Bruised Orange– At the Principle Gallery
I Worried
I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?
Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?
Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.
Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?
Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.
— Mary Oliver
I failed to mention yesterday that, after hearing the news of the Roe v. Wade decision as I turned my car into our driveway, I proceeded to break a bone in my mid-foot within minutes of that moment. Ended up spending several hours in the ER that afternoon, which presented me with a cast and a pair of crutches as my work companions for next several weeks.
Friday sucked in so many ways.
I am hobbling around now, trying to figure out ways to do tasks that once seemed easy and effortless. Even getting a tube of paint takes thought and effort.
I am not complaining. This minor inconvenience is just that. In a time when so many have died or been stricken with long term symptoms from covid and when the political machinations of the Supreme Court have put so many more lives at grave risk, it could be a lot worse.
My little problem will undoubtedly get better eventually. There is no guarantee that those other problems will improve. It’s going to take an effort to make things change.
And the prospect for that has the worrying part of me, that well from which all my anxiety springs, on high alert in recent days.
I am using two pieces here today to try to quell that worry. One is the poem from poet Mary Oliver at the top that tells me to set aside my worries for the moment and sing.
It’s something good to hear on this Sunday.
The other is this week’s Sunday Morning Music selection which is the Otis Redding version of the eternal Sam Cooke song, A Change is Gonna Come. It’s a song instills in me the hope that we the people are up to the task of creating change.
It’s something good to hear on this Sunday.
Take a clue from the title of Otis’ album. Vote blue until you bleed red.
Redtree Times 
I feel for you. A few weeks ago, I stepped out of the van, and fell into a heap. I was thankfully I heard no crack of bone. By the end of that day, walking was excruciating. But I took time out, was thankful to find a safe refuge for a couple of days till I could drive again. Weeks later, I’m fully mobile. Change happens. It’s what we do with it that matters. Wishing you good healing, in the time it takes. As always, your art matters. 👍🌻
Glad you had a good outcome in your situation. You’re right– change happens. We just have to react and adapt. All my best to you!
I’ve never broken a bone, but I’ve pulled and strained and dislocated various and sundry body parts in the course of my work, and I feel for you. Adapting and making allowances for the sudden limitations isn’t easy, but it can be done, and it certainly speeds healing.
I did once take a tumble in an isolated, one person ‘cemetery’ in the middle of a Kansas maize field. As I went down, I instinctively held my camera with one hand up into the air, rather than using both hands to break my fall. I suffered a bit for that choice, but as I told someone later, bodies heal. Cameras have to be replaced. At least you didn’t take out a pile of your paintings!
I have experienced that same situation of falling while holding a camera or some other precious item ( a painting once) a few times. I am usually surprised at being able to respond so quickly, to hold the item aloft while twisting my body so that I land on my side or back. If I tried to do that intentionally, I would no doubt fail. There’s something remarkable in that instinctual response. I wish it had been working better when I broke my foot. But adapting to limitations is my forte so this doesn’t get me down. There’s always a way to get things done.