2025 was objectively the worst year of my life. The world at large went to hell in a handbasket, in ways I never thought the world was going to do again. My day-to-day health took a pronounced downturn, leading to a major creative lull. And my loved ones faced many new significant hardships. It was like we were all struggling and floundering without letup.

And yet, subjectively I have had many previous years which I spent feeling low and miserable, and that honestly didn't happen this year. Down moments, sure, but overall my mood has been peaceful and even. This year taught me a lot about myself and how to navigate being me. So I guess that's good. 


I sure hope the objective sutff does better in 2026, though, for all our sakes.

My 60^th acrylic is another in my projected No Idea series.

( the story behind it )

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.

Today I was driving to an appt, and stopped at a light, and watched the cars flying back and forth along the crossroad, and the next one down, and all the cars waiting around me, and lights and signs and wires and windows all over....

And I suddenly thought, This is too much. We weren't made for all this.

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 songs of robins — been a long time coming

a nice enough day that we can open the windows!

My 52^nd and 53^rd acrylics are, as you can see, both pups. One is a gift, one is for putting up at the cafe and [hopefully] selling. I've already realized that my animal paintings are the closest I get to “crowd-pleasers”. So, when it comes time to make a gift, that's what I fall back on. But I've also already begun to wonder how much these paintings actually qualify as fine art. Like, do they say anything? Do they express anything about me? Maybe they're just an expression of “my love of animals”, and maybe that's enough, I dunno....

On the other hand, I can think of an artist I see on Instagram who only ever paints horses, and she quite cheerfully admits that's all she ever has any intention of painting, because that's what she loves most. And I've never questioned her legitimacy as An Artist®, so why do I need to question my own?

On the third hand, lately I've gotten more of an urge to spend at least some of my easel time working on less accessible pieces — I can feel things in me wanting to get out. I've already resigned myself to those new pieces not being understood or enjoyed, but I still feel like they'll be worth trying anyway.

For a while there, I was not sleeping well. Not enough, and what I got was very spotty and fragmented. Eventually I realized that fretting about the state of the world was keeping my mind whirring and preventing me from settling down. 

Then I saw a post from someone saying that they were cutting the news out of their life for a while, for the sake of their own peace of mind. The gist of their perspective was that they already knew by now what things were awful, so they could take that as read. They didn't really need this awfulness underlined again every day. Knowing the particular details of how the awfulness had shifted somewhat was no help to them. And these were all things that they couldn't do anything about, so more knowledge was not a guide to more action or more solutions. 

Then someone else said that they had set up filters on their social media, for similar reasons. This is not something I had ever tried myself, but I decided to now. So I did, a few days ago. 

Now, posts will appear on my social media, but instead of content I get a message saying this post contains filtered items. So I know the post is there, and it's up to me to decide if I want to see it or not. So far, I have been declining. 

And I can't help but notice that I am consistently sleeping more soundly since I began to filter out some of the awfulness. 

I understand there are those who will object. Who will tell me I have a duty to know what's going on in the world. As in, knowing everything, every detail. [Most of us who grew up in the days before the 24-hour news cycle realize that you can get by without unceasing news updates.] And there are those who will accuse me of flaunting my privilege, because it must be nice to be able to afford to ignore these things. [I don't deny that my life is privileged and blessed in numerous ways, even if I'm not rich.] 

But the people who were cutting out this influence from their online lives were framing it more in terms of self-care. Protecting their health which was suffering because of this psychic onslaught. And that's how I'm choosing to frame this for myself: self-care. Like, I don't accept that I am flaunting my privilege by eating regularly, simply because there are other people who don't. [I do count my blessings, though.] If I have the capability to nurture myself [as opposed to wallow in decadent luxury] then I will do so, as much as I am aware and able. 

Maybe that's just me.

Being stocked up on [most of the] stock-uppable things.

Knowing that, when I'm getting near the end of a container or package of something, there's another full one waiting somewhere. Not needing to worry that I might Run Out® — it's a gentle form of security, but a precious one.