I notice the sound of my hands on the paper as I smooth down a piece of collage. So quiet and peaceful. After days of no break, no studio, no writing, no quiet time, this feels right. It’s been a stressful week, politically it’s been just like FUCK!! Keeping up with the news is a fulltime affair, what kind of crazy shit is Trump going to do today I think as I get out of bed. Please don’t let us be entering another war or starting a new war. I obsess about what countries could hit us with a bomb, could we be invaded and taken over or is America going to just obliterate every population of people that disagrees or get in the way of “American Interests”? It’s frightening, so when I get my break, babies asleep, I NEED to write and paint, even if it’s just for an hour. So many things have happened lately I’ve wanted to write about. Sweet things being mom. The other day when I was packing our picnic for the beach I wrote everyone’s name on our sandwiches with a sharpie. When I got to mine, I wrote “MOM”, her name came into my mind at the exact moment. “Mines the one with Mom written on it” I say to Danny as he’s handing out the sandwiches from the cooler, on a sunny shore, Point Reyes in February, we celebrate our freedom. Alan is upset because I don’t have Dad written on his. “It was personal” I say. I can’t think of the right words to describe the emotions I’m feeling. But it was because I was thinking about my mom, how we were a family, Danny, me and Mom. For the first time, I realized I’m the mom in our group now, in our family. I have entered mom’s role, taking some of that space, breathing some of that air she used to. I call myself mom for the first time and own it. I just now notice the fan blowing. My hands are cold and I realize I am running out of time in my studio. I have several paintings started, I want to get more painting time. Yellows and blacks and whites, collage, notebooks, need to add some marks. Need to get back to painting before I’m back in the house, in my life of wonderment and surprise.