Mindfulness

Is it me or is life just busier than ever? It seems like every day there are more things that need to be done than can really be accomplished. I have read a little about mindfulness and think it a great idea. It's just hard to put into practice. If I were to just think about my toast when having breakfast, then my tea, then focused purely on what I was reading in the paper before checking my emails and feeding the cat, it would be lunchtime before I got anything else done. Ask any mother, we are the champions of multi-tasking. I can have breakfast, skim the paper, make a cup of tea, check my mail, feed the cat and load the dishwasher all in the space of 15 minutes. As well as engage in some form of early morning communication with the teenager. I'm not saying that's ideal, but it means I get to the studio at a reasonable time, and get a lot done.

I love water aerobics. Apart from keeping fit, it is a study in humanity. A bunch of strangers of all ages, shapes and sizes, all leaping about in close proximity to each other in the pool, before reverting to our normal clothed selves, and heading back out into the world. I know no one's name, where they live, or what they do, it's a funny thing but it's like a little community as we greet each other each morning. It's one of the things I love about inner city living, we form many little communities, some of which overlap and others that don't. I have another at the cafe near my studio, with the same group of people having coffee on the way to work. Maybe it's because we are in a city that we need to connect and form these communities.

I still have had no communication with the ex. It's sad, but I think he prefers it this way, it's easier for him to be angry with me than acknowledge the hurt he's caused, and it probably helps cover up any guilt or feelings he may still have for me. And of course the girlfriend is always on hand to fan the fire.

The potential boyfriend remains disappointing and emotionally unavailable, and continues to let me down. His separation is so much more recent than mine, and I know that he is in no shape or place to become involved with someone else right now, it's just disappointing to meet someone who otherwise ticks all the right boxes. I know that I need to move on but a part of me wants to cling to the dream, as it's taken years to find someone like him.

Back to painting, it is the one thing I can do with complete mindfulness. I get lost in what I am doing and thoughts about everything else disappear.

Lipstick sales a sign of the times

I have to say that I am very proud of the teenager. In so many ways. I recently had the opportunity to observe her at work in one of her many guises as she saves for her travels - this one as nanny. At 18 years of age she is responsible for caring for a 2 year old, often for 24 hour stints. She is caring, thoughtful, fun and firm. She can fold up a pram with more ease than I can manage an umbrella, and get around on public transport carrying all the accompanying paraphernalia. She does the museums, and the libraries, parks and playgrounds, as well as coffee with friends. She laughs at the stern looks she receives when judgemental members of the public assume her to be a teenage mum. She mops up spills and tears, and is devoted to her charge. I know she will be a good mother one day. I'm hoping that this experience will remind her that there is plenty of time before she considers it, however!

On the man front there remains very little. More like nothing really. The one man who would be so right in so many ways remains so very not-right. Hopeless at communicating, stressed, busy and still in the turbulent aftermath of a separation, he is not in the tight space to be thinking of a relationship, unless I am deluded and it is more a case of 'he's just not that into me'. He can be so charming when I see him, and then I don't hear from him again for a long time. My male friends assure me that I am a 'good catch', 'hot' even, and that he is nuts to not snatch me up, but it's not like there is a queue of them outside my house. Unless you count the younger men who seem to be attracted to women my age. What's with that?!? Yes it's flattering, but long-term I just want to be with someone the same age who gets it, knows the same songs and remembers the same moments in history.

On the work front all is well. Other than sales which are not so good. I gather lipstick sales go up during a recession, but art sales definitely do not. I received a great review which was reassuring, and as always, things will get better. Soon I hope.

Ex-husbands and bouillabaisse

What is it with ex-husbands? Despite normally maintaining a good relationship, which I always believe to be in the best interest of any children involved, occasionally things go pear-shaped. I have never really taken to his new girlfriend, however as she is his date not mine, it doesn’t really concern me. Yesterday I rang him to discuss a matter about our daughter, and instead was berated about my behavior towards his girlfriend. Yes I am a bit cool towards her, but I am civil. I don’t need to be best friends, and anything more would be fake, if not down-right creepy. Fortunately our paths rarely cross. It is as if the ex needs me to play the role of evil ex-wife in order to feel better about himself, sanction his choice of girlfriend, complain about to his friends, and to justify his actions. My guess is that he resents that I don’t actually need him, and have looked after myself and our daughter with very little emotional or financial assistance from him.

My favourite way to deal with stress (other than a weekend away with a gorgeous man!), is to cook. After the diatribe from the ex, I set about making bouillabaisse. The more involved the better, I find. Digging out an ancient Elizabeth David French cookbook, the rest of the morning was spent making fish stock. In the afternoon I set about making a fantastic rouille, and the actual soup itself. The teenager and I dined like kings, and even the cat was pretty happy. After which we went to see Vicky Cristina Barcelona, which I loved, although the teenager was more critical. Some of the characters were possibly a bit too close to home?

I am reading a great book about the history of colour, titled Colour, Travels Through the Paintbox, by Victoria Finlay. Really interesting stories of the history of pigments that I recommend to anyone interested in art, regardless of whether they are a practitioner or not. I’m also reading Eat, Love, Pray which seems to be a current best-seller, but perfect bedtime reading.

The other side of the bed remains empty, and the one man that interests me remains emotionally unavailable. I have been trying to date others, but it’s difficult (and probably unfair) not to compare them, and inevitably find them lacking. Yes my selection criteria is set on high, but it’s not unrealistic, and I really don’t feel inclined to settle for any less. I know a lot of women my age who feel the same, but I am also scared by the bicycle-riding, hippy-skirted, mung-bean eating, grey-haired women who carry the air of having moved on, and feel better off without a man. Please God do NOT let me become one of them.

Back to the paintbrush.

Urban pirates

Weird of the day: This morning I saw a man in the street with a black eye patch and a cat wearing a red bandana on his shoulder. Urban pirate? He was no Johnny Depp however.

The teenager’s floordrobe has spread all the way down the stairs, across the living room and kitchen floors, and is threatening to spread to the front door and beyond. I am happy that she is working and saving up to travel during her gap year, but she needs to save time for tidying up as well. It is times like these that I long for back-up, a second parent sometimes. Single parents need to be all roles all of the time.

The painting is going well. Two openings to go to tonight.

Thwarted but inspired.

Thwarted by the teenager yet again.

How is it that you can relentlessly be told that you are sad-sack spinster loser when there is rarely opportunity to change the situation? I have looked for love amongst friends and acquaintances, in galleries and bookshops, and at the local markets and cafés. I’ve even looked on-line. I have tried not looking as advised by well-meaning friends (usually comfortably coupled up, naturally), who assure me I will find Mr Right when I’m not looking. Probably when you least expect it they say, like when you’re putting out the garbage. Well I have been putting my own bins out for years, and have yet to meet anyone there. Love amongst the rotting rubbish of my neighbors’ fettered bins? I don’t think so.

I try to be a good role model, if I do meet someone I’d like to get to know better, I try to get to know them a bit before I bring them home, or even publically ‘date’ them. A teenage Spanish Inquisition on every male name I’ve ever mentioned has put me off volunteering too much info too soon. This makes it tricky. It seems teens are unable to make definite plans, and will at short notice require driving to, or picking up from anywhere near or far. Try planning a date around this. Which means that I usually arrive extremely late, disheveled, and drink my drink far too quickly. Probably not that attractive.

But bless the teenager. She will always let me know where she is, how she is, and tell me she loves me. Even in front of her friends. Things could be a lot worse.

Today I saw the most beautiful exhibition by an artist who had her first show at the age of 57. Beautiful work, although a lot of it which was a bit overwhelming, and a pioneer of her time. I am inspired.

Strange days are these.

Sometimes you just know that the day is going to be one of those days. It probably started the moment I heard a chainsaw start up outside my front door. In the midst of my usual multi-tasking morning routine, which consists of skimming the newspaper whilst waiting for the toast to toast, the kettle to boil and the computer to boot up, I heard the ungodly sound of sawing. With no time for formalities, I ran out into the street in my underwear to find two men, earmuffed and goggled, with large chainsaws about to cut down a very small tree outside my home. Pruning, the startled men explained. Bit of over-kill I think. I could have done it with secateurs.

The cat, who was apparently not long for this world three years ago, has become kittenish and races about the street with a new spring in his step. I suspect he is in love. My Mr Right continues to elude me.

The teenager forgot her house keys, as they do. Funny they never forget their phones. Possibly weird of the day was her informing me that she bought a second-hand camera from a one-handed man.

Don’t you love the way they ask what’s for dinner as soon as you set foot in the house? I find it a challenge when there appears to be some form of diet required. No carbs, no pasta, rice or potatoes. No quick whipping up a quick spaghetti with olive oil, chilli and garlic. Ultimately I seem to end up preparing two separate meals. I’m definitely a carb girl.

The studio remains my salvation. It is beautiful, and peaceful. And I actually get some work done.

Rain......

It's raining, the first time for a long time, and I have been trying to do my bit for the environment by riding my bike to the studio. A quick search at the shops for a rain poncho that does not make me look like either a giant lemon or a character from Sesame Street on a bicycle. It's hard being green in a fashion-conscious city.

A lecture yesterday by a visiting German artist has left me feeling a bit limp, where success seems to be measured by the amount of commissions. Yes the work was interesting, but site dependant. What happened to painting in it's own right?

Teenage angst

Why is it that when the teenager wants to know which outfit looks better, the response to the answer is always 'why, are you saying I look fat in the other one'?

Why does it take so long on hold to get through to the tax office?

Why can't I find anything to wear to uni today? This is an easy one, but involves a long search through the teenager's floordrobe. Thank you tax office, I now don't have time.