My name is Sister Saxon. This is a little coloring book from the South. It is made up of doodlings and musings from my heart - for your review. I'm also a crabby old woman. I see stuff people do and sometimes I say a bunch of stuff about it.
Born and raised in the South, I paint from my heart and memories. Most of my art is done as seen from the eyes of a child. So is my writing. I have written two books - a novel and a collection of short stories - all about the South! I'm making the rounds with publishers - hope to have these little volumes published someday!
I have never had an art lesson, but I love to load up my paintbrush and see what comes out! Hope you see something here that touches your heart!
Blessings to you!
Sister Saxon
I’m sitting in my favorite spot – my swing on the back porch.Today isn’t exactly like the ‘good ole days’ because I’m not SWANGING and eating chocolate pie.Today, I have my laptop on my lap (instead of pie).
I have a vine that has wandered up the porch posts from several feet below.It’s called a Carolina Jasmine.If you GOOGLE this vine, you will find that its description says it will climb to heights of more than 20 feet in its quest for sunlight.It is true that it will climb, but I tend to think it is because the plant is also in search of a place to "belong".If you get close to one of the tendrils, it will reach out and gently nudge you - in a soft, loving kind of way.
Everyone…everything…just wants to be loved!
Hope you will get – and give – lots of hugs today!
Of all the articles about grief that I have read this past year, the one that stuck with me was the one that told me I am miserable because I am no longer with the person who DEFINED me.
Okay – so maybe that is it- the answer to this sorrowful plight.So, if it is the answer, now what?
Could it really be true that I don’t know who I am anymore because I WAS who I was because we were together?Now, who am I?How do I feel?I don’t know how to say how I feel. What’s the right word?Today it struck me that maybe I feel like a homeless person.That would sound strange to someone who knows me because they can see I live in a comfortable little cottage.It is dry and safe.I can have anything I want to eat.I have more clothes than I need.Homeless?The word entered my mind because the feelings I have are those of a lost, helpless person, stumbling around, wondering things like how I ended up like this and what’s next for me and how the rest of my life is going to play out.Sure, I have gone back to work, and I have laughed – things I thought I would never do again.But something keeps nagging at me – wanting my life back the way it was.Nagging enough to keep me uneasy and uncertain and afraid.A bad dream isn’t just a bad dream anymore.I wake up to a second nightmare when I find myself awake and alone.
Why do I mentally insist that I want my life back when I know it is impossible?When I was not alone, there were days when it was so hard that I fantasized about being alone.(Yikes!Did I really say that?) And therein lies much of what makes my grief harder and more terrifying – those unresolved issues.The KNOWING that there were things both of us should have taken care of and didn’t – and now they are forever undone.
So I wander and wonder in this current “homeless” state, not comfortable in my own skin.I will wait for peace and acceptance of my "new normal".
"My Quiet Place"
