Posted in Abstract Art, Memories, Photography

Month end, nightmares, memories

End of the month.

It’s when our pension checks arrive and I get to move money around to assorted savings accounts.

It’s when I email the practice log to Brady’s trainer. The practice log lists all the adventures we’ve had during the month.

It’s when I put everything onto an external storage disk.

It’s when I turn a month’s worth of RAW shots into JPEG shots. RAW documents are huge and eat up space on the laptop.

It’s when I clean off the laptop desktop leaving only those files I need to have handy.

This month, it’s also when I wonder when my new laptop will arrive. The current laptop is starting to fail. Before it dies, I need to get a new laptop. This laptop has 500 GB of storage. It has 16 GB of memory. The new laptop that I ordered will have 1TB of storage and 24 GB of memory. I ordered larger memory because I’m tired of getting messages that RAM is almost all used up. I’m hoping with 1 TB of storage that I’ll only have to do end of month laptop chores every other month.

I’m not looking forward to the new laptop. It means I have to move things from one laptop to another and I don’t know how to do that. It means I will need to move music from one laptop to another, and I don’t know how to do that. I used to be able to do that by putting all the music on a usb drive and manually transferring from the usb drive to the new laptop. Except something has changed with the music and I haven’t figured out how to get the music onto a usb drive. I’m going to set up an appointment with the Apple folks at the campus bookstore to do all this fun stuff for me.

I’ve been doing some night photography. Last night, the full moon was partially covered by clouds. Because I shoot in RAW, I was able to tweak the photo in editing and the result is pretty much what I saw last night.

We’ve finally had rain, and I’ve been photographing what’s blooming.

Originally, I was going to work on realism this semester in my painting class. That didn’t work out.

I thought this was a landscape until I figured out it was art therapy. I see myself as the water under the glacier and I’m slowly coming out from a lifetime of misery.

Then, I started working on memories from when I was a little kid.

My grandmother, who couldn’t see across the room because she was too vain to wear glasses, insisted she could see sputnik.

There used to be magic in the night sky. The moon was made of green cheese. Or was hollow. Or was a giant dust bunny. As soon as Neil Armstrong’s boot touched the surface of the moon, the magic was gone. We traded magic for knowledge. I wanted to put the magic back into the moon so I painted it pink.

From there, I moved on to my childhood nightmares about nuclear war. Mine was the first generation to grow up with The Bomb. I had nightmares of burning skeletons. That morphed into repeating nightmares. One is of my teeth breaking. My mother thought teeth were a temporary nuisance and figured if she didn’t have teeth her kids didn’t need teeth. When I did finally have a tooth that crumbled, I got hysterical when the dentist told me I would need to have what was left of the tooth extracted. Losing a tooth meant my mother won and that would be a catastrophe.

I have ideas for another two paintings. One is a repeating nightmare where I cross Niagara Falls by walking from stepping stone to stepping stone terrified I will fall. Another is still forming in my head and I’m not sure I can accurately paint it.  

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: https://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com/

My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

My online store is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

Posted in bipolar disorder, Depression, PTSD

Depression is Pretty Depressing

Complex PTSD is pretty depressing. C-PTSD and depression together and are bone numbing. C-PTSD comes from a series of traumas over a period of time when there’s no hope of escape. Translation: child abuse causes C-PTSD.

I’ve been working my way through the Mindbloom series on depression. Mindbloom is ketamine at home with support from Mindbloom clinicians and guides.

For years, I felt nothing when I had a flashback. I longed to feel now what I felt when the child abuse was happening. Then, the flashbacks allowed me to see the horror of what I lived through. Then, the flashbacks arrived with the same emotions I felt at the time of the child abuse.

I have a theory about flashbacks. At the time of the trauma, the part of our brain that is for self preservation blocks the overwhelming emotions that happen at the time of the trauma. Then, when our brains know we are ready, we have flashbacks. Flashbacks are part of healing. One day, being tired of the flashbacks, I decided to look at the flashback I was having, acknowledge what happened was horrible, and the flashback sunk down and never returned. That’s the secret to flashbacks. Look at them. Acknowledge them. They lose their power.

The flashbacks I’m having now are part of the healing and recovery process. I no longer have the repeating nightmares. I don’t remember when I had the last one. The flashbacks are no longer debilitating. But 51 years after leaving a toxic home, I’m still having flashbacks. I doubt I will ever be free of the flashbacks.

We watched a movie the other night. I had no reason to think this movie would trigger flashbacks. But it did. One brief scene and so much of the crap from my childhood came rushing through my brain. I’m starting to see the refusal of the adults who lied to me acknowledge their lies, the adults who beat the crap out of me and refused to admit they did anything wrong, and when I finally got the courage to disclose the abuse, the adults refused to believe me and blamed me for getting beaten – all of that was truly horrible. There’s some fierce pissed off just behind that realization. The thought of all that pissed off coming out is scary. But it has to come out. I will never be free until the fury comes out of me.

Posted in Uncategorized

Shooting Star Magic

I saw a shooting star last night.

There used to be magic in the night sky. For thousands of years, people invented legends about the night sky. The stars formed pictures. The dark side of the moon was unknown and dark.

When I was little, we would sit on the front porch in the summer and wonder about the night sky. My grandmother would look for the Soviet satellite sputnik.

Starkle starkle little twink, who the hell you are I think. I don’t know the rest of the words.

The moon is made of green cheese. The Man in the Moon. How did he get such huge acne scars? Maybe the moon is hollow. That’s why we have to make the moon a nuke free zone. Maybe the moon is a huge ball of dust and to walk on the moon is to sink into the dust.

VISTA Volunteers In Service To America. These photos – of poverty and hunger – were taken in the same country as the country that took these photos – of the moon. It’s a commercial I remember more than 50 years later. There was no money for decent health care. There was no money for food. There was no money for decent shelter. There were unlimited funds for a cold war race to the moon.

Then, on July 20, 1969, Neil Armstrong forever banished the magic. The moon is solid. The moon is made of the same stuff as the earth. The dark side of the moon isn’t always dark and we know what it looks like. The acne scars were caused by meteors crashing into the moon.

Stars don’t shoot. Meteors float around in space. When the earth passes through an area of meteors, some of the meteors burn up into the atmosphere. The light lasts a few seconds and then the meteor is burnt up.

We have knowledge. Lots and lots of knowledge. Each bit of knowledge destroys a bit of magic.

I miss the magic. That’s why I didn’t see a meteor, I saw a shooting star.

That’s why I painted a green cheese moon.

Posted in Sewing

Cargo Pockets

If I ever decide to make cargo pockets again, someone stop me!

I wanted shorts with cargo pockets. I’ve got a Green Pepper Pattern for cargo pants. I thought I could just take the pocket pattern piece from that pattern and use it for cargo pockets on my shorts. I’ve been sewing 59 years and I couldn’t understand the directions. I decided to draft my own cargo pocket. Just a simple patch pocket with a pleat in the center. I drafted a pattern for the pocket flap.

I sewed the shorts together leaving the inseam open. I thought that would give me plenty of room. It didn’t. If there’s a next time, I’ll sew the side seams, but put the pockets on before sewing the center seam.

I think I want the pocket wider, but I’ll need to wear the shorts to know for sure. The point of having cargo pockets is so I’ll have someplace handy to put treats for Brady.

Update: I’ve worn the bra for several hours and it’s comfortable. I’ve ordered a no band pattern from Pin Up Girls. I’m hoping the two patterns, both Pin Up Girls patterns,, can be fit the same.

My store, Deb Thuman Art, is at http://www.DebThumanArt.com

My Spoonflower shop is at: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: https://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com/

Posted in PTSD

Ketamine and cPTSD

cPTSD. Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It’s harder to treat than regular PTSD. It comes from repeated trauma over a period of time. People who survive child abuse frequently have cPTSD. That’s how I got it. I survived 16 years of child abuse followed by 18 years of adult abuse. The abuse ended when I removed my violent drunken, narcissistic mother from my life.

When the debilitating flashbacks started in 1972, there was no PTSD diagnosis. 10 years later when I realized I had PTSD, there was no cPTSD diagnosis. I’ve wandered through healing mostly by myself. One day, I was so tired of flashbacks that I decided to look at the flashback and acknowledge it. To my shock, the flashback dissolved and that particular one hasn’t come back. I’ve looked at and acknowledged flashbacks ever since.

I have a theory about PTSD. At the time of trauma, your brain, in order to survive the trauma, shuts down. Finally, when you’re able to process the trauma, your brain lets you remember. Flashbacks are a sign of healing.

I don’t know how I got the repeating nightmares to stop, but I don’t remember when I had the last one.

The flashbacks are still happening although they are no longer debilitating. I can’t run from my triggers because I can’t see the triggers coming. For instance, I’ll be watching TV and a character will say something that suddenly triggers a flashback. Today, I watched a music video, and it triggered a flashback.

For years, I had flashbacks, but no emotion to go with them. I must have felt something at the time the abuse was happening. Eventually, I had flashbacks and could comprehend the horror of what happened. Recently, the flashbacks have been accompanied by the emotions I felt at the time of abuse. Now I know why I buried the emotions.

In February, I discovered that there were companies that offered at-home ketamine treatments. I’ve had a ketamine infusion and it instantly killed the depression. I searched the internet and found Mindbloom. https://www.mindbloom.com/

At home ketamine is a much lower dose than an infusion. No magical mystery tour complete with hallucinations. More like my mind wandering. Gradually, I found myself having emotions to coordinate with the flashbacks. I’m not having fun, but I know this is part of healing.

Last week, the ketamine session triggered …. I’m not sure what. I found myself thinking about astronomy in the way I thought about biology when I was in college and would lie awake nights trying to figure out how water crossed the cell membrane. I found myself wondering what caused the Big Bang. Where did electrons and protons come from? I felt the beauty of science. No matter how much is discovered, there are still so many more questions that don’t yet have answers.

I’ve no idea what that means.

Maybe it means I’m finally going to be free.

Posted in Sewing

This Shouldn’t Be This Difficult

All I want is a bra that’s pretty, fits, doesn’t poke me, and the straps stay up. I had no idea how hard it would be to achieve that.

I stopped counting the number of bras I made so I could tweak the fit at 7 bras. It’s too depressing to count higher than that. Cups too big. Cups too small. Bridge too narrow. I have a copy of The Bra Makers Manual and kept checking to see what I was doing wrong. I came across instructions on how to turn a back closure bra into a front closure bra. And so I followed the directions, increased the width of the bridge, and tried again to have a bra that fits. Being discouraged from all the attempts that didn’t fit, I was in no hurry to finish this bra. I’m pretty sure another failure would be the last attempt.  

I wanted to line the bra so I wouldn’t have raw seams. A friend was downsizing and sent me all of her sheer fabric. I thought one of the sheers would be perfect for lining the bra. It wasn’t. I had a horrible time sewing the parts together in sheer fabric. The threads pulled and gathered the seams. I switched to hand basting. When it came time to attach the channel for the under wire, I attempted to tack the lining to the bra cups. Except the sheers had gathered enough that I couldn’t. I had already sewn the lining to the edges of the bra and attached the elastic to the bottom of the band. The only option was to cut the lining out. And so I did.

I attached the under wire channel and inserted the under wire and discovered I had cut the channel too short.  I had to add about an inch of channel to one end on each cup.

I bought hooks and eyes for the front closure and wondered why anyone would buy hook and eye tape. When I was sewing the hooks and eyes to the bra, I discovered why. Sewing individual hooks and eyes is a PITA.

I attached the straps to the back of the bra and pinned the other end of the straps to the front of the bra. I attempted to put the bra on. It was too small and wouldn’t stretch. I wondered what I did wrong. I didn’t do anything wrong. In order to sew the elastic to the power net without stretching the power net, I put a strip of water-soluble stabilizer behind the power net. I hadn’t washed out the stabilizer, and the stabilizer was keeping the power net from stretching. At the moment, the bra is on the line drying.

My online store, Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: https://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com/

Posted in Uncategorized

We Are Covered With Innocent Blood

My grandmother was a diehard republican. According to my grandmother, there was never a bad republican nor a good democrat. She would invent stupid reasons for not voting for democrats – like refusing to vote for Michael Dukaksis because he was too short to be president.

When I was little, it was my grandmother’s mission to raise a good, republican granddaughter. One day, she showed me the front page of the newspaper, pointed to a photo of Eisenhower, and asked me who that was. “Krushchev!” said I. She gave up.

Only once did she agree with a democrat – Truman dropping nuclear bombs on innocent Japanese citizens.

Only once did she criticize a republican – she was furious that Bush I went to Hirohito’s funeral.

Even as a little kid, I knew dropping nuclear weapons on people was morally wrong. Mine is the first generation to grow up with The Bomb. I had nightmares about dropping hydrogen bombs and burning skeletons.

78 years ago today, the United States committed the despicable act of dripping an atomic bomb on Hiroshima. Rather than repent, we dropped another atomic bomb on Nagasaki. Rather than repent, we built more bombs and tested them above ground thereby poisoning land, water, animals and people.

Today is the 78th anniversary of our national shame.

Posted in Uncategorized

Stupid, Short Sighted Politicians Owned By The Oil Companies

What bothers me about the push towards total electricity is politicians overlook so much. 

We have to mine stuff for batteries. How do we do that without horrible pollution and poison water? At the moment, we’re poising pristine small islands and countries to get the stuff we need for batteries. Just because we aren’t living with the damage we’re causing doesn’t mean there’s no damage. Just because the damage isn’t happening in the US doesn’t mean it’s okay to damage other places. If you want an idea of how much damage mining does, take a look at West Virginia. Read about the Buffalo Creek disaster. Read about blowing off mountain tops to mine coal. Look at Pennsylvania where you own the surface of land but not what’s underneath. Why is that a problem? Because the coal companies mine under your house, and you are SOL if the mine caves in and what’s left of your house is a mile below the surface. There’s quite a bit of case law on subsidence and every time the courts sided with the coal companies. 

Batteries don’t live forever. What do we do with the dead batteries? 

Electricity doesn’t grow on trees. How are we going to generate all this extra electricity? We’ve got an electric grid that can’t handle electric use now. 

Exchange gas appliances for electric. What are we going to do with all the dead appliances? Why should I spend money to replace perfectly good appliances? I had the 21-year-old a/c units replaced only because the ones we had were close to dead. I have a perfectly good gas dryer and perfectly good gas stove. I’ll replace them when they die but not before. 

It takes 30-40 minutes to fully charge an electric car at a charging station. And what am I supposed to do for that 30-40 minutes? Worse, what am I supposed to do while I wait for the people ahead of me to charge their cars? 

This business about saving gas money is false. Electricity isn’t free.

 Plug the car in at home? Great. Wait 10-12 hours for the car to charge. Yes, you can buy home charging stations. That’s not an option for me. We’d have to run a special electric line 10 miles from Las Cruces to Dona Ana. That’s a major expense because the electric company charges by the foot for the line and the installation. The electricity still isn’t free. 

Electric vehicles don’t have much of a rang unless the car is a sub-compact. NM has a whole lot of middle of nowhere and very few charging stations. While I’ve always looked for great gas mileage and am content to drive a small car, I also need something practical. Brady has to ride in a crate and that crate won’t fit in the Mini. It barely fits in the Elantra. When I have to use a walker, I have to drag it with me when I go somewhere. Getting the walker in and out of the trunk of the Elantra is a fight. I never thought I’d buy something the size of the Santa Fe, but I need a vehicle that size. The electric Santa Fe – which cost $10K more than what I paid for my Santa Fe  – has a range of 30 miles. My 2021 Santa Fe has the same gas mileage as my 2016 Elantra. Plus, we only buy a new car when the car we have is dead. The Camry lived for 17 years and had 280k+ miles on it when it became too expensive and impractical to fix.  We don’t sell the old car when we get a new one. We send the old car to the junk yard. 

Why are we letting oil companies frack the crap out of the Permian Basin if we’re pushing to go total electric? Why are we letting oil companies put in more and more wells in the Permian Basin if we’re pushing to go total electric? If we care about climate change, why are we letting oil companies release way more methane than allowed? More to the point, why are we letting them release any methane? 

I’ve lived in a total electric house. It’s unbelievably expensive. In Lockport, we had one bill for gas and electric and our total electric house had zoned heating – a thermostat for each room. Even with solar panels on the house, it was too expensive to have a warm house. How expensive? I’ve never had an electric bill here that was as high as what we paid in Lockport and I’m living in a house twice the size of what we had in Lockport.  When we put in a ceramic log burning gas stove, our bill dropped $150. And the stove had only been in for about half of the billing cycle. We installed it in February – the coldest month of the winter. The high temp is about 10 degrees and there’s a 60 mph wind blowing across a frozen Lake Erie. The lake typically has 200 square miles of ice in the winter. Instead of a cold house, the gas stove let me have a warm house. Electricity is only cheap if you don’t use any. And where did that electricity come from? A brand new coal fired generating station that’s now obsolete and offline.

Cold weather drains batteries at an incredibly fast rate. Anyone who has ever done outdoor photography in the winter knows that. And it doesn’t have to get all that cold before the batteries drain at warp speed. Rapid draining starts at about 35F. Those electric vehicles are close to useless in the north east for about 6 months out of the year. 

My issue isn’t with electricity. My issue is with not thinking through what’s needed and how we get what’s needed and what we do with the dead batteries. 

A better approach would be to push for hybrid vehicles. Less gas used, but no need to wonder where the nearest charging station is or to be stuck with a travel range of 30 miles. A better approach is to push for solar electricity. Make it so solar panels are affordable. We did get a price for solar panels on our house, but it was horribly expensive, more than $20K. Solar panel companies regularly go out of business and then you’re stuck with a system that can’t be fixed if it breaks. And they do break. Been there, done that. Refuse to issue any more drilling permits and permanently revoke every drilling permit for any oil company that releases more than the allowable amount of methane.

Posted in bipolar disorder, Service Dog

Invisible

Not all disabilities are visible.

Except for extreme stupidity. Extreme stupidity is usually easy to spot. Attorneys have to sit through seminars in order to keep their licenses. I sat through one about emotional support dogs.  Although emotional support dogs don’t have the access rights that service dogs have, they have more access rights than Fido the Family Pet. Aside from the fact the attorney giving the presentation gave advice that would ensure a landlord would be sued for discrimination, the attorney said that if presented with a letter from a doctor attesting to a person’s disability and you don’t see a disability, the letter is a fake.  Just because you can’t see my disability doesn’t mean I don’t have a disability. I left a scathing review in which I thanked the presenter for teaching people how to discriminate against me.

Is it a real service dog? Or a fake? There is no certification for service dogs although fake certification certificates are sold on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/Certificate-Presentation-Customized-Information-Registration/dp/B08DBYX3L1/ref=sr_1_6?crid=1ZW5KG0CEOKDV&keywords=service+dog+certification&qid=1690921545&sprefix=service+dog+certification%2Caps%2C180&sr=8-6

Jim was at physical therapy yesterday. A couple with a small dog came in. The man was getting physical therapy while the woman and the small dog waited. The dog was wearing a vest and was labeled “service dog.” The dog was jumping up and down and playing with the physical therapist.  Fake service dog? Or dog that needs a whole lot more training? Service dogs in training have the same access rights in New Mexico as fully-trained service dogs although service dogs in training should have a label stating service dog in training on the dog’s vest. Neither service dogs nor service dogs in training are required by law to have labels on their vests or even wear a vest.

Amazon also sells patches proclaiming access cannot be denied. https://www.amazon.com/Required-Exceptions-Harnesses-Embroidered-Fastener/dp/B07QPYBZF1/ref=sr_1_5?crid=SF67N733YTQM&keywords=service+dog+access&qid=1690922771&sprefix=service+dog+access%2Caps%2C181&sr=8-5  

That’s not accurate. Although Brady can accompany me in the emergency room, be with me in the psych ward, and be with me in a regular hospital room, she cannot accompany me into the operating room. A service dog can almost never be denied access to a public place, but access can be denied for health and safety reasons.

People who don’t have service dogs don’t understand service dogs. Although most people are familiar with guide dogs for people who are blind or visually impaired and service dogs trained to help veterans who have PTSD, many people have no idea what else a service dog can be trained to do. Dogs have an incredible sense of smell. Dogs can smell changes in glucose levels and service dogs are trained to alert a diabetic human if the glucose level is too high or too low. Dogs can smell mood swings and can be trained to alert the bipolar human when a mood swing starts. Dogs can smell an impending seizure and are trained to alert humans with seizure disorders when they are about to have a seizure. Dogs have been trained to assist people who are autistic, have anxiety and panic disorders, and a whole lot of stuff I haven’t thought of.

Brady is my service dog in training.

She knows when I’m having a rough day, and gets distressed when she can’t figure out what to do to help me. We start that training later this week. I’ve been giving her new experiences such as taking her to a fabric shop she had never visited. We went to the post office when I knew it wasn’t crowded. She has gone with me to see my chiropractor although that wasn’t particularly successful. Brady monitored the door and barked when a patient came in. We’re now working on keeping her from monitoring the door This is done by having her face away from the door and preferably face a corner. There’s a homeless man who frequents our favorite Starbucks. For some reason, she barks at him although she doesn’t bark at other homeless people. We went to Starbucks on a day when the outside temp was 108. Way too hot to sit outside. The only free chair was next to the homeless man. Brady ignored him and faced into the corner. I was both thrilled and relieved. As expected, her training isn’t going in a straight line. She’s ahead of where we think she is in some respects and behind in some other respects.

Do you know the proper etiquette for behavior towards service dogs? I’m discovering many people don’t. Never distract a service dog. Do not talk to a service dog. Do not make eye contact with a service dog. Do not pet a service dog. Distracting a service dog can be deadly for the service dog’s human.

Although there are days when I don’t feel like interacting with people, I have to force myself to remember that any person accompanied by a dog in a public place is going to be asked two questions that ought to be answered: What kind of dog is that? Where did you get your dog? Then I have to force myself to give a polite answer.

My online store, Deb Thuman Art, featuring really cool, deluxe dog bandanas is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

Posted in Fiber, Photography, Sewing

Banging My Head On My Desk

Anyone know why wordpress will not let me access my account on Opera? Yes, I tried. No, it will not take my email address. No, it will not take my username. No, it will not let me use a link sent to my email. I’m starting to hate wordpress.

Sew lots and lots of dog bandanas. Check.

Figure out how to photograph dog bandanas. Check.

Photograph dog bandanas. Check.

Edit photos of dog bandanas. Check.

Upload photos of dog bandanas to my store, http://www.DebThumanArt.com Check.

Write copy for dog bandana listings. Check.

Put listings into my store. Check.

Send photo of each listing to my personal Facebook page. Check.

Send photo of each listing to my Facebook business page, Deb Thuman’s New and Improved Art Page. Check.

Move photos from laptop to iPad. Check.

Figure out how to get the photos onto Instagram. Check.

Wonder why I bother with Instagram. Check.

Get photos and link to my store onto Instagram. Check.

Send photos to google photos. Check.

And that’s why I didn’t get much done today.

I spent a good part of the week tweaking a bra pattern. I’m determined to make a bra that fits and is comfortable. The first three versions weren’t right, but each was closer to being right than the preceding version. I had to dig out my copy of Bra Maker’s Manual to find out how to solve the drooping problem. I need to alter the pattern piece for the upper cup slightly. I also need to alter the back slightly so I can attach the straps closer to the middle of the back of the bra. I hope that solves the falling strap problem. Once I get all the tweaks worked out, there will be photos.

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: https://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com/

My store, Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

Posted in Dyeing, Fiber, Sewing

Sewing & Dyeing

I’ve been sewing. And dyeing. I altered a pattern to make tee tops, and tweaked again to make tops from woven fabric.

For the most part, I like these tops. I think they would have been more successful in a different fabric. These are all made from 100% cotton. I’d like to try sewing with batiste, but there’s no batiste for sale locally. I could order batiste online, but I’ve never worked with batiste and I’d like to be able to feel the fabric before buying.

The 100% cotton knit tops were more successful and incredibly comfortable. I bought 10 yards of white cotton knit from Dharma Trading with the intention of making tee tops. Wrestling 10 yard of 60″ wide fabric isn’t easy and I wish I had a 30′ long cutting table. I used an eight foot long table and set it up in the kitchen. After I got the tee tops made, I dyed them. There are five tops and three are solid colors. Here are the wild ones.

I folded the fabric horizontally and then tied it with strips of fabric. The design is a bit more subtle than I anticipated, but I like it.

For this one, I tied buttons into the fabric and used twist ties to hold the buttons in place. The trick is to make sure none of the circles fall on an embarrassing part of the body.

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: https://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com/

My online store, Deb Thuman Art, is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

Posted in Child abuse, Emotions, Grief

Tina

I have three horrible days a year:

April 1. The day my sister, Tina, was born.

June 24. The day she died.

Sivan 19. Tina’s yahrzeit when kaddish is said for her in the temple.

My sister was an incredible person. She could see the best in misery and she was fearless. She was 10 years younger than me and the last of four children.

When she was 13 months old, my mother watched her play under the kitchen sink and pour oven cleaner over herself. My mother cleaned her off and put the oven cleaner soaked sneaker back on her foot. Then, my mother spent the next several hours screaming at Tina to stop crying. Eventually, Tina’s diaper needed changing. That’s when my mother saw the burns. Tina had second and third degree burns from the waist down. The foot wearing the oven cleaner soaked sneaker was burned nearly to the bone. Eventually, the burns healed leaving only a huge scar on top of her foot. Tina thought the scar was interesting. I thought it was an outward scar from child abuse rather than an inward, hidden scar.

When she was in high school, she went skiing with some of her friends. Tina tore wild down the mountain. It’s an Olympic sport now, but then it was called hot dogging. One of her friends asked her where she learned to hot dog. She told her friend that she didn’t know how to ski.

Years later, after I discovered I was adopted and was searching for my father, Tina told me no one wants to see me hurting. She then offered to put me in touch with someone who could, albeit not legally, help me find my father. I declined.

Years later, after her daughter was born, Tina told me she had wanted to be a surgeon. Our parents, being jealous of anyone who had an education and certain it was a waste of money to send a girl to college, decreed we couldn’t go to college. Instead, Tina went to B.O.C.E.S, part of the education system that taught students a trade, and learned to be a hairdresser. But she had wanted to be a surgeon. I told her to go to college and med school. I started college when I was 25, and started law school on my 38th birthday. I had been admitted to the New York State bar four months before my niece was born. Tina told me it was too late for her and what she wanted to do was take cooking classes. She made me sauteed eggplant with onions and garlic for dinner. It was delicious. I still can’t eat eggplant without crying.

Tina was a fantastic hairdresser. She had moved to New York City, found a job at an upscale salon, and concentrated on hair coloring. She hated it when I referred to hair coloring as a dye job. Tina was Brad Pitt’s hairdresser which means Brad isn’t a natural blond.

Although Tina died 26 years ago, I’ve never recovered from her death. My mother, a truly horrible person, told my other siblings that if they told me Tina had cancer or that she died they would be disinherited. My mother died after spending a few years in a nursing home so there was nothing left to inherit. My siblings had sold their humanity for nothing.

As each horrible day approaches, I wait in anxiety and fear. Will this year be especially painful? Will this year be only sad?

This past Friday, we read kaddish for Tina in my temple. I cried through the entire prayer.  I dread the coming anniversary of her death on the 24th.

Posted in Fiber, Photography

How Many Designs Can Dance On The Head Of A Pin ?

Lots.

Start here. It rained overnight, and I got up just in time to photograph water drops on a white yucca bloom.

Play with orientation.

All of the fancy effects are from a mostly free editing app, PhotoScape X. It’s available for both Mac and PC. Most of the app is free, but for a one-time charge of $40, you get the whole app and it’s updated regularly.

Next, I upload the photos to Spoonflower and I start designing. When I have enough designs, I order proofs. When the proofs come back, I put the designs in my Spoonflower shop.

My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: https://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com/

Posted in Abstract Art, Photography

Art Therapy

Whether I want to or not, I paint art therapy rather than art. I don’t do pretty. I probably can’t do pretty. I do kick you in the gut.

Lately, I’ve been painting social commentary.

My original intention was to paint a scene from a park in Tucson, Arizona from one of the many photos I took when we visited the park. Instead, I made social commentary. When I was in law school, I had to take a course in natural resources. One day, I decided I had enough and complained that no one was seeing any inherent value in land or animals. Land has no value until you bulldoze it, remove every plant, and slap tract housing or a strip mall on it. Animals have no value until you kill them and rip their skin off. If animals had value, there would be no steel leg traps. Here in the southwest, desert is land with no value. City boundaries are extended every time a developer wants to put up tract housing and plant grass. We’re on year 20 of a serious drought, and people still insist on having grass in the desert. We’ve got a desert yard and only stuff that grows naturally in the desert is planted in the yard. I think we could put a dent in the water shortage by doubling the property taxes on any real estate that has grass.

If you see a saguaro cactus east of Tucson, it was stolen. Saguaros grow for about 70 years before getting their first “arm.” Apparently, saguaros only have value when they are ripped up and planted in someone’s yard.

There is no ocean front property in Hawaii. The beaches and access to the beaches belong to the people. This is from a photo I took when we visited the north shore of Oahu. The north shore is V shaped, and this beach is in the bottom of the V. Pipeline – the most deadly place to surf on the planet – is to the east towards the top of the V. I’m not happy with the painting. I don’t like how the water looks, but when I tried to fix it, it didn’t get fixed.

I didn’t realize I had neglected to move the chain out of the way before I took the shot. The blue in the middle is a Hebrew word meaning life. This one is both personal and political. People have been trying to wipe us out for 6000 years. We’re still here. My mother tried to destroy me. I’m still here.

The original is a photo I took for a photography class last spring. I introduced the photo by saying if you don’t know what these are, you had better learn because you might need them. I need to change the introduction a bit. If you don’t know what these are, you better learn because you will need them. These are DIY instruments often made from coat hangers. The instrument on the left spreads the cervix making room for the instrument on the right which scrapes away the lining of the uterus. A few years back, I had a biopsy and discovered that I have a septate uterus. For those women having a uterus like mine, pregnancy is life threatening. There’s a 90% chance of a miscarriage if a woman has a septate uterus. Now, with doctors too terrified (or too chickenshit) to remove the remains of a partial miscarriage, women are being sent home from emergency rooms so they can bleed to death in the comfort of their own home. If they become septic and are close to dead, they will be allowed back into the hospital where they will listen to some ob/gyn try to talk them into having a hysterectomy.

I’ve been doing some photography. My photography at least is art rather than a kick in the gut. Spring in the desert comes with blooms that don’t last long.

These are shots from a red yucca growing in our front yard.

These shots are of the magic prickly pear in our front yard. During the day, the flowers are yellow – just like every other prickly pear cactus in our yard. In the morning and early evening, the flowers are peach colored. I’ve no idea why that happens.

I have two posts this week. The other post, which is here: https://debthumanblog.com/2023/05/06/this-weekend-will-again-be-painful/ is about the annual misery I go through around mother’s day.

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: https://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com/

Deb Thuman Art with jewelry for sale is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

Posted in Child abuse, Depression, Emotions, Memories, PTSD, Unwanted Children

This Weekend Will Again Be Painful

I’ll be staying home on Sunday. I detest mother’s day. My mother was a violent, drunken narcissist and it would be bordering on impossible to find a time she when was nice to me. I vividly remember when acne started for me. Not because of worrying about dates or classmates. I didn’t have dates because I was what she called her “built in babysitter.” I had to watch her kids while she went out and got drunk. After getting dressed one school day morning, I walked into the kitchen, and my mother gleefully announced, “Debby has a pimple on her nose. She looks just like a witch.”

Nothing I did was right. Nothing I did made her proud. Although I wasn’t allowed to take math and science courses in high school, I put myself through college starting at age 25. I wasn’t allowed to go to college after high school although I badly wanted a college education. I earned two degrees. One in journalism and the other in biology. It was not easy to take science courses having never had any science classes in high school. I did it anyway. My mother refused to come to my graduation because she had to “open up the cottage.” My mother and her husband, hereinafter The Drunk, owned a cottage at a lake in the Southern Tier of New York. My siblings, their friends, and the hired help could spend weekends at the cottage. I wasn’t allowed to go there. One year, The Drunk told Jim to fix the dock at the cottage so there would be a nice place for them to play. Jim declined.

One summer, my mother and siblings went to the cottage during the week, and I had to stay home and babysit The Drunk. I’d spend the day going through cookbooks looking for interesting recipes to make for dinner. The Drunk would always come home late, tell me he had already eaten, and stagger up the stairs to go to bed. I asked to go with my mother and siblings, and she told me I couldn’t.

When I would spend the night at a friend’s house, my mother would tell me after I got home, “It was so peaceful while you were gone.”

Imagine a hurt so deep that even 51 years later I can vividly remember what she said to me.

One year, I got her an especially appropriate mother’s day gift: a Venus flytrap. She let it die. Another year, I drove to her house to give her a mother’s day gift – can’t remember what it was – and sat in her driveway crying. That’s how much I didn’t want to see her. I forced myself to get out of the car, walk up to the front door and ring the doorbell.  It never occurred to me to just walk in. It wasn’t my house.

At my maternal grandmother’s funeral, she bragged to the extended family about drinking so much she puked. She then proceeded to talk about her kids growing up. I remained silent simultaneously wishing she said anything about me and dreading her saying anything about me because I knew whatever she said would be hurtful. My sister-in-law said a friend had made a casserole for the family. I silently wondered if it would be okay for me to stay and eat some of the casserole. I wasn’t part of the family. No one threw me out, so I stayed and ate.

One day, my sister-in-law was at my mother’s house. She gave my SIL wine. She didn’t offer me even lukewarm water in a cracked cup. When I mentioned that to her, she made it my fault that I had nothing to drink. After all, she insisted, it was my house. It was never my house.

While I was working between high school and marriage, I asked – I knew better than to just take – to have an egg so I could have an egg salad sandwich for lunch the next day. She refused to let me have an egg.

I don’t have children  – a decision I’ve never regretted – because I could never do to another person what was done to me and I knew no other way. One therapy session I asked my psychologist why anyone would want to have children. He thought I was making a joke. I still can’t imagine why anyone would want children.  It isn’t easy not to have children. I got pressured by both friends and family who, for some reason, thought biology was destiny. Turning 40 was a relief. People stopped pressuring me because, science notwithstanding, people think pregnancy after age 40 is too dangerous. What an incredible relief to be allowed to be myself.

At age 66, I discovered being without children was one of the healthiest things I’ve done. A biopsy revealed I have a septate uterus. If I had managed to get pregnant, I would have had a 90% chance of a miscarriage. Deciding not to have children didn’t just save my sanity; it may well have saved my life.  

Time, and a whole lot of therapy, removed from me a longing to have a mother. I still hate mother’s day.