Collages and Newborns

Halloween night, 2011.

I sit at the round table, next to the glass window, at Starbucks, sipping the autumn special, a seasonal caramel Frappuccino dolloped with whipped cream. I usually don't get the whipped cream, but it is Halloween.

I place the large, leather, engraved handbag on the chair to my right. I don't carry and haven't carried a lady's handbag or purse for decades; I still don't. In this handbag are not the usual lady items of lipstick, powder, gloves, sanitary needs, tissue, cell phone, check books, billfold, hairbrush. In my handbag are a ruler, scissors, poster tape, scotch tape, two Moleskine journals, pencils, pens, erasers, notes to myself, a collage journal, magazines I'd grabbed from home - Mother Earth News, The Economist, Backpacker, Reader's Digest.

The leather handbag is new; it was a gift my husband recently brought me from one of his trips to Nicaragua. It was handcrafted by a native Nicaraguan; an act I cherish. Human hands have touched and carved the detail into the leather.

Hubby's native Nicaraguan friend suggested the bag, stating it was large enough for my laptop, though I don't carry my laptop in it. I carry my laptop in a black padded laptop case. I have attached to one the flexible laptop case handles a Seagram's Crown Royal burgundy cloth bag with a twined golden closure cord, and an old camera cover. The Seagram's bag holds the power cord for my laptop; the old camera cover holds my mouse.

This evening, I do not have my laptop; only the leather handbag.

I place the leather bag on the seat of the wooden chair beside me. I pull out the Sarah Breathnach discovery collage journal workbook. The day before, I grabbed it from the bedroom bookshelf wiping the dust bunnies off the top edge of the journal. I bought it sometime before 2005.

I open the journal and look in the workbook page pockets, discovering a few snippets of life hidden from over six years ago. I find a birthday card from Way leadership. I left The Way in October, 2005. My birthday is in April. There is no date on the card. The card states how wonderful I am, how much the senders love me and are thankful for my life, how much I mean to God and the Household. The words prick; my heart pangs. I breathe.

Do I keep the card?

I choose to toss it.

I place the Sarah Breathnach workbook on the round wooden table. I pull out the magazines and place them on the seat of the wooden chair beside my Nicaraguan leather handbag. I pull out my scissors and poster tape and pens and pencils.

I read a bit of Breathnach's words. But I don't want any instructions. I just want to cut and collage. I don't want a "theme" or purpose. I want to allow my fingers to do the walking, the pictures the talking...to my heart.

A full page Greyhound advertisement catches my eye. It has a retro look. No photos. All graphic comic style. I like the saying at the top: "Get out there. Drink deep from the road. Eat life raw."

I tear it out, trim the edges designing an in and out rolling curved border. With poster tape, I secure it to the journal page.

My fingers waltz, turning pages of magazines. I look. I feel. I tear. I cut. I tape.

Madonna with a guitar.
A human leg floor lamp wearing a high heel and a tasseled lamp shade.
Glass of milk.
Pitcher of milk.
"Got milk" advertisement.
"Simply perfect."
Cows.
A yak.
A sheep.
Glass bottle of milk.
Milk mustache.

Milk? I rarely even drink milk.

Milk.
The perfect food for the innocent new born.
Us humans call it "nursing."

Recall Carol, the feeling of letting down.
Recall that life totally dependent on you.
You, Carol, brought life into this world.
You nurtured that life.

How many hours did you spend with each babe as that babe suckled that life-giving touch, the sweet nourishment produced just for that life?
Each week or month, your body adapting production for what was needed specifically for that life at that time.

Your body took care of that.
The babe was the catalyst.
You simply cradled that life.
You, the mother...of that bundle of life.

I pause.

This is collage #1.
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