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Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes

  • Deciding to look beyond

    April 12th, 2018

    I bend down and look at tiny flowers and ground cover in a patch of land that was previously infertile. It is at the base of a magnolia tree. The dirt is the kind of dirt that things aren’t supposed to grow in. The blueberry bushes are flush with little green berries. I look beyond my red allergy eyes at what is growing this year in my back yard. Thick green patches of daisy flowers will bloom any day now. A few have already done so. The ground is covered with many shades of green. The air is cool today, but in protected areas under the sun it’s warm.

    I decided to look at everything I’ve never noticed before.  

    Notice things behind the furniture, and beyond the dirty dishes, thick chunks of soft, black, fur from my shedding dog, the toys all over the floor. My first reaction when I walk in the house from outside is it’s stuffy and dirty. I’m going to look beyond that feeling to the views of flowering California red buds, blue or rainy skies, hawks and crows that sit on the very tops of  trees, dear crossing the street in the morning light.

    I will look past my children’s whining voices and focus on the light and innocence they are. I will look beyond my negativity towards my womb.

    Strip my hips of the tightness and shame of decades of medical procedures,

    That tight spot between my thigh and my groin, the muscle that clenches when my legs were spread apart by force.

    The part of my body that slowly fused into a jumble of ovaries, fallopian tubes, hanging there.

    I developed a thick insulated padding around my abdomen, I can pinch more than an inch.

    Old fat cells I carry with me. I choose to let them shrink, let them go.

    I choose to look beyond the pain,

    No, I choose to look directly at the pain.

    I incorporate everything, change nothing, add more.

    Look what lies beyond my tight hips,

    Underneath my insulation are strong abs, strong organs protecting me.

    I breathe.

    I release the stiffness,

    I add the flexibility.

    Release the fat cells,

     relax my abdomen.

    It’s a studio day. I paint pictures of people, in light, subdued colors. I draw eyes and ears and legs. I work without judging.

    I work until the piece works or goes beyond into dark, unrecognizable places. Just thick, opaque, texture. No lines remain.

    I am happy for my time in the studio.

    I am happy for my life.

    I am happy I looked behind the corner.

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  • Family Sick Day

    April 4th, 2018

    Todays a family sick day. Jack and Fiona, my four-year-old twins, are playing in the yard, naked. I can hear them laugh and talk, get along.

    “I’ll be right here, sitting in the shade” I say.

    I flip over the lounge chair cushion. Dark blue, non-faded, no oak leaves sticking their tiny thorns in, like the opposite, exposed to the elements side is. Indigo blue with shadows from the leaves on the Bay tree. I can hear crickets and birds. I see a humming bird drink nectar from a magenta flower. I just want to sit here, rest, listen to my kids play, write.

    “Real mud! Real Mud!” yells Fiona.

    “Mom, Mom, Mom.” I let her call three times before I answer.

    “Yes” I say.

    “Where are you, I can’t see you” She says.

    “I’m up on the lounge chair” I say, but she can’t hear me. I tell Jack to show Fiona where I am.

    “I want cotton tails” Fiona whines. I don’t know what she’s talking about. They tell me they are talking about the cheese puffs they ate earlier. I write down a number, 7777# and rip the paper out of my journal and hand it to Jack. I don’t think Jack and Fiona can do this yet, read the numbers and unlock the pantry. I’m buying myself some time, a few more minutes to sit here on the lounge chair. A few more minutes to write.

    Jack comes out and tells me it doesn’t work, that he pushed 777#.

    “Oh” I say. “You need to push 7777#”

    Jack calls Fiona over and hands her the paper. A few minutes later I hear the beep of the unlocking pantry.

    “We did it” Says Jack. They are both so excited, so proud of this accomplishment. I’ll have to change the code now. Fiona calls me now, she needs help opening a bowl. I go inside to help, and I shudder. My sink is full of dirty dishes, Jack and Fiona have full bags of rice cakes and Bunny tails. The contrast in here and outside is striking. In here, It’s stuffy and reminds me of everything I need to get done or am supposed to get done.

    They didn’t want to go to school today. Yesterday, Fiona was sick , Jack doesn’t have school on Tuesdays. They watched T.V. all morning while I exercised and made food and drank coffee. We went to the park in the afternoon and I got a headache. The headache got worse and worst and we all went to bed early. Today I woke up feeling like I had a hangover, but I haven’t drunk. Today, when neither Jack, nor Fiona wanted to go to school I was relieved.

    Wednesdays are busy days and I am thankful to myself I took the day off. I didn’t take Jack and Fiona to their gymnastics class and I am missing my sign language class. I’m glad I made the decision to rest even if it means missing things I love and letting my kids watch T.V. almost all day.

    When I woke up this morning I got a questionnaire I needed to fill out in preparation for my appointment with my psychiatrist tomorrow morning. It was the standard form asking questions about how I’ve been feeling. I marked “Not at All” to all the questions but one for the first time since I’ve been visiting psychiatrists. I paused at the question about anxiety because I get anxiety all the time. I get stress and depression and moments when I can’t form the words, nothing left inside to say to anybody.

    I’m just tired. I don’t think I could feel any other way, or that another way of feeling would be helpful or healthier. I don’t feel like I’m trapped, or my life is meaningless. Whenever I start thinking about why I don’t need to take anti-depressants I start thinking about why I started taking them.   

    I think that sometimes things just build up, trauma, stress, disappointment, not enough time in the studio, and sometimes we fall into a deeper sense of melancholy. Our coping mechanisms aren’t strong enough to tackle too much of a heavy load of anxiety and grief.

    I don’t know the answer. I don’t know what I’ll tell the doctor about why I stopped taking the pills. I want to stop doubting myself.

    Today was a good day to stay home. Today was a good day to take a rest because I needed it. Maybe that’s why I don’t need my anti-depressants anymore. Because now I know when to rest. I don’t know, maybe there is no answer to this question.

    I can feel the moisture filling the sky, it turns light grey.

    Jack, Fiona, and I planted wild flowers today. They want to go down and see if they’ve grown yet.

    I turned off the T.V. and as I was walking to the kitchen I saw Jack peeing in a sock on the deck.

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  • Little Sumpin’ and Good Friday

    March 30th, 2018

    My hot oil treatment is making my vision blurry. The morning Jasmine on the secret walk this morning with Jack has my face red and eyes on high alert. I took my medicine this morning, but I can feel the irritation of everything on my eyes, face, and nose right now.  Jack and Fiona will be home soon. My precious time before four is coming to an end. I saw the scotch broom this morning in full bloom on the hillside. Yes, I can feel the thick spring pollen all over myself. I can feel spring all over me, on my skin, seeping out. I’ve re-claimed my spring goddess. Bead a necklace, paint a picture, smoke a j, drink a Little Sumpin’ I can’t remember if real product names are supposed to be in upper case, bold, or italics, or apostrophes? Which is it? Anyhow, Little Sumpin is an Ale from The Lagunitas Brewing Company in Petaluma, California. I love this ale, it’s like the Lagunitas IPA, which is another of my favorites.

    I can hear the ocean roaring now, I can imagine the smell of the sea air and the saltiness of my face the day I sat in Dick’s Bar in Mendocino drinking Lagunitas IPA. I was an emotional wreck, I’ll save that story for later, but I got a full Lagunitas IPA experience up there on the coast. It was me. It was before kids. When I could sit on bluffs and cry looking out onto the sea or down the cliffs into beds of Kelp.

    I sent copies of Naptime Paintings, Thoughts on Motherhood Through the Eyes of an Artist, to the Gallery Bookstore in Mendocino today, I’m celebrating. Even though, there was no way to make this transaction profitable, I felt strong about doing it. I am selling the books at a discounted price, compared to Amazon or the publisher’s website. It felt good. I love my book, I think it’s beautiful and a steal at $25, signed. I hope I can get some circulated.

    I had the opportunity to sit outside in the back yard today. In the pollen, but my allergy pill was keeping me dry. I listened to several streams of UPS and Fed X trucks roar by. I get obsessive listening for my car coming up the hill, Jack, Fiona, and the babysitter. When the engines quiet I hear birds tweet and chimes sound like meditation bells. Drinking a Little Sumpin’, sitting on a lounge chair. I could easily languish here for the rest of the day. My legs are beat up, I can’t ride or do yoga today. I won’t make my goal of twenty rides because my legs are so tired from the insane hill run and hour heart rate threshold ride this past week. I could skip my studio, not paint, not type my story. I had to take today off, but not from working in my studio, or sending copies of my book to an actual bookstore, or walking Billy, exchanging a dress for Fiona and buying a new dress, some belts, my wardrobe in looking updated. A girl with a wardrobe, style, is a spring goddess.

    I can’t believe I’ve drunk two Little sumpin’s and am considering drinking another one. I haven’t drunk more than two beers in so long.  And that happens sometimes.

    This morning on Jack and my special walk a guy rode by on an electric mobile, no handle bars, with his, maybe son.  We had just crossed fourth street.

    “Hey, how much them things cost ya?” a guy shouted.

    He was wearing something army green with a mustache and a kind face. It was early morning, so the light diffused things.

    The guy and son did not respond.

    The guy in army green started to talk to the man and boy on the electric people mover in Spanish and other languages and concluded the man and son did not speak.

    “That’s a wolf.” He says to me.

    “How did you know?” I asked.

    “I can tell, with those long legs, I lived in Montana” He said.

    “Cool” I say.

    He howls. I howl. I try to get Billy to howl.

    “She’s shy” I say.

    Jack and I continue walking towards his school on our secret walk. We can hear the guy howling from Fourth Street. It sounds cool on this Good Friday.

    Howling in the morning light. Mailing media. Drinking Beer. Paint and collage runs through my veins, the morning Jasmine.

    Sit my body in a hot bath, let the kids watch T.V., maybe, even, drink another Little Sumpin’.

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