Emerging from a creative slump

6 05 2015

If you find yourself in a creative slump…

Please see the current Windward Artists Guild exhibition of 2D and 3D fine art at Place gallery in Honolulu. The garden setting designed by Philpotts is at once lively, soothing, tasteful, and refreshing!

I am honored that juror Jay Jensen of the Honolulu Museum of Art selected my painting to exhibit. Thank you! No one seemed to like it until now. Here is the photo DH made of my piece, and me, in the window at last night’s opening.
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Until now, Hawaiian landscapes have comprised the body of my fine art work. I made “Mango Papaya Pineapple” several years ago when the still life of tropical fruit at the studio cried, “Paint me!” And so I was inspired to drop everything and do just that. I recall completing it in one session.

Juicy colors straight out of the tube, and strong, deliberate knife strokes on the canvas. All messy with oil paint everywhere on my palette and my hands at the end. A good tired.

This reminds me of what my late teacher Gloria Foss said, “People don’t care about what you paint. They care about how you paint.”

With that memory and encouragement from an acceptance of my art work, weeks, no, months of a creative dry period just turned around. I have decided to make what’s old new again.

When you go:
Place gallery is located at 54 South School Street, Honolulu, between Pali Highway and Barron Lane. Show is open daily during daytime business hours through May 22. Art is for purchase.

Copyright 2015 Rebekah Luke





Please do not disturb the chicken

28 03 2015

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Mahalo e ke Akua! I have been monitoring a nest in the garden since March 20, the First Day of Spring. Each day the hen lays one egg. They are smaller than the brown ones I bought from the store. The yolks are orange-yellow. Today’s gather numbered two eggs, one from yesterday. Farm to table. Free, free-range, and fresh. Before I started gathering, I marked one egg that the hen returns to sit on daily. ~ Rebekah





Aging in public

8 03 2015

Hardly anyone talks about it, this thing called aging. I think it’s because when we’re younger, we don’t consider getting older. Others, yes, like our parents, but not us. Not me! And to listen to others talk about their aches and pains—oh, please.

Notice I said “older,” not “old.” I learned to say it that way from my cousin Elly, who was born six months before I.

Today I’m going public, and I’m talking about aging for those who might benefit.

As it happens in our Western health care system, our family is assigned a primary care physician. Like all doctors, he has many patients, and the system allows him to spend only 15 minutes with each, whether or not all your questions are answered.

Oh, I know it’s possible. DH had a good experience in Hong Kong, for example, when he had appendicitis on a trip, but in Hong Kong they were much more efficient. Here, it can be time-consuming in the long run (lots of 15 minutes) and frustrating to get care.

I decided to ask for another PCP through my gynecologist. She said she couldn’t be it because she was a specialist. So then, I thought, how about a gerontologist? Can I be ahead of the game and start seeing one now? I remembered the time I (tried) to get care for my aging father and how by luck, after being sent to department after department (including a “hospitalist” who I asked, because he was wearing a flower lei, if it was his birthday, and he replied, “No, it is my last day here!”), a gerontologist came to our aid. She was the most compassionate and informative of the lot.

My gynecologist was helpful. “Let’s see, how old are you, 66? You know, past 65 I think you can.” I’ll give the system credit for that. She referred me to a geriatrician, that’s what they’re called, I learned.

My issues were physical signs that to me appeared suddenly. Thinning skin, dull hair, brittle nails. (In the meantime I found a supplement containing biotin to address just that.) Soreness in my hands; arthritis or something else? When people spoke to me, responding too often with, “What?”, and having to turn up the TV volume. Some trouble with my balance. And taking longer to speak my words because my brain seemed slower to find them; memory loss? I’ve already had my right colon removed successfully for a large but benign tumor.

When the “new” department phoned to confirm the first appointment, they made sure I knew to bring someone with me, that I brought a health care directive, etc. This freaked out DH who said to me, “This is not the end game for you. Why?” I replied, “Of course, it isn’t, but I want to be proactive and cover all my bases. I want a baseline for the future.”

Checking in as a “youngster,” I explained my reasons for the visit with the receptionist, who informed me, and the doctor confirmed: a geriatrician is a specialist and cannot be my PCP. But wait.

While an assistant gave me a memory test (my memory in their terms is fine), the doctor invited DH in to start the conversation about why she likes to talk to families. In my case, she was concerned that we have our finances in place, meaning, if one of us becomes unable to function normally in the future, does the other have access to money if needed. Not when we die, but if we become ill.

When I walked into her office to join the conversation, she confirmed my hunch. “Did you practice at (another hospital) before? [She had.] You are the one who took care of my father, and the only one to give us satisfactory answers!” Yes, the same doctor, who at that time explained to me, “It’s not a perfect system, but it is a system.”

While she cannot officially be my primary care physician, in fact that is what she has become. I am so grateful. She ordered all the necessary tests for me. As a result, I found that I have lost some of my hearing, and I now wear a very smart and hi-tech hearing aid in both ears. It’s takes practice to learn how to wear it, and I trust the person who is fitting the device for my needs.

Next, tests found that I am deficient in Vitamin D. The doc said even in sunny Hawaii people become deficient in D.

For the pain in my dominant right hand, I was sent back to my assigned PCP, who said it is tendonitis in two places, but one unrelated to the other. What do you do, he asked? “I paint.” Then stop painting, he said. What?!! Personally I think, if it is indeed tendonitis, it is from too much computer, that is the unfortunate side effect of today’s technology.

Or, an emotional cause. For that, my geriatrician was compassionate and suggested psychotherapy. I have been there and done that. For now I prefer talking to my cherished friends and family first. Perhaps Reiki or lomilomi or acupuncture.

This week I go in for hand therapy, referred by my PCP, and next week sports medicine. Sports medicine because of some numbness in my arm.

I asked DH, why is it that you are older than I, but you don’t show as many signs of aging. He reminded me that he just had new “eyes” installed, a result of cataract surgery in both eyes. 😉 You see, I am not alone, and neither are you!

Copyright 2015 Rebekah Luke

 

 

 





Resume play

7 01 2015

It’s time to hit the Resume Play button of my life. The elves have left to help someone else.

Indeed, it feels like a brand new life. The 12-month year for me starts on my birthday this Friday. Then I’ll turn 66. With much gratitude I say good-bye to 66 years (especially the year 2014) and say hello to today.

Since DH’s birthday on Dec. 20—we had a little party here on the 21st—so much has occurred, I really don’t remember exactly what, nor am I able to put the events in chronological order. No matter. That was yesterday.

Since the fire and for the last nine days, New Year’s Day and Sunday excepting, a professional after-fire cleaning crew has been at the studio, removing soot and odor from everything inside the structure. Four to nine people at a time, depending on the tasks. Such hard workers. I called them elves.

What a blessing. This morning, when I awoke, the din of the four air scrubber machines was gone. I could hear the birds and the surf again. The air smelled sweet. I had slept soundly through the night. I could look forward to a day with no visitors (perhaps?).

I can’t find any-Thing, but I know it is here somewhere and that it is clean!

“Sorry, we rearranged your things,” one of the elves said smiling. The cool thing is, I like the rearrangement. When I go through my things systematically in one direction to find something and come across something I don’t need any more, I toss it into the trash or set it aside to re-bless someone else. And, truthfully, I don’t need much.

In a new setting, I can keep only what I need or what brings me joy!

Some of the things are in cardboard boxes because the elves did a partial “pack out.” It was obvious to them the next step was a kitchen renovation. The result is “out of sight, out of mind.”

The clichés have meaning: “Every dark cloud has a silver lining.” “Cleanliness is next to Godliness.” “Fire purifies.” “Out with the old, in with the new.” “Let it go.”

To keep my feet on the ground and because I like to honor commitments, I’ll resume teaching and writing in a few days, but that’s it. I can say Aloha to the past, start over, reset, choose to (re)act in a new way to events in my life and create a different and joyful experience.

Thank you, dear friends. I’ll certainly keep you.

Copyright 2015 Rebekah Luke

 

 





First-night dreams of 2015 or whatever

2 01 2015

I’m thankful I can remember my dreams again. The images from last night/this morning:

Two grand pianos, one in the living space and one staged in the garage waiting to be moved in. Where is my original Story and Clark console, the one with the patina? Does it have to go? My wise friend Pat says, “Let me tell you something about that.”

Another scene: Cheery Liz, from long ago, is planning a Christmas party and covets our tiny artificial Christmas tree, the one with tiny white lights. She wants it for a table centerpiece. “Sure! You may have it!” I’m thinking, Christmas is over, and I can’t see it for the grand piano anyway.

Then: my friend Pi‘i in her yellow Mustang convertible, top down, is navigating a waterway that looks like a calm stream flowing under a bridge to see me. I throw her a mooring line. It’s not long enough. I go for an extension. The knot will be underwater, but I know how to tie the knot so it holds fast.

Okay, dream interpreters, what does it mean? As my friend Anne-Marie says to dear readers, Go!

Copyright 2015 Rebekah Luke




A Happy New Year tale

31 12 2014

greenboxOnce upon a time between the Winter Solstice and the New Year there was an unfortunate fire in the kitchen where Pete, Rebekah, and Pua lived.

Many good people in the neighborhood came to help put out the fire. The next day the State of Farm sent more help.

First one then two apple green trucks arrived. Out popped eight elves with gloves on, carrying ladders and buckets filled with cloth and bottles of colorful potions.

The elves spoke a different language and worked very hard for several days. They kept themselves busy collecting black pepper and popcorn. At night they went home. In the morning they reappeared.

With the elves came four big apple green box creatures that blew air from their sides and sucked more black popcorn into their round mouths at the tops of their bodies. They hummed loudly all day and all night. How surreal!

Pete, Rebekah, and Pua came to realize that the fire which made stinky smoke that filled not only the kitchen but the whole house—sending billows of stinky smoke into every nook and cranny and out through the windows—was actually a blessing from the Universe.

For the elves turned into angels. They brightened and sweetened every inch of the house and everything in it. They took away the black pepper and black popcorn.

The box creatures scrubbed the air within. The darkness turned to light. Never before had the house sparkled so.

Peter, Rebekah, and Pua smiled and gave thanks for the cleansing.

On the last night of the year, amidst gusty wind and rain from the West, the moon and the stars joined them, laughing and singing “Happy New Year and to all a good night!”

The End

(is a new beginning)

Copyright 2014 Rebekah Luke




The morning after . . . the fire

29 12 2014

Where to begin? Main thing, everyone at the studio including Pua the dog is all right, and the house is still standing.  Second main thing, we have the most wonderful set of neighbors who we heap upon tons of gratitude. Third main thing, if you have a Bosch dishwasher like ours was, did you know it was recalled in 2009 for causing fires? Scroll to bottom of this post if you have a Bosch.

dishwasher

Our  family was so very lucky for the quick-thinking and action of our neighbors yesterday. It could have been a lot worse. As it is now, no one was injured, one appliance is fried, a little bit of cabinetry is charred, the kitchen floor is icky, and there is soot everywhere. We’re waiting for the professional after-fire cleaners to arrive to help clean.

We’re all a bit on edge, still in a little shock.

We’re late leaving for the concert in Honolulu — Beethoven’s 9th symphony — that I am looking forward to hear with our friends Becky and Susan. And Kasey and Doc. A few miles down the highway I realize I’ve forgotten Christmas presents, my phone, my glasses. Should we turn around? No, keep going. How to tell Becky at the box office that we might be late? Ah, Pete (DH) has a phone and I can send a text.

Soon his phone rings, it’s not Becky, it’s our neighbor-across-the-street Carol. “There’s smoke coming from your house, how do we get in?”

“What?!” I think. I calmly give her instructions and hear her relaying them to someone else, step by step.

“They’re ready to break the door down.”

“Wait, here’s how to get in. Call 911.”

“They think it’s coming from the kitchen.”

“Get the dog!”

Carol tells me everything. “There’s smoke coming out of the front room [which is on the opposite side of the dwelling on the second floor, so I’m puzzled].”

“Okay, they got the door open. They got the dog. Here comes the fire engine. I’m not going in there.”

By this time Pete has turned around the car and we’re headed 13 miles back home in bumper-to-bumper Sunday afternoon traffic.

Carol says, “There’s nothing you can do. The fire department is here.”

Over the phone I can hear other voices, the clomp of shoes, and what sounds like water spraying.

One of our worse fears. Various scenarios play through our minds on the ride home. Did we turn everything off? Stove? Iron? Christmas lights? Was I careless and did I leave an oily rag around from painting?

Then Pete remembers. You know, we just had all that electrical work done yesterday for the new solar system. Oh, jeez, you think?

Turning onto our lane, there’s the fire truck, all of the neighbors and their kids and babies outside, waiting calmly. There was Pua on a borrowed leash. She was quivering, so the kids are taking her for a run. The drama is over by the time we arrive. 25 to 30 minutes have elapsed.

Inside the house we see our neighbor Michael, our hero, the one who wanted to bust the door down. Several neighbors had smelled the smoke and reacted. Michael said he immediately climbed to the roof to check the solar collectors, with young Haven (the very bright boy from another family, who got Pua; thanks Haven!) behind him.

Then Michael saw fire in the kitchen, yelled to Haven for the water hose that was conveniently nearby, and blasted the flames. He said at that point it was so hot the dishwater door flew open. The Kaaawa firefighters came in and shook his hand for putting out the fire. Oh. My. Gosh.

I wondered why it was so dark in the kitchen after the fire. The once-white ceiling was now black with soot.

I wondered why it was so dark in the kitchen after the fire. The once-white ceiling is now black with soot.

A couple-three tips:

  • If you have a Bosch dishwasher manufactured in the United States between May 1999 and July 2005 and sold in the United States and Canada, know that there was a volunteer recall to repair certain machines. They were recalled because they were fire hazards. We did not know this. Perhaps we did not file the registration papers when we bought ours.
  • After a fire, after contacting the insurance company, call the professionals to help clean up the mess, 1-800-SERVPRO. http://www.servpro.com/fire-damage-tips. Have patience, try not to touch anything. From ceilings to floors, even on my computer screen as I write this, there is a fine dust that looks like pepper. It’s soot.
  • Practice gratitude and kindness toward your family and neighbors. We are one ‘ohana.
Copyright 2014 Rebekah Luke