Discovery of a new Universe – a painting Project

20
Mar

Happy Monday all! Hope this finds you digging into whatever projects you need to get done this week, and making headway on all the things.

After talking about trying to gauge how best to use this space, I felt very affirmed in doing what’s come most naturally to me, which is to just share what’s going on without worrying too much about curating a specific image or narrow focus. That said, I’d like to share a recent project I documented. If nothing else it will bring some more color to your day.

Let’s get started!

Staring down the blank page

Now what?! I just grab things that appeal to me and slap ’em down on the page. My writing is a little like that too; I write those scenes that are most clear to me, then once I’ve got a flow going I can trace back and add in the parts that should have come ahead of that. It’s especially helpful when just getting started.

Slappin’ down some things to get started.

That’s better, but it looks too sparse to me so I’ll add some more fun in the form of paints and some tissue papers.

Trying to allow myself to use whatever colors appeal to me, without worrying what it will look like when it’s done.

Now when I look at it, something’s coming to mind. I can’t quite identify it yet, but suddenly I want to flip it the other way around, so the bottom becomes the top, and now there’s a person in there.

Upside-daisy!

The circles become the center of a person.

I like this, but there’s A LOT going on. It’s hard to want to cover it up, but this amount of visual noise is not satisfying. I like the way India inks play with layers, so I’ll try to use that next.

Here’s how it ended up.

Close up!

Overall I’m happy with this. What I’m trying to be aware of proportionality, meaning what will work best in a given room. This would probably be best in a smaller area, since the girl is fairly little. I want to begin working larger, but since I work so very s-l-0-w-l-y (in painting as well as writing) something larger would probably take me two weeks to finish. That would be okay but I’m also impatient! A difficult duo to balance!

Hope you’ve enjoyed seeing a little behind the scenes here today. I’d love to hear about any projects you’re working on, and how long it’s taking you to get them done! 🙂

Renewed Shenanigans

21
Feb

Since it’s a strange weathered-February, it seems right to finally do an update here. I haven’t been trying to maintain radio silence; I’ve been moving into an expanded role in a job that’s been developing on the side for a bit. It’s exciting and I’m now part owner of a small business, which shows you how little screening they do of these sorts of things.

That’s only part of it, and I could use your input with another part.

As you know, I’ve got a bee in my bonnet for creative experiences. Painting has been at the forefront for longer than I anticipated. My dad getting sick and then losing him made it virtually impossible to tap into the writing that I had identified with for so long. I’ve (mostly) accepted that.

[Shhh…I’ll tell you something extra true: there are moments when I wonder about lost-time or opportunities I might have missed. That’s my first impulse. Once I notice that impulse, I remind myself that’s coming from a place of scarcity and a place of worry that there are a finite number of opportunities available, a.k.a. if I don’t get one of these opportunities they’ll run out before my turn comes round again. I don’t have to accept that mentality, and I don’t. There’s more than enough to go around, for me and for you too.]

I’ve allowed myself to explore and develop other ways of expressing the roiling thoughts and feelings that have come in these years of wrestling. Paints, scribbling, ripping paper, smearing color – these have become a language without words.

Original mixed media art by TC Larson (that’s me!)

This is good; it’s good to have tools with which you approach the world. It gave me new ways to work through difficult situations and was useful then when, about six months after losing my dad, my daughter (I call her Princess Teacup here) was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes.

The diagnoses is permanent and it has impacted, well, everything. It’s not that you don’t get used to it – you do. It’s that by necessity, it changes so much of the rhythm of your life.

Okay back to you, Dear Reader. You can see that I’m a little all over the place. I could really use your input.

Painting, writing, creativity.
Type 1 Diabetes
Family, friends, silliness, and motherhood.
Encouragement, faith, spirituality, crabby wrestling with the Church.

These are all things that flow through my life. Does it make you crazy to hear about ALL of them? Do you wish this space was more focused? Do you wish you knew you could come here and get a daily pep talk? Do you get tired of hearing about grief and loss? Would you like to read snippets of stories I’m working on, now that I’m writing again?

This is when I turn to you, Dear Reader, and I’d really value what you have to say. Speak freely now, friends. I want to hear it. Your input can help shape the direction I go. I plan revamp things in order to better make this space reflect some of the shifts that have happened, and hearing from you would really help me.

Even though it’s been a while, I want you to know I appreciate you and the opportunity (there’s that word again) to share here with you.

Now get outside and enjoy this bizarre February heat wave. We’re all suspicious of it and are pretty sure it can’t last. Remember, the high school winter sports finals haven’t happened yet, and that’s when we here in Minnesota almost always get hit with a blizzard (click here for proof!). Don’t put away those snow shovels yet.

Since I’m already being “that person” and asking for things, I’m just gonna go for all the bananas and put this here: Donate and support us at the JDRF One Walk Fundraiser.

Third week of Advent: Joy

11
Dec

Welcome to the third week of Advent.

So far we’ve focused on Hope and Love.

This week’s focus is Joy.

Joy is not the same as happiness. There’s supposed to be a difference between the two, though it’s sometimes hard to put your finger on. The way I was taught, happiness was fleeting and joy was ever-present. I’m starting to wonder about those semantics, and whether the air of superiority about them is warrented.

Happiness isn’t a bad thing, but it’s short-lived. Joy is supposed to be a deeper down emotion, something we retain regardless of our circumstances. It has the reputation of being something cultivated over a long arc, something tapped into by decision and a squarely set jaw.

For example, no one would say they’re joyful when their house just burnt down (although no body would say they’re happy about it, either).

However, they might say they still have joy when they lose their job and have nothing else lined up, even though they aren’t happy about it.

So what’s the difference?

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JD Salinger is said to have written, “The fact is always obvious much too late, but the most singular difference between happiness and joy is that happiness is a solid while joy is a liquid.”

(He should have written “Riddle me this!” as his first phrase of that quote. Let me know when you sniff out what the heck he was saying. Thanks fer nuthin’, Sensei Salinger.)

Joy seems to be consistently connected to a spiritual state, a grounded connectedness to ourselves, those around us, and a higher spiritual purpose. No wonder it feels superior to happiness, which is rooted in things lining up the way we expected or a positive outcome we were hoping for. Happiness is almost a consumable good; joy is more durable.

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As I was working on an art journal page for this week in Advent, I was working in layers and trying to create texture that I thought I would then paint white, so the texture would be the focus rather than the color. The idea was to add white as a final layer, but it would still have undertones of darkness (Payne’s grey and quindoctraone magenta) and brightness (metallic gold).

I liked the way it looked, but it didn’t work the way I thought.

That’s similar to the whole happiness vs. joy thing.

This didn’t end up being right. But I started with the idea of having joy be informed by life experience and rising above temporary circumstance.

The second page I worked on, I let myself grab colors I like and just slap ’em on a page. I had received a mailing with the word JOY on it, so that was handy. When I put it all together it looked like this…

Take two. This didn’t end up being right either. It was too…happy. Bright and cheerful is fine but to me joy speaks of deeper colors.

Whoa! Bienvinedos a Miami! Here’s a soundtrack to match this art journal page:

It’s fun, it’s cheery, it’s upbeat. All good things, but not exactly descriptors of Joy.

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It all got me to thinking. Happy doesn’t get the respect it deserves. Happy is considered the temperamental cousin of Joy. She’s looked down on as being shallow and flighty, depending on getting the foam on her cappuccino j-u-s-t right, or adjusting her recliner to the optimum angle. She’s supposed to be nothing like Joy, who is the stable, responsible one, the even-keeled, thoughtful cousin who manages to keep her chin up in the worst of circumstances, when Happy high-tails it to the Bahamas. Why is joy seen to be so superior to happiness?

Here’s something I think comes into play. Many character qualities or personality traits have varying degrees, deeper levels of the thing. Let me explain and you see what you think.

Nice is a good quality. We want people to be nice. But nice is not the same as kind. Kind is a whole other thing, with generosity and consideration implied in it. You can force yourself to be nice temporarily, but being kind is something that comes from a different place in the heart.

Smart is a similar example. Who doesn’t want to be smart? Smart’s good. But wise is a couple levels deeper. I don’t know if you can be wise without being smart but I DO know you can be smart WITHOUT being wise.

Happiness is the first degree, the entry level, of Joy. Weeping may endure for the night but Joy is gonna come in the morning. Joy is the thing that you can retain in spite of crummy circumstances or hardships that make it hard to get out of bed. Maybe joy is one of the things that MAKES you get out of bed.

Maybe joy is what happens with happiness sinks down into your soul and makes a home there.

The third and final try at "Joy" ended up like this. I think it makes sense this way, which joy being a calm presence in the middle of the color and movement of everyday. Do you agree?

The third and final try at “Joy” ended up like this. I think it makes sense this way, with joy being a calmly present in the middle of the color and movement of everyday. Do you agree?

Whatever joy is, I hope you find more of it in the coming week.

Second week of Advent: Love

3
Dec

We are entering the second week of Advent. The focus for this week is Love.

The first week of Advent, the focus was on Hope.

That didn’t go so well for me. How’d it go for you?

I thought that trying to focus on hope this week would make me more full of hope. I thought maybe I’d see places that showed signs of hope.

Instead, it seemed to go the other way.

The good church-girl in me immediately went to the thought of Maybe that’s because Hope doesn’t come from inside us. We need to get our Hope from God and since this is Advent, and because it’s always the answer: Jesus.

But I’m crabbier than that now, a much more cantankerous, reluctant “person of faith” (if I even qualify for that anymore, which I know some people would say I don’t. But I’d be pretty happy to NOT be associated with that kind of faith).

Then, upon further reflection on last week, I remembered why being hopeful might have reason to be hard this week. It was my dad’s birthday, or would have been if he was still with us. He would be 70. It would also have been my parents anniversary.

These dates will not change from year to year, and they’ll always fall near the beginning of Advent. You’d think I wouldn’t be surprised by an undercurrent dragging down my spirits, and yet, I am surprised. Maybe there’s a lesson there for me, but I’m not seeing it yet.

Because this week’s Advent focus (I never know how to phrase that. We light a candle and call it the Hope candle or the Love candle. So do I call it this week’s Advent candle is Love? Maybe so but we’re not actually talking about the candle. See what I mean?? We’re going to call it a focus, unless you, Dear Reader, can point me to another way wordologizing it.) Now…where were we?

Oh yes…

Advent. Love.

Because this week’s Advent focus is Love, one the first things that comes to mind is to recount all the people we love, the things we love doing, the places that hold special meaning for us.

We probably also quickly go to romantic love. We can think on the intensity of love, the way it make us just a tiny bit crazy, and even the way it can begin with pure intentions and grow twisted in its desire to be reciprocated.

Love is one of our most universal connectors is love. It’s something we all feel, all desire. I think it’s even a force similar to gravity or energy. The powerful force of love causes us to sacrifice, emboldens us, spurs us to action.

Love, with a capital L, is that Divine force that unifies us and gently nudges us towards choosing generosity, selflessness, hospitality, honesty, empathy. It’s draw us together across our separations. It gives us the courage to set aside our pride and enter a relationship humbly.

This is the Love that comes to us as an infant.

This is the Love that reaches out to us before we even understand that concept.

This is the Love that enfolds us, comforts us, guides us.

This is the Love I’ll try to focus on this week.

First week of Advent: Hope

28
Nov

Yesterday was the beginning of Advent, the lead up to the big shindig: Christmas. Some people have been barely containing their excitement and now they can let it out, like this guy…

Most of us are probably a little more subdued about it.

Even so, Christmas receives a lot of attention. Wherever you may find yourself in relation to it, unless you plan to go on vacation to a very remote island, you’re going to find it hard to avoid for the next month.

Something that receives less attention, and which has been less commercialized is the season of Advent. Advent can be a beneficial time for all of us. It doesn’t have to even be connected to the sweet little 8lb baby Jesus laying in a manger wearing golden fleece diapers (did you see Talladega Nights like I did?), although the source of most of our modern Advent traditions come from a Christian practice.

Here’s the thing about Advent: it can be used as a way of resetting ourselves and zeroing the white balance (so to speak) on our priorities.

Each week has a different focus, and each one is something that most of humankind can get behind. Hope, love, joy, peace — these are at the heart of Advent, and I’d argue they’re at the heart of what it means to be human. Each of these values alone is powerful enough, but teamed together they’re transformative.

Or at least I hope so.

So, with the intention to post on each of the Advent themes, let’s turn our attention to hope.

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I think hope is a little like waiting for the mist to clear.

You can be walking along, your path one you’ve been on before, and then all of a sudden everything’s different. You can’t see the same vistas, and the air feels different, even smells different. You keep walking, just putting your foot down and trusting that the path hasn’t undergone the same shift. You know enough to be patient. You know enough to remember that this has happened before though it was so long ago it’s almost out of your memory.

You have reason to hope, even though the circumstances don’t communicate hopefulness.

Hope is a thing with feathers… ~Emily Dickinson

Sometimes the mist clears and you’re back on your merry way, the change temporary, merely a blip.

Other times, the mist clears and you find the landscape has morphed into something new and not entirely pleasant.

Ultimately the outcome doesn’t matter, because hope is the act of believing in the face of uncertainty. In some of the worst circumstances, it’s the possibility of change, the possibility of miracles, the possibility of a positive resolution that gives us strength to push forward. On the one hand, that has the potential to blind us to reality. Blind hope doesn’t always yield helpful perspective. But the presence of hope when things look dire, even just a glimmer, can give us just enough courage to get through to the next step…and then the next…and the next.

Hoarding Stories (and when to give them up)

23
Nov

I have a confession.

I am a hoarder.

I know that conjures up certain images, primarily (probably) from reality shows that depict houses with bedrooms so full of materials (papers hangers boxes clothes baskets goldfish) that you can’t even see the bed.

I’m not that kind of horder.

I am a hoarder of stories.

I keep them; I treasure them up; I preserve them and greedily I hold them all to myself.

I don’t even tell them to myself all that much; I just don’t want YOU to have them. Sounds reimicent of a toddler, doesn’t it? MINE! No no! A lot like this kid: https://youtu.be/MA11NlkIREA

I’m beginning to think that keeping the stories to myself comes from a place of fear. I fear that if I tell you the stories and they are as insignificant to you as they are significant to me, then I will have wasted that story. I’ll feel as though the value of it is somehow diminished by it not being as significant to someone else as it is to me.

When I keep stories to myself I’m coming from a place of fear because I worry that by sharing the stories I will encapsulate myself in those stories and you will think there’s nothing more. You’ll think that story is the sum of who I am. You’ll assume that one story, that one moment, is the definition of what that story represents, rather than being one snapshot of one significant moment. I’ll be held to it (or if not me, then the other subjects of the story) instead of it being seen as one point on the arc of a life development.

I find that I hoard stories of the people I love because if I share those you might think that you understand who the person was. Is a person only as much as the stories about them? Can a person’s life be summed up in a few stories, even a book full of stories?

We’ve all had those times when we have told someone the story of something significant to us. Then, months later, we have returned to the story only to have the other party tell us, “Oh, yeah, I remember you telling me about that.” As if one telling of the story can communicate all the nuances or all the significance of what that event meant. As if one telling of the story is a full rendering of that story.

We all know that isn’t true.

But I still want to keep many stories to myself. Maybe it comes from being in an age of over-sharing and online image grooming. The thought of telling an imperfect or unfinished story, especially about ourselves, just doesn’t fit into the curated, highlight reel we try to present, whether that’s knowingly or unknowingly. I think it’s refreshing to hear real stories of imperfect resilience and unfinished, unresolved showing up for our own lives.

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With that said, I’m getting ready to tell you a story.

I don’t know how it ends. Sometimes we have to be ok wth that. This is one of those times.

Here’s the thing you need to accept about this story: magic.

Photo credit: Morguefile @svklimkin

I don’t mean magic that requires spells or a cauldron, but simply magic in the sense of serendipity, beauty, or wonder. Magic.

See, I know of a magical parking lot.
You don’t believe me?

I know it’s unlikely, but it’s true.

I know of a magical parking lot where unplanned meetings between strategically placed people happen at opportune moments.

Of course, I didn’t know it was magical when I first found it. The first few times I parked there nothing happened. It may have been because I wasn’t paying attention or I wasn’t looking forward to anything. The first times I parked there it was just a parking lot and I was just parking a car. But when I discovered it was magical it was because I was different.

That’s all I’m going to tell you for now. You’ll have to check back in a few days for the whole story (you can subscribe to make it easier if you’d like). You’ve got enough to think about. Because besides asking you to accept magic, I’m going to ask you a question: if I share my stories, are you willing to consider sharing yours? Maybe not with me, but with someone?

See, I don’t think I’m the only one who hoards stories. I think there’re plenty of other people who do it too. You might be one of them.

It doesn’t matter if it reveals that we’re not perfect, or that we do t have everything figured out. It’s time to share those stories, to let them speak for themselves, to let them give voice to one perspective or one moment and have the sharing of it be enough.

Dreams and Memories

23
Oct

Do you take much stock in dreams? Do you remember your dreams?

My kids love to tell me about their dreams. They can remember their dreams in great detail, every weird random endless droning detail, and they don’t hesitate to share this all with me. Some people — including adults — like to tell others about their dreams, regardless of the subject matter. They just find dreams interesting.

I’m not that person.

…usually.

What I’ve discovered is that there are some dreams that DO interest me, usually ones that have an element of revelation in them. I’ve thought about whether God uses dreams, like the dream Joseph had about staying with Mary, the message delivered by an angel. Or the dream Jacob had about the stairway to heaven that angels were travelling on. These are the exceptions to regular dreams, the ones where you can’t find your car keys or you’re in a traffic jam. But even recently I heard a story about someone who was travelling internationally and received a message in a dream, one that told him to wake up. When he obeyed and woke up (in the middle of the night), he was able to stop a thief who was in the midst of stealing from his nightstand.

Spooky, huh?

When I was a student, I had a recurring dream that there was a party going on in my room while I was trying to study. This dream only happened when I was stressed and busy. It meant I would wake up tired, stressed and busy even after doing what supposed to replenish my body and mind.

In recent years, however, I remember very few of my dreams.

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My sister has had a few dreams about our dad since he passed away two years ago.

I’m pretty envious of her. I’ve only had two.

The thing with dreams of someone you love is that your brain knows you’re dreaming, even while you’re trying to shut it up so you can enjoy the unexpected opportunity to visit with him. You know it isn’t real, but you don’t want to know that, since dreams are supposed to be a break from reality, aren’t they? I mean, dreams are supposed to be places were we can do anything we want. Why burden them with a reality check when we’re supposed to be busy flying around or doing things we could never do in real life.

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I was taught to control my dreams. When I had a bad dream, my parents told me to make the scary thing (often a bear, now that I think of it) give me a present.

I’ve taken this and expanded on it for my kids. We’ve talked to them about turning the thing into a bubble and then pop it, turn it into a dandelion and blow it away, or even shrink it until it’s attempts to be scary become laughable.

What I haven’t tried is to focus on being able to make something happen in my dreams. I don’t think I have the courage to try and see my dad in my dreams. I want to preserve true memories I have of him, and I wonder if dreaming about him will introduce an un-real memory of him. I’ve already incorporated one of my sister’s dreams into my own memory banks, probably because the dream gave me comfort even as it was bittersweet.

I want to have real memories, and I want these to be separate from my dreams.

Listen (or: How did you know that?)

16
Sep

Do you have a good poker face? One that keeps people guessing? Some people are indeterminable, their expressions so blank you’re not entirely sure they’re breathing.

I’ve tried having such a poker face, but alas, I have failed. Even when I think I’m doing my best version of a poker face, my face decides otherwise. That’s why it was so funny to me when I had a conversation with a dear friend this week, and it went something like this…

Me: Blah blah blah, I have to talk to you about this thing, blah di blah. It’s been on my mind a long time, but I’ve been nervous to talk to you about it.

Friend: It’s about time.

Me: Huh?

Friend: (Trying not to look smug) Yeah. I’ve known there was something bugging you for a while but there just hasn’t been a good chance to really get into it.

[End Scene]

She knew already, or at least had an inkling about it. She could tell, even though I thought I was keeping a straight face and not letting on. I wasn’t trying to lie to her; I was simply trying to say nothing in either direction. But it was no use.

She was listening without me even talking.

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It was more than my friend having a feeling that something was on my mind. She stayed with me, hung in there, even when I wasn’t ready to talk about it. Then once I was ready to talk about it…

…she listened.

She let me talk and didn’t jump to conclusions about what I was saying. She asked questions so she’d understand what I meant. She gave me room to look for the right word and waited for me to find my way through a sentence.

…she listened, and though she didn’t know it, she underlined yet another proof of why we’ve been friends for almost 20 years. Her choice of response, one of grace and warmth, exemplified what I feared I would NOT receive from many people. This happy reaffirmation of her wonderfulness came on a topic I’ve held carefully to myself in fears that it would create a rift between us, and that there — well, that’s the clearest proof of the love of a friend that I can think of.

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Incremental steps for Everyone

16
Aug

Why do we tend to think we need to change overnight? We do we insist on expecting ourselves to wake up and be a totally renewed person simply because we decided to become one as we went to bed the night before?

I discover a few exercises, think they look quick and manageable, and the next day I check to see how my pants fit and I haven’t even done any of the exercises I discovered.

That’s unrealistic, to say the least. But we do things similar when we expect ourselves to just snap into new ways of behaving or new outlooks. We consider our attempts as failures rather than what they are…

Incremental steps.

I’m thinking about this today because we A. bought school supplies for the kids and B. dropped off my daughter at day camp (don’t worry – we picked her up at the end of the day).

These incremental steps toward independence — this allowing of our children to be away from us for long periods of time — are often good for them. They are also often a real act of faith, especially if there are any health needs for the kids. It’s hard enough if your child is of an uncomplicated health scenario; it’s a whole different experience when there are significant risks to factor in.

For example, my daughter has Type 1 Diabetes. That means (among other things) she’s insulin dependent, and for every meal, snack, or treat she has to count out carbohydrates and administer insulin accordingly. Since my husband and I want to take that responsibility for as long as we can (she’ll handle it the rest of her life so we’ll do it when she’s a child), that means WE count the carbs and administer the insulin accordingly.

That also means that any time she’s away from us, someone else has to take on that responsibility.

This week, that’s the good folks at Camp Daypoint, a day camp specifically for kids with Type 1 Diabetes (T1D).

Remember how we were talking now about incremental steps? Yeah, those are hard.

After an entire year of carrying her bag of T1D “equipment” (and trust me, there’s plenty of equipment) to and from everything with us, including everything from bike rides to sledding, basketball to swimming, I left her at day camp without her bag.

She didn’t need it.

They provide everything she needs for managing her T1D.

They would take care of her.

It’s a good step torward greater independence both for her and for us as her parents.

It’s a pretty significant, and yet incremental, first step.

Photo taken by TC Larson

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I got to thinking that this is a lot like sending your kids off to school.

You can think this is a great idea, it’s the best thing for them, it’s a good step toward greater independence and self-actualization (psychobabble and all that child development mumbo-jumbo), but When the times comes to put that kindergartener on the bus, it seems like the worst planned out plan you ever heard of. Who sends these tiny human on an enormous metal death trap THAT HAS NO SEAT BELTS on a highway with a speed limit that’s just clearly meant to mimic the environment of NASCAR, to a place where they do not allow Nanny Cams/Go-Pros that will equip us to supervise their interactions? What if they don’t wash their hands? What if they use someone else’s comb? What if they climb UP the slide when clearly playground protocol is to only go DOWN the slide?

It’s unreasonable.

And now they want us to send these tiny humans there all day long, even as kindergarten tiny humans, children who were, let’s be honest, just moments away from their initial entry into the world? Infants, I tell you, infants!

We get through it. Maybe with tears and more wine than is advisable, but we do it. Why?

Because it is the significant incremental step we must take.

That doesn’t make it easy, that doesn’t mean we’re good at it. We just have to do the thing.

Maybe we’ll get better at it over time, maybe not. We just have to keep trying.

Good luck, all you parents of the world. We’ll get through this, and I’ve heard tales of people actually enjoying it. Maybe we’ll be those people someday.

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The point is, we could all use more grace as we travel through life. Grace toward others, grace torward ourselves. The older I get, the more I realize how much grace and long-suffering was extended to me without my knowledge. That makes me want to do the same for all those other know-it-alls who, like I did, think they’ve got a bead on the “right” way to think/act/speak etc.

I hope that as I take my own incremental steps, I’ll learn to be grace-filled toward my attempts, no matter how small.

A painted turtle and a Burial

25
Jun

Stay present. Don’t run, don’t let yourself be distracted. This is real. This is happening.

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The utility company did a number on the boulevard again this year,

Left saplings broken off at the waist, buzzsaw shredded kneecaps.

The heavy tires, unable to tiptoe over the earth wet from days of rain, left their double footprints through the grass.

Pass the field where they’re growing a cash crop of thistles, past the next field where the wheat’s coming in nice.

I round a corner and in the sun glare I see a turtle on the double yellow.

Frozen in the heat of day.

Don’t run. This is happening. Don’t be distracted. Pay attention.

Mowers whir in the distance, the breeze in the top of the pines mimics the sound of tires.

It’s a painted turtle; the inside edge of its shell is bright red, it’s neck adorned with yellow stripe, mimicking the road.

“Move.”

I speak to it, as though it can understand me, like my plants in the yard. I tap it with my toe, hold the dog back and balance device, water bottle and headphones, watching the road each way, ready for a car to make the decision for us.

“Move.”

Slowly I scoot it forward, against its will.

“Move it.”

It doesn’t want to go. It wants to stay in the middle of the road.

Stay present. Pay attention. This is real.

I gently shove it across the whole street and into the scrap that used to be grass along the side of the road. I continue my walk with the panting dog.

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This is real. Don’t run. Stay present. What just happened?

I don’t want to put you into the earth. I want to pretend you’ll come back. You’re on a long trip. You’re phone’s acting wonky but I’ll see you at the family thing next …insert thing here. You’re on vacation and there’s no service, but we’ll hear from you soon.

We won’t hear from you soon.

|||

I continue my walk to the halfway point and turn around.

When I get back to the spot, the turtle’s gone.

I check the grass, I check the ditch, I check the other side; it’s gone. It’s home.

Pay attention. This is real.

I don’t want to, but I must. The turtle is gone. It is safe. You are gone. You are safe.

I must keep walking.

This is real.