Cherishing Every Moment We Have

Repost from my Spydersmom blog.

Our Frylie had surgery to remove a mast cell cancer tumor from his side. Due to the moderately high grade of the tumor at that time, we were told he would likely only survive about six more months. That was 22 months ago, and during the intervening gift of time with him, he's survived two more surgeries, one to remove a cancerous tumor on his toes and one to remove another mast cell tumor. The mast cell this last time, seven weeks ago, returned as very high grade and aggressive, but he had been doing surprisingly well. That is, until a few days ago when he began to have difficulty climbing steps. On his return visit to the veterinarian, Dr. Chris found what we'd all been dreading. It appeared another mast cell tumor had arisen, this time deep in the muscles of Fry's hip, and all signs point to this being terminal.

As our precious boy is already nearly 13 years old and becomes overwhelmingly anxious about hospitalization and painful infusions, we elected to forego chemotherapy, which would likely not give him much more in the way of time anyway and most probably not really improve his quality of life due to his extreme anxieties and fears of being in the hospital repeatedly for infusions.

So I'm sitting here typing this while trying to hold back tears and attempting to keep my sweet boy as comfortable as possible on his soft bed where he's resting at my feet. His current hospice care includes oral medications to relieve his discomfort and anxiety, and we've removed the legs from basically all our furniture so he doesn't have to climb up to get on the couch or bed. His appetite is decreased, but he is still eating and drinking, and his bathroom habits continue to be normal. And as he still seems to enjoy going for occasional very short, slow, easy walks in the neighborhood, we don't believe it's time yet, but deep in my heart I fear he's not much longer for this world.

If you're reading this, please light a candle for our precious Frylie. He's been the light of our lives for the past 12 years, and we continue to treasure every single moment we have remaining with him as a gift so precious it's impossible to deserve. This kind, humble soul with the biggest, softest heart and sweetest eyes, is the very embodiment of joy and gentleness. We will be with him through to the very end, and when that time finally arrives will give him the final gift of being with him as he transitions across the Rainbow Bridge.

Stories

"And if the cloudbursts thunder in your ear
You shout, and no one seems to hear"
~ Roger Waters ~

When we listen, really listen, Mother Nature has endless stories to tell us. My paintings represent those stories as they reside in my heart, so marketing them as mere commodities to sell goes a bit against the grain of my being. But I want those stories to be told and I feel art should be seen, so I still find myself seeking opportunities to display my works and share their stories with others. Realizing that most art exhibit venues rely on sales in order to survive, I do ultimately put prices on my paintings when necessary, but sales are not what I fundamentally seek. What I most desire is the sharing of the stories I hear from Nature through my artworks, and the hope that after I’m gone from this earth there will be someone to tell my story as well.

"And Long I Stood There Peering Deep Into That Darkness"
© 2020 Tammy Kaufman
7" x 9.25" soft pastel on Pastelmat

Perhaps it’s selfish, but I imagine my paintings carrying on after I’ve shaken off this mortal coil. I’d like to believe the abundant trove of artwork I’ve produced over the years will allow not only the stories Nature told me to be preserved, but also my own story to be told. My story. It sounds so self-serving, my story. But I think we all have a narrative and I believe we all want to know it will be told long after our departure. And I do hope someone will tell my story after I’m gone. The story of someone with a deep love of our natural world and the desire to show Nature’s beauty as seen through those eyes. The story of an artist who never achieved real commercial success but who, during a brief flurry of sales over several short months, was able to donate the profits from those sales to charities working for our environment and animal welfare. The story of a tormented spirit who made countless catastrophically poor life decisions but who eventually tried, albeit most often futilely, to set things right. The story of an artist who gifted far more paintings than she sold but found the greater joy in giving over selling. The story of an anguished soul struggling with mental illness that darkened their internal world but through art was able to dream of the hope of Nature’s light and beauty.

"When In Silence The Light Dances"
© 2020 Tammy Kaufman
5.75" x 9.25" soft pastel on Pastelmat

Nature has given me so much and I want my paintings to share her beautiful stories with others, so I’ll continue to seek opportunities to share these works and their tales with all who are interested. And maybe, just maybe, someday after I’m gone, someone will continue to be there to let these paintings tell Nature’s stories and, in the process, tell mine as well.

"To Walk Alone With the Universe"
© 2020 Tammy Kaufman
5.75" x 7.75" soft pastel on Gessoed Matboard

Welcoming the Light of Solstice

"And don't think the garden loses its ecstasy in winter. It's quiet, but the roots are down there riotous."

~ Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī ~

Honoring the Winter Solstice with the Maiden of Light, Mother of Love and Crone of Wisdom

May the Winter Solstice bring peace to your spirit, joy to your heart and enlightenment to your soul. May the light of hope always be with you in the promise of a brand new day.

"It is the life of the crystal, the architect of the flake, the fire of the frost, the soul of the sunbeam. This crisp winter air is full of it."

~ John Burroughs ~