Category: Health

Christianity, Emotional Health, Faith, Family, Growing Up, Health, Hope, Marriage, Prayer, Recovery, Relationships, Spirituality, Trust, Uncategorized

Sunday Morning…

gregoryjoel

I can’t think of a better way to start a Sunday morning than getting to spend time on the porch with my lovely wife. The heat may be here to stay in North Texas, but the porch is shaded and inviting. On morning’s like these, it’s not too hot to enjoy yet, so we lingered a little longer and soaked up the gorgeous morning…

This past Spring has brought more wildlife around our home than usual. The cardinals are in abundance this year, which I take to be a blessing. The old folks say that a cardinal in the yard is a visit from a loved one from “the other side”. If that’s true, our whole family is back together again. They’ve been in abundance this year.  The young mockingbird, who has claimed our yard as his own, flew down to see what we were up to and then flew off to the pecan tree to sing and seek a mate. A toad hopped across the porch chasing the bugs that hang out in the bed of wildflowers in front. Apparently, we have a new opossum family frequenting our backyard. A raccoon (which I pray does not figure out how to get in our attic) drops by just to aggravate the dogs late at night. A host of other bird species, the plethora of squirrels, and the occasional bobcat or coyote sighting ever remind us how blessed we are to have found our little home here.

I think about all the years I went about without seeing any of these simple pleasures – the birds, the wildlife, the flowers, the neighborhood. I was so self-centered, I couldn’t see anything beyond my own needs and pursuits. Even when I tried to do something for someone else it was to gain points toward something I want. I remember thinking my Dad was so silly because he was so intrigued and grateful for the little things in life. Now I’m becoming him. My kids laugh at me because I find myself doing the same things that he did. Go figure…

After my time on the porch I came in to go online for my church’s Sunday morning service. I still haven’t ventured back inside the building itself (baby steps…), but I try to attend online since my friend Rusty is the “online minister” and a couple of friends are hosts. I enjoy the insights that are shared “from the pulpit”. Still, one of my biggest frustrations is the one-sided communication that is called “preaching”. It’s probably a personal thing. I have never responded well to preaching. It always seemed like a way to remind me I wasn’t good enough. Then again, maybe I’m just one of those folks who doesn’t take to auditory learning. Perhaps it’s from far too many years of hearing “do as I say, not as I do”. Unfortunately, that wasn’t limited to preachers. I guess I’m just a “touchy-feely” kind of guy when it comes to learning lessons…

I’m fully aware that I bring a lot of baggage to the table when discussing “church”. My experiences were not always positive and usually left me with more self-loathing than when I got there. That’s why I love recovery meetings so much. They allow me to start peeling back all those layers of erroneous understanding about God and begin seeing him in a new light. Heck, they didn’t even say I had to call him God; a Higher Power would suffice. Besides, I’ve come to believe he doesn’t care what you call him. He just seems to love our conversations.

Sometimes I’m jealous of those who had no religious upbringing. The “God or “Higher Power” thing comes somewhat easier for them. When they experience the liberation of grace, God isn’t such a foreign concept. They experience God in fresh, new ways so it’s not surprising they find him to be loving and caring, instead of judgmental and pissed off all the time. It has taken me a long time to figure that out. My family and friends loaded me down with some well-meaning, but serious misconceptions about God, and it has taken me many steps along the path to get rid of the onus. Now I finally get it – His burden is light and a real pleasure to walk with…

Still, I’m grateful for the family (and community) I was raised in. While their view of God and grace were somewhat suspect, their motives and moral education were always well-intentioned. I never learned about (or experienced) grace until I found recovery. I think that’s why recovery meetings feel more like I always thought church was supposed to be – a bunch of ordinary people who have found a relationship with a God of their understanding, still don’t have all the answers to life, aren’t afraid to say so, and are finding out it’s okay to be human.  Like the Rabbi says, “Those who have been forgiven much, love much”. I like “churches” like that…

I’m grateful that my baggage has gotten much lighter over the last few years. I’ve been open to the guidance of my predecessor’s in this life and sometimes I get to learn from their mistakes and not make them mine. I’m grateful that I’m able to hear what I need to hear and that I’m able to see the beauty of the world around me, whatever the situation is. I know none it would’ve happened had I not been around a bunch of folks who, if I may paraphrase the Apostle James, “confessed their struggles to one another so that the healing may begin”.

I guess that’s why I struggle with ‘church’ as most of us know it. I seem to learn better when I hear others be honest about their struggles. They go through the same things as I do and through our sharing our experience we collectively find the strength and hope to make it another day. I just don’t sense that when I’m sitting in worship services. I used to think that was “just” me, but I know a lot of folks for whom that’s also true. It’s nice to know I’m not alone.

Maybe it’s time we re-evaluate what constitutes ‘church’. That’s probably way above my pay grade so for now, I’ll just have ‘church’ every morning here on the porch. Worship usually starts after I wake up, sit down on the porch, and have my first cup of coffee. I get to see the goodness of a loving God all over my front yard. Maybe tonight, I’ll make a recovery meeting. Church isn’t just for Sunday’s anymore…

Christianity, Chronic Illness, Emotional Health, Faith, Health, Hope, Marriage, Prayer, Relationships, Trust, Uncategorized

When Life Shows Up…

gregoryjoel

My time on the porch is once again becoming shorter as the temperature begins to return to last week’s glimpse of late summer. While I enjoyed the temporary relief of the “cold” front that passed through, the above-average temperatures are becoming the new normal. NPR reported that the folks who keeps tabs on his kind of stuff say that May was a full five degrees hotter than last year across the board. It seems that every month seems to be either breaking records or least landing in the top five warmest years. I wonder what the world will be like for my grandchildren. I think about things like that and quite frankly, I get fearful for them. But that’s another story…

A young male mockingbird has laid claim to one of the trees in our front yard. He’s a cocky little fellow and a bit a bully when it comes to other birds in our yard and our cat. He’s quick to chase off the other birds, especially the doves, when they land in the yard. He loves to drop down and get close enough to Wallace, our cat, daring him to catch him and indulging in a very dangerous game of tag. Little does he know that Wallace isn’t really interested anything other that sleeping on my truck and periodically wandering over to the front porch to make sure his food bowl is constantly full. Still, I love watching the little guy just because he’s so full of self-confidence and bravado. It doesn’t matter that he has little to fear from Wallace. He’s still very courageous…

I went to my doctor yesterday for a follow-up to my recent hospital stay. I have another four weeks with my little IV buddy by my side. I still feel as if I’m under house arrest at times. Everything is scheduled around my infusion and the heat outside. I’m still not supposed to sweat, which seems futile given the Texas summer. I’m already tired of staying in either the bedroom or my office, which are the only rooms in the house that stay cool after about 10:00 AM. I sneak outside to work in the garden for a few minutes at a time. It’s only been a couple of weeks and I have serious cabin fever, which has been a truly eye-opening (and somewhat guilt-ridden) experience.

I’ve experienced, to a very tiny degree, what my wife has had to go through for the last two-and-a-half years. Some of you that are reading this know the difficulties my wife, Margaret, has had to walk through since her back surgery back in October of 2015. So, it makes sense when I say to you that I have no right to complain. Doing so reminds me of how self-centered I can be, even with the ones I love the most.

For those of you who don’t know Margaret, there are a few things I need to tell you. I don’t feel I’m speaking out of line, since we are both very public about our physical issues – not to seek pity, but to help others going through the same things. One thing I’ve learned over the last several years is that there are a lot of people who live with terrible isolation and depression. That’s often the consequence of chronic pain and illness. Our openness is hopefully beneficial to others, and for that I’m grateful. We both firmly believe that our purpose in life is to help others. Still, I forget that sometimes, I forget about the one closest to me.

Margaret has dealt with chronic pain for the last several years. We’ve joked that if it pertains to her back and ends with “-osis” she’s probably experienced it. She will tell you that she was 5’7” when she was twelve. She’s 4’10” today (and I’m 6’3” so it’s not always easy to frame our photos in a camera lens…). Despite the difficulty caused by her back issues, she’s been fiercely independent. If a doctor tells her she can’t do something, her response has always been “watch me”. Her attitude and her reliance on God led her to do many things she wasn’t supposed to be able to do. That’s one of the things I’ve always loved and admired about her. She’s a beautiful, strong, an independent woman.

However, her situation changed in 2015. She began to experience new back pains. It soon became apparent that another surgery would be required to alleviate them, which she had in October of that year. The surgery relieved much of the pain it as designed to do, but also left a new problem – healing was to be extremely slow around some of the new hardware in her back. The last two-and-a-half years has been tenuous at best. It’s like modified bed rest and it’s debilitating to her emotions as well.

If you deal with chronic pain or medical conditions, you know how easy it is to succumb to depression after all the frustration and powerlessness that comes with them. If my situation feels like house arrest, then I can only imagine how my wife must feel. I realize how my current “inconveniences” are nothing compared to the ones that she, and many others, constantly deal with. In fact, I feel like a bit of a jerk for saying anything at all.

We were talking yesterday afternoon about her frustration and depression. Sometimes she feels like she has no purpose anymore because of her limitations. It cut me to the core to see the love of my life feel that way. She’s been an unbelievable role model so many people, and she’s loved by so many folks, but sometimes knowing that and feeling that are two completely different things. So, I’ve been thinking a lot about what her (and my) purpose is the last few days.

We both have our faith, which calls us to love God and love others. She’s far better than I am at that, but with her help (and God’s!) I’m getting better at it. She’s clothed in humility and in tune with the needs of others. Humility is not “thinking less of yourself, but thinking of yourself less”, and she truly exemplifies that virtue. Moreover, if I ever have difficulty with feeling (and practicing) gratitude, all I need is spend a few minutes with Margaret and I’m back on track again. Ultimately, our purpose is to be of service to God and our fellow travelers in this world and she meets that in so many ways. Still, that seems kind of vague and general when you’re stuck at home so much of the time.

The road hasn’t always been easy, but we’ve been down the road together, and God has graced us in ways that are unimaginable. There are days when she feels very lonely and isolated, even when I’m at work in the next room. So, I thought Margaret and I together could share some of our experience, strength, and hope of living well (and sometimes not so well) with chronic pain and illness. Hopefully, you’ll be hearing from her, in her voice, and hear her story soon. It’s one that needs to be shared. Maybe in sharing the grace that has been extended to us, we can help others see the love and grace in their own lives even when life “shows up”.

I haven’t talked to her about it yet, but we’re usually on the same page. I hope it all makes sense because she’s also my editor and she’s resting following a procedure on her back this morning. It’s just as important to us that we share our struggles as it is the share the incredible life we’ve been graced with. The old Hebrew prophets tell us that God “rains on the just and the unjust alike” – life shows up no matter who you are. Sharing how she and I work through it sounds like a pretty good “purpose”, so maybe we can be of help to someone along the way. I’ll keep you posted…

Christianity, Chronic Illness, Faith, Gardening, Health, Recovery, Relationships, Spirituality, Trust, Uncategorized

Grateful Gardening

gregoryjoel

Today could more accurately be titled “Thoughts from the Garden”. I still haven’t been able to get back to the morning routine. Margaret had a procedure this morning to alleviate some of the pain in her back. Everything went well, and we are waiting anxiously to see if it helps. So, instead of the porch I spent some time in the garden. When I got home Thursday, the plants had grown huge during my absence –  beans, yellow squash, tomatoes, and peppers were abundantly ripe for the picking. It never ceases to amaze me how easy it is to raise our own produce (which is far more delicious than the local grocery store to boot!) when we keep it organic and do it God’s way.

I have to take a lot of breaks while spending time in the garden. Apparently, I’m not supposed to sweat because of my PICC line, so as not to get another infection. I’m following the doctor’s orders, although I not sure how I’m going to stay sweat-free during the summertime in Texas. I only need to open the front door and I’m suddenly thankful for anti-perspirant. I wonder if I can smear it all over. I’m just saying…

I’m really excited about being home and more grateful than you can possibly know. I have a couple of projects that need to be completed for work and there is one special project that I can’t wait to tell you about. I plan to begin sharing some of the details as we grow closer to its launch. It’s one that you can all be a part of in some way. I’m bursting at the seams to tell somebody! Patience, patience, patience…

Life, with all its inherent ups and downs is so much easier when I stay grateful. Unfortunately, I suffer from the all-too human malady of self-centeredness that makes staying grateful difficult at times. I forget how to “roll with the flow” and I like to “complicate the cornflakes” as my friend Jim used to say. I have this little switch inside that shifts poles from positive to negative whenever I feel threatened – and by “threatened” I mean fearful and, If I’m really honest, it simply means I’m afraid I won’t get my way. I’ve gotten far less self-centered as I’ve grown older, but it’s still easy to drop gratitude like a hot rock when I get in fear of not getting what I want or losing what I have. Sometimes, it’s relatively easy to get it back and sometimes it’s not. Either way, I know gratitude is the stabilizer on my ride through life.

Gratitude is one of those “Which came first – the chicken or the egg?” Zen-like questions. When I am grateful for the life I have, I seem to be at peace and I’m able to act from a center of kindness and compassion. Then there are times when peace and serenity is the farthest thing from my mind, but I act kindly toward the world around me, my attitude changes and I become grateful. I finally decide to quit trying to figure it out and just let it happen.

I have a friend in recovery who always says, “a grateful addict will never use”. I’ve found that to be true in recovery from addiction, but one doesn’t have to be an addict to appreciate that statement. My experience with people from all walks of life and, regardless of their issues, has shown me that kind, caring and loving people always seem to exude gratitude – they take nothing for granted. Essentially, grateful people find it difficult to be selfish and self-centered and always seem to be the people I want to be around. I don’t have a bunch of initials behind my name, and I can’t cite specific studies or offer scientific proof for why gratitude is essential to living well. It just is, at least as far as I can see…

I don’t want to take up anyone’s Friday-before-Memorial Day weekend with a long post, but I encourage you all to practice gratitude. You see, gratitude takes practice. You only “feel” it by practicing it, because at it’s heart, it’s a verb, an action, a way of living. I must admit, I had difficulty with gratitude for a long time. Over the years I learned to listen to my “predecessors”, people who were farther along in life. They told me that if I was having difficulty with the gratitude thing, then make a list of the things I’m grateful for. It was a pretty short list starting out. I had a friend everyone called “I ate today Stan” because he was always grateful for a roof over his head and eating that day. He probably taught me more about being grateful than anyone. I really miss him but I’m so thankful he was my friend. “Just keep it simple”. I did and now the list fills a lot of legal pads…

Christianity, Chronic Illness, Faith, Health, Prayer, Recovery, Relationships, Spirituality, Trust, Uncategorized

At least I have insurance…

gregoryjoel

I was finally able to have some thoughts from the porch this morning. If you read on, you’ll know why I haven’t been able to post anything for the last several days. I’ve missed my porch like you wouldn’t believe. My front porch represents everything good and wonderful in my little world – my wife, my kids and grandkids, my dogs, my friends, and most of all, my God – the things that have real value; that are truly important. I never knew how much I missed my mornings on the porch until I couldn’t be there. I’m sorry for the longer read than usual. Maybe you can relate to it.

Before we jump off though I need to say a heartfelt thank you to Jodi, Jennifer, and Mary – the house looks great! Margaret and I don’t know what we’d do without you all; without our “village”. So, without further ado…

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21st May 2018:   “I’m going to try this again”. That phrase has been repeated a lot the last few days. You see, I haven’t posted anything since Mother’s Day as I’ve been in the hospital since last week. I can’t get the “guest” wi-fi to work and the constant in and out of nurses, technicians, and doctors has caused me too many stops and starts. Add to that the fact that all I can think about is going home and the result is writer’s block. So, I’m going to try this again…

I’m beyond tired of this place. The staff here is amazing. The nurses and doctors are wonderful, but I miss my wife, my dogs, and my front porch. Joni Mitchell was right, “you don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone”. I’ve listened to Joni for a long time and maybe that’s why I always end conversations with “I love you”. There are times life shows up and things change in an instant. Whether it’s a temporary absence or a permanent one, I certainly don’t want to leave “I love you” unsaid to the people in my life. I may only be in a hospital room down the road, but I feel like I might as well be on the moon.

So here I sit, hooked up to an IV pole, wishing I was enjoying the gorgeous spring day from the comfort of my porch rather than seeing it through the window of this hospital room. Apparently, I have an infection related to my bout with brain surgery and meningitis several years ago. My doctor says it’s far more serious than I would like to think. I have to be on IV antibiotics for the next eight weeks because if the infection enters my bloodstream I risk going septic and all that entails. Moreover, it’s only a couple of millimeters from my cerebellum and that’s not good. I told her there’s nothing there to get infected, but she didn’t see the humor in that. So, even if I’m feeling better today, there are some serious goings-on underneath the surface. Ain’t that always the case…

Being hooked up to an IV isn’t so bad. I’ve dealt with that several times in the past. It’s always been a few days of inconvenience. What is bad is that Medicare, in its infinite wisdom, doesn’t want to pay unless I go to a “skilled nursing facility” (the politically correct way of saying “nursing home”) for ongoing treatment. I’m not sure why as they didn’t seem to have a problem with home infusion treatment five years ago. Not only was I able to be home with my family back then, it was much cheaper than being in a rehab facility. I guess cheaper home care doesn’t make much sense to Medicare. Then again common sense doesn’t apply to insurance companies. No wonder healthcare is so expensive!

So, I’m in limbo as to when I get to go home and I’m experiencing some serious fear here. The “what ifs” have reached critical levels here. “what if” I’m not home to take care of Margaret? “What if” I’m not home to take care of the bills and the house (as if she wasn’t handling those things before we ever married…)? “What if” my new business venture fails because I’m locked away in a nursing home (even if it is for only a couple of months)? “What if” I’m destined to eat nursing home food for the next eight weeks? Suddenly, sepsis sounds like a viable alternative…

“What if, what if, what if” – I’ve made myself miserable and wrapped myself in fear in short course. So, I did what people like me do: I changed the way I felt (I just heard a collective gasp from my friends in recovery…). I prayed and took a nap. You see, sleep changes the way I feel. God instructed the Hebrew people to enjoy the Sabbath rest. I get it. There’s power in napping. It’s a brief escape from uncomfortable and, sometimes, painful situations. Somehow, I see the situation more clearly upon awakening. I spoke to my wife, my close friends, and had a long conversation with God. Now I’m able to react more appropriately even though my problem still exists. Pre-nap, I wanted to rip the PICC line out of my arm and call an Uber. Post-nap, I’m still tethered to the IV pole but I’m making the phone calls necessary to solve my dilemma. Changing the way I feel means something different today.

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22nd May 2018   I’ve had a good night’s sleep and a morning of prayer since I started writing this. I still don’t have a resolution to the “skilled nursing facility” question, but I know God has already taken care of it. I’m not as fearful and anxious as I was yesterday. I keep hearing a gentle, sweet voice saying, “look at the lilies of the field… aren’t you worth more than all of them”?

My beautiful and incredible wife has reminded me over and over that we’ve been through worse and that we have an amazing village of friends and family who have always walked with us. She even took the humbling step of asking for help via a gofundme page. Although this medical stuff couldn’t have happened at a worse time, I wasn’t too thrilled with that idea until she reminded me that “a closed mouth doesn’t get fed”. Her capacity for humility far exceeds mine. I want to be like her when I grow up.

This whole situation is another reminder that God always has my back and my best interests at heart no matter what’s going on. Yesterday, my prayers, my conversation with God contained some words I’d rather not put in print. My prayers were, like so many of the Psalms, a lament going up to God. My fears, my doubt, my feelings of abandonment, and frustration poured out and as they did I began to feel a sense of peace. God cares how I feel. He listens. He lets me vent my frustration. I’ve come to learn that He far prefers the authenticity of gut-wrenching and even colorful language to the posturing and “thee’s” and “thou’s” of my youth. He’s more than just a theological concept. He’s my “Abba” (Hebrew for “dad”). Because he loves me, I can bring everything to Him. Everything’s okay…

I still don’t know what the outcome is going to be, but I felt peace and clarity. I was able to make calls to the insurance company and others involved. Dealing with health insurance is NOT, I repeat NOT, a pleasant experience! Still, I treated the person on the other end of the line with courtesy and kindness. I was able to practice my doctor’s admonition to deal with them firmly without getting hung up on.

I didn’t feel much like being kind, at least not yesterday. Still, acting kindly, regardless of my feelings, has its own reward – a sense of calm and a positive change of heart. I didn’t talk to any of “those” people. I talked to another person like me just trying to make the day and provide for their family. They weren’t out to screw over Greg Joel. Imagine that…

Engaging in honest, authentic prayer, relying on a “village” of family and friends, and putting one foot in front of the other made yesterday’s crisis today’s simple annoyance. It will be okay whether I go home or have to go to a “skilled nursing facility” (that really does sound better than “nursing home…). In the grand scheme of things, two months isn’t that big a deal. I still miss my wife, my dogs, and my old front porch. It might just take me a while to get there.

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May 23rd – as my friend Edgar says, “Day eight of the hostage situation…”

I’m still here in the Harris tower of the hospital. It might as well be the Tower of London, except for the torture chambers, beheadings, and such. Okay, maybe not like the Tower of London at all. It just feels that way. Don’t tell me you don’t exaggerate your feelings…

I may be stuck here again today, but this is really nothing compared with what the majority of folks deal with. I have a roof over my head, food (even if it is hospital food) to eat, and clean water to drink. As frustrating as Medicare can be, I have it despite living in a state where uninsured medical care is the norm. I have this great view of downtown from my sixth-floor window and the staff here has been beyond fantastic. I start with the simple things and my gratitude list goes on and on…

Later in the day…

I tried to expound on my experience with gratitude today, but I just heard the news – the insurance approved my home IV infusion. I’m going home. Go figure…

Christianity, Faith, Grief, Health, Recovery, Relationships, Spirituality, Trust, Uncategorized

Mother’s Day for a Proud Papa

gregoryjoel

I haven’t posted very much lately. It’s not because the thoughts have slowed down (okay, maybe they have, but not for the reasons you might think…) or because Spring is accompanied by a long “To-Do” list. It has more to do with the fact that I simply haven’t been feeling well. I finally received an answer regarding my CT scan and quite honestly, it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. There’s an issue needing to be addressed by my neurosurgeon and I don’t see him until tomorrow. So, the answer I’ve been waiting for is still “wait”. I’m grateful for the lessons I’ve learned about patience, and more importantly, trust. It keeps my thinking in check – from becoming full blown obsession. It reminds me that I have a relationship with a power greater than myself and that Power, whom I know as God, has my best interests at heart.

The physical things going on didn’t keep me from enjoying a beautiful Spring Saturday. I got to spend some time on the porch with my beautiful wife since my grandson’s baseball game didn’t start until 10:30. It was a brilliant sunny day for the game. Watching the parents is almost as much fun as watching the game. They seem to get far more upset with the umpire and the score than the kids do. Maybe they should bring post-game snacks for the adults as well…

Yesterday evening, I had the honor and the privilege of attending the reception for my son’s gallery exhibit. I went early. The crowd was smaller then and I’m having difficulty dealing with crowds right now. Besides, he would be busy later doing what artist do at openings – cavorting about and schmoozing with collectors. He wouldn’t have time for me later. Besides, I’m more of a small-town kind of guy and out of my element. The art world is a different animal…

I spent some time talking to the gallery owner who told me of Jeremy’s successes over the last year. I was the proud papa and learned some things I didn’t know about my son. We don’t talk the way we used to and to hear someone else talk about his growth left me with a feeling of pride and an even deeper love for him as a person, an artist, and my son.

We have an unusual relationship. There have been times when his anger has kept us apart, though never for long. Growing up with an addicted parent, particularly a single parent, isn’t easy. It’s hard to see the effects of the disease of addiction on the people we love the most. I don’t know how I can ever make that right, despite an incredible willingness to do so. I’m sure that parenting out of guilt is not the answer, though I’ve done that more than I’d like to admit. Those of you who have been there know what I mean…

I guess that’s why I was so impressed by his exhibit. Prior to the last year his work reflected the scars of growing up as he did. What I saw, and heard, reflected a letting go of the past and pressing on to the future. My son is growing up. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for both my boys. I felt a sigh of relief last night when I realized that both my boys were, in their own way, men of whom I could be proud, and often despite me…

This morning, Mother’s Day, is an interesting culmination to a great weekend. This is the first Mother’s Day since my mother passed last year. Last night, all I could think about was how proud she must be of Jeremy. She wouldn’t “get” his art but she’d beam with pride at his accomplishment. I would love for her to be there in person, but I’ll just have to settle for her presence spiritually. She was there and she’s so proud of you Jeremy Joel.

Of all the paintings he had on exhibit last night, there was one that struck me at a deeper level than the others. It was a piece about two men in a rowboat, fishing together. I didn’t realize that it depicted Jeremy and I until the gallery owner told me. I felt a massive wave of hope flow over me. I’d like to think that in that moment of awareness our relationship changed. I’m not sure how. I just know it’s different.

Art has a way of doing that. It speaks to a deeper level of consciousness. Great art tells a story; a story that resonates with its observers. It offers hope that maybe, just maybe, the future can be different than the past. Real art – whether paintings, sculpture, movies, music, or great books – speaks loudly and clearly. It says that things don’t have to stay the way they are. Real art compliments the unique spirit within each of us and allows us to see differently. Jeremy, my son, you’ve produced some real art.

As you can probably already tell, this blog hasn’t been entirely objective. Some time back, I told Jeremy I would author a press release for him. The more I tried to write it the more I realized I couldn’t. It wasn’t for me to do. My kids are grown. They’re making their own ways in the world. Jeremy’s work obviously speaks for itself. That’s why he has a gallery show and I do not. I only hope that I can draw pictures with words as well as he does with paint…