4/24/25

And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.

One of the things that I love the most about the little house I retreat to on the Oregon coast – and that caused me to choose this place for the first time back in 2006 – is that there is dedicated space for writing, and dedicated space for doing artwork. Many of my books have had a draft pounded out in the writing nook, on an old beat-up table that butts right up to the window overlooking the ocean, which is only a few feet away. Upstairs, there is a loft, with a larger window facing the same direction. It’s perfect for artwork. The owners of the little house have another beat-up table, left in storage when I’m not there, so the table is just for me. While the view is lovely, I often paint at night, with the windows wide open, letting in the sound of the ocean.

During the day, when I’m writing, I look up to watch the passing whales or birds, and to watch the light change on the water. At night, when I’m painting, I look up at the blinking lights of a passing fishing boat, or to listen to the waves or the ecstatic sound of children with flashlights playing in the sand or basking in the light of a bonfire.

It’s just so idyllic. But especially, it’s idyllic because it’s like a home for two separate places in my brain. One that expresses itself in words; one that expresses itself in imagery and color.

I’ve craved that in my own home, which is a live-where-you-work condo. Here, my brain gets compartmentalized into my writing space on the third floor, and my teaching space on the first floor. But when I’ve wanted to work on art, I’ve either had to haul stuff down to the classroom and hope I don’t mess up the conference table, or haul stuff into the kitchen and hope I don’t mess up the island.

Since Michael died, I’ve sort of thrown myself into a massive purge and reorganization of floors two and three of the condo – where I live. About the only room that hasn’t been affected is my writing space, because that space has always been fully me – I never shared it with anyone, other than the feline and canine interlopers. I think one way I’ve been working myself through Michael’s death is by making the condo more fully mine – Michael’s presence is still here, but not as obviously as before. Interests that we shared remain. Interests that were purely his have been carefully given away to others who share those interests and will love those objects as much as he loved them.

There’s more to do, yet, but lately, my focus turned to a back room. This room has gone through more transitions than any other room in the condo. It’s sorta useless, really – there isn’t a closet, there’s no storage, it’s just this room that sits at the end of the hallway and also is outside of Olivia’s bedroom. The most important aspect of it is there is a second floor deck that is accessed through a door in this room.

First, it was a bedroom for my oldest son who was in college when we moved in here. He came home every other weekend to work, and so I put in a futon with storage underneath, and a table with cubbies and a tv on top. It worked as his room until he graduated and moved out. Then it became a tv room for a while. Next, because Michael was teaching more and more for me, we changed it to Michael’s office – but with the rule that if he began to make it into a mess, it would stop being his office.

It became a mess. Despite decorating it to his specifications, including a lovely desk with a marble top, and plenty of shelves and cubbies for storage, it wasn’t long before he was working on his laptop while sitting on his recliner in the living room, because every available surface in the office was covered – mostly with stuff that it didn’t need to be covered by.

I took the space back during the pandemic, and it became a workout room. It still held Michael’s card catalog (in college, he worked in a library and he loved card catalogs, so I got one for him from an antique store) and an antique RCA Victor radio/record player console. Incongruously, I added a treadmill and free weights, and a television to watch while I was on the treadmill.

And now…here we are, in this new chapter.

Last week, the radio/record player console left, followed by the card catalog. The console was purchased by a woman for her son, who had just won a contest where his radio play was produced. He loved all things Old Time Radio – just like Michael. I have no doubt that console will be treasured. The card catalog went to a man who contacted me immediately when I listed it, saying he’d been looking for one for years to keep his card collection in. He sent a photo of where the card catalog would be, and reassured me it would be well-loved. I believe him.

Then I looked at the room, almost bare again, except for my treadmill, and I knew what I wanted. A lovely student showed me an easel a family member of hers was giving up. It was old and beat-up and wonderful. I said I wanted it. Since I received it, it’s sitting in my garage. But now…

With the help of my son, we moved the treadmill, so that its front is up against a wall. I no longer need the television, which rested on top of the card catalog. I can watch things on my phone. The treadmill folds, which was something I never took advantage of, but I did now, and floor space suddenly became open to me.

In the living room, in a place that was always awkward, was my antique phone table, which has an old-fashioned push-button phone resting on it that has been repainted into art. I found it at an antique mall, which is where the table came from too. It moved into this new space, and has become a place where I can sit and change my shoes. Then the easel came up and tucked into a corner, in front of the door leading to the HVAC unit that heats and cools my classroom downstairs. That door is rarely opened, but just in case, the easel is easily folded. Then I took a trip to St. Vinnie’s and found what they called a TV table. It’s perfect for holding my art supplies. I added a barstool to sit on while painting. And finally, I added a small colorful rug with so many colors that, if I spill paint, no one will ever know.

I had paintings on the walls already, but I went into my garage and pulled out more that I had in storage there and added them. Everything was carefully placed – the treadmill can fold down without disrupting anything.

And then the final for me. I love painting mannequins. That’s how I got started. Back in 2018, on the day before my birthday, Michael, Olivia and I went into Boston Store, as it was going out of business. Everything was for sale. I went into the women’s department and saw a plus-sized female mannequin. I’ve always wanted to paint a plus-sized female mannequin.

“I want this,” I said. And Michael and Olivia bought it for me for my birthday.

She’s sat since 2018, waiting for me. She was in my office, then the storeroom, then came into the classroom when I closed the storeroom down. Now, she’s sitting on that repurposed TV table, and she’s at the perfect height for me to start applying paint and brush. She will be my first project.

Given to me by Michael and Oliva.

I haven’t started yet, and I haven’t unfolded and used the treadmill yet, at least since the change. But I keep walking down the hall, looking at it, and sighing in absolute pleasure.

Like I do in Oregon.

It’s all there, waiting. And that part of my brain, so unexercised, is delighted.

And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.