The other day we went to visit Ma [my mother-in-law] at her long-term care placement, as we've done semi-weekly for like half a year now. During that time, I've come to recognize and be more familiar with some of the other residents.

One in particular is a woman who might well be about our age or maybe not much more. Wheelchair-bound [like almost all the residents in Ma's section], white-haired, tall, very thin, with an elegant patrician face, the sort of bone structure that preserves your beauty for life. Most likely she was movie-star lovely in her youth. The thing I notice about this woman is that she always looks sad. Almost half the times I've seen her, she's been crying about no-idea-what. Sometimes she will let out an angry outburst of "Get out!" directed to the empty hallway in front of her... but except for those times, she is non-verbal. [Again, like almost all the residents in Ma's section.] When she's not crying or yelling, she sits quiet, gazing above everyone else's heads, looking utterly forlorn.

I remember a time that I couldn't help thinking that this must be a helluva way to live.

Last time we visited, a man about our age showed up. I don't recall seeing him before, but the staff greeted him by name, so he must be a regular. [TBH I've never noticed many regular visitors in that section besides ourselves — maybe we visit at unusual times.] He had a generous colourful bouquet with him, and brought it to the aforementioned lady, announcing that today was their fiftieth anniversary.

And that woman lit up. She wasn't able to speak to her husband but she kept her eyes locked on him and her smile never dimmed. She took the flowers from him, posed for him to take a picture, then a nurse took a picture of them together, and the whole time she looked rapturously happy.

I'd been thinking that she lived a joyless life, but here a moment of deep joy came to her, and she recognized it and revelled in it. And I found it so intensely moving to see her, that my eyes got wet and I had to take care not to let people see. We took Ma off somewhere else then, but that meeting of that couple wouldn't let go of me. I've been thinking about it ever since [my impetus to write about it, obviously]. 

I keep thinking that her life does have its own moments of Goodness, and those are probably what she lives for. And, in that respect, she's perhaps no different from any of the rest of us.

getting the dishes done: some days it just feels like such a relief

an easy fix

Last night, when I removed my hearing aids for their overnight recharge, part of one of them stayed in my ear. (Wuh-oh.)

This morning, I took them back to Costco for a repair. And it was simply a matter of unplugging the broken cable and plugging in a new one — literally took less than thirty seconds. (Oh, and it was free: “Everything is covered by your membership.”) Gotta love it.

 After a two-year drought, the British store finally got M&S Digestives back in stock!

The silver lining of a day of gastrointestinal distress: overnight I lost four pounds.

The heat and smoke have let up enough today to allow us to open the windows and turn off the AC.

[Yeah, I know I have been leaning on this one a lot lately, but it's been an unusually bad year for this sort of thing...]

It recently became clear to me that I have gradually slipped into an unusually deep trough over the past while... but what's weird is how it finally clicked for me:

I've sorta noticed for a while that I don't feel like doing anything, lately. But my Aha Moment came when I realized I was tired and I thought, I don't even feel like resting.

Like, what's up with that....

My glasses! So many of the things I love to do, I couldn't do without them.

I was recently talking with Barbara about a local artist [acrylic painter] I have met and conversed with a few times... and how I always find it flattering but odd when I realize that said artist talks with me [and about me] as if I am a peer. Barbara says that I am one and should certainly see myself that way, but I have trouble with this. Then she got talking about whether I realize that I am a good artist, and that my art is good.

Afterward I thought about it for a while, and realized that I do think that my work is generally Good Enough®, but I don't think of it as Good®. Since then, I've been struggling to define for myself just what the difference is, between good enough and good.

Finally I settled on something like this: if I look at a piece of mine, and I don't see things that I wish I had done differently, or parts that aren't quite what I would like.... if the flaws are not glaring, but are acceptable instead, then I can say the work is good.** Then I got thinking about which pieces of mine I can say that about.

I came up with four. Out of sixty years of arting.

Not sure where I'm going with this, I still need to mull over and hash out. Wondering if other people make a similar distinction between good-enough work and good work. I just wanted to get this down while I thought of it.



** and is this how I judge whether other people's work is good? Not sure that I do. Yet more sutff to mull over....

The heat wave finally broke! It's been weeks!