I have a problem.
I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not saying that to stall, or put you off, but my life is so full that I can’t sift through it right now.
What might you want to read about? There are so many thoughts going through my mind; what to do about a problem student, what assignment to give in painting class, how to balance my formal painting lessons with lessons that foster creativity. There’s the learning I’m doing on the history of art education, and the way it correlates with intellectual movements and historical data; there’s the school of thought I was trained in, and the evolution of that school of thought. Creative vs. discipline based. It’s a whole new approach that happened when I was busy teaching. Then there’s the grad class itself: I’m the oldest one in the class, and the only actual teacher other than the professor. I try not to talk too much, but I just can’t help it. It’s a social dilemma. And the reading; much reading. I reserve Sunday nights for the bulk of it, giving me time to reflect.
What about that? My daughter and grandsons? Shall I tell you how they’ve found a happy life and family, even though they’re too far away to visit now? How I know time will go by between visits, and the boys will grow up and away? And how I know it’s right for them to be there even though I’m mourning their departure? I’m wondering what will happen to our holidays now; will my daughter and I see each other, as we’ve done for the past 32 years? Is that tradition worth preserving if it disrupts a happy family day for 5 small children? I don’t think so; and what form will our holidays take, down here below them? Will we form a small, aging family of three or four, with Peter and the two grandmothers? Will they be able to come, or will we be able to go to them? No one should be alone for the holidays. I’ve done that. It hurts.
So you see, I have a problem. What should I tell you? I often rely upon images or positive moments, lightweight things that might inspire you or lift your hearts; "If you can’t say something nice…"; you get the drift. But most of these things are both, really. For nearly every difficulty, there’s a related joy. For every struggle, a release. And life moves on.
I had a dream last night. I dreamt that I was driving a truck that was pulling a camper, and the connection between the two kept getting longer and longer, making navigation difficult. Those angles were hard to imagine, much less drive. And then it snowed; the roads were treacherous. The camper was stuffed full of belongings, and there were three kittens that were my family, and they kept getting lost.
It was a difficult dream.