Nebraska, not Alaska

This is supposed to be the first week of summer, and the stress of the school year should melt away. Instead I keep thinking about my students, keep wondering if I should try and find out Surenaty’s ball game schedule, or see if Jaydin and Alyana want to help me paint. I have also been sick with a sinus infection and an earache. I wonder if I have battle fatigue.

Monday, I drove up to Gunnison for a class. The class was for art teachers and taught by all the art professors at Western State. The first session was a clay class. The prof did a mini slab throwing lesson and then instructed us to make a mug or a vase using slab. I wasn’t feeling it. I just wanted to lay my head on the table and go to sleep. Instead I made a rose with my clay, even though that was not the assignment. It just made me think about my mom. June is not my favorite month.

In the afternoon, we did cyanotypes. That was a little more my speed because all that takes is putting some objects on material and setting it in the sun for nine minutes and then washing the chemicals clear. There was a whole room of objects, but I just grabbed a bike gear, my car keys and took off my rings–Mom’s wedding ring, my breast cancer survivor ring, and the birthstone ring of my kids that I always wear. I realized that I just put the my personal story of the last eight years on that paper.

I was the first person done with the composition and I sat outside against the wall of the art building. Gunnison is a beautiful place with the mountains and wildflowers and a lazy pace. I watched the other teachers put their boxes down and mill around talking quietly. I thought about actually doing this project with students. There is no way, kids would stand around quietly for nine minutes. I realized that I didn’t need to think like a teacher at the moment. And maybe June doesn’t need to be about grief anymore.

After I hung my fabric up to dry, I left. I had planned on camping, but instead checked in to the Roadside Inn and went to bed. I slept for twelve hours straight and woke up with the absolute worst earache. I felt like I was about twelve and really just wanted someone to take care of me. I thought about bailing on school and just going home. Instead, I stopped at Starbucks and went to campus. We learned how to make paint from things like dirt and crushed leaves. I messed around with my colors, even after everyone went to lunch.

When I got home, the cats were overjoyed to see me. My son on the other hand was out of it and I was unsure if he knew that I had been gone. I am going to have to deal with how far gone he is, but I felt like my ears were closing down and and my body was aching., so for the next couple of days, I just tried to get well. I finished painting a sign for High on the Hill Farm.

Hand painting signs is a side gig that I do sometimes. I like the lettering and working on the wood, but it is slow meticulous work. Usually, I work with the tv on, or music, but this time I worked in silence, trying to quiet the school year from my mind. I thought a little about getting a summer job. I know staying busy is how I cope with not dealing with my emotions.

I made a list. 1. Breathe. 2. Art. 3. Family. 4. Home. I decided that I felt well enough, so, I am with my cousins on a road trip to meet up with other cousins. Our great aunt is having her 80th Jubilee as a Sisters of Mercy nun. We spent the night in Cozac, Nebraska. The town is full of wings. It started as a local movement to honor the memory of s little girl who died and the wings are everywhere. I like that idea. Celebrate a memory with light and color. Make pain into something joyful. Once again, the universe has given me what I needed. Looking forward to today’s journey.