Every once in a while, when I take time to breathe, I stare at the blank page of a blog that began by accident from a whispered idea in 2008. I can't believe that twelve years have passed. For the better part of the last year I have put pen to paper instead of turning on the computer. I have stolen moments before the sun is up and more times than not, I find my well of inspiration has gone dry. So I record the events of the day. The temperature, my weight, the total number of covid cases ... Alexa is always at the ready when I need to know the facts of the pandemic or the weather or time of day. Oh, and she has finally decided to call me Jan instead of January but that took some coaxing.
My writing room became my painting room when the weather dipped below 50. This is also Helen's room and she happily sleeps in her fluffy sky blue pillow bed within reach. Occasionally she stretches and yawns and meows just loud enough to let me know that she is there and then snuggles back into her dreams...whatever they may be at 16.
I have been blessed by Covid. My heart aches for those whose lives have been altered in immeasurable ways but Jules and I are okay. We don't have to go to work. We don't have to travel. We have one another. I have discovered an incredible group of artists who give wholeheartedly of their time and talent and don't care if I am dressed in my PJs sipping coffee while I observe and learn. My family has faced Covid and they are among those who have recovered and I am so very grateful.
Perhaps typing is therapeutic and going forward I think I will spend a few minutes each day with Helen and the keyboard and perhaps prime the pump of this empty well.