An Exercise in the Experience of Life

It is Saturday and it is 8 a.m. in the morning. Shelly is on her way to pick me up to take me to an estate sale. I wonder how it will be. She’s an assemblage artist and thinks this will be a good one.  She instructed me to bring my checkbook.  Life is good.Estate sales are a trip. Piles of people waiting to go in and a house (in this case) filled with things. Many things wrapped in their original boxes. I bought a Cuisinart (don’t know how to spell that word). I bought a nylon string guitar that will need new strings. I bought some cool glasses and a bottle of ink and a pocket purse and a large thermometer for the beach house -- all for $86.00. Then we went to Fresh Pot on Mississippi and got coffee. Then we went to the light bulb store and bought light bulbs. Then we when to Gypsy Chic and I bought a pair of sunglasses for $15.00. it was a big day of shopping.   The sun is out and it’s beautiful. I feel moments of loneliness. Then I breath and just try to do my best.  Guitar, read, write cards, take a walk, yoga, grocery store -- these are my tasks for today. Somewhat overwhelming but I can do it.Returning to life after a distracting cancer diagnosis and treatment is an exercise in the experience of life.  What is important to you? What are your priorities? What do you have to work on? How do you make today the best day it can be? Do the work. That’s what I believe. Maybe the work is resting. Maybe the work is just feeling the depth of depression you’ve experienced. Maybe the work is sitting with yourself through the loss of who you were or what you wanted. Maybe the work in learning to genuinely count your blessing. Here I go;Have a home. A good dog. A cabin at the beach. Good friends. Good family. I can read and write. I sleep well. Good Doctors. A sense of humor. Sight. A love of music. Financial abundance. A sexual nature. Food. Therapy. A desire to please. A desire to be a good person. Blankets. Help with the house. Help with the businesses. A sense of self evolving from the scattered pages of my life. (I've written 10,000 words since July 13). Hope. Calm. Love. Acceptance. Food. Music. Sleep. Writing. Talking with friends. Helping. Exercise. Experience. Compassionate attention to my inner struggle to feel as if I have enough, I am enough.Back home and now it’s noon.  I just found an email from a friend of something he sent to his tribe after his diagnosis and during his transplant.  It was a good read. I commiserated. I knew what he was talking about, for better or for worse. We have something fundamentally in common, potentially dangerous and mind blowing. “It’s like it never happened” he chimes on the phone and I want to believe. But I don’t.  It (transplant) happened and we’re still here to tell about it. My least favorite statement of “new normal” is the new truth. It isn’t what it was and we will never know what it could be. It could be better than it was. It could be worse. And, wisely as they say, time will tell. I want to forget about time. It’s a waste of time to think about time. Time that has passed and time that will come are invisible entities of the brain.  An exercise in futility. It really is this moment that we have and none other. Not one other.Excerpt from Teisha's 10,000 words.  2008An update on Shelly.  She has her first solo show at the Gardino Gallery (on NE Alberta) throughout January 2013.  The opening nite is December 27th and until then she will be buried in rust, grout, broken toys, gears, figurines, shells, old bottles, epoxy, paint, clay and treasures from the garage sale.