punt, reduced his Madobarb by a quarter of a tablet every four hours. Voila! He's sleeping through the night and I, although still coping with insomnia, am sleeping better too. He also said he feels 'lighter'. Know when the specialist increased his dosage Richard was affected badly, became 'lumpen', even sitting at an angle for minutes on end, or not moving at all during the night - fairly unresponsive during the day too.
It's only been this week but I notice he's been busy in the shed, doing odd jobs and generally exhibiting more energy - and interest - than he has for awhile. So life is good again. Sleep makes all the difference in the world. Even spurs one on to learn something completely new!
Saturday, September 1, 2018
Post 41 of 92
Have previously written of my opinion that art should be 'life enhancing'. Not that art has to be pretty or chocolate box or that it shouldn't show the darker aspects of humanity (thinking of Goya's horrific images which certainly aren't 'pretty'), but even within his paintings there is a glimmer of life, of hope.
Came across a quote of Albert Camus' which struck me as something similar only much more eloquently and clearly put.
In 1948 Camus spoke at a meeting of intellectuals for peace. This was during the time of Franco's dictatorship in Spain. Quoting from Herbert Lottman's biography of Camus:
'He described the contemporary world of terror, affirmed that art was opposed to such a world. "In an era in which the conqueror, by the very logic of his attitude, becomes executioner and policeman, the artist is forced to be insubordinate...In the face of contemporary political society, the only coherent attitude of the artist ... is refusal without concession." So it is useless to demand justification and commitment of the artist; he is committed, even if against his will. "By his very function, the artist is witness to freedom...." True artists are on the side of life, enemies of no one save the executioners.'
Came across a quote of Albert Camus' which struck me as something similar only much more eloquently and clearly put.
In 1948 Camus spoke at a meeting of intellectuals for peace. This was during the time of Franco's dictatorship in Spain. Quoting from Herbert Lottman's biography of Camus:
'He described the contemporary world of terror, affirmed that art was opposed to such a world. "In an era in which the conqueror, by the very logic of his attitude, becomes executioner and policeman, the artist is forced to be insubordinate...In the face of contemporary political society, the only coherent attitude of the artist ... is refusal without concession." So it is useless to demand justification and commitment of the artist; he is committed, even if against his will. "By his very function, the artist is witness to freedom...." True artists are on the side of life, enemies of no one save the executioners.'
Tuesday, August 28, 2018
post 40 of 92
Am finally getting into the habit of spending time in the studio working on a drawing rather than just drawing with a board in my lap in front of the TV, although I do that too. The hard part is getting it to be a habit for Richard too who wanders in with various comments or requests. Am quietly sticking to my guns (or charcoal sticks) and answering without getting involved in finding this or sorting that or having a look at...whatever it is which might take me away from the easel and back into his sphere.
Don't want to be unkind but really must insist (to myself if no one else) that what I'm doing is important enough to be worthy of my time. Don't think he is trying to distract me deliberately. If asked, he would be the first to say he wants me to draw. It's just that in a practical semse, especially at this point in his life when he has few or no projects which interest him, it is easier for him to get through the day if I am with him.
Sad, huh?
Also resolved that while I can I am going to go out and do things without him. There will be a time when leaving him alone will no longer be possible. Last week I spent the afternoon with a friend (lunch and a walk on the beach). On Saturday I went to a cat show with another friend. On Sunday arvo attended my first book club meeting which was a novel and interesting experience.
It is hard because Richard no longer drives and has made few friends since moving here. He is the best of friends; kind and loyal but his friendship is weightier than it used to be, hence he has no one with whom he is on par. Do people with dementia find it easier to be with other dementia sufferers? Do they understand one another better?
So I am being a bit hard. Did invite him to the cat show but he didn't want to come. The book club he wouldn't have attended in any case nor the girlfriend lunch.
It's a tightrope. Do feel saner and more connected however. And I have finished a drawing which I like enough to take to the framers so that I can put it in the Images of Uki show. And came up with a neat name which will cover a multitude of sins. Dreamshot #2.
Don't want to be unkind but really must insist (to myself if no one else) that what I'm doing is important enough to be worthy of my time. Don't think he is trying to distract me deliberately. If asked, he would be the first to say he wants me to draw. It's just that in a practical semse, especially at this point in his life when he has few or no projects which interest him, it is easier for him to get through the day if I am with him.
Sad, huh?
Also resolved that while I can I am going to go out and do things without him. There will be a time when leaving him alone will no longer be possible. Last week I spent the afternoon with a friend (lunch and a walk on the beach). On Saturday I went to a cat show with another friend. On Sunday arvo attended my first book club meeting which was a novel and interesting experience.
It is hard because Richard no longer drives and has made few friends since moving here. He is the best of friends; kind and loyal but his friendship is weightier than it used to be, hence he has no one with whom he is on par. Do people with dementia find it easier to be with other dementia sufferers? Do they understand one another better?
So I am being a bit hard. Did invite him to the cat show but he didn't want to come. The book club he wouldn't have attended in any case nor the girlfriend lunch.
It's a tightrope. Do feel saner and more connected however. And I have finished a drawing which I like enough to take to the framers so that I can put it in the Images of Uki show. And came up with a neat name which will cover a multitude of sins. Dreamshot #2.
Wednesday, August 1, 2018
Post 39 of 92
Don't know what I'll do when (if ever) I reach post 92. Start again, I suppose.
Well, have done my bit of procrastinating but as I've been on my feet most of the day concentrating quite hard during life drawing class, I don't feel too bad for zoning out for 30 minutes or so.
Funny thing with portraiture. It's hard. Not funny, I know, but I don't remember it being this hard to get a close likeness to someone. We had a male model whose finished portrait was a dead ringer for Vladimir Putin. Another male model who has resembled Jack Nicholson in one sitting and Paul Newman in today's sitting. Managed to fit in two portraits; the second one looked like a mug shot for a zonked out vampire. Don't know how I'm getting it so wrong.
The other week I drew the same (female) model 4 times in 3 hours. By the fourth portrait I was pretty close - no cigar but at least a cigarillo.
While Paul Newman was emerging from beneath my charcoal I got the giggles. David was facing me and he has this look of a slightly impish faun anyway and, knowing how far off the mark I get, he knew I'd missed again. I could see it in his eyes. He has to hold perfectly still so I'm trying to hold in my laughter so as not to affect him which only made it worse. Shirley thought I was crying and came to see what the matter was. That was the cool shower I needed to pull myself together.
Even so, despite my repeated failures I am just so glad to draw. What a privilege it is to make marks on paper. No wonder early man was driven to draw on cave walls. It's a magical act.
Well, have done my bit of procrastinating but as I've been on my feet most of the day concentrating quite hard during life drawing class, I don't feel too bad for zoning out for 30 minutes or so.
Funny thing with portraiture. It's hard. Not funny, I know, but I don't remember it being this hard to get a close likeness to someone. We had a male model whose finished portrait was a dead ringer for Vladimir Putin. Another male model who has resembled Jack Nicholson in one sitting and Paul Newman in today's sitting. Managed to fit in two portraits; the second one looked like a mug shot for a zonked out vampire. Don't know how I'm getting it so wrong.
The other week I drew the same (female) model 4 times in 3 hours. By the fourth portrait I was pretty close - no cigar but at least a cigarillo.
While Paul Newman was emerging from beneath my charcoal I got the giggles. David was facing me and he has this look of a slightly impish faun anyway and, knowing how far off the mark I get, he knew I'd missed again. I could see it in his eyes. He has to hold perfectly still so I'm trying to hold in my laughter so as not to affect him which only made it worse. Shirley thought I was crying and came to see what the matter was. That was the cool shower I needed to pull myself together.
Even so, despite my repeated failures I am just so glad to draw. What a privilege it is to make marks on paper. No wonder early man was driven to draw on cave walls. It's a magical act.
Tuesday, July 31, 2018
Post 38 of 92
Doing everything I can to procrastinate. The Queen of Procrastination. A recurring, even dominant theme throughout my life. It's a form of self-sabotage. I don't understand why but suspect, when all is said and done, it is fear which underlies this weird action resulting in non-action.
I know a man, an extremely creative man. He paints and his paintings sell, he composes and his compositions are played in the public arena, he writes and his books are published. Obviously he is naturally, one could say preternaturally talented, but he is also disciplined. He allocates time to each of his creative talents. He says it's because it's because he has a mortgage to pay but I suspect it's more than that. Being fearful and procrastinating is kind of shitting on the gift one was given. I'm no genius but I was always one of those kids that could draw - not as well as others in class but enough to get asked occasionally to draw something. (Colleen Moore, wherever you are, you were the one that could draw - what did you end up doing? I heard you took your drawing and your flute playing and went to Africa). At any rate, I admire this man and his discipline. I also find him a bit scary. He's as gentle and nice a man as can be but the will which underlies that discipline is iron. And he's courageous. Not afraid of failure, not afraid of having a go - or not afraid in any way that matters.
Joined a new yoga class this morning after a few tryout classes. This studio has mirrors. Oh the brutal truth of wall to wall mirrors. Looking out from behind these eyes, catching my image in the odd window or from the waist up in the bathroom (avoiding the mirrored doors of the closet) I thought, eh 62? not bad for my age. Oh, the lies I tell myself. The mirror on the yoga studio wall...the first class, after the initial shock, I managed to pretty much avoid seeing myself focusing instead on the floor or the ceiling, the instructor or some vague indeterminate point in the middle distance.
But the truth will not be avoided. In the scheme of things with war and famine and global warming my body image matters not one whit. And yet, and yet. It is everything too for it reflects the person I am - a bit lazy, a bit lacking in will power, a bit sloppy, a lot overindulgent.
So I decided today to look squarely at myself in the mirror. I was next to a floor lamp so couldn't really avoid it as I was well lit.
In my long life I have made many resolutions, some of which stuck, most of which have fallen by the wayside like so many banana peels. One thing I haven't done however is give up. So I try again, to not be afraid of what might be beneath this fear, this comforting layer of fat which I use to protect myself from life's hard knocks, and to - what a horrible phrase - be all I can be...or better, be all that I already am.
Oh scary!!
I know a man, an extremely creative man. He paints and his paintings sell, he composes and his compositions are played in the public arena, he writes and his books are published. Obviously he is naturally, one could say preternaturally talented, but he is also disciplined. He allocates time to each of his creative talents. He says it's because it's because he has a mortgage to pay but I suspect it's more than that. Being fearful and procrastinating is kind of shitting on the gift one was given. I'm no genius but I was always one of those kids that could draw - not as well as others in class but enough to get asked occasionally to draw something. (Colleen Moore, wherever you are, you were the one that could draw - what did you end up doing? I heard you took your drawing and your flute playing and went to Africa). At any rate, I admire this man and his discipline. I also find him a bit scary. He's as gentle and nice a man as can be but the will which underlies that discipline is iron. And he's courageous. Not afraid of failure, not afraid of having a go - or not afraid in any way that matters.
Joined a new yoga class this morning after a few tryout classes. This studio has mirrors. Oh the brutal truth of wall to wall mirrors. Looking out from behind these eyes, catching my image in the odd window or from the waist up in the bathroom (avoiding the mirrored doors of the closet) I thought, eh 62? not bad for my age. Oh, the lies I tell myself. The mirror on the yoga studio wall...the first class, after the initial shock, I managed to pretty much avoid seeing myself focusing instead on the floor or the ceiling, the instructor or some vague indeterminate point in the middle distance.
But the truth will not be avoided. In the scheme of things with war and famine and global warming my body image matters not one whit. And yet, and yet. It is everything too for it reflects the person I am - a bit lazy, a bit lacking in will power, a bit sloppy, a lot overindulgent.
So I decided today to look squarely at myself in the mirror. I was next to a floor lamp so couldn't really avoid it as I was well lit.
In my long life I have made many resolutions, some of which stuck, most of which have fallen by the wayside like so many banana peels. One thing I haven't done however is give up. So I try again, to not be afraid of what might be beneath this fear, this comforting layer of fat which I use to protect myself from life's hard knocks, and to - what a horrible phrase - be all I can be...or better, be all that I already am.
Oh scary!!
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