The start of a new year is often a time of action, preparing, planning. A fresh start, full of energy. For some reason, this year I feel the weight of waiting on my shoulders.
Despite a quiet and friendly Christmas Season, Omicron is now spreading like a viral wildfire. My booster shot is a day away, but we’re still trying to get Mitch lined up for his booster. We both need to get our third shot before we head back to Vancouver, so those plans are somewhat in limbo. There is some urgency in this, as last week, during the recent freezing temperatures, we had a burst pipe in the house, which started a leak in the basement. We think the damage is limited, but we need to get back to assess the situation ourselves and get the repairs sorted out.
My Mom also had some health challenges while she was visiting my youngest brother in Edmonton over the holidays. We didn’t realize Mom had had a couple of small strokes until she began to experience periodic episodes where her speech failed her. Either she was unable to talk at all, or words and names simply evaporated into the ether. The ideas were in her head, but she was unable to verbalize them. To see my elegant and eloquent mother struggling to find her words has left us all speechless. She is staying with my brother for another week or two while we sort things out. I know that she would like to be back in her own place, but the provincial rules seem to be in flux and it’s hard to figure out what is the best course of action.
On top of everything else, the house build continues at a steady pace. Each week another piece of the puzzle is put into place, but it feels like construction exists in a different universe where time marches more slowly. I know that the construction is going well and that the builders are doing everything in a timely fashion, but I can’t shake the feeling that this build will go on forever. Now that we can walk through all the rooms on the first floor and imagine exactly what the space is going to be like, my desire to move into the house has grown exponentially. I’m getting flashbacks to an age when Christmas seemed impossibly far away and time slowed down to a ponderous metronome beat.
I can’t wait to get my art studio up and running. I can’t wait to storm watch from our bedroom looking out over a Sea full of whitecaps. I can’t wait to curl-up by the fireplace during a winter snowstorm. I can’t wait for a world of normal to return. I just can’t wait, but, in fact, waiting is all I can do.
Art has always helped me deal with internal angst, so to battle this sense of disquiet, I started to plan my next painting. I was instantly drawn to this photo I took last summer of a blue heron, standing motionless on the shoreline. I assume it was either waiting for a fish to swim by or existing in some sort of Blue Heron dream state. There was a stillness to this bird, a stillness to the sea and even a stillness in the summer air. It perfectly represented that sense of inner peace that I was striving for in this time of internal unrest. I expect this to be a challenging painting. The photo itself could be framed, so making it worthwhile as a painting requires that I do something more than just replicate the image. I’m looking forward to the challenge.