Giving Thanks on Thanksgiving For Memories: To My Years-Gone Grandma & Grandpa

A Thanksgiving reflection—16 years ago, it was within days of today that my Grandma died. She was a hard-working, pitiless feminist (although she would not have known the word ‘feminist’ and, as she was a product of her time and generation, she would not have thought this term applied to her—yet it did). I loved her with every cell of my being. When I was very little (pre-school) my sister was chronically ill, and so my Mom had to stay with her in Calgary, 5 hrs away from where we lived on the Alberta prairies. My Dad worked every day, and so that meant that during these long stretches (weeks, sometimes a month or more) I lived with my Grandparents (and apparently spoke fluent German while I was with them, though I no longer can do much more than understand snippets here and there—and I sure know the word liebchen). The second-language thing made me think, the other day, about how remarkable Grandma and Grandpa really were: they were both German-as-first-language, and educated very minimally (Grandpa had Grade 3, Grandma I believe Grade 5), and spoke German at home almost exclusively until their own sons went to school and (presumably) introduced English more and more as their vernacular in their home.

And yet…

Both my Grandparents were AVID readers. It was Grandma who made me a Harlequin Romance junkie (I still want Harlequin to pick me up as an author!), and Grandpa always had a Louis Lamour western on his sofa. Their chicken coop (once it no longer held chickens!) had box after box of Harlequins and westerns stored there. Reading was something that was such a ‘given’ with my grandparents, that it is only now, in my 40’s, that I can reflect on how incredible this really was: two uneducated, German-speaking people who read—fluently and with great joy—books written in English. How did they come to read so well? Did their boys (my uncles) teach them? Did they pick it up on their own? Did their minimal base of English-speaking schooling take some sort of hold?

When Grandma died, it was after she was told that her cataracts were inoperable and that she would never see well enough to read again. It is my belief (with apologies to any family I may offend by asserting it) that it was losing her beloved ability to read that pulled the trigger for Grandma to give up and call forth an end to her life (of natural causes, but on her own terms. What a woman! God, I loved her! I still do).

The other day I was chatting with my dear friend Heather—my soul sister—and we agreed that we don’t think of the best questions to ask our Grandparents until we are mature enough and seasoned enough to actually have good questions—and then they are gone. But if Grandma and Grandpa were here I would ask: Why was reading so important to you? (for clearly it was). What did you love about it? Was it difficult to master? Who taught or helped you?

I wonder, often, what Grandma and Grandpa would say if they knew I wrote stories and had a bona-fide book out there in the big bad world (Grandma would be pissed off about the graphic sex. The swearing would be a-ok, though ;)  )

This Thanksgiving I am grateful for a heritage and ancestry that’s made me sit in the space of having these questions and memories. I am grateful my Grandparents were (one born, one emigrated) Canadians who had the latitude and permission to learn and become something beyond what they already were.

I am grateful too, that I miss them—for that means I had the opportunity to know them and love them, and that I remember how much they also loved me.

Peace and gratitude be with you this Thanksgiving, friends <3

Creativity ~ An Artist’s Map

 

I’ve often told people that crafting is not only deeply meditative for me, but that, curiously, it also makes me write better. I think it’s because the creativity involved in the crafting process lights the same areas of the brain that are engaged by writing. Kind of artistry-begets-artistry philosophy. This evening I also reflected on the artistic process itself, though, and it struck me that paper-crafting, and writing, are essentially the same.

So I decided to document it, sort of a like a play-by-play (and for anyone who’s read my romance novel, Divinity & The Python, all about a hunky hockey hero and his superstitious Tarot readings, you will know that I am indeed very fond of a play-by-play ;) )

Let’s Begin:

It all starts with the call to creativity—also known as inspiration. Artists and writers will tell you that inspiration lives everywhere—and that it sometimes appears in the most surprising places. In the case of this example, the inspiration was more like love at first sight. A few weeks ago my gaze nabbed a picture my friend Jo had posted on facebook, a Fall image of an old Massey Ferguson tractor (just like my Grandpa used to have!). The photo is simply staggering; the filter Jo used lends a nostalgia to the piece, and the autumn setting generates an atmosphere that calls forth a flood of nouns and adjectives: antiquity. Conclusions. Season’s end, harvest, bounty, and yesteryear. I was captivated by this photo. Had to create something with it.

So I asked. Jo said “Sure!”

And here it is:

 

Was I right? Is this not breathtaking? So when I had it—the photo, the inspiration—in my sticky little hand, I imagined where I could take this image, how I could do it its own unique justice. How to tell its story, if you will, and, just like in writing, I came up with a plot outline—except in this case it looked more like a drawing. Like this:

Cute, right?

What do you mean, ‘No’?

Well, trust me.  It will be beyond cute. It will be *beautiful*. Keep watching.

Just like in writing, once I had my outline done, I started the ‘story’; I considered setting, mood, and some complimentary layers to ensure that the finished piece would have atmosphere and beauty. In writing, this looks like pulling in secondary characters, secondary and tertiary plots, using geography and seasons and weather as plot devices. In paper-crafting it has a simpler (yet maybe more apt) term: It’s called pulling together a palette:

 

…and from the palette you start to hold one color against another (while in writing you hold one character, circumstance, or setting against the other) and decide what is going to be the most fetching.

And then….then you work. You cut, you paste, you measure to make sure that, just like in writing, your ideas are going to gel and that each element leaves sufficient room for the other. Things begin to take shape:

….and even though some elements don’t look like they have the ‘wow factor’ as soon as they’re laid down, you nonetheless remain true to your vision, and remember that creating is a process, not an event. In crafting it’s laying something ho-hum down knowing you can (and plan to) make it better. In writing it’s getting the idea or direction of the scene down—and knowing you will go back and dress up the prose; add an image or an emotion that make it unforgettable. But in order to do it you have to trust yourself—and it doesn’t hurt to surround yourself with tools that can enhance your project and take it to the next level. In crafting those tools sometimes look like this:

…while in writing, your tools are your words, images, atmosphere, dialogue, characters, and the tension & stakes you’ll use to enlarge the feel of your story. Use them all—or at least try them—but also always be aware that, just like here:

…some ideas (even though they are beautiful) just won’t work. (I put this crest with the embossed leaf on the left, on the right, and ….no. Just…NO). Still, just like some of my lines of prose I love but end up cutting from my novel, I keep ‘em around. ‘Cause you just never know where they might work:

 

Well, look at that. It looks perfectly fine—fancy, even—on the inside. Who knew?

Then there was this, and note that, just like a story, it turned out both like and not like the original outline (plot) that I’d scratched out on that scribbler paper at the beginning of this article:

Note also that, upon looking at this, I was exhilarated just like when I type the last sentence of a story. So much so that I thought I was done.

Uh….no.

I set it aside. Looked at it again.

And again.

“It is good,” I thought. “But could be better.” *And here’s the thing—if you are an artist or a writer and you ever think it ‘could be better’? You are not only right, but you then need to do whatever it takes to satisfy your definition of ‘better’. Like this:

Done! And I absolutely love it—and also think it will be a fine gift to my friend Jo as a thank you for letting me use her photography not only as what culminated into a lovely greeting card, but also as the inspiration for this template reminder of the creative process: how it starts with inspiration, then becomes idea, then gets messy as measuring and adding and deleting ideas occurs until….voila! A beautiful project.

Thanks for having fun with me on this post!

Happy artistry!