BJPentecost

An odd thing happened to me awhile ago. It was not profound or magical or worldview-changing- just odd. A few weeks have passed and I’m still not entirely sure what to make of it. One early midsummer evening, I sat on my front porch eating an overdressed salad to a serenade of suburban working class dads all mowing their lawns in unison. A splendid breeze conveyed aromas of lilac and freshly mown grass under a subtle mist of gasoline. The weather was almost unseasonably cool for mid-August- a perfect reason to eat outside and avoid the ever-fulminating chaos inside. I lazily munched on soggy greens while watching a chipmunk dart around under the bee-harried hydrangeas. It was nice. Twilight approached in a phalanx of rose, gold, amber, and lavender led by a vanguard of opalescent cumuli. One by one, the mowers retired, leaving an almost eerie hush in their wake. Much to my gratitude, a breeze eventually broomed away the unpleasant stink of gas. Where the mowers left

It's been a fair few months since my mother died and I'm sad to say that things are not going well. My family always ran like a fucked-up, co-dependent but basically functional jalopy. I was the front wheels. My primary jobs were chores, errands, and working as a commission artist. My BIL, Daniel, was the back wheels. He's developmentally delayed but he's a good boy, capable, and he worked hard. He was responsible for some chores and errands and taking care of his wife (my younger sister) and their child, both of whom are also developmentally delayed. My stepfather, the breadwinner of the family, was the engine. I cannot overstate how pivotal this man has been in keeping the shitshow afloat. I don't know anyone who deserves a long, happy retirement more than him. And then there was my mother, the driver. She steered the shitshow down the long and winding roads. Some months ago, my mother died. Lung cancer. I have been through some next level shit- various kinds of abuse, a murder

Bad things happen to everyone, right? That's life. Shit happens. There's always another shoe waiting to drop. I'm sure that's what it's like for most people. We adapt, we deal, we move forward. It's all we can do. But sometimes, I feel like I'm trapped in the midst of a shoe monsoon and I'm not so much waiting for other shoes to drop as I am waiting for the next steel-toed boot to bean me upside the head. My brother in law was just admitted to Montefiore in the Bronx. They think he may have an extremely aggressive form of cancer, possibly leukemia, myoma, or both. We don't know yet. My poor sister is having to go through this only a few months after having lost our mother to cancer. Daniel was a lynchpin of this family and now that he's down for the count, I'm having to step into a lot of the roles he had taken on. I will still be putting out art. That is my job. It is my reason for living. But please be patient. Big, high-detail pieces may take a little longer. I've been thinking