My Curiosity Driven Life

My Painting of Donna and Dude

Some people are born with a passion for something and know it.  I can't remember a time when I didn't want to be drawing or painting.  My mom recognized this in me and nurtured it....keeping me supplied with crayons, paper and eventually paints and canvases.  For some strange reason, I was not encouraged to study art with anyone but to develop my own style.  Not being a child who made waves about anything, I proceeded to teach myself how to paint. Part of me always expected that I would become a successful artist. I had no idea what that meant, but I figured it would work itself out in time.

Many decades later, I paint in a style that could be loosely described as emotional realism.  I am drawn to painting people. I often get so lost in capturing their true essence that I feel like I know them...even if we've never met.  I suppose that 50 hours of staring at someone's image could make you think that you really know who they are, but it's just my interpretation in the end.  I find that each time I paint, I fall in love with the process and the face.  The mere act of creation brings me connection and joy.

There is a darker side to being born with a passion.....a nagging voice that tells you that you must make something of yourself in the process and if you don't become successful and famous, you have wasted your talent.  Much of my life I have beaten myself up over this, as if I had to prove that I was worthy of the gift.  The problem was that life kept getting in the way.  I wanted to make up for what seemed like a lonely childhood by marrying young and having 4 children.  Through it all, I still managed to paint.... using my kids often as subjects but other things often lured me in different directions.  I loved to play the piano, take photographs, downhill ski, swim, sail, knit, read, write, kayak, walk dogs, do yoga, garden, cook, watch sunsets, gaze at the stars, run off to the mountains and build a log cabin and sometimes just lie in a hammock. I still do most of these things...although I haven't run off and built any cabins lately.

I will soon be 68 years old and many hundreds of paintings later, some sold, some given away and some burned.....it has occurred to me, that I am not successful by the standards of the commercial art world.  This thought made me feel like a bit of a failure, until I heard a short talk by Elizabeth Gilbert the author of Eat, Pray, Love.  The title of her talk was “The Fight of the Hummingbird – The Curiosity Driven Life.” It was an epiphany for me.  It was actually directed to those who felt like they hadn't found a passion. It was about having the gift of curiosity instead....a curiosity that allows you to savor the moment and enjoy many different paths in your journey through life.  I know that my endless curiosity often gets in the way of following my passion.

I felt a huge weight lift off of me and smiled at all of the paths I have taken that perhaps didn't lead me to the big elusive prize but to all of the glorious and delicious small gifts that life has offered me along the way.  I was....and continue to be curious and often passionate.

In honor of my new outlook on painting, I grabbed a tiny 6" square canvas and spent a couple of days painting a surprise for a Facebook friend.  I may not have a studio right now or lots of hours to devote to creating masterpieces, but I can definitely get into the flow with a tiny canvas in my lap and enjoy the hell out of it.  

So here it is, Donna and Dude and it's coming your way soon.  I feel like I know you.....even though we never met.  And may we all stay curious because that's where the juices flow and passion is often found.

Original photo of Donna and Dude

Camelot Unraveling

Tom's band.  Tom is upper left.

It is November 29, 1992....the Sunday after Thanksgiving.  My husband of 25 years and I have lived in a sweet old Victorian cottage for the past 5 years, on a lake I have loved all my life.  I am 45 years old and we have a son and daughter ages 22 and 20 , who are off pursuing their own lives and two younger sons ages 17 and 13.   

Our home is a gathering place for our children and their friends who love the lake as much as I do.  Weekends are often filled with a varying group of young people who are there to swim, sail, fish, sit around the bonfire or play ice hockey on a huge rink in front of our house.  I often happily spend days preparing huge amounts of food to be consummed by the fresh young faces that come and go to our idealic place.  Anyone looking at my life thinks it is a storybook existence.

It all seems wonderful on the surface, and I do my best to ignore the growing dysfunction in my marriage that is slowly eroding away the Camelot I struggle to maintain.  I will not let my secrets ruin what has taken so many years to build.  My husband has made sure that I understand his needs are the most important and I try my best to keep him happy.  I will not think of the despair, fear and shame that simmers just below the surface of my daily reality.  There is no one to talk to.  My beloved father died 8 years ago and my mom has never been able to admit to her own darkness, much less deal with mine.  Any kind of deep communication or emotion has never been a part of our relationship.  I make the mistake of trying to talk to a priest about the pain of my marriage and leave with nothing but a deep emptiness.....vowing never to set foot in a church again.  I have no answers.

My only sibling, a brother  6 years older than I, has spent his life doing whatever he pleases.  Banished from our home when he was 18 for his wild escapades, I have felt like an only child since I was 12.  He has never really been made to accept the consequences of his actions.  My parents are upper middle class and often pay for his apartments and occasionally give him a job in the family hardware business when he needs the money.  Tom is handsome, wild, funny, creative and charismatic.  He manages to get a college degree while he parties his way through life.  He is an accomplished photographer spending years trecking around the country taking thousands of nature photographs.  He makes exquisite jewelry and races cars, flies handmade kites and model airplanes, plays guitar, and collects butterflies from around the world.  Women are drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

I spend much of my life disapproving of him.  It is apparent to me that I am choosing the role of the "quiet and obedient child" not to rock the boat in his wake.   Over the years, his friends settle down while he continues to party on.  Running out of friends who want to party, he then hangs out with a younger crowd.  My appreciation for his deeply creative side is overshadowed by my judgement.  I am the "good daughter" who chooses the traditional life, gets married and has kids.  Never mind that by 1992,  under the surface, there is nothing traditional, good or safe about it.

On the evening of November 29, 1992, our home is decked out and ready for Christmas.  I always decorate while the boys and their father are off deer hunting.  I love everything about Christmas.  It represents everything that I have convinced myself that I have...a happy family gathered together in a cozy cottage in the country and sometimes we seem to be.  

My brother has been calling me unexpectedly the last couple of weeks asking for money.  Since my father died, I have control of my mom's finances due to the fact that she has plenty of it and doesn't know or care to learn how to handle it.  I have finally been instructed by her not to give my brother any more money and have to tell him no.  Successive phone calls become more and more incoherent and unsettling.   Even his current girlfriend who has taken him in, calls and asks me to help her get him out of her apartment.  Apparently, he is pretty much just hanging out on her couch.  I do nothing.  I am fed up with his endless antics and demands.  My own life is secretly unraveling and something about him brings out a feeling of deep fear in me.

I am putting a few finishing touches on the large Christmas tree that shines through the old windows out unto the lake that November night, when the doorbell rings.  It is far too late for it to be anything good.  My husband answers it.  I look up from the tree and freeze.  A police officer is standing there in our festive living room and the look on his face is sympathetic and uncomfortable.  I start to shake uncontrollably, my mind racing...."please don't let it be one of my children".......I secretly beg!  

My brother's car has been found parked near one of his favorite tennis courts.  It has caught on fire and gone up in flames.  There was a body inside burned beyond recognition.  They are afraid it is him but have to identify the dental records to be sure.  The next 24 hours are a blur as we wait.  They also find a gun.  Apparently, he had all of his belongings in the back seat of his car and lit them on fire before he shot himself.  

My mom lives in a posh retirement community and after I deliver the news, wants to go shopping to deal with it.  There is very little emotion shown and she wants no announcement of his death to be put in the papers.  She also allows no wake or public funeral.  

I  help her pick out the casket and the funeral director goes over the prices.  He actually asks if she wants to spend the extra $100 for a body bag to put his remains in before placing him in the casket.  I think I have entered the twilight zone.  It ranks as the most crass question I have ever heard, but I say nothing. 

My mom, husband and oldest son and daughter and I stand in the snow as a priest says a few words over my brother's casket.  My oldest son who has spent many hours with his favorite uncle, places a perfectly mounted, dead Tiger Swallowtail on his casket.   The silence of that cold place is a fitting contrast to the screaming in my mind.  I know it was my fault.

It takes me 7 more years to run from my marriage and make peace with my brother's death.

Farewell Song

It's a fitting night to say goodbye to one of my dearest and oldest friends. Thick blue black clouds hang low in the autumn night sky and a cold wind blows the fallen leaves across the road.  As I drive, a light rain splatters on the windshield, making it difficult to see the winding country road.  

I arrive at the dark little cottage and step out of my car, breathing the familiar lake scented air.  The cold wind makes a melancholy sound as it blows down the lake and across the road into the cornfields. A conflicting sense of peace and sadness fills me as I stand there for a moment, reluctant to enter and say my final farewell.

It's chilly inside and I hurry to light the little gas fireplace.  I walk across the room, and as I lovingly place my hand on my longtime friend, a flood of memories envelopes me.  I am startled to see how old my hand looks because I am tumbling back in time.  I am a young girl again and my mom, who often gets lost in her own secret world of melancholy, is asking me to play my music for her.  Even though her sadness is too much for a small girl to comprehend, on some level I understand that it gives her a rare moment of peace and it makes me happy to be able to do so.

I pull up a chair to my dear old friend and sit down one last time, and as the sweet sounds fill the air, all of the past becomes  present.  I am a child, a young woman, a mother and a wife at the same time. The songs echo down through the years, sometimes joined by the voices of my family.  I feel my mom smiling as I play for her......hoping that she can still hear me.  I finally understand deep in my heart the depth of the gift of music she gave me so long ago.  My song becomes a prayer of gratitude and love drifting out into the silence of the empty room and far beyond the dark expanse of lake and sky outside the tiny cottage.

I am so taken up into the past that I am startled by a tentative knock on the door.  A shy and smiling young couple stands there drawn by the music.  I have been expecting them.  I let them in and play for them for a little while.  I see the love of music shining from their eyes as they place their hands on my old friend, and I am relieved to know that it will be cherished and well taken care of.  I see many years of happy musical memories in their future and I wish them well in their new life together.  

I climb into my car outside the darkened and quiet little cottage I used to call home.  The cold rain and my tears fall silently as I whisper goodbye and drive away.

Click here to listen to the farewell song, played for my mom and all of the good memories.  Apologies in advance for being a bit rusty.  Sorry about the trophy buck on the wall.  I prefer the live variety out in the woods, but it's not my cottage anymore.  https://youtu.be/Rhwsc0WMSgw 

It's all just a pile of feathers....no matter how loud you scream.

I often wonder why humans seem to think it’s a good idea to mess around in the world of the wild animals.   We rant and rave, protect and destroy while they just  go about the business of being animals.  They eat and are eaten and don’t seem to make much of a fuss about it either way.  They accept life and get on with it, either adapting or dying. 

It all seems to ebb and flow more gracefully out in the country, or perhaps I just tell myself that.  Some of them inevitably wind up as road kill or starve during harsh winters and we find it easier to accept because we know that the forests and fields are their natural habitat.  I like to assume that many of them will live out their happy animal lives tucked away in their cozy dens at night and frolicking in the sunny meadows by day.  It’s a nicely vague picture that I have been comfortable with .....until lately.

Their storybook existence becomes a tale fraught with peril as the cities and suburbs encroach more and more into their natural habitats.  When wild animals and humans confront each other in an urban environment, humans often react by becoming worried, fearful, irritated and often angry about having to share their small spaces with wildlife and the problems that this can create.  Rarely, it seems, are creative solutions found for peaceful cohabitation.

When I was a child living in the suburbs, there were no deer, coyotes, wild turkeys and few raccoons.  Now they are everywhere and fighting to survive. 

This past spring, while visiting at the home of a friend who lives in a nearby suburb, I was startled to hear what sounded like an extremely loud gunshot.  A device hidden up in the trees on her property and been automatically tripped by a small group of deer that wandered underneath it.  It shot out a huge net in an attempt to catch one or two of them.  In my naivety, I assumed that it was a catch and release program.  Instead, these nets have been set up by the village to catch the deer in order to kill and eliminate them.  Fortunately, this time it missed.  Seeing the ensuing struggle, had one been caught, would have done me in. The people in this upscale community are upset because the deer eat their fancy flower gardens.  I was so shaken by her casual mention of what annoying pests the deer are, that it brought me to tears and I had to leave. 

My neighbor has chickens....but probably not for long.  I always thought having chickens in the city would be a cool thing, but it creates big problems if they are allowed to roam free.  All of the wild animals that have been forced into closely co-existing with humans need to eat and chickens are a very tempting main course.   Since I have reported him for illegally killing wildlife and using a firearm in the city….his days of being a chicken farmer are most likely limited.  He doesn’t know this yet, and maybe he never will.  It depends on how much the city cares about enforcing their rules.  I just got sick and tired of witnessing his insensitive animal extermination policies.  It seems to be out of my hands now.

I am not completely heartless where my neighbor is concerned.  I can see that he takes very good care of his chickens and perhaps even feels great affection for them.  Often their are young people that come and hang around to observe and care for them.  Maybe it’s not any different out in the country on the farms where I buy my eggs.  Perhaps the farmers have their guns ready and waiting by the door.  I wonder if  I would be running down the road with my shotgun chasing some poor starving animal just trying to feed it’s family after it snatched one of my chicken friends.  

Yesterday I heard my neighbor screaming as if someone had cut off his arm.  It seems that I have rehabilitated my fox friend to the point where she can take very good care of herself.  She entered his yard in broad daylight, snatched one of his chickens right in front of him and ran off with it despite his agonizingly loud protestations. 

Nothing left but a pile of feathers.

My little fox friend let me know that she can take care of herself now.

I just hope she's good at dodging bullets.

Trapped in Suburbia. The Chickens Come Home To Roost.

I don't claim to understand human nature but sometimes the values of my fellow human beings make little sense to me.  Despite that, I am usually compelled to mind my own business....until last week.

Being a nature lover and self professed introvert, I have long ago come to accept the fact that aside from a few close friends, I am most comfortable communing with the natural world.  I have been fortunate that much of my life has been spent living in places where I have been surrounded by nature's quiet beauty.  Whenever the cute mice or spiders wandered inside my various cottages, they were gently caught and released unharmed back outside.

Three years ago, I felt strongly compelled to take on a battle to save my beloved lake from a chemical called 2,4D used to kill invasive plant species.  The exhausting battle was lost that first year and the resulting devastation from 2000 lbs. of this chemical application to the lake was heart breaking.  You can't upset the delicate balance of nature without a great loss of wildlife.  Many fish, frogs and countless other species died on that day.  Due to the hard work and dauntless spirit of a few dear people these past 2 years, the course is slowly changing to a gentler way of treating the delicate and damaged ecosystem of the lake.  It appears to be slowly recovering and there is hope. Without the help of these dedicated people,  I would have given up long ago.

Our neighbor, here in a subdivision that is very close to the city, has chickens.  I have enjoyed watching their feathered antics and really like the idea of raising chickens a lot, even though they seem to get a kick out of digging up my flowers on a regular basis.  I could learn to love a chicken or two.

I can't say that I am fond of my neighbor, since he bragged last spring about his nifty method of getting rid of what he considers backyard pests, such as squirrels and chipmunks.  I'll spare you the details.  Since I don't really know him and hadn't witnessed his pest control tactics, I opted to mind my own business.  I have experienced the patronizing attitudes of those that see us as separate from the natural world too often.  I am not comparing my neighbor's activities to the situation at my lake.  I realize that the death of a few squirrels, chipmunks and raccoons will not upset the balance of nature here.  What I find disturbing is how we can distance ourselves from any feelings of connection or responsibility to the natural world.  It feels like a dangerous way to view the world to me.

A few weeks ago, a raccoon broke into his poorly constructed chicken coop and injured one of his chickens.  He super glued her wounds shut, but she didn't survive.  I didn't realize then that he declared a war on all raccoons that enter his yard.....until I came out to pick some tomatoes in my little garden.  I saw him doing something behind the bushes that separate our property from his, at the same time that I heard several popping noises.  It took me a few moments to comprehend that he was attempting to shoot and kill a raccoon he had caught in a live trap.  Apparently he is a lousy shot because while I was getting completely hysterical, he had to go back into his house to get more ammunition to finish the job. (Sorry for the mind picture.)

I am now way too familiar with the feeling of rage.

I have had a week to calm down and think about it and still have no answers.  I am only suffering from my own inability to understand this war on nature that is even more prevalent in the suburbs.

Don't get me wrong.....I do understand wanting to protect your chickens, but building a better chicken coop would seem to be the answer to that problem.  There will always be another raccoon or even a fox, and you can't kill them all.  Perhaps I am naive.  I know I don't belong here...where I have to witness the daily and seemingly senseless killing of animals.

I have written about my starving fox friend who visits me now and then. http://hollykallie.blogspot.com/2015/08/the-shape-shifter.html  She is looking better since I have fed her several times.  I think she can take care of herself now, but I still wonder at her fate.  The last time she came by, she ate her bowl of food at the edge of the bushes.  When she was finished, she looked up and made eye contact with me for several seconds before she loped off.  I believe she was thanking me.

I finally looked up the city ordinance which clearly states that you cannot kill any wildlife here without a permit..FOR ANY REASON.   So I made a phone call, and it turns out that you can't have chickens here either unless you have 3 acres of land.

I will miss them.

They haven't been removed yet, but in the meantime I will entertain myself by crawling through the bushes in the dark and quietly shutting my neighbor's trap!

The Shape Shifter

She limps along the edges.
A stranger to this place,
of hot pavement and rushing cars.
The city lights hide the dome of stars,
that used to guide her way.

She dimly remembers a time,
when her coat was thick and soft
and she trotted under a silver moon
across a wide expanse of frozen lake.

She is hungry now…not just for food,
but for the smell of the marsh,
and the glow of fireflies at dusk,
even the cold silent falling snow
that drifts in clean sparkling waves.

Something compelling has driven her here.
Though years of hiding have taken their toll,
she does not falter as the full moon rises.
Crawling from her secret place she stands,
 and gazing down the road, sniffs the breeze.
The warm summer air smells like freedom,  
and in the moonlight her coat feels full and soft.

As she takes the next step of her journey,
she knows that no one will see her go.
For she is a shape shifter,
and she is me.

The Guitarist and an Altered Universe

It was on September 21^st, the night of the fall equinox, a warm, starry evening with a hint of crispness in the air that I stepped into an alternate universe….never to return.  My life at age 68 was pleasant and predictable, filled with family gatherings and my creative hobbies at a little cottage on a lake I have loved all of my life.  I never went to parties being content to spend much of my time when I wasn’t with family, by myself. 

Even though I find large gatherings draining, I let my daughter talk me into attending a party with her, given by an acquaintance of ours.  I was told a few old friends I hadn’t seen in years might be there and figured it wouldn’t hurt to stop by briefly.  I felt a moment of panic as we entered the beautiful home overflowing with music, lots of people and tables of refreshments and briefly longed for the peaceful quiet of my little cottage, but forged ahead behind my daughter as we made our way to say hello to the hostess.

We migrated soon to another room, and as I wandered through the crowd my eyes met those of The Guitarist.  We had dated casually a few times 50 years ago and I had not seen him since, but there, in that moment…….time collapsed.  The rest of the room fell away and we talked for many hours into the night.  We were both reluctant to say goodbye, and I remember feeling as I walked out the door, that my life would never be the same.   I knew that I had somehow slipped into an alternate universe.

The Guitarist

The Guitarist and I have talked about this many times since that evening, and we have come to the conclusion that miracles do happen, but that you must be willing to be authentic to experience them.  Although we have both been bruised and battered by life in different ways, we have made peace with it.  I think that the ultimate wisdom of age is that you must let go of the ego to experience the true and timeless beauty that lies within another.  It is difficult or impossible when you are young and full of yourself.  What we experienced in that moment was a rare soul connection, an alignment of the stars that opened a portal through which we had the courage to step.

It took me another 3 months to find the strength to walk out of my former life and the expectations of others as to my role in theirs.  In the end, I didn’t try to explain because I knew I couldn’t.  I just left.  I left behind my beloved cottage on the lake and the approval of some of my grown children and moved into a small home in the suburbs where The Guitarist lives.  We are looking for a new place to move that we can call our own out in the country where we can look at the stars and contemplate the mysteries of the universe. 

Neither of us have regretted this choice for a moment, even though it isn’t always easy for me to let go of feeling responsible for the happiness of those I love who don’t understand my life.  Our lives are rich with the love of music, laughter, good conversation, long walks, cooking great food together and of course love.  I am hoping that in time, those that are uncomfortable with my choices will come to see that it was the best for me.  Perhaps somewhere down the road they will look back and remember that I showed them how life can become magical even when you least expect it and that adding more love to your life does not subtract it from theirs.

Many years ago, I played the piano as a young girl.  I recently purchased a keyboard, having had to leave my piano behind, and The Guitarist and I have been practicing a lovely Irish Ballad.  It’s called “The Town I Loved So Well” and we have recorded it here for your listening pleasure.  It is our first recording and although not perfect....so very much fun!  We hope you enjoy it and that you always believe in the magic of love.

                                         Click on the link below and then on the arrow to play.

https://clyp.it/search?type=hashtag&query=TheTownILovedSoWell