Posts Tagged ‘Sisters’

Sisters And Other Angels

June 15, 2010

Over a week since I’ve written here. Is it even possible to pick up the thread of my blogging dance. I shall try. A smidgeon of hope accompanied me as the week began, and Tuesday morning saw me visiting the angelic doctor. Trust carried me through an office visit and, prescription filled, I went home believing life could be lived, or danced, with greater ease. Yet life is full of tricks, and ease tends to be of temporal duration. I found on my answering machine a message that changed the whole gist of the week in a flash. My sister had suffered a fall, had been taken by ambulance to the hospital with a head injury. CAT scans and various other tests added to her suffering and her family’s fears and concerns.

Days went by. My sampling of the anti-depressants happened in the midst, leading to a re-inflamation of my esophagus and stomach lining. I visited my sister, discussed her condition with other family members, fielded countless calls of inquirey, all the time keeping one hand pressed to my belly as if to calm and conceal my own pain. My heart seemed big enough to commiserate with both sisters – sisters who in a few short days were meant to host a joint art exhibit. At night, worn out from the stressful nature of each day, I completed the last of the  “Winged Messengers” – the delicate wire sculptures that would be my contribution to the exhibit. That last one: “Rabbit with Celestial Bouquet,” was privately named “Rabbit with Inadequate Ears. They were shorter than they might have been,  and somewhat lopsided. I was numbly trusting that the bouquet consisting of a moon, a sun, and a star would balance things out. He is what he is, born of the moment – telling more truth than anyone viewing him would know.

The reception took place, but only one sister greeted the numerous guests.  I stood in the midst, feeling very much the youngest sister, a bit too small – inadequate for the task. Everyone missed the absent sister, back in her hospital bed, better, but not well enough to attend.  Cards were filled with best wishes and compliments from attendees. In some way she seemed more present than I.  People were delighted and awed by my shining other-wordly creatures against their black cloth, and a few were purchased, but my sister’s glowing oils of familiar natural settings were far more accessible to most – easily imagined gracing the walls of a variety of homes.

With all honesty, I went home from the exceedingly successful evening depleted and rather blue.  And the next morning sought some comfort from telephoning my dearest friend, Kendall. This helped considerably, and perhaps left me open and receptive to my afternoon visitors.  A dear man, more my sister’s friend than my own, called and came by with his partner, and the two lovely men, whom I’d casually invited the night before, brought warmth and interest into my space. I found myself come alive in a way I hadn’t the night before, embracing the whole experience with gratitude and joy.  At one point I found myself demonstrating how to fall without tensing up and being hurt. (We had been speaking of getting older and more vulnerable to falls.) Then they joined me on the floor, as though we were where we were meant to be all along, relaxed and intimate in our conversation.  When they finally took their leave,  a sense of completion was in the air. Yet one more exchange took place.  They asked to see a bronze sculpture, one of three I’d had cast a few years ago. In this wonderfully palatable way another sale was made. This “Angel” was heavier and more abstract than those of the night before, but I knew for certain that she would be winging her way with the perfect companions for the rest of her journey. And part of me went with her gladly as the rest of me rejoiced anew in the world I inhabit.

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Sister In Bloom

March 12, 2010

Her hair seemed dusted with pollen as she opened the door – her wild gray curls outlined with yellow-gold. Her mouth was a crescent of joy on her sweet round face, and her eyes danced gleefully over a badly kept secret. She invited me in, then sneezed, then laughed and apologized. But my sister, Mary, had no reason to be sorry. Along the far wall leaned a series of oil paintings: outdoor scenes with tall pines and gilded grasses. Pink-violet roads and pathways curved away past glimmering  bayous. The stark blue sky gazed happily at a more appealing version of itself .  This sister artist bounced beside me as I took in more than beauty.  Here was evidence of  am interior willingness to bloom.