Lost For Words

It’s been awhile since I’ve written. There is an old saying that silence speaks volumes. That and sometimes there are no words to adequately express the pain in your heart. I had written of my desire to have my elderly father come to live with me. To give a little back to someone who gave me so very much. That won’t happen now. My dad’s condition has worsened. My greatest fear at this point is not seeing him before I lose him. I am living in limbo these days. Our home is still on the market, we have yet to find a new one, I need to be here to sell one home and to find another. That means I can’t go home yet. Stress has become a daily habit.

…I began that draft weeks ago. I honestly wasn’t sure if I would ever finish it, or even write on this blog again, but here I am. Another of the little voices that reside inside my head has told me that the time has come. Big changes in the last few weeks. To begin with I finally made it to Chicago to see my dad. He didn’t look as bad as I expected, but my sisters tell me that what I came home to was a vast improvement from the weeks prior. It was hard enough to leave him again, I am grateful that he was on the mend when I saw him. He is slowly recovering, but I think sadly will never really be the same again. Though there were glimpses of him as he danced about in his wheelchair when he saw the Irish cookies I brought with me. There were also still trances of his boyish humor as he poked fun at those around him, and also his soft heart as he was more worried about hurting the nurses than himself as they tried to pick him up and move him. There were dark moments as well. Moments where he seemed to forget that our mother was gone and we cried again together. I cannot express my gratitude enough to my sisters for being there with him, for doing an outstanding job of watching over him, and for continuing to do so. I talked to him yesterday. He knew who I was, and he sounded even better than last week when I was there. I am happy for every good moment.

On the other home front here in Temecula there are also changes afoot. Finally having our friend who is a realtor represent us, we sold our home. We have found our new home. It isn’t miles away as we had planned, but here in this little city we have grown to love. In the end we couldn’t find an affordable safe neighborhood in Los Angeles. I’m sure there must be some, we just didn’t know how to find them. I’ve looked at more than one hundred houses since October. I was exhausted, depressed and feeling hopeless. Dan and I talked and realized that neither of us has ever lived anywhere as long as we’ve lived in this house, and that for us Temecula is home. We began to search here but again we left feeling like we would never find “our house”. We had discussed all along getting something that needed a little fixing, but nothing we looked at was speaking to us. Our friend suggested an older neighborhood, and there it was. From the moment we walked in the door we knew it was ours. We left the house and told her to stop looking. Leaving this home will still be bittersweet, but it is becoming easier by the day as we begin to plan for our life in our new home. We are excited at making that house into something special just as we did here. It is half the size, and there isn’t a single stair in the place, my knees are beyond happy.

Meanwhile my pledge to begin art again will have to wait. I am packing, and planning, and designing in my head! We have also decided that as we move on we will document our progress. More than likely in a sister blog to this. I am a great believer in fate. It has been a long time since we’ve had good news to share. Hopefully this will be the beginning of better things to come.

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The First Day

 

A quick post just to pat myself on the back for following through. I finished the first step in a project last night. I would have posted it then, but my couch and I have a very intimate relationship. It lulls me to sleep if I sit for more than a few minutes in the evening. My first piece for the year. A little something for Valentine’s Day. There is more to do, but I think this is a pretty good start. Accomplished with a little home-baked clay, my fingers, a butter knife, and a toothpick. More to come later today…IMG_2511

A Year Of Possibilities

Happy New Year one and all. Another new year, another new beginning. Another chance to hope for better things ahead. We started out 2014 with Dan still unemployed. We started out worried, yet hopeful, that somehow, someway, better things lay ahead. Not everything came out as well as we hoped. A job that has definitely had its ups and downs, but employment none the less. We started 2014 with no idea of changes coming our way, including our daughter and son-in-law moving to the other side of the country, and our son moving out. To say that 2014 left me adrift is barely hitting the nail on the head. With Jessica and John so far away, Brian gone from home, and from enjoying Dan’s company every day for sixteen months to barely seeing him at all (thanks to a one hundred and ninety-four mile round trip daily commute), I’ve been feeling lost. I miss the kids. I miss Dan, but more so appreciate every day what he does for us. I had hoped by now to be moved somewhere closer, and to be gainfully employed myself, but as we all know life can be the ultimate magic act, taking hopes and dreams and making them disappear right in front of our eyes. I am no longer sure of my place in the world. One thing I have learned in this life of mine is that only I am responsible for my happiness. I think I forgot that for a while. December kept me busy in fairyland, but while my hands were working, my mind was thinking. I don’t want a job. No, that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to work, but rather that I don’t want to work for someone else. I have all the employment that I need in my hands.  I need to begin filling my time, as well as my bank account, with what I do best. The amount of creative things that I can do is quite impressive (if I do say so myself!) So 2015 I dare you to keep me down. Life, I’m old enough to know the secret to a lot of magic acts, I’ve looked behind the curtain. No disappearing acts this year.

Just before I sat down to write I began my first project for the year. A few months ago I stated that I wanted to start a new 365 project, then my engine stalled (I think it was all the glitter), fairies were occupying my every waking moment. New year, and the holiday rush behind me, there are NO more excuses. Commence the creating. Whether I make it back later tonight with something to show remains to be seen, but I will be working, I will no longer be drifting, I will be anchoring myself to my life’s salvation, art. Here’s to a good year ripe with hope and possibility, and making my life better for myself. If things go as planned you might all just be hearing from me a little more often, and in the process have some beautiful work to look at.

Just in case…one of my photographs from here in the hills of Temecula.

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Validation

I didn’t expect to be writing again so soon, but as always I write when I am moved to by the universe, recent events, or sometimes because I need to blow off steam. This morning I write for a different reason. For many years when people asked what I did I would say, “I am an artist”, while the entire time in my heart and mind I felt like a fraud. Last year in one of the earlier posts of this blog I wrote about a woman I met who in a way challenged me on calling myself an artist. She asked if I had sold any work, the implication being that if I hadn’t, that somehow I couldn’t claim the title. I have also heard of others being called “professional artist”, again the implication being that unless one is earning a living by selling their work, they are somehow an amateur. I was angry about it for some time, that is until I came to understand that the proclamations of the judgmental crowd are merely words of jealousy cloaked in self-righteousness. Picasso, Monet, Van Gogh, Wood, O’Keeffe, names sound familiar? There was a time in each of their lives when they didn’t earn a living as artists, they still painted, they were still artists, they just weren’t selling any work yet. I guess if you read my blog you know by now that judgement is a sore issue with me.  I honestly didn’t intend to head down the rabbit hole of defending myself to these people, but I feel my temper rising when I think about being judged as an artist by people who can’t or don’t create…..breathe…breathe…

OK, so now the real reason for my writing this morning. Last night I mentioned my work on etsy. Again, there are not as of yet many offerings in the way of prints of my work. It is at the moment more crafty kind of stuff. One of the things I have listed is a box. It is called the “Key To My Heart” box. It’s a small box made of paper, not quite cardboard, though it is sturdy, and inside this box I made an accordion of paper sentiments about love. A few days ago a young man on the other side of the world reached out to me. He said that he couldn’t think of a better way to express his love for his girl than with my piece of art. We have exchanged a few messages back and forth. My offer on etsy is to create a personalized version for the recipient, including quotes, verses, song lyrics, etc., anything the purchaser wants included. Last night he told me that the reason he wants this box is to use it as a means to propose on New Year’s Eve. There are no words to describe what this means to me as an artist. That someone is so touched by what I have created means everything to me. I have had to deal with more than a few detractors in my life. People who are not supportive of what I do, and have no respect for my talent. On the other side of the world there is a young man who is anxious, excited, and thrilled in anticipation of receiving my work in the mail so that he can give it to his love. The last page will be his proposal. I am hoping she is as moved by it as I am in creating it for her. When you can create something through words, through music, through painting, photography, or even craft that causes someone else to feel, you are successful, you are an artist. I need no more validation than that. I may not be Picasso or O’Keeffe, but I am no less an artist than they are.

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Into Every Life A Little Glitter Must Fall

I’m out of touch with the real world these days. I’ve been lost in the land of fairies. Yes, it’s that time of year again. The time when glitter like an infectious disease clings to those who dare enter my home. We are still struggling along here. No bites on the house, and we are considering a new plan of action. Meanwhile I have decided to use my God-given talents to pay for Christmas. If you have followed along my journey you know this started out as an art blog. Truth be told, it started out as a way to publicly blackmail myself into working. It worked for a year, but then life snuck in and pulled the rug from under me. I tried again a few weeks ago to blackmail myself again, but I truthfully haven’t had the time to work on what I consider my serious art. Instead I am focusing on what brings in the cash, and that would be fairies. So I am here again, just like last year, to ask anyone who reads my blog to take a look at my etsy site. I have a few pieces of art up there, and intend to have more after the beginning of the year, but for now I’m asking you to take a look at my ornaments. Lots of new ones this year. I’ll post a few photos here. So if you are looking for an inexpensive handmade gift check me out.

https://www.etsy.com/shop/jackiez59

My new International Fairies, bearing a “Merry Christmas” message in their native language.

Irish Fairy Liberty The American Fairy The Japanese Fairy

 

I also have a vintage site on etsy. Again, very, very inexpensive. I need to downsize, and I am listing new treasures weekly.

https://www.etsy.com/shop/PyewackettVintage

Thanks to all who take the time to read my writing. When the glitter clears I’ll be back to my opinionated self.

Obsessing Once Again

It’s me again. Have I mentioned that I obsess? Last night I wrote about making the realtor cry. When I said I didn’t feel good about it I wasn’t kidding. It isn’t who I am. I do have a horrendous temper, but it doesn’t lie close to the surface, it is deep within me. When I was a kid and my dad was getting mad he would say, “The worm is turning.” I guess in that way I am much like him, but the truth is that I don’t want the worm to turn. It doesn’t feel good to get that angry and upset. It was never my intention to have someone leave my house in tears. I would blame some of what I’m feeling on Catholic guilt (actually probably a lot of what I’m feeling), but there is also the fact that I am really one of the nicest people you could meet. I am compassionate, loving, and generous to a fault. I don’t want to be the angry person. I went to bed feeling really bad last night. I woke at 2:15 in the morning feeling troubled and stressed. Even though the woman who came here last night presented herself with intentions other than the truth, I feel bad for upsetting her. I told Dan this morning that I think I vented a little frustration at her last night. He on the other hand doesn’t feel bad at all. He told her prior to coming to our house that she shouldn’t try to ask to list our house. I had told her myself that it wouldn’t happen, I had told her several times in fact. Part of what really got to me last night was the callous way she offered us what she called an “option”. I have probably talked to upwards of a dozen realtors at this point. About half have heard me say that my friend will get the listing and then quit asking. The other half try to convince me that real estate and friendship don’t mix and make their pitch to get the listing. What made the difference last night was that she knew my friend had buried her dad earlier in the day. It was heartless, and then she tells me that only God knows what is in her heart. My friend is from Illinois, I grew up in Chicago, she at the complete opposite end of the state. She has no family here. Actually that isn’t true, she is part of my family. We have been friends for several years. I am a very protective mom, and while we are a little too close in age to say she is like one of my kids, she is like a younger sister to me. We have been through much together, and we will be through even more…together. I wish I could shake this. I have considered calling an offering an apology, but in the end what she was trying to do wasn’t very nice, and it would have hurt my friend. So I obsess.

It is later in the day and quite frankly my day hasn’t been good. I enjoyed some one on one with my dear friend Theresa this morning and into the afternoon. While we were together my mind was occupied, but later I still found myself feeling unsettled. I can’t undo last night, but I think I learned a lesson from it. I need to listen a little closer to my inner voice, the one that told me that I shouldn’t have let her come over. I always want to think the best of people. I want to believe that their intentions are what they say they are, but in the end people are people. I sometimes think even people with the best of hearts lose sight of what the right choice is when there is a dollar sign attached.

Still later yet…I am letting go of a little of my worry. I spent the evening making a gift for my dad. It isn’t for any other reason than that there are many nights that he breaks my heart. He misses my mother more than I can say. He tells me that he talks to her every night. Theresa and I worked on crafting projects this morning involving photos and fabric. Last year while I was in Chicago visiting my dad I was looking through an old box of cards. The inscriptions to my parents from each other touched me very much. I grabbed my cell phone and took photos of all of them. I printed one on fabric for this pillow, along with photos of my parents together through the years. I know he will love this. Finally an art project of sorts to post, a little something for my dad to take to bed with him at night. Working on this pillow took my mind off my obsessive worrying. There’s nothing like doing something for someone else to make me feel better.IMG_1176

She Speaks

After a year of blogging every single day, and then a couple of times a week, it might seem like I am running out of things to say. That isn’t true of course, although I am much less of a “talker” than most. I am comfortable in my own silence (and even more comfortable in the silence of some others…) The truth is that things haven’t changed. Our life is still on hold as we try to sell our home. At the risk of offending some very dear friends (who happen to be decent human beings and realtors), I will say that we are beginning to feel a bit like shark bait for the local realtors. We continue to have people contact us about our home, always starting out as if they have a possible buyer, ask lots of questions and then go for the kill. When I explained to a caller the other day that I had a realtor in line, a best friend in line for the sale of our home should we decide to go that route, she began to badger me on the whys and hows of why in her opinion, “That just doesn’t work.” I explained that my dear friend is away for family medical reasons. I explained that I had already made the promise to my friend that the listing would be hers. I explained about a bad realtor experience back in Chicago that made me wary. None of that mattered. She simply ignored everything I said and told me that I needed to have an “open mind” when her boss came to preview my property. I was losing my temper (which is never, ever a good thing for the person on the other end of it), I was trying to be as pleasant as possible, but I could feel my blood pressure begin to rise. If this particular caller had her way I would be greeting my returning friend with, “Sorry your family member was gravely ill, by the way our friendship of nine years means nothing, and I’m giving someone else my house to list.” I actually thanked this person for her professionalism (which she wasn’t), but I find myself in a very awkward position. I want to tell these people exactly what I think of them and their “ethics”, but if I do that I risk alienating them even farther. I just don’t understand. Why is my need to sell my own house such a bad thing? We are offering compensation to the buyer’s realtor. We don’t expect these people to work for nothing, but not a single realtor in the area has brought a client to our home. One realtor went as far as telling us that we weren’t worth his time. Since when is a paycheck of nearly ten thousand dollars not worth someones time? We aren’t against someone earning a living, but we are people who had very little income for sixteen months and need to keep as much of our money as we can for ourselves. I’m angry and frustrated. I want and need to move ahead with our life, but I am also as stubborn as they come. So I will sit in my beautiful home with my heels dug in and wait for the buyer to find us without any help from anyone else, because ten thousand dollars is definitely worth my time.

Breathe….now I feel better.

Art! There hasn’t been a piece every day. There have been fairies and other things. I will share the photo from my altered art piece from my daughter’s birthday. (She may kill me for it, but if you don’t think she was one of the cutest toddlers ever…) This was the cover on one of thirty gifts I sent her. A small cigar box that contained a little tiny set of pages where I wrote out the story of her birth. One thing that the last year and a half has taught me is that “things” don’t matter. People matter, memories matter, spirituality matters. The things that mean the most are the things that cannot be held in our hands, but only in our hearts and minds. Happy Birthday Jessica.

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Past Midnight

Happy Birthday to me today. Dan and I have a longtime affectionate argument about age. He is four months older than me, or one hundred twenty-five days (not that I’m counting). He will refer to us in age in some conversation, and I will immediately remind him that while he was out on the town (at four months old), I was still in utero awaiting my introduction to the world. Yesterday he said I was fifty-five, I said, “After midnight.” It’s past midnight, actually its five-thirty in the morning so it is official. I’m sort of old. I say sort of because apparently the rest of the world doesn’t know me. I am not in the least bit “old”, I may have some wrinkles, and definitely fifty-five year old knees, but I’d say in attitude I’m somewhere around thirty-five. I’ve been getting a lot of AARP stuff for years now, but my favorite mail is from funeral homes. It goes something like, “Hey now! You’re getting closer to death by the second. Don’t leave your loved ones in a lurch. Plan ahead.” I know I’m no spring chicken, but I’d like to think I have another decade or two. For those of you who are of the gloom and doom persuasion, yes, I realize I could get hit by a car tomorrow, I’m just not planning on it. I also received a reminder a few weeks back from our car insurance company. They wanted to let me know that life insurance rates would go sky-high as soon as I turned fifty-five. I called yesterday…it wasn’t midnight yet. That process was interesting. They are very happy to have you call them, they are very happy to sell you insurance, but then begins the inquisition. A questionnaire about my medical history. It seems that they need to know everything that has ever occurred to me medically. Now at fifty-four (remember it wasn’t midnight yet) a lot, and I mean a lot of stuff has gone on in my life. What I really enjoyed was the section where they asked if I’d ever had any X-rays. Seriously? Who hasn’t, oh the Amish (not to offend, but I’m sure they don’t read my blog anyway). I started filling out the X-ray section, which includes normal X-rays, CT scans, MRI scans, ultrasounds, and so on. I have had two children, had a miscarriage, fallen down a flight of stairs on my hip, six knee surgeries, broken fingers, and…I could bore you with more medical details, because I am after all old now, and isn’t that what old people do? I won’t, I will remember my thirty-five year old mindset and stop. I called them back. I spoke to a very nice young man. Do they really need every X-ray ever? He was stumped. I have to call back Monday (I guess the inquisitor gets weekends off). I get it if they want to rule out something that will cost them, but if they insure me it will cost them in the end anyway, it’s not like I’m immortal or something. (Of course if my plan to rule the universe doesn’t happen soon I may have to figure that one out.) Rule out the biggies for the moment, heart disease, cancer, diabetes, but why make me relive some rather painful personal moments? Does it really matter that I was anemic when I was nineteen? Or that I was depressed for a while after my mom died, wouldn’t they be too? That I miscarried? What does any of that have to do with life insurance? Who needs to read the gory details of my five decades? Does the fact that I broke my index finger mean I could push the wrong elevator button and plunge to my death? Or will they use the fact that I snapped my ACL hanging a kitchen curtain as a reason for non-payment when I fall off a counter to my demise in my new home hanging new curtains?  I feel like the odds are stacked against me before I even begin. Maybe I should have signed up for life insurance at birth before my total lack of coordination was evident. I guess if I die too soon they will have to pay too soon. I have to say, I’m with them. I hope they make lots of money from me, but meanwhile a little privacy please. (Happy Sunday to all of you, but I feel better now. I needed to rant to someone.)

On to what really matters…

I’ve created a new ad for today’s post. It looks like this:

MISSING: ARTWORK

Last seen several months ago on this blog

Wearing coats of many colors.

Mediums of all kinds.

Subject matter varied upon mood of the artist.

If you have any information please contact the artist and ask “What’s up?”

I started this blog to force myself to create every day. Along the way the original purpose was usurped by my life heading off the deep end. I need to find it again. My art is my life’s saving grace. It has always been the thing that got me through. It hasn’t been a good year and a half for Dan and I. We are grateful for what we have. We talked last night about how close we came to losing everything. We didn’t, and we are stronger than ever, but I have been letting a very important part of myself slip away once again. I need to create. It is as important in my life as food is. I need that artistic nourishment, and I have been living on crumbs. My birthday, start of a new year in my life, an arbitrary benchmark of time passing, but today it becomes my new “start line”, my new 365 day project. Today I will be spending the day with Dan, so I will post a piece from last year. New work begins tomorrow.

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Up For Sale

So where have I been? Here, at home as always. Dragging my feet on selling the house. I know, I know, it’s time to go. (See? Even in my misery I rhyme) actually I’m not miserable, I’m doing ok. We are as I write this putting together a YouTube video of our home. We will be listing tonight, all the fussing and fixing is over, just the daily grind of having to wrangle in the cat hair tumble weeds less they scare off a buyer. Truth is we live in desert country, lots and lots of dust, throw in three cats and I’m a Swiffer commercial. Try as I might there’s just no way to contain it all. I’m armed and ready, wet/dry vac (because the regular vacuums that we’ve owned surrendered in defeat), broom, Swiffer wet, and Swiffer dry, and lots of determination. I will also need to avoid showing the house at particular times of day when despite my efforts the sun streams through the window like a spotlight in search of a star and discovers mounds of cat hair that lie in wait, mocking my Swiffer best. (I do believe at this point the Swiffer people should be considering assisting me in my hour of need.)

As we prepare to leave this home we are of course looking towards the future. Tomorrow I will begin to hunt for our new home. We are hoping that will be in the city of Fullerton, CA. We are on the lookout for a fixer-upper, something that we can give new life to. Something like us, a house that’s older, but still looks fairly decent, may have some internal issues, but hopefully nothing too bad, something that needs a little facelift, and some love.

…I wrote the post above a few days ago. I house hunted Wednesday, and quite frankly came back somewhat discouraged. Out here in the desert your dollar goes a lot farther. I did see a few houses that were definite possibilities, and one that I loved. Unfortunately the one I loved was the most expensive (of course), and it was around eight hundred square feet. Our current home is 3036, I told Dan I’m going to buy him a recording of “Getting To Know You”, because at that square footage there will no escaping one another. The other huge issue I came across is the appalling condition of some of these homes. I want a fixer-upper, not a filthy dirty, disgusting mess. I cannot believe the condition of some of these homes. I did manage to have some fun. My good friend Lori is acting as my realtor for my house search. We laughed the entire day as we made our way through some really bad spaces with mysterious odors. She was recording my comments for the realtors of each of the spaces we were in. The biggest suggestion I have for most is, “Buy a broom.”

Today is our first attempt at an open house. It’s been nearly two hours and we haven’t had to open the door yet. Dan just said that its like throwing a party and no one is coming. I feel stressed and anxious. The house is immaculate, looks great, and I am hoping that someone will walk through the door and love it. I promised photos, but if you would really like to see the results of our hard work, check out our YouTube video,which can be found on my Facebook professional page.  I am Jacqueline Zuckerman on Facebook, or go to YouTube and find us by address.  43425 Monte CT. Temecula. Feedback is more than welcome!

Beginning The Goodbye

I think I might just see the end in sight. As I said the other day, I’ve been dragging my feet, or in my case, my knee. I didn’t want to move, but as often happens, life sometimes makes our choices for us, this one wasn’t mine to choose. I believe we will be for sale by Wednesday. The last few details to be finished in the coming days. The endless weeks of primping my house as if she were going to her first prom are coming to an end. Freshly painted, immaculately clean (OK, so the cat hair tumbleweeds can be an issue), and dressed to the nines. I’m like a proud mother sending my girl off to the dance, and as any mother can tell you it’s never easy, except this time it will be me leaving my nest behind. I will worry and fret that she is loved and cared for in the same way I did. There has been much life lived in this house. My daughter was married from it, my son grew up in it, both Dan and I lost a parent while living in it. We found security within its walls as our life fell apart. As long as we had our home we felt that everything would be OK.  We celebrated our love and marriage of twenty-five years in it. When we left Chicago (actually the Village of Lindenhurst), where we bought our first home, we left behind a piece of our hearts as well as a sneaky reminder of us. Dan carved our names into the bottom of a post he installed between the living room and dining room, and had the kids sign as well. It remains to be seen if we will leave something so tangible here, but we will leave the ghost of us in its walls . The laughter, the tears, the heartaches, successes, and so much love, are the essence of what a home should be, and they are here, and in our hearts and minds. I only wish for those who follow the same kind of bond, the same kind of love, the same kind of precious memories that make a house a home. I will miss this place, my beautiful garden, but most of all I will treasure the memories that were created here.

 

I have made much of how I will miss my garden. I was looking through old photos tonight and thought I would share what our vision created.  A before and after, an engagement party for Jessica and John that we held there, and finally one garden project that will travel with us. The table that Dan and I built together. We will have to build a new garden around it.

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