22 Sandwiches

Terry and I planned to go out Sunday afternoon to watch a football game at a bar. Before we did we went to visit Mary Hill at her mothers home in Winter Park. I had not gone to the reception after Margaret Hills funeral. Instead I rushed home and started to write. This was the first time Terry had visited Mary at her mom's house. When we arrived Mary offered us drinks and sandwiches. Mary's neighbor Phyllis Miller was there and she used a portable grill she had bought from home to toast our sandwiches so they were nice and crunchy like Panini's. This was the first time Terry really had time to get to know Mary and they really hit it off. Mary's friend Elizabeth Cohen showed up soon afterward. Terry and Elizabeth had many things in common for instance they had both lived in Israel for a while so they were like two peas in a pod. After Phyllis left, Elizabeth and Mary started a sandwich production line. Elizabeth smeared on some mayo and then Mary put on cold cuts and cheese. Mary had so many leftovers from the funeral that she wanted to make sandwiches and hand them out at Lake Eola, in her mother's memory. I warned Mary that there was a law on the books that said no one could feed more than 25 people in a public park in Orlando. In all they made 22 sandwiches. Terry was touched by this generosity and at first she wanted to go to Lake Eola to help hand out the sandwiches. Then Elizabeth got a call and realized that she had totally forgotten about a social engagement she had made. After Elizabeth left, Terry decided we should go with our original plan and we soon left to see a playoff football game downtown at Wild Side. Mary packed all the sandwiches into a fabric reusable grocery bag.

After Terry and I left for the bar Mary headed down to Lake Eola. The bar was really crowded but we muscled our way into a room with a large wide screen TV. I can't really relate the details of the game because quite honestly I wasn't paying much attention. I do believe the Packers won because I like the bright colors on their uniform and there was plenty of cheering whenever the bright green jerseys ran into the end zone. It was towards the end of the game that I got a text from Mary saying she had finished handing out the sandwiches.

Later I learned from Mary that this simple act of generosity was moving on so many levels. Everyone she approached was honesty thankful. One woman related that it was impossible to find food on a Sunday. She approached one group of 3 men and had two sandwiches in her hands. Two of the men stood side by side and the third was a few steps further down the trail. When Mary asked if they would like some sandwiches the first two men of course accepted her offering. The third had trouble walking and he hobbled closer. The man standing closest to Mary looked at his sandwich and then at the man hobbling closer to him. He paused and thought to himself before he decided to give the struggling man his sandwich. He looked down afterwards certain he must have made a mistake since he might have to go hungry that night. After a moments pause the man finally looked up at Mary. Luckily she had another sandwich in her bag and he was truly grateful. Mary was moved close to tears by his act of selfless giving.

Mary had not had the chance to relate to anyone why she was handing out sandwiches at Lake Eola. When she handed out the last sandwich in her bag, the man thanked her saying, "You must be an angel, I was just standing here thinking to myself that I was an idiot for missing the food line earlier today and I would have to go hungry tonight. Then here you are handing me a sandwich!" He asked why she was here alone handing out sandwiches and she was able to relate her story of the leftovers after her mothers funeral. She said her mother was a generous person and she was giving away the sandwiches in her honor. The man said, "Your mother is still teaching you lessons isn't she?" "Yes, she certainly is and I'm sure she will for many years to come." Mary said.

In Loving Memory of Margaret Ann Hill 1932-2010

Margaret, who I had visited and sketched a number of times, died December 28th in her home on Baffie Avenue in Winter Park. Her daughter Mary had taken care of her for over two years. The memorial service was held at Saint Charles Catholic Church not far from the home. When I entered the church there was a large group of people standing in the entry lobby. I noticed several of Mary's neighbors and said hello. Mary was being greeted by family members and after a few moments I was able to offer her my condolences. Actually, as I think back, I might not have said anything that would be considered a condolence. It was more the opposite. Mary hugged me and thanked me for being there, and she even offered encouragement and gratitude that I had decided to sketch the service. The service began with one of my favorite hymns, "Amazing Grace." It is always reassuring that there is hope for a wretch like me. When I hear, "I was blind, but now I see", I am always certain I never see, feel or express things clearly enough.

The sermon was conducted by Father Augustine Clark who had visited the Hill house often and therefor he knew Margaret well. Whenever I visited Margaret there were always social workers, hospice care nurses and clergy on hand. Mary had a way of always addressing the spiritual needs of her mother as well as her physical needs. "Tears are just a way for the heart to heal itself silently without words." Father Augustine was saying. He then related a story about the romance that blossomed between Margaret and Duane Hill. They both worked at Swift and Company in Orlando and there was an immediate attraction. Margaret's father however didn't approve of the relationship so they had to court each other clandestinely. They would leave love letters under a desk mat so they could secretively communicate. When she turned 21 Duane married her. The priest pointed out how much Margaret loved to garden and her amazing collection of orchids in the back yard. Whenever I spoke with Margaret in the final year, she would grip my hand tightly never letting go. She gripped on to life just as tightly. Margaret always made me laugh, she had a way of smiling slyly as she offered some barb of humor.

Margaret's ashes were buried at Woodlawn Memorial Park. I went to a Woodlawn Cemetery and walked around for some time looking at headstones decorated with angels and some with wind chimes. A dog started to bark at me from a home on the edge of the cemetery. When no other cars arrived I started to think I might be in the wrong place, so I did an internet search and found out that the cemetery I was supposed to go to was a few miles further up the road. I arrived there at the same time as Mary's oldest brother, Jean, and I walked with his family to the interment site. There was a small plastic plaque with Margaret's name on it and a shallow hole which I didn't notice at first glance. Pastor Steve Horrell said, "The fever of life is over for Margaret. We need to bury our regrets as we forgive others and forgive ourselves." He asked family members for any memories they might want to relate. Jean's former wife said Margaret was good with a hammer and saw, that she had helped build a skirt around the base of a trailer that they were living in at the time. Jean related that the family often went to Gator Land on Friday afternoons to catch feeding time.

As Mary placed the gray cylinder containing Margaret's ashes in the ground, she kissed her fingertips to her lips and then rested them on the cylinder's lid. It was after she pushed some dirt over the container that grief enveloped her. She had been organizing, supporting, greeting and welcoming people all day. Several family members held her as she sobbed. Mary was able to embrace and express her emotions openly. I have always had trouble doing that, and emotions hit me when I least expect it. The most important lesson learned from this day for me is that we should be grateful for the fragile gift of life. We should be quick in giving and receiving love and always work to create new memories. Recently I heard a saying that most people sleepwalk through life while the few that do not, live in wide eyed wonder. I want to strive for that feeling of wide eyed wonder everyday, to drink it in and share what I can in my way. Seize the day and live with boundless compassion. On the drive home, my heart filled with joy remembering times spent in the Hill home and yet for the first time, my eyes started to burn.

Time Warp

I was sketching a rehearsal for the Red Chair Affair and I knew that there was going to be a concert at Unity Church as well. I wanted to sketch both events but I knew I would be late to Unity since my sketches take at least an hour and a half to do. Sultana Ali was to be singing at the Unity concert. I fired off a text when I finished my Red Chair rehearsal sketch. She texted back that she would be singing around half way into the concert. Although the concert had already started I decided to make a dash up to the church to try and catch her performance. I texted her that she needed to slow down time a bit. When I walked into the church three women were on stage singing "The Times they Are a Changing." I spotted Sultana and her friend near the front on the right hand side. Sultana waved me over and I sat down. She showed me the program and indicated silently that there was one more act before she went on stage. She gave me a thumbs up and I smiled.
I immediately got my sketchbook out and got to work. I had the whole composition blocked in when Sultana got on stage and then I placed her at the microphone in my sketch. She sang "Summertime", a lazy sensuous southern tune. When she finished, the place erupted and there was a standing ovation. When she walked off the stage, the moderator, dressed in his 50's beat costume said, "Now THAT is what I am talking about!" Sultana laughed as she sat down.
The final act caught me by surprise. Miguel and Judy Ander sang "Time to Say Goodbye." I had met Miguel the last time I had visited the church and he left an impression. He is at least 80 years old and his face is beautifully delineated with wrinkles and the weathering of time. What immediately struck me when I shook his hand was his enthusiasm and joy. As I listened to this beautiful song I flushed and my eyes began to sting. I had to stop sketching and just listen. With this elder couple singing so beautifully, I started to think about the idea of growing old together. This week I had just started sketching portraits of residents of a local retirement community. I had sketched Captain Pete who will be turning 101 this year. Author Mary Hill had interviewed him the entire time I sketched. His story was profound and moving. He spoke of life and death issues faced in war time, the importance of choosing friends and loved ones wisely, and he explained the spark that keeps him motivated even today. I learned so much about myself from having spent that time with him. The elder couple singing on stage seemed so in love. This is what it must be like to grow old together with faith and love. All these thoughts rushed through my head as I listened. It was useless to try and stop the flow of tears. I put the sketchbook aside. I usually find opera hard to swallow but this song on this day overwhelmed me. I stood when it was over and clapped until my hands hurt.

The Chaplain Visits

On a return visit to Margaret Hill, she was able to get up with much help and eat at the dining room table. I joined her and Mary for lunch. Mary grew concerned watching her mothers breathing worsen over the course of lunch. She helped her mother get back into bed. Margaret's breathing grew shallow and harsh. She began to struggle for each breath and began to panic. Mary placed her left hand on her mother’s brow and then held her right hand over her mothers chest. She made a gesture like she was crumpling a sheet of paper and then she threw it away. Mary did this several times, breathed in deeply and then turned her head away and exhaled into the corner of the room. It appeared as though Mary was in a very deep meditative state. Instantly Margaret calmed down and her struggle to breath lessened. In a matter of perhaps 15 minutes she fell fast asleep. I had never seen anything like this. I was mystified. Mary is a Christian and has absolute faith in the healing powers of God working through her as his instrument. Mary also has a Master’s degree in spiritual psychology, participates in various healing/creative art ministries and studied various healing tradition in California, before returning to care for her mother. Although I am still baffled by what I saw, from my perspective, it seems to me that Mary is able to deflect diseased energy, then channel a very intense healing energy where it then flows to the person she is in prayer for. There was an overwhelming calm and peace in her mother’s room.
As her mother slept, a chaplain and hospice nurse arrived. The chaplain comes to the house frequently to address Margaret's emotional and spiritual needs. Mary talked to the chaplain for some time discussing her mother’s physical and emotional states. Copious notes were taken as the mother and daughter’s needs were evaluated. In the kitchen, where Mary and the Chaplain are talking, there is a photo of Margaret in her prime on the wall. It’s as if she is looking over the Chaplain’s shoulder, perhaps to observe and grace these emotionally charged and sometimes heart-wrenching discussions.
On a trip to a doctors office Mary recited a poem she was inspired to write about healing, how it flows through her and how God has used others to heal her as well. She agreed to share it, with gratitude and blessings.

A Place to Meet

Meet me…in the stillness of my touch
Allow me to feel your pain, it won’t hurt quite as much.

Meet me…in the safety of my soul
Tell me your stories, the ones you’ve dared, but never told.

Meet me…in the solitude of my heart
Lay down your sorrow, welcome healing’s start.

Meet me…in the center of the earth
Surrender to its wisdom, awaken to your rebirth

Meet me…far beyond the ageless universe
Bask in love’s perfection; nothing’s better, nothing’s worse.

Meet me when you’re willing, meet me when you can
It’s there I’ll give my best to you - my mind, my heart, my hands.

-Mary J. Hill 2005

Tomorrow Thor will be sketching a Yvonne Coleman live radio broadcast from the Grand Bohemian (325 South Orange Avenue) from 10AM to 2PM.

Margret Sleeps

Mary Hill has been caring for her ailing mother for the last five years. Her mother has pulmonary fibrosis, among many other problems. Margaret is at home, bedridden and under the constant care of her daughter along with private duty help. Recently, she is also under the medical direction of a local Hospice. I met Mary at a writing workshop and it was with a refreshing openness, curiosity and acceptance of the beauty of this thing we call life and death that Mary told me about her mother. I expressed an interest and love of sketching people in diverse scenarios. It was then with a tremendous leap of faith and generosity that Mary invited me to her mother’s home to meet and sketch her Mom. When I was introduced to Margaret, she clutched my hand with a surprisingly firm grip the whole time we talked. A CD was playing soothing Christian music by Ruth Fazal and when we weren't talking Margaret would close her eyes and hum to the songs. She falls asleep every night to this same music and at her request listens to these same songs many times a day. “They are my favorites,” she shares with a smile. I asked her if I could sketch and she gladly agreed. A rocking chair, and a great source of pride, as it is the same rocking chair that Margaret had rocked all 5 of her children and many grandchildren to sleep in, sat at the foot of her bed. I sat down in the seat of honor and quietly blocked in the scene and before long Margaret was fast asleep. Mary felt my presence and attention had a soothing affect on Margaret. Mary left the room to afford me quiet, focused time to sketch. Her mother breathed evenly with fresh oxygen being supplied by a noisy oxygen concentrator that was down the hallway in the living room. The machine made a constant sound much like a scuba diving apparatus.
From where I sat at the foot of the bed, I could see Mary down the hall at the kitchen table writing in her journal. I thought she might be curious about my drawing so once I had the features of Margaret's face set down in ink, I got up and quietly walked down the hall to show her. I tapped her on the shoulder and showed her the early stages of the drawing. She was moved to tears at the startling reality and solemn beauty of her mother. She said I had captured the essence and expression of her mother right down to the slight worry lines that often furrow her brow. I had never had someone cry when they saw my work before. I felt I was doing something important by documenting this fleeting moment. When I returned to work I proceeded with quiet deliberateness. Drawing and listening to Margaret’s breath left me with a sense of peace and a certainty that this was an important drawing.

Project F - Vocals

This was the second Project F rehearsal I was able to attend and sketch. When I arrived at the Shakes Theater there were only a few actors gathered in the space. Aradhana Tiwari, the director, explained to the actors gathered that this night they would begin with a viewpoints session and then move on to vocalizations for the first time. After more actors trickled in, Aradhana turned off the house lights leaving only the Ghost lamp to illuminate the stage. The actors began to walk the grid. Viewpoints is an acting regiment in which actors explore tempo, shape, duration, line, and form. When Aradhana described the process it was as if she was describing the creation of a beautiful canvas using actors and their creative spirits as the medium. She just returned from a month long viewpoints training session in NYC and her intentions and purpose were strong and clear. She often jumped up on the stage to join the actors and affect the session. My favorite quote which came up in the evenings review was, "Art is intention." The actors were asked to do everything on the stage with a strong clear intention.
After a break. The actors were asked to sit on the stage and review some status updates that had been typed out by the director. All of the updates began with the ubiquitous Facebook "is".
_____ is wishing and hoping.
_____ is work...again!
_____ is popping Advil like their Tic Tacs.
_____ is sending out healing energy, joy & swirling peas. Namaste ya'll.
In the next viewpointing exercise, Aradhana divided the actors into 2 groups. When one group moved, the other group would remain still. Actors were asked to only move when they had a status to vocalize. Some fascinating things happened as one group would move in and around the other groups architecture. Sarah Lockhard lead one group and she moved frantically around the stage crouched and peering about as if she was being followed. She said, "Sarah has 534 friends." The other actors echoed "534 friends" while mimicking her movements. At one point Dennis Neal stood still on one corner of the stage and all the other actors gathered around him. The moment became all about him.
Aradhana said she wants to explore archetypes. She asked the actors to consider what archetypes need to be in the show and how they can be represented through rhythm, melody and movement. She wants the actors to capture a persons signature through movement.
Natalie Peterson expressed the concern that she actually felt scared at one point in the session. Themes of voyeurism and exhibitionism were surfacing and they want to explore the extremes of those ideas. Dennis pointed out that everyone in the room is an exhibitionist, on some level. Aradhana pointed out that shy people can become exhibitionists on Facebook. Mary Hill pointed out that at times she could tell when an actor was reciting a line and when they were speaking from the heart from a personal space. Mary was bought into the cast because she has never been on facebook. She honestly has no idea what most of the cast was talking about as they spoke of "pokes", "likes" and "followers.". She wandered the grid as an outsider.
There was some discussion on how Facebook promotes "revolving door relationships." Just as in NYC where so many people are in constant close proximity, friendships and relationships can often be short and intense, then people move on. Facebook has the effect of throwing everyone into close proximity, knowing intimate details of people who barely know each other and perhaps have never met in person. This play has limitless potential and I'm excited by the possibilities.

Hal Stringer's artist gathering.

At the last minute I was invited to an artists dinner party being hosted by Hal Stringer in Winter Park. Mary Hill had told me about this event once before but the last time it was held, I was driving down to the Keys. When I entered the first order of business was to walk room to room and look at all the beautiful paintings of Florida landscapes. I bumped into Don Sontag a portrait artist who I first met when I worked at Disney and later at the McARae Studios. There was a self portrait by Don in the living room leaning up against a wall and waiting to be hung. There was a blur of introductions and then I asked if I could dig into the Paella that Phillis Miller had made. I thought I was going to leave within an hour to go sketch another dance rehearsal. I was the first to load up my plate and I went into the living room to eat. I only knew a few people at the gathering and as I ate, I started to feel overwhelmed by the sound of all the different conversations. In a crowd like this I start to hear everything at once with no filter. It gets to the point where I don't even notice if someone is talking right at me. Mary Hill suggested I take a look at the artist studio in the back yard.
When I went back to the studio I fell in love with the space. It was a tiny little outdoor shack with exposed beams and a warm inviting interior. Inside a table had been set up and people were seated having dinner. The studio also had an outdoor patio with comfortable lawn chairs with a perfect view of the bright half moon. I suddenly realized I had to sketch so I ran out to my truck to get my sketchbook and supplies. The people around the table were, Elizabeth and Joe Ferber, Maralyn Masters, Sharon Osterhold and Jazz Morgan. After they finished eating they started to paint their dinner plates. All of these plate paintings were abstract and very colorful. One finished plate painting can be seen on the fireplace mantle in my sketch.
A few people became curious about what I was up to, so I found myself surrounded with people who wanted to see my sketchbook. As usual, my eyes teared up from the strain of sketching, and I struggled to recover. The host joked about how he took the longest time to join Facebook. He said "This gathering is face time, not Facebook." Mary came out with a blanket and sat in the lawn chair next to me. We joked for a while about the notion of making a B grade horror film. It is actually a really fun idea that I am now considering doing some visual development for. I was glad I had decided to stay longer at this artists gathering. I got a good sketch and met some talented and inspiring artists.