I recently wrote about the fact that I am friends with my kids. As long as I am alive, and able to help them, they will have a lifeline in this world. A place to go with no judgement, no conditions. If they ever need me to care for their kids, I will welcome my grandkids into my home for as long as they may need to be here, with my number one priority being to reunite them with their parents as soon as possible.

I am a third culture kid. I am an American who graduated from high school overseas, in a third world country.

When I turned 18 years old, I found myself homeless and alone in the US. I had no one to turn to. My family was still overseas. I had no place to sleep, no food to eat, no money, no job or job skills. No plan. I had escaped what I saw as an abusive situation where I had been the ward of an institution until my 18th birthday.

That day, I got on a bus and headed to a town I had once lived in. I got off the bus with my duffle bag and no clue what to do next.

I felt guilty for being alive, and for the next year, I was a burden on anyone that agreed to help me. Furthermore, the director of the place I left warned me as I got on the bus, that if I left, I would be turning my back on God’s will for my life, and would have to settle for second best from that day on.

I never wanted to feel that way again, and I don’t want my children to feel that way, ever.

I endured difficult times after that, because I didn’t have the tools to navigate life on my own.

Over the years, I have learned a lot. I have gained new skills and confidence that have made me now able to help others who find themselves in need.

I have several titles or labels which include Artist, Minister, Nurse, Teacher, Foster Care Provider, Writer, Father, Grandfather…

As many of you know, I am in the process of adopting again. This is a sibling group of three teenagers who desperately need a home and guidance to help them transition into adulthood.

I am grateful to everyone who has voiced their support of this endeavor, and I look forward to being able to share more information with you when I am free to do so.

October 15 is my collateral meeting with the kids’ teachers, foster parents and other providers of their daily care. Coincidentally, October 15 is the birthday of my 22 year old (though I couldn’t get to her until October 16).

October 15 is also my dad’s next doctor’s appointment. He is having serious medical difficulties and I know he would greatly appreciate your prayers.

Thank you. Thank you for your friendship, kindness and love.

I spent the weekend doing a 3 day Artist-In-Residence at Kah Nee Tah Gallery in Lutsen, MN. I was scheduled to do a painting demonstration for the first couple of hours each day.

The first day, I set up my easel and started painting the trees just to the east of the gallery. I wasn’t happy with what I was producing. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I should paint something awesome. Something that people would go crazy over. That is always a bad way for me to think. I was frustrated, and eventually took a big paintbrush and blocked out all the detail I had put in.

The second day, I felt like I was floundering, and so I started painting flounders in the tree branches.

The third day, I took black paint and covered everything, then ended up painting bluefin herring instead. No trees.

It’s ok to flounder. Paintings happen pretty effortlessly when the time is right. When my mind and my hand work in unison. Sometimes I try too hard. Effort isn’t always productive. Play is.

What if I could forget everything my teachers (school teachers, Sunday School teachers) taught me, and trust my inner child?

September. The calendar magically fills itself. Every square displays events. People want the fall color. So I sleep when I can, between work and meetings and celebrations.

I try to keep my eyes open… my mental and spiritual eyes… so that I take in as much as I can… as many opportunities to appreciate the season of plenty… as many opportunities to hug. To make a new friend. To grow.

The time and scenery of life zip past my backwards facing seat in the back of god’s station wagon. I can’t see what’s up ahead, but I know my father is at the wheel, taking me someplace good.

That highway of life has many exits and on-ramps, so the company on the road changes constantly.

We travel side by side, or we pick up a hitchhiker. Someone who needs a ride for a while.

We share our stories, and then we become a part of each other’s story when our paths diverge.

The scribbled notes on September become real life events, and often surprise me, because the chore or obligation I saw as a speed bump actually turns out to be a beautiful excursion or photo opportunity.

tarrat

I am a Finn, an artist, a nurse, an ordained minister, a writer, photographer, a father and grandfather.  Those words describe me, or describe facets of me.  These are the types of labels we place on the jar of our particular expression of humanity.  They give a clue as to where I came from, how I make my living and what I do.  They don’t tell the whole story, of course.  If you read the fine print, I’m also a hard of hearing, dyslexic cat lover.  If I cover the jar with too many labels, you won’t see me at all!

Sometimes the labels loosen or come completely off.

My body is a collection of cells that interact with each other, and are contained within a barrier of skin, which is also made of cells.  They all function together to make me into an animated kind of machine, or distinct entity.  One day, even that label will fall off, and I will cease to be that anymore.

So what am I really?  Molecules that cling together for a while.  I’m an idea.  I’m an expression of the universe.  I’m a fleeting thought.  A minute part of a particular, temporary race of beings, trying to say something about my supposed existence before the cells of my body separate again and become part of something else.

But is that me?

Am I my body, or do I just live in my body for now?

https://www.visitcookcounty.com/event/art-along-lake-fall-studio-tour/

I will be the Artist-In-Residence at Kah Nee Tah Gallery (on Highway 61, between Lutsen and Grand Marais) this weekend, September 28, 29 and 30.

Starting at 11 am each day, I’ll be painting and talking with anyone who comes by. I would love to see you there! Starting at 2, I want to focus on a couple of my other projects. The Adventures of Mr. Pumpkinhead is a collection of fables that deal with a variety of topics including dyslexia, dementia, death, adoption, illness, etc., in a fun, kid and adult friendly way. I’ll read to anyone who wants to listen! They include digital art, and this time can include coloring, pumpkin carving, and as always, lots of talk. The Adventures of Flash Meridian is my Sci Fi autobiography, and includes topics such as creativity, self esteem and spirituality.

At around 4 pm each day, I will give an artist talk with wine available. This is where I will share the heart of my philosophy of life and art. Please come by if you can, I would love to see you, hug you, talk to you, and hear your story, too!

This is the art I live with every day. These have been hanging in my house for a long time. Most of them for about 15 to 25 years or more. They went with me to North Carolina and hung in the Melrose house. They came back home again. Each one has a story for me, in addition to the stories they tell for their artists. Since I am a painter, I thought it may be interesting to show you the pieces that I own and love.

This painting told me that people are kind and generous despite my preconceived ideas about them. It came as a complete surprise just before my daughter’s birth, and her birthstone is embedded in the piece.

I was sitting in my parked car ready to drive away when this came with a sudden rap on my window that startled me.

He knew I liked it, so he wanted me to have it. What if every gift was so thoughtful?

This painting changed the course of my artistic life. It saw that I was lost, and pointed the way home. Through the pain and loss (which I still feel), and through acceptance to celebration.

A birthday gift. Painted for me. I stare at it day and night.

I have a friend that I spend time with almost every day. We drink coffee and talk about life. The big issues of life, like our identity, our spirituality, our families. We talk about the small issues, too.

Last night I learned that she and I have both invented sparkling, shimmering planets, the stories of which we have told to our children. Hers was made of glass while mine was made of gemstones. Is this a common thing? Do people imagine faceted planets?

Apparently.

She recounted the feeling she had more than 65 years ago, telling her stories to her little boy and girl.

She cried when she told me, and I understood.

Every night, I read to my children at bedtime. We would read the same books over and over and over so that I still have them memorized to this day.

I made up a story about an elephant that wanted to go to daycare, and my daughter begged me to tell it to her every single night… in the characters’ voices, of course.

“WHERE DID YOU GET THOSE SPARKLE SHOES??!!”

Telling stories is important. Not for the information they contain. But for the sound of a voice. A voice that is speaking to you, unhurried, as you drift off to the realm of your dreams.

My mother read to me. She prayed with me, and those bedtimes taught me how to be calm and present for my kids. Once in a while, she would fall asleep in my room, her back against my bed. Those were good nights. My cat, Minnie on my bed… my brother in the bed next to mine, and my mom… present.