It has been a week of stories.
My own story, which continues to unfold, includes a long conversation with a sweet widow in Arizona whose husband was ultimately not my bio dad, but who gave me some new details of my mother's history and then told me her own story. Forty-eight years of marriage, two children and a lifetime of motorcycle adventures with her (now deceased) husband. She was so easy to talk with - it was like I'd known her forever.
The stories of others - those who were in similar circumstances or whose loved ones were. Their generosity in sharing stories, tears, joy and silver linings was touching. It seems my story is one often told in the days of modern science and DNA testing. I am part of a vast tribe of seekers.
The stories in the art - a week of intense studio time in preparation for a new show, which was deeply therapeutic and also completely ridiculous as characters emerged, including these colorful ponies, a chicken lady and a cowgirl. Oh, and Bubbles the donkey made a repeat appearance this week as well. My stories are tangled up in these pieces, along with parts of the stories of others. A delightful, colorful anthology.
And with the stories this week came so much connection and wisdom from others, including this: "We are not handed the truth. We are handed the story." Ah. And so, it seems, like Alice I have gone down the rabbit hole, into a story within my story which may include some truth but ultimately is, well, just a story.