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There is that split second moment in the morning (or a long string of mornings) after you get bad news, that you have a moment of pure peace. That moment between restless dreams and remembering reality. It is such a strange space to try to articulate, but I think everyone has experienced it over and over. If only we could make it last just a bit longer to catch our breath and find some clarity.

This morning it happened again. The news that my sister’s cancer has returned hit me like a 2×4 to the heart.  I can only imagine how she must crave that moment of peace each morning, or perhaps she no longer even gets that moment of pure peace- not even a split second.  I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like to wake up each day as a mother, a 43 year old mother, with cancer. Stage 4 cancer. It isn’t something I can comprehend.

So many feelings, emotions, memories, swirl around in my heart and head. It is impossible to make sense of any of it. The helplessness is consuming.

One place I come close to finding that peace is walking into the boys room at night and watching the three of them sleeping. For a minute, while I soak up their beauty and essence I find it, but then my brain kicks in. The other is working a canvas. Transferring my anger, hopes, wishes, fears, love, concern, sadness to a composition of color. Most often, those colors become a sort of landscape, creating a place for me to return to; a place to stand when the ground feels like it has fallen away beneath me.

Today is a full day, in a good way. But perhaps tonight, when the boys are sleeping, I will sneak into my art room and try to find my footing. So that I can find a place to stand and send out love.

Sky Lake, 40 x30 Acrylic on canvas. A peaceful place for me to stand.

I am quickly finding that making a leap out into the world comes with many doors to open. Some doors you hope to find, others you didn’t know existed, others show up just when you need and others when you aren’t quite ready. I feel like I have been opening door after door after door and not finding the space or time to apply or process each experience.

 I feel a bit like Alice in Wonderland. I go through one doorway and grow, gaining a bit of confidence, a skill or a new perspective. Or, I walk through doorways only to shrink with fear or anxiety wanting nothing more than to turn around and go out the way I came in. But it is always locked. I have to work my way to the next door while balancing on a tightrope woven from opportunity, limitations, intuition, doubt, inspiration, hopes, apprehension, passion, need, want, worry, desire,  exhaustion, focus (take a deep breath Catherine!) and fortunately also, love and support.

Yesterday, at the end of a facilitator/coaching training session (a door I am not sure I am ready for, but one I am glad I opened… with a loving and gentle push), we were asked to come up with a question for ourselves. One of the things that came up in helping to guide someone is reminding them to find balance of doing and being. This was one of those moments when the words hit my gut like a boulder. They need to sit there for awhile. I really couldn’t focus on anything else after that. So my question to myself was “How do I create the balance of being and doing so that I can reach my potential allowing me to be an effective and positive part of my community (and family), while at the same time honoring my true nature?”

WHAM! 

The door slammed shut and locked. And, I am pretty sure had a heavy duty deadbolt, too.
 No turning back. Back on the tightrope I go.

Fortunately, this door is always open with my heart’s center waiting on the other side.

Home

There are days that I can’t believe that I am sharing so much with the world. For the most part, I like my little corner and never thought that I would put it out there to be so exposed. And, I confess, I kind of just leapt. Earlier this year, my friend Susan, a friend from college, emailed me commissioning one of my paintings. When I saw her almost three years ago, at a little reunion we had over a long weekend, I showed her some photos of my work that I had in a show in Colorado Springs. She mentioned she would like one and I pretty much just laughed while blushing and blew it off. I guess she meant it. That email was just the kick in the pants that I needed.

I could find 100 excuses to not paint, even though it was what I wanted to do more than anything.  Why? Guilt. How could I spend our limited family income on supplies? The boys need that money for camps, cello rental, glasses, shoes for different sports, preschool tuition, not to mention the ridiculous medical bills we have had for the past two years.  Shouldn’t I spend my time working on house projects? Getting everything in order? What about volunteer time at schools and for the community? Aren’t those more important? How could I possibly add one more thing to my day?

I was so flattered and in turn energized by Sue’s request, the wheels started to spin. I need to be held accountable. I need deadlines. I need structure. So I decided to put myself out there.  I made this blog public and I set up a Facebook page. Was I insane for doing so without having all of my ducks in a row? Perhaps, but I knew that if I didn’t, I would never start, never try. It was just going to have to evolve. My house is messier than ever, but I am learning a lot and finding a huge shift in priorities.  I am getting lost in the paint and finding my true nature at the same time. It is a wonderful place to get to spend a little part of my week. I feel so happy to have paint under my nails. Those things alone have made this vulnerable jump worth it.

Susan is a petite, spunky, intelligent, funny,  loving and interesting woman. She lights up a room with her stories and isn’t afraid to make fun of herself or stand up for what she believes in. I first met Susan on a preview weekend for college. She was ready to take on the world. Her confidence beamed. Eventually, we both ended up being in this great group of friends. Everyone was so different and it was quite the opposite feel of a sorority. Sure there was lots of teasing for the fun of it, but mostly what made us unique was celebrated and cherished. Sue is still doing that 20 years later and from 2000 miles away. Over the years we have met up at weddings across the country and always pick up right where we left off. Chris and I love hanging out with Sue and her husband Wes. They are such a great couple.

Susan M. Sturdevant- Colorado Springs, Aug. 2010

 The weekend that I saw her last, we had a lot of fun catching up and we had some pretty good political discussions, too. We started off not really seeing eye to eye on much of anything, but we were able to listen and gain some perspective from each other. By the end of the weekend, we were able to agree to disagree with respect for the other. And on our way to the airport, we actually talked about how we wished our communities and leaders could do what we had done.  I will ever be grateful for the joy, support and perspectives Sue has given me. And, now I really wish there weren’t so many miles between us so I could give her a great big hug!

Sometimes, it still catches me off guard that we live in Colorado. Right now, I can’t imagine living anywhere else, but I have moments of pure panic to be so far from big bodies of water. I want to stand by the ocean’s edge and have the waves slowly bury my feet in the sand. I want to close my eyes, soak up the warm breeze and listen to the waves pound, children playing and gulls squawking. I want to be back on that laser with my childhood friend, set free to sail across the Choptank River to go play on the sandbar. I want to watch the sunset over the Gulf of Mexico with my good friend and a margarita. I want to people watch beautiful Italians enjoying life along their Mediterranean coast. I want to watch Chris swim like a playful dolphin, where all of his worries seem to disappear. I want to feel that peace.

Since I couldn’t hop on a plane today, I went to “my room” to paint that longing. It was so cathartic. It wrapped me in so many wonderful memories from when I was the age of my children playing with my sisters, to college weekends spent with Chris on Wrightsville Beach, to trips as we watched our mountain boys explore and play with pure joy in a landscape so foreign to them. I found that my strokes, color choice at first almost felt like an agitated frenzy. I worked at a fast and frantic pace. But as I remembered so many joys, I was able to calm and let my fingers dance across the canvas. I could almost feel the water. Almost.

Volcano Lake*. Acrylic on Canvas. 40×30 *named by Ryan upon seeing the canvas

At the end of January, I asked family and friends to send a little love note to Ryan for a secret Valentine’s Day project. The teachers asked us to come in the night before and decorate the 3rd graders’s desks. My wonderful friend in the Springs, who happens to be the mother of Ry’s favorite person in the world, very promptly put a package in the mail. Not only was there a funny love note for Ry, but treats for our whole family. A pile of gummy things and sugary hearts for all. But for me, a decadent bar of chocolate. I know this because she very wisely wrote my name on it giving me full permission to NOT share. Did I mention how wonderful she is?

 I had been hiding all of the love notes in my desk, in my room. The package was too big and so into my closet it went. As I got ready to shove it among my sweaters, I tucked the chocolate bar into my cubby of t-shirts to have as a reward for another day (I know, weird I didn’t inhale it right then and there.) Valentine’s Day came and the surprise was a huge hit. Among all the swirl and chaos of that week, I totally forgot about my secret stash.

This past weekend, I could no longer deny that something had to be done about the amount of paint clothes I had wadded up on my closet floor that were now spilling out into my room. So, I got rid of a bunch that were really more like wearing a canvas. They actually looked pretty cool, but really not so comfy anymore after years of wall finishes and canvases. It was time to give some jeans and t-shirts in my closet a chance to don new colors.

Yesterday, I managed to talk myself into chores for the morning leaving me a couple of hours to paint in the afternoon. I managed to make the main floor almost presentable. A house with three boys, two big dogs that has wall to wall white carpet is a living nightmare.  So when I literally couldn’t take another minute of the mundane vacuuming, dusting and bathroom scrubbing, I went to my closet to pull out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt to christen with paint. As I grabbed an old Coke-a-Cola shirt (another vice.. a bad one, I realize) the chocolate bar came flying out, smacked my knees and landed on my feet.

WHOO HOOO!! I felt that I had won the lottery as I looked down to see my secret stash, that I had completely forgotten about, with its pretty script Dark Chocolate with Caramel waiting for me. So instead of getting dressed and taking it down to the studio with me, as perhaps a normal adult might do,  I sat down right then and there in my underwear and ate it. ALL of it!

THANK YOU ROBIN!!! You are my chocolate karma goddess and I love you for it!

Today, I don’t want to focus on one person in particular, but rather the inspiring friendship of two of my favorite people. My husband Chris and his best friend Erik have known each other for 36 years. They grew up in the same small town in Virginia as neighbors. Along with Chris’ brother, Pat, they explored and played in the surrounding woods and fields. To this day, they are like 80-year old men never tiring of telling those stories and adventures with great pride and laughter.

For Chris and Erik, that was just the foundation of a tremendous friendship that has grown and never wavered over the past three decades. They shared fun and innocent childhood years, awkward adolescent years, fun and not so innocent high school years, even more fun and really not so innocent college years,

Erik’s graduation from JMU- 1991

supported one another as their lives took them in different directions, stood by one another as they got married (fortunately to Sandy and me and not to each other), helped each other out with their first homes, have shared 12 years of the joys and responsibility of fatherhood, celebrated each others successes, and listen endlessly when there is disappointment or heartache. They have grown into these renaissance men who live very different lives but share an incredible friendship.

Chris and Erik at our semi annual 4th of July camping trip. Secret-spot, CO- photo by Ryan Giglio

What strikes me most is the unconditional love and respect they have for one another. It is off the charts. On account of their careers, passions, interests, beliefs and families, they view the world through very different lenses. Even though their politics, religious ideas, and how they fit in the world are contrasting, they don’t allow them to be conflicting. They both have compasses that point due north. They both have a ridiculous work ethic. They both take great pride in their families. They both have a love of nature and the outdoors. And, they both have a respect for the other that they should be so proud of. Not once will you hear the other say a negative word about his friend, ever. They seem to be able to get each other on a level of authenticity that allows only for support and gaining perspective. And after all of these years, the core understanding they have of one another inspires me.

Tough times are greeted with a hug, a bottle of bourbon, the grilling of some sort of meat, a supportive shoulder, comic relief (often relating to farts), advice when requested and again another hug. Good times are celebrated with a hug, a bottle of bourbon, the grilling of some sort of meat, heartfelt praise, comedy (often relating to farts) and more kind words and again another hug.

Erik and Chris, Fort Collins, CO 2011

As for many years, Erik’s career right now has him on the other side of oceans. Chris isn’t on Facebook, but whenever Erik posts pictures or videos of one of his grand adventures, Chris comes running to the computer. This past week I watched Chris scroll through pictures of Erik’s latest adventure of a solo back country ski trip in Germany. I could see (and hear as Chris literally talked to the computer) his pride and joy of Erik. He was soaking up glimpses of Erik’s adventure by taking in the gear he used, how very steep the tracks Erik had made were, the breathtaking views and finally a self portrait that put Chris right there with him for a moment. I am sure he came up with a hundred questions to ask him the next time he sees him.

I wasn’t planning on sitting down to write about my son Alex, but it seems to be what I need or rather want to do right now instead of chores. I came to the computer to check to see if he had sent an email. Right now, he is down in Denver at a technology conference for three days with 25 other students from his school. And, I miss him.

Alex and I in some ways are very much alike. We wear our hearts on our sleeves, we value and invest a lot in our friendships and family, we are both the oldest of three, and we look a lot alike- much to his dismay. He was a happy baby, an easy and joyful toddler and fun kid. Of course he is still all those things, but adolescence is kicking in and he and I find ourselves in new territory with one another. He is all over the place… and in turn, so am I. Our rhythm together is off… as it should be.

 He is pushing for his independence one second, can’t remember anything the next, and then has a brilliant idea following. Spontaneous bursts of tears are often followed by crazy laughter and soon after a surprisingly quiet and gentle moment with a cousin or younger brother. Honestly, this time can be so frustrating and hilarious at the same time. Trying to guide him well right now is proving to be a much greater challenge than I anticipated at this point. Sometimes I feel like I do well, but more often I find that I am falling on my face as much if not more than he is. It is terrifying. I so need to get this right. The stakes seem higher than ever before.

Last night, sitting by the fire with Ry and Chachi, Chris and I got a glimpse of what life will be like in a handful of years when Alex leaves the coop. Sometimes, we can’t help but go there. A friend recently wrote about sending her eldest daughter off to college and realizing she would pretty much be living life on her own terms. I had a bit of a shockwave hit. How could I possibly teach Alex all that he needs to know to be able to do just that in only 6 more years? But as he sloppily packed his bag Wednesday night and had that wild spark in his eyes from the anticipation of a new adventure, I felt a total calm hit instead. Alex loves and adores going out into the world. His curious nature, his comfort in his own skin, his great attitude and more laid back (sometimes too laid back – don’t get me started.. grrr….Hahaha… grrrrr! See the craziness?) nature, and his strong sense of what is right and wrong gives him all he needs to do to go off, learn, try and have a great experience.

Alex at Old Faithful, Yellowstone National Park. Photo by Jenny Kruckeberg

When Alex left the house on Thursday morning, he was really affectionate. I got lots of kisses and hugs. With Alex, I have played the game I love you for every________ in the world for 9 years now. And of course, we are always trying to one up the other.  As he walked out the door, snow was falling and I told him I loved him for every snowflake in the world. He turned and gave me a big and wide-eyed grin, flashed the sign for “I love you” with his hand and then took off running with pure excitement towards Chris’s truck ready to begin his adventure. He didn’t have to say a thing, but he one-upped me in that moment and I think he knew it.

After I graduated college, I had the good fortune to have a yearlong internship at the Phillips Collection in Washington, DC. Whenever time allowed, (before heading to one of the two additional jobs I had that year), I would find myself sitting on the single bench in the Rothko Room.  It was always a cherished and meditative moment in time. Sitting in the center of 4 of Rothko’s pieces created a safe place to let my heart and mind have an authentic conversation. The lighting in the room is perfect (and not at all like it is shown in the link) letting the intense colors and layers draw you into his paintings. For me, they would simultaneously evoke memories and inspire dreams. It has been a long time since I have sat in that room, but I can close my eyes and remember what a gift it was during that year to have that space to just be. I truly miss the Rothko Room.

**If you live near Washington or have a trip planned, The Phillips Collection is a tremendous treasure not to be missed. Enjoy!

My art room is a huge mess. It looks like my three boys have been in there, but they haven’t. I own the entire disarray. I really didn’t have it in me to even attempt to talk myself into cleaning it all up.  It was cold outside and even worse it was gray and overcast.  I just wanted to sit by the fire and not only soak in the heat but the glow. So, I got a big box and filled it with a bunch of stuff to play around with collage and took it upstairs. I got a roaring fire going, then spread out on the floor in front of it, making yet another big mess. It was great sitting there in a rainbow of recycled papers: magazine clippings, old notes, kid’s scribble, tissue paper, maps, stamps. I decided to just jump in and go and see what evolved. I smeared paint across three little canvas boards that I had gotten for the boys. I swirled the papers around me, pulling out whatever caught my eye. Cornstalks, some words, a clock and I began to think about my wicked case of spring fever. I am so ready to work the earth. But today, I worked the papers, modpodge, paints and pastels and created my own little garden of sorts. It was so satisfying to bring spring in.

Spring Fever, Mixed media on canvas.

I couldn’t stop and moved onto another board. I found a fun piece of paper that looked like tapestry, then a silhouette of a woman, a butterfly, the definition of honor. I thought of the woman in my life who truly honor who they are. They aren’t afraid to take risks. And even if they are, the risk of not following their passion is greater of the two.  They are sharing their authentic, genuine selves with the world. All of it, the whole mess… and they are beautiful and strong because of it.

Redefined, Mixed media on canvas

And then, as all of my guys came home from their days of school and work, they walked into my giant mess. “Can I do one?” “Can I have this piece of paper?” “Can I help you?” But, homework, basketball practice, reading, baths, dinner and all of that took over.  I think this weekend we will have a marathon Valentine collage making session and see what they come up with, other than another big mess.

After all the running around was done and boys were asleep in bed, I finished up the third and final collage of my day. Ry actually helped me a bit after school pulling out pieces and seeing different images. In it are parts of a thank you note a friend wrote to me. I love the flow of her handwriting. It made me end the day with gratitude to live a place that is so beautiful, so unique and full of wonderful people.

Gratitude for Ft. Collins, Mixed media on canvas by Cat and Ryan Giglio