a squirrel

three months


it's quite amazing how many things can trigger a memory.
from a small thing to the quite obvious to the insignificant.  you never even realized that the thing that is gone is even associated with what causes you to remember its absence.

everyday
when i wake up, she's not there next to the bed waiting for me to let her out and give her breakfast.
she's not there waiting for scraps as I cook and then eat breakfast.
and then lunch.
she isn't waiting outside the bathroom when I get out of the shower.
doesn't walk with me to the mailbox.
isn't antsy, waiting to go for a walk in the afternoon.
when I work in my studio,  she's not sleeping nearby.

I still glance periodically at the back door, looking for her face, waiting to be let back in.
when I go into the backyard she's not there.
she's not in the house when I come home.  doesn't run from wherever she is to greet me.
not there when I cook dinner, waiting to catch every little scrap.

when I'm upset or have a bad day, she's not there to comfort me.
she was very comforting and sweet when I was upset.  just hovered nearby or nestled in close.
she didn't ask why, only listened if you told her, never offering advice. never judging.
but she always knew when you needed the comfort. the shoulder to cry on.
that's what i miss most.  I need the comfort that only she can give.
she was the best at making you feel so loved and comforted when you were sad or upset.
but she's not here to comfort me in my saddest days.   it's irony in its most painful form.


believe it or not she would dance with me.
not in the sense like a high school dance or a wedding or anything,
but the dance alone in your house dancing.
she was that supportive friend nearby.  choosing not to dance herself but
appreciated your dancing.  living vicariously.
though sometimes, if she was feeling particularly jubilant, she would jump up and down a little, doing the same happy dance she would do when I came home after being gone all day.
and that was enough.  enough to know she was with me in spirit.


god.  dropping things on the floor is the major trigger.
every. single. time.
every time I drop something I'm reminded of the fact that she's not there to eat it or to run over and investigate if it's edible.
are you aware of how many times a day you drop things on the floor?


lately, I've been thinking about what I would do if I had another day with her.
what I would give for just one day.
a one day vacation from my life without poppy.  a respite to be filled with a poppy experience.
i'm in the bargaining stage i think.


yesterday, I remembered something.
a little less than a week before she died, I took her out into the backyard and both of us watched this squirrel not too far from us.
we both just stood there watching it.
both of us wanting her to go for it.
both of us knowing she wouldn't.  and that she couldn't.
and what was weird was she turned and looked at me and we held eye contact for a few moments and I knew.
I knew it wouldn't be much longer.

life without poppy

**disclaimer.
this is really more of a diary post.  but I see this place as a kind of diary, so i want to put it here. 
frankly,  i really don't know where else to put it because i cant hold onto it anymore.  i have to put it in a place.  so, feel free not to read it.  it's not a happy post.  it's a sad post.  it's my saddest most awfullest feelings put into words.  
it's kind of raw; a compilation of various notes and entries.  

one week
this has been my first experience with grief.
we've had deaths in the family, and i've cried at funerals, but after the actual service, not really.
i've felt sad about the deaths, but nothing like what I feel now.
i lived with her.  for 12 years. lived with her.
fed her, hung out with her, took her for walks, watched tv with her, talked to her, looked at her, every day.  EVERY DAY for 12 years.  she was my friend.
we cared for her for her last 6 months like she was an invalid.  watched her die, slowly, from old age.
what i feel now is true, honest to God, physically painful, GRIEF.

what is grief?
there is a hole in your heart.
breathing is difficult.  eating seems unimportant.
every morning you wake up and REMEMBER:  something is missing.
it's too quiet.
there is an entity that is not there.
a space that is now empty.
eyes that no longer look at you.
sounds that no longer exist.




two weeks.
you can't stop being sad about what happened, even though you want to.
you don't WANT to feel like this all the time.
but you can't figure out how to stop.
you can't be calling people at ten o'clock at night, just because you're sad.
they may have had a wonderful evening or are looking forward to tomorrow
and you're just sad.  just trying to make it through at least one day without crying.
so, you're left sitting here, just feeling sad, all by yourself. and there's no one to tell.
because you feel guilty about puncturing their happiness with your sorrow.

of course, if you told these people how sad you are, they would say "yes, of course.  of course you can call me .  anytime".

the hard part, for the other person, is knowing what to say.   there's nothing that can be said.  not really. and that's what makes it so awful.  you're caught between wanting someone to say nothing and something, anything, that will make you feel better, but there's nothing.  what makes it so horrible is that you can't count on anyone to say anything to make you feel better. nothing said could possibly make you feel better in any way.

you really just want to hear another person's voice.  you want them to talk to you about anything trivial that will distract you.
but then
anything trivial only reminds you of how non trivial you are feeling right now.

so you just don't call anyone.
you avoid people.  avoid people who know.  
who knew her and know what happened.
so you can avoid it even coming up in conversation.
please.  just don't even say her name.





one month.

life becomes about getting better at tolerating life, but it's always there, lurking, waiting to make me cry. waiting to bring up all the emotions that remind me how much I miss her.
i don't want to leave the house because the car, the streets in our neighborhood, the store, everything reminds me of her.  i see her everywhere.
and, of course, leaving means you have to come back.  you have to come into the house that is so quiet and empty and she isn't going to run down the hall to greet you.

i feel guilty for grieving so much.  i feel like it's been long enough.  it's been a month.  talking to other people about it, i feel like i'm infringing on their happiness or good mood.  i feel like the other people are moving on faster than me.  i don't want to be the weight that is dragging them back down when they're swimming to the surface.  i don't want to be that person who keeps calling them whenever i'm sad. or bringing it up all the time, everyday.
i think that no one else is thinking about it as much as i am.

my whole life I've heard other people say "time heals all wounds, it gets easier with time." you know, stuff like that.
i've come to realize what this actually means.
it's not that IT gets easier, the loss; because a month in and it still feels just as unbelievable that they're gone and you still miss them just as much.
that doesn't diminish.
what gets easier is the ability to go out in public and deal with everyday things and people without bursting into tears.

what becomes easier is controlling your emotions
your sorrow
your pain
and not crying at the drop of a hat.
not bursting into tears when you finally make it to the safety of your car or a room in your house.
that moment when you find yourself alone and the sadness hits you like a truck and you have to let it out.  so you cry while the shower is running or the music is blaring so no one will hear you.

being alone in the house is the worst.  you know how you can feel a presence?  well, you can feel an absence just as much.  and the quiet is too loud.   cats are quiet, off somewhere sleeping.  and i'm just here.  by myself.   i used to love alone time. but now it's A LONE time.  being alone is almost as emotionally overwhelming as going out there and dealing with the people.

it's been two months.  

at this point it's the littlest things that get me.
commercials on dog biscuits
movies with story lines about people missing each other.
places we'd been together.
songs.  songs i listened to.  songs she liked.  she loved neil young.


two months in and the grief is still there.  the pain the loss the sadness, are all still there.  hiding just below the surface of the smile on your face.  it just becomes easier to control it and not express it so freely.
every minute though,   it's still there.
people walking their dogs, talking about their dog, buying dog food.  dogs on tv.  pictures of dogs. every place in the house reminds me of her.
when i see the dogs out in public, i feel jealous. jealous of the people.

it's fall now and we haven't gone on any fall walks yet because it would mean going on a walk without her.  we haven't even walked in the neighborhood at all since she died.  even just driving through, on my way to some other place, i'm inundated with memories of spots she liked to sniff or street corners with her face.

some people understand and some don't.
i was telling someone the other day, someone I hadn't seen since she died, about the first week after and how horrible it was.
how, when i went to the store i just hated the people.  couldn't explain why, just did.
i hated their small talk, their cheerfulness, their intolerance for daily trivial issues.
just everything.  everything about them, everything they did, just irked me.  i knew i wasn't ready to be out amongst them.  with their pretending and their cheerfulness.
anyway, i was telling someone about that experience and i could tell they just didn't get it.  the look on their face was pure astonishment that i could be sitting there telling them about hating the people.
i said,  maybe you haven't experienced grief.  true mind-blowing heartbreaking raw-emotion grief.
or you'd understand.
understand what i was feeling that day and understand that there's nothing to say that helps. it has nothing to do with whether god or jesus is a part of your life.  it all hurts. ALL OF IT.  every word that you say to try to make me feel better HURTS.
because there's nothing to say or do that will help or make me feel better.  nothing.




almost three months
I've noticed another horrible phenomena.  So, you know those people you see every few months?  A neighbor, an acquaintance, etc?     I don't know them well enough that I would've called them and told them and I didn't broadcast anything on social media.  There really is no way for them to know that she died.  But they know enough about me to know she existed and so they ask.

"How's Poppy doing?" they say.  And I have to tell them.  I have to stand there in the grocery store or in my front yard,  or some other inappropriate place for sharing intimate details of your life, and tell them.  Thankfully, I have not cried in front of anyone yet.  I manage to control that little outburst.
Can you imagine?  Crying in public like that?  Exposing those emotions to someone you hardly know?
Sometimes they don't even mention it, they assume and so they say nothing.  and I'm grateful for that. I'm grateful for them sparing me the awkwardness of telling the story and then then having to listen to their response.  Both of us knowing that the words are ineffective at easing any sadness.

all about bob

He likes fresh water.
From the glass.
YOUR glass.

where he sleeps when it's hot

where he sleeps when it's cold

and if you can find a box,

you can find a bob.

In general he loves the garden.  He's happiest when he's outside.
But there is one particular plant he likes most of all.

Bob has fallen in love.

I planted this little grass last fall

and ever since then, he has been enamored.

He loves on it.

He plays with it.

He attacks it.

He sleeps with it.

He's befriended it.

No explanation.

It's just true love.

my personal belief, philosophy, and cultural significance

It's been quite a while since I posted.

I'm sure you don't want apologies or reasons why,

so I'll just get right to it.

The following is a little paper I wrote for class.
It's and artist statement of sorts.

Just thought I'd share.

Plants and nature have always been a part of my life.  My father had masses of plants in the house and he and my mother grew things in the yard.  I remember his failed attempts at a vegetable garden because our yard didn't receive enough sunlight.  As a family, we would frequently go for hikes in the woods where we would check out new plants, critters, and bugs.

My love for plants grew after I moved into my own place.  I had a plethora of things in pots that I took care of.  This love became an obsession after we bought our house four years ago.  The large yard has become my laboratory for trying new things and a place to nurture my “collection”.  As with making art, the process involved in gardening has it’s own attraction.  I like nothing better than to spend hours out there pulling weeds, trimming plants, and finding new growth. The garden has provided me with a firsthand look at how things grow, reproduce, and regenerate or die.

I believe that the earth is our responsibility as humans.  From the plants that grow from its dirt to the creatures that live here, it is our duty to protect them.  They need protection from us.  I believe there is a natural order to things; some species are meant to die out due to various genetic weaknesses.  It is only natural that weaker varieties would fall to the wayside to make room for the stronger. That being said, it is not up to us as a people to cause this to happen.  We are quickly multiplying as a race and we are taking over the far corners of the earth.  At some point we will extinguish our resources, including the plants and creatures that allow us to survive here on this planet.  I believe that we think we need tall buildings, asphalt parking lots, and 24 hour grocery stores to survive when in fact what we need is more people growing their own food, more trees and vegetation being planted.

We spend so much time in our air-conditioned homes, in our air-conditioned cars, on the way to other air-conditioned buildings.  For the most part, the natural world is ignored.  It’s plowed over to make way for new construction.  Trees are cut down to build more roads.  Perfectly manicured lawns take the place of indigenous plants. Kids don’t play outside like they used to.  People exercise in buildings, on machines, that mimic outdoor activity.

Hundreds of years ago, we were much more connected to our natural surroundings.  Many people grew their own food, raised their own livestock.  Or, at the very least, had easy access to nearby farms where they could acquire these things.  Now we rely on huge companies to truck in our food from far away places.  Some of the food we eat is so highly processed, its form is far from how it originated.  We have become so dependent on these huge companies that we as a people have lost the important skills needed to survive on our own.  Most people know nothing of growing their food, how to plant a seed and take care of it until fruition.  We have lost the power of self-reliance. 

I feel that by creating sculpture in the image of natural forms, I can draw attention to the outside world.  The materials and forms that I discover in the natural world inspire me.  Things like seedpods, plant structures, decaying organic material are all sources of ideas and materials to use in my art.  The long skinny seedpod of the mandevilla vine is something that I’d like to further explore.  I created pods from cardboard tubes and ornamental grass plumes and was somewhat happy with the result.  I want to try making them much larger.  If they were 8, even 10, feet tall, I think they’d gain much more attraction.  What I want to do is have my sculpture gain attention.  The natural world needs more people to pay attention and to see what is really going on.  I would like to have my work in a garden setting but I’m thinking the type of people I need to attract don’t frequent gardens.  If my work was on display where one wouldn’t expect to see it, then I might be able to affect more people with my ideas. 

By focusing people’s attention to what has been forgotten, perhaps I have the ability to influence a change.  I am so enamored with these aspects, and I want others to see the importance of studying the natural world and responsibly utilizing it for our survival as opposed to raping it for our gluttony.

bronze pour, part 2

After the POUR, my pieces have to be cut off from their sprues and vents using an ANGLE GRINDER.  

This delightful power tool is a pretty sweet device.  

This thing can cut, grind, and sand just about any material - including metal.

Those four pieces at the bottom of the image have been cut off.  

A little grinding down of the leftover stumps and they're ready to be welded together.

The welding process.

Putting the pieces together.

( side note.  welding metel is beyond, 

I mean BEEE YOND,

kick ass.

I highly recommend it.)

After all of that is a whole lot of grinding, sanding, patina and  polishing.

If you're not already bored, pictures and descriptions of that process would do it.

Trust me.

It's tedious, monotonous, and downright mind numbingly boring.
I'll save you the torment.

For the final critique, I knew my work needed a natural environment for the presentation

and the sculpture studio just wouldn't suffice.  Way too industrial.

Where the studio is located has these great vines growing up the outside of the building and 

I figured the best venue would be there.

Of course, a field trip to the Atlanta Botanical Gardens would be ideal,

but that would be a little outlandish I think.

I'll save that reveal for my thesis show!

Each pod is about a foot long.

I have a piece from the iron and stainless pour also

but I'll wait to tell you about those.

Gotta keep you coming back for more, don't I?