Amélie, or more recently, Lupin. Both are in French, not sure what that means. I don’t even speak French, well maybe, un peu. Flashing. Eye (but afterwards, not so much). Parklet. Zigger and Zag.
Thank you for sharing. What stood out to me most was your observation that part of this *isn’t* your story while it *is* also becoming your story, and this form or journaling resulted in this encouraging bit of wisdom you shared: “I feel better having written this. Sometimes, the writing is what we need to do. Truth is sometimes so much more manageable when corralled, reduced, and, at the same time, allowed to blossom as words on a page.” 💚
Dear heart. I have not followed along long enough to know this to be part of your story (emphasis on "part"), but I know the level of exhaustion I would feel if it were part of mine. It's like waiting for the plane to take off. Buckle up. Bags under the seat. Seat upright. Did I remember to bring the right shoes? The medicines? Will this be the time it all ends in catastrophe? No, of course not, silly, look at us flying, the clouds so inviting up here.
I'm glad you wrote. I see you and your vulnerability and am not put off by them. This feels like the most sensible way to process what is unfathomable. That and the drawings. The little embroidered ambulance. The mac and cheese.
Eye, Parklet. I was a wedding photographer for many years. I can’t tell you how many times I was told something along the lines of “oh good, you’re here. Now we know we can be calm because you’ll handle it”. 😳🤣 Zebra, zygote.
Mac & cheese too. Lights. Eye first, then Storm lingers for days. Absolutely zero Parklet. Paper hats. Zany Zoo (my house right now). I appreciate your bravery in allowing vulnerability and sharing this window into your life. And as always your authenticity and compassion in your creative work and interactions with others. I find writing about the painful parts of life to be really hard. Sharing it even more so. Thank you for the reminder that it makes a difference for how you feel and for others who may read it.
Vegetable soup, flashing lights, storm, paper hat. Deep appreciation for your writing this week and the vulnerability it takes to openly write about hard times. It is your story and someone else's, yet I feel seen and articulated in a way I could never express about my own experiences. There have been a lot of ambulance calls in my life these past several years, and I was the 911 caller. I never got good at it. My social anxiety combined with fear and nerves during the emergency at hand rendered me nearly useless, or so I felt. The imagery of tapestry covering holes in the walls-- beautifully said-- and so accurate. I always feel incapable and unhelpful during such scary moments. I wish I was good under pressure but I don't want the practice it would require. I like the thought you touched on about what brings us comfort during these times. To even think of the list is comforting and I'll probably be adding that to my journal. Things that bring me comfort. Thank you for this post, for your inspiring art and prompts, and your wonderful way of capturing life in a way that helps me see that it is all worthy to be captured on a page, even the hard times, and it doesn't always have to be beautiful. The authenticity of putting it out there is a beauty of its own.
Pasta, The Office and Gilmore Girls, flashing lights, storm, zilch, zoo.
"I should be writing beautiful things" - my darling, you have. All of this is beautiful, vulnerable, and so relatable. You are seen, loved, and appreciated. Thanks for sharing. 💜🩷
Peanut butter! I have comfort books more than comfort shows: poetry (Mary Oliver & Maria Popova's newsletters & another woman author I can't remember but who provided enormous solace when I faced an unexpected euthanasia decision for a beloved 4-legged companion, on the 1st day of COVID-19 confinement. Maybe I can't remember her because it would bring back the memory of that painful experience)
No "flashing" but a lot of on/off accompaniment for both parents until their passing - "eye" during that time with the exhaustion arising afterwards.
it isn’t just what you write, which is authentic, searing, true, and brave. It’s how you write it: luminous, tender, frank, full of fear and grit and coping. Comfort food, yes. Penelope, even more. But the writing soars above it. Please don't take it down.
I don’t have a comfort food, I have a comfort app. I spend countless hours playing idiotic video solitaire. I cannot explain why, but when I’ve read too much or written too much or someone in my assisted living dies--I never call the ambulance, but a lot of them come here --well, I can lose myself in Card Shark.
OK, maybe my homemade kimchi, with a splash of sesame oil, to smooth it out and take away the heat.
I just wanted to you to know that I am thinking of you today and am glad that writing & documenting helped. I like the way you described the art of practice as it pertains to drawing and to guitar, and the way we learn these kinds of things are indeed different. Glad you are finding solace in playing/practicing guitar.
Sep 27, 2023·edited Sep 27, 2023Liked by Amy Cowen
Chicken Sandwich for the win! One of the big things with social media is how so much of what you see is window dessing, Its the stuff people feel good about and want you to see. Life isnt all about the positive. I prefer authenticity. Thank you for sharing this hard time in your life, for being who you are. Sharing is good for the soul just like drawing. paper hat, flashing, eye. Zoe and Zinger
Amy, I never liked comic books, and I think I don’t like graphic novels, but on your recommendation, I picked up Look Again, and I think that is a fabulous book. Thank you for bringing it to my attention. Now I am going to try some other writing that has a lot of drawing in it. I like to draw, but I am so drunk with words I just can’t seem to find the time, I admire that my sister Catherine Sanborn, whom you know, can draw something every day. Well, it’s something to aspire to.
Amélie, or more recently, Lupin. Both are in French, not sure what that means. I don’t even speak French, well maybe, un peu. Flashing. Eye (but afterwards, not so much). Parklet. Zigger and Zag.
Thank you for sharing. What stood out to me most was your observation that part of this *isn’t* your story while it *is* also becoming your story, and this form or journaling resulted in this encouraging bit of wisdom you shared: “I feel better having written this. Sometimes, the writing is what we need to do. Truth is sometimes so much more manageable when corralled, reduced, and, at the same time, allowed to blossom as words on a page.” 💚
Dear heart. I have not followed along long enough to know this to be part of your story (emphasis on "part"), but I know the level of exhaustion I would feel if it were part of mine. It's like waiting for the plane to take off. Buckle up. Bags under the seat. Seat upright. Did I remember to bring the right shoes? The medicines? Will this be the time it all ends in catastrophe? No, of course not, silly, look at us flying, the clouds so inviting up here.
I'm glad you wrote. I see you and your vulnerability and am not put off by them. This feels like the most sensible way to process what is unfathomable. That and the drawings. The little embroidered ambulance. The mac and cheese.
Chicken & dumplings. Lights. Storm. Zealot. Zoom.
Eye, Parklet. I was a wedding photographer for many years. I can’t tell you how many times I was told something along the lines of “oh good, you’re here. Now we know we can be calm because you’ll handle it”. 😳🤣 Zebra, zygote.
Mac & cheese too. Lights. Eye first, then Storm lingers for days. Absolutely zero Parklet. Paper hats. Zany Zoo (my house right now). I appreciate your bravery in allowing vulnerability and sharing this window into your life. And as always your authenticity and compassion in your creative work and interactions with others. I find writing about the painful parts of life to be really hard. Sharing it even more so. Thank you for the reminder that it makes a difference for how you feel and for others who may read it.
Split pea soup. Flashing (but not for an ambulance). Eye, parklet and paper hats. Zeroth and zygomatic. Thank you for being you.
Vegetable soup, flashing lights, storm, paper hat. Deep appreciation for your writing this week and the vulnerability it takes to openly write about hard times. It is your story and someone else's, yet I feel seen and articulated in a way I could never express about my own experiences. There have been a lot of ambulance calls in my life these past several years, and I was the 911 caller. I never got good at it. My social anxiety combined with fear and nerves during the emergency at hand rendered me nearly useless, or so I felt. The imagery of tapestry covering holes in the walls-- beautifully said-- and so accurate. I always feel incapable and unhelpful during such scary moments. I wish I was good under pressure but I don't want the practice it would require. I like the thought you touched on about what brings us comfort during these times. To even think of the list is comforting and I'll probably be adding that to my journal. Things that bring me comfort. Thank you for this post, for your inspiring art and prompts, and your wonderful way of capturing life in a way that helps me see that it is all worthy to be captured on a page, even the hard times, and it doesn't always have to be beautiful. The authenticity of putting it out there is a beauty of its own.
Friends, potato chips, Eye, Parklet, Paper Hat, Zest,Zeal. Thank you for writing.
Pasta, The Office and Gilmore Girls, flashing lights, storm, zilch, zoo.
"I should be writing beautiful things" - my darling, you have. All of this is beautiful, vulnerable, and so relatable. You are seen, loved, and appreciated. Thanks for sharing. 💜🩷
Peanut butter! I have comfort books more than comfort shows: poetry (Mary Oliver & Maria Popova's newsletters & another woman author I can't remember but who provided enormous solace when I faced an unexpected euthanasia decision for a beloved 4-legged companion, on the 1st day of COVID-19 confinement. Maybe I can't remember her because it would bring back the memory of that painful experience)
No "flashing" but a lot of on/off accompaniment for both parents until their passing - "eye" during that time with the exhaustion arising afterwards.
Zany zebra paper hats 🙂
Thank you for your soulful sharing.
Ice cream and any dumb sitcom from the 80’s.
Stormy flashing lights and a deep understanding of that exhaustion in the aftermath.
Paper hats (I have boys!).
Zydeco and zen.
❤️
Amy,
it isn’t just what you write, which is authentic, searing, true, and brave. It’s how you write it: luminous, tender, frank, full of fear and grit and coping. Comfort food, yes. Penelope, even more. But the writing soars above it. Please don't take it down.
I don’t have a comfort food, I have a comfort app. I spend countless hours playing idiotic video solitaire. I cannot explain why, but when I’ve read too much or written too much or someone in my assisted living dies--I never call the ambulance, but a lot of them come here --well, I can lose myself in Card Shark.
OK, maybe my homemade kimchi, with a splash of sesame oil, to smooth it out and take away the heat.
I’m comforted by whatever current funny show my daughter and I are working through. Parks and Rec right now!
I love chips and dip. Dips of all kinds!
Flashing Storm -- but I did okay on the 911 call I did last month. Not really-- I gave the wrong address!
Parklet-- very useful during my college years
Paper Hats
Zither and Zephyr (these were my first thoughts for letter z and no one else said them!)
I read this week’s post a day late, so I’m glad you hadn’t taken it down before I got to it. Thanks so much.
I just wanted to you to know that I am thinking of you today and am glad that writing & documenting helped. I like the way you described the art of practice as it pertains to drawing and to guitar, and the way we learn these kinds of things are indeed different. Glad you are finding solace in playing/practicing guitar.
Also, parklet
Chicken Sandwich for the win! One of the big things with social media is how so much of what you see is window dessing, Its the stuff people feel good about and want you to see. Life isnt all about the positive. I prefer authenticity. Thank you for sharing this hard time in your life, for being who you are. Sharing is good for the soul just like drawing. paper hat, flashing, eye. Zoe and Zinger
Amy, I never liked comic books, and I think I don’t like graphic novels, but on your recommendation, I picked up Look Again, and I think that is a fabulous book. Thank you for bringing it to my attention. Now I am going to try some other writing that has a lot of drawing in it. I like to draw, but I am so drunk with words I just can’t seem to find the time, I admire that my sister Catherine Sanborn, whom you know, can draw something every day. Well, it’s something to aspire to.