Intermission in Color

I recommend painting some cardboard this weekend

I’m in the process of a letter about grab bars. It’s the next line item in Ten Tangible Things series, featuring (I hope) helpful physical ideas amid Parkinson’s and caregiving. You can read that list here.

But it’s a restless week in every sense, and I’m saving the grab bar breakdown for another post. We’re reaching for sleep as the days fall darker (it’s somewhere out there, right? Other side of 4 and 2?) We’re preparing for a cold November by replacing our old wood stove with…another old wood stove (theoretically it’s more efficient). And slowly, oh-so-slowly, we’re dismantling a brick hearth in between.

Soon, we will eat meals here! The bricks are going to be repurposed outside.

We’re still harvesting mushrooms, tomatoes, corn, peppers, pears, apples, rose hips, and nuts. We’re planning for the next season, too, and experimenting with woody perennials via permaculture.

Our first grape!

We’re also heading to salmon runs to witness the perennial miracle of that work. Hats off to the salmon.

And we’re painting.

And painting.

It’s delightful and messy. Sitting down together is the first great act of this art. Then, it’s giving less than two cents about the outcome. We’re in the making of making things here.

My dad and I didn’t share many interests in the sense of outlet or hobby—though we both felt strongly enough about our own that we wouldn’t call them mere hobbies. Music, sports, and friendship were life itself to him. He wasn’t a gardener or a maker of things, really. Well, he did love lawns and lawn-care; I can’t remember him ever busting out the art supplies.

It was a wonderful surprise when he said to me that fall, “Hey sis, let’s do the front porch up for Halloween”.

We’re not in these relationships for one another’s particulars—not even their diagnoses—though we can have the honor of knowing and appreciating them best.

That’s true of family and closest friends. It’s a relief to be oneself that way, among others. Even if those very forever people are also the best at giving one shit.

Look at this gangly group, ashore. I don’t think my brother’s a Yankees fan, to be clear

So, in between my last and next Tangible Thing, I hope you’re able to enjoy some simple thing, whether it’s in the color of a leaf or a cardboard pumpkin.

“Pumpkin” by my eldest. Acrylic and sharpie on cardboard.

Until next time.

Thank you for being here,

Bette Jane

Past Letters