Today is my husband’s last day of work. While he officially retires at the end of February, his accrued personal days and vacation days makes this his last day at the job. I know from past experience that he will most likely receive calls asking for help and information, and he has a helpful nature and will come in if they truly need him. But they have been working for some time to make this transition and eventually he will be free and clear to start a new season of life. We’re both excited and hesitant. Because of our commitment to caring for Dad, we have no immediate plans for moving or extensive traveling. We’ll have a small meet-and-greet for his co-workers this evening after work for one last farewell and hope to have a private party for family and friends in February some time. But for a few weeks, he’ll just enjoy sleeping in and getting used to having time to do the things he’s been hoping to get to for quite some time. We’ll have to get used to a new rhythm of life and being a couple. In the meantime, I will continue to move forward in the publication of the book and continue to try to get the studio in good shape. All this stalled when I was sick and I’m ready to move forward again. The times, they are a changin’. Prayers for our transition are always appreciated.
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Christmas did not come to the Kemper household this year. No decorations were put up, no cards were sent and those that we received were put in a pile unopened. No shopping was done, no gifts were exchanged, and no cookies or treats were baked. The book we were reading together for Advent was laid aside and unfinished. Sleep, decongestants, and cough medicine reigned. I rarely got out of bed, while Mike had to continue working, grocery shopping, making meals, and caring for Dad. December had been a heavily scheduled month with little margin for breathing room, but all those plans and needs came to a screeching halt while I tried to recover. I sent my publisher a couple of emails to let him know I hadn’t fallen off the planet and discovered he, too, was suffering from this awful cold virus that hangs on and on and on. As I was recovering, I went to my doctor’s office to check my hearing (which is still muffled from sinus pressure) and to discuss a tenderness in my left wrist that had come on over a month earlier but since there was so much to do, I pushed it aside trying home remedies like icing, pain medication, and hand exercises. Since three weeks of resting it hadn’t improved anything, I thought I’d have that looked at, too. It ended up being an inflamed tendon sheath requiring a steroid shot and a wrist brace. I’m wondering if all this is becoming the new ‘normal’. I’m praying that it isn’t. But I’m slowly starting to get better. All the things that were put aside in December still need attending to, but it has to wait until I can do it. My stamina needs improvement and I can’t drive with the wrist pain and brace, but friends and Mike are helping me get out and about. Look out, 2018. Here I come. People who make a plan and work that plan amaze me. I make plans, and life blows up in my face making those plans unworkable. A couple months ago, I planned that I would end my employment on December 15. That would give the company plenty of time to find a replacement and to get product out for the Christmas rush. I was trying to be thoughtful of my coworkers and to be intentional about transitioning into the next chapter of my life. Good plan. At least, I thought it was a good plan. Shortly after I gave notice, I was down for a couple weeks with diverticulitis, but took good care of myself and was up and running again. Bonus - I started losing weight and am back on track with my health. A little behind in all that we had planned for the holidays and with the book, but I felt confident I could catch up. What I didn’t factor in was the virus from hell that was going to take me out the last week of work and beyond. Instead of celebrating with my coworkers, or going to Christmas and Hanukkah parties, I was in bed hacking my lungs out with gunk oozing out of every orifice. It wasn’t and isn’t pretty. I ended my run with a whimper, not a bang. This was to be my week of new beginnings. Getting Christmas goodies baked, purchased, wrapped and delivered. Formatting slides into digital format for the publisher to consider. Connecting with people and getting the studio up and running. Instead of connecting, I’m in isolation and feeling quite sorry for myself. But a dear friend made chicken soup for me and delivered it just now. When she saw me, she did her best to hide her dismay but it was clear that I look as sick as I feel. She offered to do some shopping for me and I decided to be clear about what my real needs are. We have plenty in our pantry, and Mike is still healthy. What I really need is human connection. So I asked her to email me every day with something newsy so I don’t feel so isolated. That’s my new plan - to stay connected no matter what. It made me think back on when I was caring for my mother. As her care overtook my life, friends dropped out of my life. Not intentionally. Everyone has life issues they have to take care of and when I was occupied elsewhere, the spaces I left were filled with other people and other things. Many wanted to help out, but really didn’t know what to do. Some came along side me and actually helped with mom’s care. Visiting her, taking her out, taking her to church, and giving Mike and me a break. But that’s not everyone’s strength or ability and some just drifted away feeling helpless. Supporting someone doesn’t have to be a herculean effort - it can be as small as a weekly card or email to let them know they haven’t been forgotten. If you know a caregiver, send them a small encouragement. It can be a lifeline. If you are a caregiver, let your friends know that you are in need of connection. Make a plan to keep your community strong. Merry Christmas. Painting is just another way of keeping a diary. -Pablo Picasso Interesting week. Last weekend I was chatting with a new acquaintance and the conversation came around to the book manuscript I’ve written and the fact that it was on it’s second edit at the time. I haven’t said much to people and it’s sort of exciting to tell someone, “I have a book coming out early next year.” Exciting and daunting. The next day, our computer crashed. Completely died. Tech support couldn’t help me during the two hour call and we had to take it in for service. In the process of reloading the operating system, everything was lost. I did have a backup copy of the manuscript, but I’d lost my journal, my documents, my digital portfolio…everything. Because, of course, I hadn’t backed anything up. Completely my own fault. But I wasn’t worried, because the manuscript was with the publisher, I had a backup copy, and I would just have to let everything else go. I was reminded of my mother-in-law whose condo had been flooded and all her records were lost. She had been the family historian and baptismal records, birth and death records, ordination papers, and photos were all gone. While she was sorry to lose everything, she adopted the philosophy that she was coming out of that flood lean and mean. I am determined to follow her example. A day later, I got a call from the publisher about book design. He’d like me to submit some photos of my artwork to incorporate into the cover design. I’d given up my art career to take care of Mom, and including a painting would tie the story into the design. I have the perfect painting in mind. It was a watercolor of my Grandmother’s crochet work and the type of roses she used to grow. Grandma raised my mother, and then she raised me. It seemed perfect. I no longer have the painting, but I did have photo documentation of all the paintings I did over a twenty something period of time. I did. Once. Can I find the slides and records? No, I cannot. I’ve lost my written journal and my visual journal. I haven’t given up the search, but we may have to move to Plan B for cover design. Stay tuned. Most of November has been occupied with diverticulitis. It’s not something I would recommend but it did allow for some down time to rest and mull things over. [Side note: for the first time in a month I had a cup of cold brewed coffee and found that wasn’t a good idea.] Coffee notwithstanding, I am thankful. I am thankful for my husband, I am thankful for my friends, I am thankful that while I’m not wealthy I am not living in poverty. I am thankful that for the most part I am healthy, and I am thankful I have a studio that is starting to take shape. I am so grateful for a wonderful church family. I am thankful that December 15 is my last day at my job and that I will be leaving the job, but not the wonderful friends I’ve made over the past five years. Last, I am thankful that I have a book coming out. The tentative date is January. I will keep you posted! Prayer and meditation is something I try to do regularly. Some weeks back, I was in prayer and I was asking God about time in my own studio. A question formed in my mind. “Why are you working on someone else’s dream and not your own?” To be honest, this wasn’t what I was expecting. There was a conflict in my life and I expected to be corrected and to be led to a different conversation. Not that I’m perfect and don’t need to humble myself, but through this meditation I discovered the real issue was that I’ve been giving my time and effort in areas that I should have let go of a long time ago.
There was no good answer for the question being raised. I was doing what I was doing out of habit and loyalty. Loyalty to an idea that had nothing to do with my life or destiny. An attack of diverticulitis has given me time for reflection. At the end of the year I will be making changes to be in my studio full time. I have done full time studio painting before, but this will have a very different focus. Transitions are rarely smooth. But at least that won’t take me by surprise. The adventure continues. When Mom Kemper died, our world changed drastically and quickly. While planning the funeral, we also had to find a memory care facility with an immediate opening where we could transfer Dad. We had to tend to out-of-town guests, empty Mom and Dad’s apartment, prepare a new place for Dad, and deal with some of health issues. Since the weather was cold, we postponed having an interment ceremony until warmer weather came. But once summer came a variety of other life issues needed tending and again the interment was postponed. We finally got everyone together and scheduled a date to have Mom’s ashes placed at Fort Custer National Cemetery in Battle Creek. Mike’s sister came to town from out of state, and Mom’s brother and his wife met us at the cemetery. When we had started out from Grand Rapids, it had been overcast and cool. But as we sat in the shelter while the deacon spoke words of comfort, the sun was out and it was a lovely autumn day. A good day to remember Mom and I was thankful for that small blessing. Of course, Dad had no idea what was happening. As Mike drove, I sat with him in the back seat and he’d ask me where Donna was (that would be me), where were we going, where’s Mom, what were we doing, and some other questions that didn’t make sense. I kept distracting him by pointing out the changing colors of the trees which he really didn’t engage with. But he was really interested in any truck dealerships or RV dealerships we passed. When I spotted one, I’d point it out and exclaim, “Wow, Dad! Look at all those trucks!” and that would help for about a minute or two before he started wondering what was happening. After our time at the cemetery we had a late lunch together and by the time we were finished it was getting to be about four in the afternoon. Dad was beginning to go deeper into his confused state. A couple evenings before we’d had an episode of sundowners syndrome and it looked like we’d be having another. Sundowning is a state of confusion and agitation that occurs in the late afternoon into the night with dementia patients. We’d had a very busy week and it was taking a toll on Dad. We did our best to get him home and settled. All the traveling is done now, the visitors are gone, and Dad is getting back to his regular schedule. But he still asks me where Mom is. If you want to know more about sundowners syndrome there’s a helpful description of it on Mayo Clinic’s website. You can find it here: http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/alzheimers-disease/expert-answers/sundowning/faq-20058511 September has been quite a busy month. I had hoped to have the worship/creative studio up and running, but it was not to be. Good things and less than good things came up and my time and energy has been spent elsewhere. One good thing was a trip the the mountains of Pennsylvania to visit friends. A group of siblings were having a reunion and I have been adopted as an extra sister. It was a joyful time and road trips invigorate me in many ways. There are wonderful things to be discovered when staying with locals who know things off the beaten, touristy path and I enjoy driving across this big country. Another lovely thing was meeting and studying contemporary calligraphy with Carl Rohr. If you’ve ever opened a Kindle reader and seen the brushwork calligraphy, you’ve seen his work. Actually, you’ve seen Carl's lettering on a lot of products and advertisements. He’s a very accomplished man who is approachable and generous in his teaching. He has a passion for lettering that I can’t say I share, but his way of making marks on paper was really fascinating and I hope to integrate what I observed into painting. A big thanks the the Pendragons of Kalamazoo for letting me join them for the weekend. Other things have also been taking up my time and energy that have nothing to do with creativity or refilling the creative well. In fact, it’s been siphoning off my time and energy for my own studio work. The most I’ve been able to do at my studio is keep the lawn mowed and paint one of the garage windows. An unexpected conversation brought the realization that I have been sacrificing a lot of time and energy for dreams that aren’t mine, while my own destiny lies waiting and ignored. I am at an age where my time and resources need to be more focused. Changes are coming. Stay tuned. I was chatting with a new friend at church Sunday. Our fellowship has started hosting chapel at a local mission once a month in an effort to give people who go through rehab a place to belong once they graduate. We’ve learned when someone hits rock bottom, ends up on the streets, and enters a program to get their life back on track they have no place to go once they’ve recovered. Old friends can drag them back into addiction or destructive patterns, and many churches don’t want “people like that” to sully their pews. It’s sad, but it’s true. I’ve certainly experienced it in the past. As a teen and young woman, I was undesirable and judged harshly in certain congregations. I got fed up and dropped out of church culture for a number of years. But this day, as we are chatting I look around the room. If you were casually looking at this group, you might jump to the conclusion that this is a bunch of average middle class people getting together. See that group of men standing by the coffee? Recovered alcoholics discussing on how to start a twelve step program here. See that woman talking with a visitor? She was homeless and her life has been restored. See that young man talking to the middle aged woman? Both recovered drug users. The woman sitting in my seat? She was a steaming hot mess. When you ask me my story, I don’t even know where to start. But my life has been transformed. In fits and starts, I am very different from who I started out as. Healing has come in layers, but it started decades ago when my heart cried out to God and He gave me a vision of what was being closed off (hell) and what was being opened up (eternity - bright, mysterious, and beautiful). I was actually in the back seat of a mainline denomination preacher’s car and knew better than to tell anyone I was having a vision. Most likely he would have pulled over to the side of the road and performed an exorcism. Strange how some Christians believe more in the power of evil to cloud your mind than of a good God to give beauty for ashes but, there you go. It was years before I found a group of people I could tell about the visions and foreknowledge of certain things, and now I’m much bolder. I may not look like much at first glance, but you would be mistaken to underestimate me. I have “Property of the King” stamped on my forehead and Jesus is rewriting my story with His blood. This is the last day for the studio at the Cooper’s Landing Building; the end of one season, and the start of a new one. Transitions can be full of excitement but also painful and awkward. My plan is to ride the wave of all that comes with it into a new season that holds great promise. July has been a frantic month of painting, patching, repairing, and moving. Not only have we been trying to get the new studio ready, but we’ve also been having our house re-sided. I had been scraping, sanding, and painting metal awnings to put back onto the house, only to find that the crew was unable to re-attach them to the house. Long story short - the bolts were attached in a way that didn’t leave enough room with the new siding. All that work in the midst of a hectic schedule came to naught. But I didn’t have enough time to really care. There was a moment of frustration and then on to the next project. But now the big push is over. I turn in my keys and access card today and we’ll continue to work on the new studio with less pressure. I have no real deadline other than a group of frames I’ve re-gilded and am varnishing. There’s finally time to step back, take a breath, and contemplate a plan. But first, I think I’ll pause to relax with a cup of coffee and enjoy this summer morning. The birds are singing, the sun is shining and I am breathing it in deeply. |
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July 2021
Donna KemperDonna Kemper put aside her art career to care for a mother she hadn't seen in over a decade. For seven years she followed her mother's journey into dementia, caring for her and putting forgiveness into action. Categories
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