Christmas Cards and Hearts

Mom and I made Christmas cards the other day: but first we had to find some paper. 

“Where’s your paper mom?” I ask. 

A simple question - you would think.  But at my parent’s house these days nothing simple is simple. Choosing the right paper to sketch out a quick drawing shouldn't be a big decision: but it is. And things I find life changing and complicated, are seemingly dealt with without much thought.  

Dad’s stroke, mom’s heart condition, the death of my brother’s stepdaughter: these are easy. But what paper to use for the art work?   

We have no control over the big things life throws at us: you don't get to choose the color of your hair, or the length of your life.  But paper? Lots of choices there!   

“Well.. what sort of paper do you want?” she asks.  And it dawns on me that I have no idea what I want, what I need.  My objective has nothing to do with Christmas cards or creating anything in particular.  I want to keep my mother still for a while.  I want her to quit lugging around soil and planting bulbs. I want her to stop vacuuming the house.

I want her to live.  She needs some quiet time to heal.  It has been just two days since she underwent surgery: a pacemaker- two wires providing little electric shocks have been implanted deep inside her heart, and it is important that she give it a chance to settle.

I would like to feel that in some small way I am able to give back, contribute to the well being and longevity of my family. 

“This 'll do” I say, grabbing an A4 sheet of white computer paper out of her printer. 

But of course, that’s no good.  We go into the laundry room, which is full of art supplies from so many projects over the years.  There is a shelf of paper there: tracing paper, watercolour paper, acrylic paper.  She has large single sheets, small sketch-pads and card stock.  There is coloured paper, embossed paper and foil. 

I grab a sketching pad that seems like it would be fine.  I decide she'll be impressed with my choice, already forgetting that I was also happy with the computer paper. 

Mom doesn’t seem impressed with the pad, but seems to feel the need to agree with me and so she… agrees. 

I know she isn’t happy by the set of her jaw. 

“Is this ok mom?” 

I honestly don’t know.  I sincerely don’t care.  I wish she would decide.  It is important to her: not at all important to me and more importantly, my mother know's paper.  She has been choosing paper for all sorts of projects for years.  My experience is pretty much limited to dot matrix, with it's little row of punched out holes along the sides, and ink jet.  

My experience with painting is largely limited to the walls of the different ‘flats’ we have lived in over the last few years.  

I could help her choose wall paint. 

Wall paint: but we need something to make cards with.

There is a whole other shelf for that: acrylic paints, watercolours, silk painting paints, Irene’s old cloth paints - ink.  And then the stuff in the living room: Mom has drawers and cupboards with all sorts of tubes and little jars: some of them are dried up.. some fading, some new.  

She asks if I can go over to the cabin and look around there and I come back with two big boxes of Christmas stuff and more paints. We sort through that and go back into the laundry room.

I grab thankfully/hopefully at some pencil crayons in the back of one of her heavy wooden drawers.  I know what those are: I can’t get into trouble with pencil crayons: used those in school!   

“Oh.  You’re using the water colour pencils.” Mom says.  There is approval, but also a bit of awe in her voice: or concern? Her tone makes me nervous, again.

“I’ve never used those.” She says.  “You will have to show me.”        

Well, the sketchpad is apparently not for watercolours.  Of course mom knew that, but she mumbled something about how she thought I might have chosen it to give the painting depth: ya.. that’s it. 

Mom painted the buck that lives in her yard and eats her garden and I managed the image of the boab trees and termite mounds in mine in Australia.

The choices we make aren't alwys easy.  But once they're made, it’s nice to sit back with all the pieces and put together a world of your own creation.  And at this time of year, it's nice to sit back and reflect on what’s in your own back yard.

It does a heart good.