The Evergreen Journal #42 ~ A November Christmas Project
The Evergreen Journal #42 ~ A November Christmas Project
#Walking by Inner Vision Blog
#The Evergreen Journal #42
# A November Christmas Project
I climb up a steep wooden stairway to the second floor. The heavy red plastic bucket of warm, sudsy water rubs on my leg as I move upwards on the narrow steps. I clutch a handful of cleaning cloths and a towel in my left hand. On the next trip, I bring an assortment of bottles, spray cans of cleaning products, and room fresheners.
I know that I must focus on only one small area of this cluttered, neglected room, or else I will feel overwhelmed by the magnitude of time and effort required.
Unseasonably warm days at the beginning of November enticed me to jump into a project I did not plan. Springtime is the regular season for organizing and deep cleaning. But this fall, I am urged to get my art studio cleaned up, organized, and prepared for the winter months. Since the space is unheated, it remains silent over the cold months in western Pennsylvania.
I hold on to a vision of new beginnings for the time when the spring flowers will bring bright colors to the world as everything wakes up after winter’s slumber.
I stand in the middle of the chaos and glance at the large table loaded with piles of packages and supplies. The tangled mess feels like a metaphor for the last decade of my life. I turn away to change my thoughts to what I need to do now.
Then, I turn around and stare across the light-filled room. My thoughts race with one question, Where do I begin?
When I face such an enormous task that feels like it will be too much to tackle, I often speak out loud to myself. I need to hear a voice telling me what to do next. My voice gets me moving in a new direction when things around me feel too hard to handle.
“Pick a spot and begin,” I say out loud.
“Just begin somewhere and don’t even look at any other place until you get just one small spot cleaned and organized. Remember, it is just one small step at a time. Go ahead, Lynda, pick the spot. It’s time to begin to pick up the pieces.”
I walk over the smooth pine floor and admire the grain in the raw wood. How beautiful this familiar floor seems to me. When I get to the front of the building, I stop to view the scene along River Road as I stand at the large double-hung windows. The view is diffused because the windows are dirty. I am aware that I can hear myself talking, I am aware of the vibrations of my voice moving through my body as I speak the instructions out loud.
“Begin by washing these two windows.
After you get them cleaned you can choose the next thing to do. But for now, get these windows washed!”
I pick up a clean washcloth and dip it into the warm water in my bucket. Everything good begins with a straightforward act. One movement in a new direction begins the process.
The second-floor space is located above my husband’s auto body shop where he worked every day for over fifty years. As I worked upstairs, I could hear the sounds of his equipment and the country music on the stereo system. The familiar scent of spray paint, thinners, and polishes rose up through the floor at times, but on most days, regardless of weather, the doors and windows were open downstairs. On cold days, the heat from the furnace in the garage moved up through the registers and warmed my studio while I created my own work.
This building was imagined by my husband, Bob, and my father, Bill, over fifty years ago. Bob worked at his restoration magic in this garage until the beginning of 2014 when he was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia. From that time until now, the building has remained silent.
After Bob’s intensive treatments and stem cell transplant, he no longer remembered what any of his tools were for or how to use them. He has been in remission since the stem cell transplant; however, with each year passed, his memory became clouded. Finally, he was diagnosed this past Spring with acute dementia, and on March 11, he was admitted to a memory care facility in our hometown.
Bob created my cheerful studio space on the second floor one summer when I was in teaching my summer travel study course in Austria. Bob decided to surprise me. I can only imagine the dedication and love he put into creating such a wonderful place for me to do my art?
This comfortable place is where I spent endless hours working.
As Bob struggled to survive over the years, the studio was silent upstairs. No more music filling the space, and no more artwork being created there. Our lives had taken a radical turn away from nearly everything we knew as usual.
Eventually, I created a fiber studio in the upstairs of our home. I worked in that pleasant room where I could still be nearby to see if Bob needed help. For the past nine years, that is where I have done all of my award-winning artworks. I’ll still be doing them in that space. It is nice and cozy over the winter months, and light streams through the window from morning until late afternoon.
I hope to be able to work again in the studio that I am cleaning now – but I’ll be doing my fiber work in the home space, too. I do not yet know what I will be working on in the area I am currently cleaning up and organizing. That will come to me later on when I am ready.
Since Bob is no longer here at our home, I’ve been immersed in managing our house and yard. However, I closed my eyes and could still hear the words Bob said to me if he was irritated with me. “You just wait and see what it will be like when I am not here anymore to do everything. You will know then what all I have done when I am no longer here you will miss me and realize what I have always done for you!” Those words come to my mind daily as I do my best to take care of everything these days.
I could not bear to walk up the stairs to the studio that is in the same building as Bob’s garage for a long time. It was too painful and loaded with memories from the not so distant past.
But, just last week, I walked up there and stood to look around and remember it all. I had the strong urge to restore the studio to the peaceful and solitary place it always was before Bob got sick and our world changed forever.
My ornate black Victorian rocking chair is there beside my work table. I remembered the day I stood for hours waiting for this treasure to come up at an auction. I had the winning bid and I was overjoyed at this prize I brought home.
I walked over, sat down on the rocking chair, and closed my eyes as I remembered the happy days I was making art day and night in my studio. At that moment, I knew that the time has arrived for me to restore the studio to what Bob envisioned it to be. “It’s resurrection time,” I uttered to the room.
After the windows were cleaned, I put up a string of multi-colored twinkling Christmas lights. I surrounded the double-hung windows with bright colors and smiled as they began to flash.
This restored and cleaned-up studio is my Christmas gift to Bob this year. I know I will be up there in the studio next Spring. I won’t be alone, for my memories will be with me as I pick up the materials to begin making something. By setting this November Christmas project as a goal, I have brought my future into the present. In my heart, I am giving Bob my gift of gratitude. I hope that the spirit inside of him will know how much I love him and that he is deeply appreciated.
Authors Note:
I am curious about any project that you tackled that seemed overwhelming. What was it, and how did you begin?