Saturday, August 8, 2020

What A World We Live In

 

Before we went to our respective sleeping places last night, Mr. Moon told me that he was going to go out and disc with the tractor this morning and would probably be gone before I got up. He asked me to please text him and let him know that I was okay which I thought was sweet. 

I was SO tired last night. I guess that tiny little walk did me in. I stayed awake long enough to finish the short book about Walter Anderson but I was asleep as soon as I turned out the light. I woke up once about two-thirty, went back to sleep, woke again about seven-thirty when I heard Mr. Moon stirring his coffee and the next thing I knew, the landline was ringing and it was ten-thirty in the morning and I had been sound asleep.

It was Mr. Moon. 

"Good Lord!" he said when I answered. "I didn't know where you were." He'd texted me and tried to call my cell phone but I turn the ringer off when I go to sleep and so I never heard a thing. 

"Well, I told you I was tired," I said. Here's the funny thing- I didn't feel guilty at all. Usually it's me sending him texts that say things like, "WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU OKAY? I'M WORRIED." And him answering me finally saying, "I'm fine. Don't worry so much."

Ha! 

He asked me to keep an eye out for little Dearie because she didn't seem to be there this morning when he opened the coop. Which did not bode well. When I put them up last night, I didn't see her but her mother had her wings spread and I just assumed that Dearie was underneath them and it turns out she was. But in the night something got in and killed the little chick and now she's gone. We found her little body, pretty torn up in the small coop where she slept with her mother. This is very, very sad. Dottie seems unharmed and I'm not at all sure what happened. Usually a hen will fight to the death to protect her baby and maybe she tried but whatever happened, happened. And Dottie seems amazingly fine with this. Her tail feathers are still spread the way a broody and mama hen's feathers are but she's not calling for Dearie and I am glad of that. 

Yesterday I threw out the two eggs underneath Darla. It was once again time. And today she's finally off the nest and traveling about with Dottie, her sister. 

And that is the biggest news from us today. I picked green beans which was rather torturous in that it was hot as hell and the yellow flies attacked my ankles but as you can see from the picture above I am still getting a good amount of beans. And they are still delicious. 

I have not had any Ibuprofen today. First time since I fell that I haven't had to take any during the daytime. I was stiff and sore when I woke up this morning but walking around and doing stuff unkinked me and I didn't feel the need for pain relief. This is pretty huge. 

So. The book about Walter Anderson by his wife. Well, I can't imagine a better description of loving someone with bi-polar disease. I don't know if he was ever actually diagnosed with that particular ailment because he died before much was understood about it. But from what I read, it was quite obvious that he had all the hallmarks. His wife, Sissy Anderson, loved him and stood by him from the time of their marriage until his death and I really do not understand how. Or even why, to be more specific. He threatened to kill both her and their children at various times. He was in and out of facilities for the treatment of mental illness quite a few times and always escaped. He would disappear for weeks at a time. He would come home, impregnate her and then leave again, claiming that he could not paint or make his art with a family. And throughout all of this she accepted him back whenever he showed up (often at night, leaving before daybreak), supported him in his art, loved him for who he was, raised their four children, worked as a school teacher, took care of her father and then, eventually his mother, and she nurtured and tended her husband as much as he would let her. 

He sounds like a fascinating man in many regards but I really do not know how she did it. The man beat up his beloved mother when she was practically on her death bed. This precipitated another stay in a hospital for him as did almost all of his violent actions against the people who loved him. I was left feeling extreme sorrow for his wife who never gave up on him, believing that his genius explained away so much of his violence, his abandonments, his completely irrational behavior. And of course I feel great sorrow for him because his suffering was endless. 

I'm looking forward to reading the more traditional biography of him that I have. Anderson's artistic output was phenomenal in various media and it would appear that he is still being written about, celebrated and recognized. His sense of oneness with nature was as deep and real as anyone's I can imagine and he spent vast amounts of time painting and drawing in complete isolation on nearby barrier islands which remind me of Dog Island although they were in Mississippi. Do a google search for his art if you'd like. 


From the walls of his house. 

And so it goes. Another day gone by. I have field peas and rice and pork loin on the stove. A loaf of bread is out of the oven. It is an unattractive loaf, flattish and brown and rough. It will be good with butter on it though. I need to make a salad. 

I am thinking about all of the different ways there are to be a human on this earth. All of the different ways to love and to live one's life. And all of the ways there are to appreciate the unique and wonderful and horrible differences. 

I'm going to go pick some basil. 

Love...Ms. Moon




29 comments:

  1. I must read more of Walter Anderson. I come from a family with generations and branches of bi-polar. And art. Some diagnosed, some not. All so, so difficult to control.
    I've decided next year to devote my three big pots to tomatoes and cucumbers.

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    1. That's not a bad plan, Joanne. Flowers are nice but they don't provide much in the way of delicious dishes.
      I'll report in on what I think of the more scholarly biography of Anderson when I finish reading it.

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  2. So sorry to hear about little Dearie's end.........damn whatever got her. Damn, damn, damn. so sorry. Sounds like a good day otherwise.......and I so hope you will be comfy enough to sleep supine in your own bed one night soon. i'm sure you are testing that possibility! My bro broke 4 ribs a while back when he fell off his bike (a training bike on rollers)..........it took him 6 weeks to be able to comfortably lay flat........so you may have a few more weeks to go......but always that to look forward to
    Big gentle hug
    Susan M

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    1. Yes. I keep testing out the bed to see how it goes and so far, it's just not as comfortable. And getting out of it is still a little painful so the chair is still my sleeping place for now.
      Thanks for relating your brother's experience. Makes me feel less of a wussy. And yeah- we're sad about Dearie.

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  3. Awww, I hope that little Dearie was a rooster. makes it easier to know that he is no longer. Interesting about
    Anderson. Mental challenge does brilliant difficult work on this planet. I would say "illness" but it seems that it is not really illness, it is a different way of being, with consequences , also with accomplishments/achievements that are mind blowing. Not easy to live with and not easy to take medication that alters who you are...tough call.

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    1. I think you are exactly right, Linda Sue. Differences, not illnesses with consequences and achievements. I doubt there's any way Anderson could have or would have been so prolific if hadn't had that fire in his belly or brain to keep him awake and working for days on end. And medications in his day weren't very helpful. I doubt he would have taken them anyway.

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  4. Fascinating about Walter Anderson. I wonder how his children fared in life. So sorry to hear the news about Dearie.

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    1. I think they've done well and are proud of their father. I'll be finding out more as I read this other book.

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  5. I am so sorry about your chick but glad to know you are sleeping.

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  6. Condolences on Dearie's departure to the great chicken coop in the sky. What kind of creature killed her do you think? Surely it wouldn't have been one of those cutesy raccoons that share their village with you?

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    1. I just do not know, Mr. P. I think a raccoon would have caused more problems with the mama. Perhaps even a snake. But who knows?

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  7. Can you please give me the name of the Sissy Anderson book as I would love to read it. My WAS diagnosed bipolar (as well - subsequently - as a covert narc) and it is HELL living with these people. He too was violent and ultimately I had to decide if it was me and my kids or him. He cheated anyway (more entitlement anyone?) and I realized I couldn't save him from himself. He's still going 10 years later and on the surface seems better suited to life back in the US but I knew he would put me in a coffin eventually so I had to get out. His having the affair just facilitated it!

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    1. "Approaching the Magic Hour: Memories of Walter Anderson" is the name of the book by his wife. I think in this case, she did not try to save him, merely to try and understand him. Every situation is completely different.

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  8. That wall mural reminds me in some ways of Van Gogh. In another way it is inspirational. I start to wonder if I should begin painting stuff on walls. Or painting again. Bipolar is truly difficult. It seems to run on a scale from super-moody at one end to absolutely deranged at the other. Not sure I would bring kids into a world with a parent who acts like that. I know three kids who are so small, and so desperate and so scared at having their security threatened constantly like this

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    1. His artwork has indeed been compared with Van Gogh's. He was a master at incorporating his oneness with nature in his work.
      I am so sorry about those three children you know. May they be okay.

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  9. i am so sorry about little dearie.

    xxalainaxx

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    1. Thanks, sweetie. And I'd say that this is the risk you take when you have free-range chickens but she was in a coop with her mother when it happened so...
      Who knows? Critters can be clever.

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  10. I'm so sorry about little dearie too. Do you happen to know who the Chicken Chick is? Google her if interested. She's got a website, YouTube channel, and books. She's the #1 authority on how to keep chickens safe. She might have some tips for you. So glad you got your rest... you must have needed it. Sleep is the ultimate healer. Love, Andrea xoxo

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    1. I'll check out the Chicken Chick. Thanks.
      I guess I did need that sleep. I'm so grateful I'm able to get it.

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  11. I've never heard of Walter Anderson. bi-polar or not, I would have given his violent ass the boot. but I do like that wall and door in his house.

    poor little Dearie.

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    1. Well, as I read the book I kept thinking the same- why in the world was she sticking with him? But she was (is) utterly convinced that his genius overrode all else and who knows? Maybe she was right.

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  12. I'm sorry to hear about Dearie. You seem to have had almost a premonition that something like this was going to happen. I wonder what on earth got into that coop.

    Interesting about Walter Anderson. There's a fine line (or maybe not even a line) between genius and mental illness,isn't there? Have you ever heard of Louis Wain, who painted cats? Over the course of his life, as his mental illness got worse, his cats got more and more abstract and psychiatrists later said this was a reflection of his mental condition. He came immediately to mind when I saw that picture of the wall in Walter Anderson's house. Colorful, but pretty far out and maybe indicative of Anderson's mental state. I wonder?

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    1. Who can say how much of art comes from a place of a psyche unlike what we would call "normal"? But yes, there was a LOT
      going on in Anderson's art. He also made furniture, did carvings, made lino prints, decorated pottery... He never stopped.
      The only think I can think of that might have gotten Dearie is a snake. But I could be wrong on that.

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  13. Hi Mary,

    There is a 1958 film titled The Horses Mouth, starring Alec Guinness among others. It is kind of fun and laced way too much with Hollywood but Guinness does an excellent job of capturing the frustration of the artist. It is based loosely on the life of John Bratby. You can google it if you wish, Wiki has a nice write up about the film. My late friend Lenny was in London when the film was made. His brother was attending RADA there and Lenny hung out with a lot of young aspiring actors and actresses. One of them had a speaking roll in the film. Forgive me I don't know her name. Your post talks of the seemingly insanity of artist, there is something of truth there. This film jumped to mind as soon as I read your post.

    So happy to read you are feeling better...

    Tom

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    1. Thank you, Tom! I have been meaning to write you. My energy just hasn't been much these days. I've never heard of that movie or of John Bratby. I'll check it out.
      Hope all is well with you.

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  14. I'm sorry to hear about sweet little Dearie. That is so sad for her and her mother. The Walter Anderson biography sounds interesting and sad as well. I've had some experience with a bipolar family member and it is quite difficult. I'm happy you are feeling better!

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    1. Yes. Difficult. I can only imagine. Dealing with my mother's depression was very hard, especially since I didn't understand what in the world was going on and so often blamed her sadness and pain on myself. If only I could have been a better girl...
      Sigh.

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  15. So sad to hear about Dearie-I was hoping she/he would make it.Love Walter Anderson's art,but his wife must have been a saint to keep taking him back.

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Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.