"Our Bedroom with Blue Paint"

One thing that bothers my mom as much as her weight is things that don't match, clothes, rooms, anything. My parent's bedroom currently has green wallpaper, blue/gray rug, and pink curtains. My dad is thinking of getting rid of their wallpaper through out the house and painting the walls. My dad wants to do the den first, my mom wants him to do the bedroom, because as she says, "atleast the den matches."

For this day's entry, she asked me to paint a picture of her room with her blue walls, instead of green wallpaper. I may try this as an acrylic as well, to really get the colors.

My parents have old spanish style furniture. One thing I thought was funny, was that I remember all the details about their room from my dusting chores on Saturday mornings.

Mom by Kim and Kim by Mom, Kent Hospital, RI

I'm posting something very dear to me. Last year when my Mom almost died from pneumonia, I rushed home to be with her in the hospital. As she was getting better, my Dad would watch my daughter while I visited her. On one of our visits, I sketched her, and asked her to sketch me. She is often to self conscience to draw, but not that day.

"Your Bathroom"

When we got on the phone tonight (Saturday, September 12, 2009, I'm late posting) my Mom was happy. She was out of her depression, as I had hoped was happening with her talking the night before. She was telling me how bad it's getting talking to her Mom, my Non, who has Alzheimers. My Dad joined in from the background to explain, "There's a lot of 'you knows' and 'the things.'" My Mom burst out laughing. "We are so getting so bad." she laughed.

My Mom's short term memory loss from her MS and my Non's word loss from the Alzheimers, make basic communicating hard. I talk to my Mom almost every day and my Non 3 times a week. Their brain illnesses manifest very differently in conversation.

I asked my Mom if she had ideas for the project. She said she had thought of one during the day, but she forgot to write it down. I asked if she wanted to think of a new one. She was more than happy to.

"Maybe something about missing you, I know we already did that, how about your bathroom?"

"My bathroom?" I asked.

"Or your house? I don't know what it looks like where you live. I know you've sent pictures, but I can't picture it." she explained.

I liked the idea of the bathroom, so I painted my favorite one, without all the stuff on the counter, the way I like it.

Rainbow Wish

When my Mom gets depressed she gets quiet and when she talks her voice is small. When she is starting to come out of her depression she starts to talk a little. Tonight, she began our phone conversation in a small voice, almost rambling. It was comforting to hear her thoughts without pause, I much prefer it to silence.

"I'm so bad." she started. "I've got to get out of this depression." "I hate this disease. I've had it for so long." (over 40 years) I'm lucky I'm still walking. But I can only do 2 laps I used to do 10 but when I'm depressed I don't push myself."

We talked about the cruise our family took when I was 16 and she could still walk. How while on the Island of Haiti, on the walk back to the boat from lunch, she got so over heated that she suddenly lost her ability to walk. My Dad had to carry her a long way and it was very hot. I can picture it in my mind and would have painted it tonight, except I thought to ask her one more time, for a topic for our art project, after weeks without one.

I heard her hesitate and then like rain after a Texas drought.

"Ummm, she said in a whisper, "a rainbow is ...is that it? a rainbow in the sky, a sign of life going on, sign of god, rainbow coming up, god's with you shining over you in his rainbow. my neck is cramping it's my personality right now dad says he'll do all the worrying, I have something to worry about I can't walk, I can't do crap, I'm numb in my hands, I'm numb in my feet, I'm not a normal person, I'm getting fat and I haven't been on the scale."

Watermelon for Summer

My Mom has been depressed for a few weeks now. Too depressed to give any painting topics. She says she is not creative.

I told her my daughter and I were eating watermelon. She commented that she loved watermelon and hadn't had any yet this summer. She talked about her Dad always having a big watermelon in his second fridge downstairs and how they would eat it out back. I stayed at my Non and Pop's this summer and it's true he did still keep a large watermelon in the fridge downstairs all summer. You have to love that kind of consistency.

My Dad walked in from grocery shopping during our talk, so I reminded her to ask him to get some the next time he went to the store. With her short term memory loss, she had already forgotten.

"Honey." she said. "Next time you go to the store can you buy me some watermelon?"

"Sure Babe," he answered without hesitation. "You want some watermelon, I'll get you some."

It must be hard to be so reliant on another person, but they manage it pretty well.

She never officially asked me to paint a watermelon, but the beauty of this project is that I get to talk to her and remember things even when she is too depressed to be creative.

Side Note

I sent print outs of the collaboration project thus far to Rhode Island, for to my Mom. They got it in the mail today. My Dad read it and really likes it. My Mom said it's really nice. Dad said he was learning new things. He pointed out some typos, and a few factual errors. Thanks Dad. For instance, he did the icing and stinging in the API therapy, and my Mom didn't ride horses from Warwick to Goddard Park, she rode in Warwick and Goddard Park. It never hurts to have more eyes.

My Mom was laughing at the end of the phone conversation over something my Dad said. I asked her what it was, but she was laughing too hard to speak. My Dad shouted from the background, "when she's done she doesn't plug it in and then it has no power when I need it." They were in the bathroom brushing their teeth together getting ready for bed. When he went to use his power tooth brush it was out of juice. My Mom thought that was hysterical.

"Coffee not Chocolate"

My Dad is home from the hospital. My sister and her 2 kids were staying at the house this week, while my Dad recovered. I spoke with them everyday, it sounded like a hard week for everyone. I had thought we might go to help, but didn't in the end. My daughter is still packed and ready (her decision). My Mom and I did not work on the project last week, there was too much going on.

I finally spoke with my Mom today about the project. She is depressed again, 16 days after the end of her last tour. She said that she is always depressed, which is not always the case, but when she is down she can't be convinced otherwise.

I could not get a direct art request from her. Somehow though, we started talking about chocolate.

"I don't like chocolate." "I know most women do." "I must get it from my father, he doesn't like chocolate either." "I'm not a chocolate person (insert yuck face visual here, I know she made it, even when I can't see her). "I like coffee better."

"Maybe I'll paint coffee ice cream?" I said.

"That sounds good." she said

This painting shows exactly how my Mom orders her ice cream, small in a cup with a sugar cone on top. My Mom's M.S. has taken away many things, one thing is eating ice cream from a cone, but that doesn't mean, she can't get one on top.

Later in the night I called back, and told her I posted the coffee ice cream painting, my Mom added, "Coffee is a Rhode Island thing."

She makes an important point. They make coffee syrup in Rhode Island for your milk. So in school you could get a plain, chocolate, or coffee milk at lunch, and at Burger King you can order a Chocolate, Vanilla, Strawberry, or Coffee shake. Most families keep a bottle of "Eclipse" coffee syrup in the fridge. Frankly, the rest of the country is missing out.

"Get Well Soon"

On this night of the "mom collaboration," my Dad was in the hospital. My Mom wanted to go see him but there was no way to get her there (they are short on hands with me in Texas). My sister had my Mom write him a letter so she could bring it to the hospital when she went that night.

The painting is my take on their imposed separation. My Dad is represented by the medical bed and my Mom by the wheel of her wheel chair.

"Lonely and Missing You"

On this night I asked my Mom what she was thinking of for our art project. Here is how the conversation went.

Me: "Have you thought of an art topic for tonight?"

Mom: "Hmmmm, maybe lonely, or missing you."

Me: "I can paint that."
"And what would you like to say about that?"

Mom (giggling, because she isn't usually this direct): "I don't want to say I HATE it..maybe dislike, no...wish it were different." "I don't like you living so far away."

I decided to paint these little dots that represented me and my Mom. Sitting in dots about the size of our two states, on a world that showed only us. Tonight is the night before my Dad gets a sudden heart procedure, nothing like two big things making me wish I was in RI right now.

"I haven't been in the pool once this Summer"

On this night my Mom asked for a painting of a pool with people around it. I managed a painting of her parents' pool. Which she misses swimming in very much. I somehow got her in my Non and Pop's pool about 10 years back. Their yard is all cement and colored stones, and stairs (8 to the pool). The last time I took her to the pool, she could walk further with her walker and I could get her up and down stairs alone. I remember trying to figure out how to, get her close to the pool with leg brace and a bathing suit, how to get her to sit on the ground so to lift her in the pool. I remember feeling very smart and proud for a second and then realizing I wasn't positive I could lift her out, or get her standing again should we manage that part. Luckily it all worked out.

My grandparents' pool is a paradise. I'll still owe my Mom her a painting with the people around the pool, she is very social, this must be the pool lonely without her.

"I used to ride horses as a kid"

I am always so happy to hear that before my Mom was wheelchair bound, she got to ride horses, all over Warwick, back when it was farm land and not a big set of malls. I asked her for a topic on this night and she started telling me the story of riding horses. It's one of those stories that a loved one tells over but over and you don't really mind. This project, has me asking some new questions and getting some new details on all the stories.

Here is the story, "I used to ride horses with my friend Chris, she lived by the Crow's Nest and we would ride over where Apex is, back then, there wasn't anything there." Nonnie didn't like her though and made me stop being friends with her. She ended up becoming a nurse, so how bad could she be?"

I wonder how bad anyone could be who rode horses with a girlfriend.

My mom explained tonight that they also used to ride down to Goddard Park along the train tracks. She thought the horse was brown.

Mr. Dog Dog Dreaming of Fish

This was inspired by collaboration #2 (Dog Dreaming of Flight). I see maybe a dog series, or a dog children's book...

"Let's Go Back to the Diner" North Kingstown, RI

This is Day 7 of the mother/daughter collaboration. What I hadn't told you was that for the first 6 days, my mom was completely depressed and not really wanting to continue living. Tonight, I called and she was, "Happy Patty," as my Dad calls her. I'm sharing this now because my Mom asked me to document how she was depressed and now she is "up." I'm not exactly sure when it started, but for at least 4 years, my Mom has had to deal with cyclical depression. Almost like clock work, her disease has her depressed for 2 weeks and then up for 2. It's something we still haven't gotten used too.

Tonight when I mentioned her needing to give me my topic of inspiration, she said happily, "Hmmm, a topic?" She thought about her first dog, Sandy, and then excitedly said, "Let's go back to the diner days." This is when she was a teenager and my Aunt Lou and my Grandparents had restaurants on the same street in North Kingstown, RI. "Your Aunt Lou's Restaurant was a gold mine, and your Grandmother closed her's down after a year, because she didn't want to compete with her sister."

I used to dance as a kid in my Aunt Lou's Restaurant (The Dutch Door), and customers would buy me gifts. My Aunty Lou would take me to the beach to fly kites and to Goddard Park to ride ponies and leave my Mom and Non working. It was awesome.

I have no memories of my Grandparent's diner. All I know is that it was called the "Kingstown Diner," (thank you again google image search, this may be the actual diner) and my grandpa was the chef, he had an oyster bar and clam cakes and chowder for the beach goers, and from what he says, a bunch of house wives would drop off their empty pots in the morning to be filled by him with dinner for the night. That way their husbands would think they had been cooking all day. He loves telling that story. Based on this diner website, diners were actually invented in RI, to feed blue collars working the night shift.

I told my mom about the movie "Julie and Julia," she's up beat enough to want to get out of the house and see a movie. She said, "we should do a blog, then they could do a movie about us, you in Texas and me in RI." I said, "We are doing a blog." "That's great." she said.

Tonight, she was so loud with excitement on the phone that at one point after she said another, "That's a great idea." my Dad's ears perked up and I heard him say in the background, "What's a great idea? All great ideas go through me. " Those care givers are too funny.

Bee Nap-py -ping

Tonight, my Mom chose a bee. This bee is full and happy and napping on his flower.

We got talking about her API Therapy (bee therapy) that she and my Dad bravely tried/endured for 6 months. "It was crazy," she said. "You could hear the bees buzzing in the hall closet." My Mom had heard reports that being stung by bees could decrease MS symptoms, and for 6 months she was off all medication. My Dad would mark the spot to be stung with marker, put ice on the chosen spot and pull an unlucky bee from the jar with medical tweezers and place it on my Mom, the bee would sting her and die. My Mom mentioned storing the jar of dead bees next to the live ones, I'll have to check with my Dad on that one. I'd like to apologize to the bee universe on behalf of my whole family if that did happen.

One night my Mom insisted she could do it herself, she was home with my sister. I was living in NYC. She let all the bees loose, and as she says, "your sister wanted to kill me."

I thought for the first time, how sad a fate it is for the poor medicinal bee.

Where to? Pontiac Lemans, Rhode Island, 1979

Day 5 of collaboration with Mom.

I called to tell my Mom we sold a painting (Dog Dreaming of Flight, collaboration day #2), she was excited and would take no credit.

Today's painting post, she asked for a painting of our family dog Fluffy. We talked about Fluffy and how he used to jump up in the back window of my Mom's Pontiac (thank you google image search). My sister and I were always without seat belts waving to the cars behind us, or swearing at the bad drivers in Italian (we didn't know we were swearing at the time). My Mom at her tallest was 5'1" and you couldn't see her head when she was driving.

This painting shows many things that I miss from childhood: my Mom driving us around, her playboy bunny grey t-shirt, our dog Fluffy, driving in a car with the windows open, cars without bucket seats, and metal bumpers.

My husband informs me that RI was behind the times with seat belt safety and that they did wear seat belts in the 70s in California.

Wild Pink Beach Roses

For today's art collaboration my mom said, "maybe a flower." I asked, "What color?" "Pink." she replied. "In a vase?" I asked because she was never that fond of flowers. "No, wild." she answered. So here they are wild pink roses, that happen to bloom by the beach in Rhode Island.

Rhode Island, Narragansett Beach in Winter from the North Pavilion

Before we moved to Austin, my family and I lived a few miles north of Narragansett Beach. It is my favorite beach. I learned to surf there at age 22. We were able to enjoy it for a while this summer, when we spent 3 weeks with my family in RI. This painting is done from a video still of the beach two winters ago. My husband and I had taken my daughter there to see snow on the beach.

My mom asked yesterday, on day three of her collaborating with me on this blog, for a beach painting. And thanks to her request, I've managed to paint a painting that I have wanted to paint for two years. It's of my husband and our daughter at the Narragansett Beach North Pavilion (a great spot to look for surf, by the break just south, off the pine trees.)

My mom as I've mentioned is mostly house bound due to her MS. I asked her why the beach? She said, "I miss the beach, and getting a tan." "The beach is one of many the things I miss."she continued. "Dad says I don't have olive skin any more, but I think I do." I told her I was sure she still had olive skin.

When I was young, getting a "nice tan" was almost a full time job for my mom, who is half Italian. As her MS progressed she had to stop any sunning, because when she got too hot, she would lose her ability to walk.

There are very few Italian Americans in Austin. And a few people here have commented on my olive skin. It has been a great compliment to this english watered down version of my beautiful mother. When I tell her folks down here think I have olive skin, she laughs.

Dog Dreaming of Flight

It's day 2 of my collaboration with my mom in RI. Yesterday, she asked for bird art, later I learned she was imagining a flying bird. Today she asked for a dog, so I combined the flying birds with the dog. I think the dog is dreaming of flight as is my mom. Our dog fluffy lived till he was almost 19 years old, following my mom everywhere. They were very close and I'm sure he was staying alive to be with her because she had an illness. He died over ten years ago. My mom still got around with her walker then, but had already lost her ability to drive safely, so she was house bound often. Tomorrow, she has asked for the beach.

Bird in Winter Singing of Spring

I've decided to collaborate with my mom in RI on this art blog for as long as she'll agree.

My mom has only seen the internet a handful of times, so she may never see this, only hear of it. She has been ill with Multiple Sclerosis for 36 years, she was diagnosed while carrying me. She would tell you she can't draw, although I saw promise when teaching her a few lessons. I miss her terribly when I am in Texas. This collaboration is an attempt to connect with her on a new and meaningful way, while being 2000 miles away. Her disease has her feeling down this week, so all I could get her to agree to, was giving me a topic to work on. As we hung up the phone last night, she said, "I don't know, a bird?"

The bird I've posted is based on a description of a Japanese wood cut, that I cannot find an image of, so I've created my own image. I told my mom this morning that I illustrated a bird and how much I enjoyed her topic choice, she said, "Birds are beautiful, flying so free in the sky." She spends almost all of her waking hours in her wheel chair, sitting very still. I think I should paint her a flying bird. As for tonight's topic, she said quietly, "a dog?"

Homegrown Heirloom Tomato on a Manmade Purple Red Apron

I love combining things from nature with manmade plastic kid things. This is my third painting that incorporates these two types of items. I finally bought myself some lights. I find that I get the best contrast for a still life, when I paint in the dark with two spotlights. As a kid, my friend and I used to love to draw in the dark without any light and then turn on the light and see what we made.
$50 +s/h