You can remember him and only that he is gone
Or you can cherish his memory and let it live on,
You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your
Or you can do what he would want: smile, open your eyes,
love and go on.
April 10, ‘15
Today isn’t as cold or gloomy as yesterday. A warming trend is nigh, I think I feel it coming. I can see that the grass next door is greener than it was yesterday. The sky is a brighter gray than yesterday. Occasionally there are less opaque patches where a very pale blue is revealed. There’s supposed to be sun tomorrow as well as warm temperatures; a warming trend with sunlight! That alone makes me feel less glum than I have been this past week.
This past week has been characterized with grieving the loss of Albert and celebrating his life. I’m planning to pick up his ashes tomorrow morning at the Vet’s. I found a perfect urn for his ashes, which gave me a feeling of comfort. I’ve found 2 little kittens that need a home and if all goes as per The Plan, I’ll be picking them up next Saturday. I feel sure they’ll fill the loss of Albert in my home and help ease the pain in my heart that he’s truly gone and our era together is over. Albert, as with so many other humans and cats who’ve died and who I celebrate, has an ineffable place in my heart.
I found this small painting yesterday as I was sorting through stuff in a box of artwork and memorabilia. I have several paintings of Anderson Farm, which is a place that is familiar to me since childhood. This is a view I’ve always enjoyed. In my past experience it was a very pretty farm and very well maintained. The cows belonging to this farm were honey-colored Guernsey’s and they always looked so bright and clean when they were in their green pastures alongside the road. Mr Anderson took very good care of his farm and his animals and to me, the farm buildings and animals looked like something I’d see in a story book or on a picture post-card.
This view shows the farm looking from west to east. From this point of view, it meant that we were halfway home from The Lake – from a place on Bantam Lake where my family spent many of my childhood summers.
I did this painting on Oct 15, but forgot to write down the year. I’m pretty sure it was done in ’95, a few months after I moved into my place on South Lake St, which was a few miles away from this spot. In the time in my life when gas was affordable and I spent many hours painting outside at spots where I’d always wanted to capture an image with paint. In ’95, the cows had been gone for years and the fields weren’t planted. The Anderson’s had died or moved away. The barns were empty, but still well maintained.
When I discovered this painting yesterday, the memories instantly lifted my spirits. It was done at another grieving place in my life, a little over a year since my father’s death. When I looked at this painting yesterday I remembered sitting in a lawn chair in the grass across from the intersection on a warm and sunny Fall day, working on this painting while remembering this farm as it had been when I was a kid in the car and my father telling us it was the halfway point between The Lake and Home. I was remembering a time when life was simple and feeling good had to do with being in the car — halfway Home or halfway to The Lake — with my father and my family.