🎶 Doing the paintings, digging so deep, Who could ask for more? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, When I'm sixty four? 🎶
Sixty four used to sound so far away (after all, I’ve been listening to this song by The Beatles since I was a kid—and yes, I made a slight edit to those lyrics!), and yet now that it’s here, I’m happy to say I don’t feel very old.
While I don’t have grandchildren named Vera, Chuck, and Dave sitting on my knee, I do have Henry, Nico, and Lottie, and life is good.
In fact, just last week, I had Lottie sitting on my lap, paintbrush in hand, while Henry and Nico stood at their easels, each letting their paintbrush do as it pleased during the total solar eclipse.
My family had gathered on a hilltop overlooking the Bristol Mountains—the place my daughter was married just a few years ago.
Together, we felt the way the air took on a temporary chill; saw the shades of cranberries, oranges, and deep blues that circulated through the sky; heard the sound of the crickets chirping louder and louder as they anticipated what they thought was nightfall.
I knew I wanted to paint during the eclipse, and I knew I wanted to share that experience with my kids and grandkids.
What I couldn’t have known was the overwhelming healing power the eclipse would bring or the strengthening sense of connection I felt between my family and I as we painted, chatted, and witnessed the alignment of sun and moon.
It was dribbles and drabs of paint that ended up on the kids’ canvases. Dribbles and drabs that will be cherished forever.
More than a week later, I’m sitting on my front porch for the first time this spring season, watching the birds at work making their nests, the squirrels exploring the pine tree, and the dew on the grass burning off in the sun.
I’m instantly inundated with the same healing energy of the eclipse as I sit here, hidden from responsibility and the world.
It’s an energy I’m welcoming more and more of as life brings its inevitable transitions.
Just before the eclipse, I helped move my mom to a new home in another state, where my sister lives. The trip itself was divinely guided—my mom and I became closer through it, and she’s found herself happier than she imagined to be where she is.
I make no qualms about the fact that I was not meant to be a full-time caretaker. I went into art, not nursing, for a reason.
I have so much love to give. I have so much light to give. And I care deeply about the people in my life.
But I know my true healing power comes through art.
My mother took a few of my paintings with her. They’re hanging in her new living room.
My grandkids, even at their very young ages, consider painting a form of play.
My students in my classes at Pat Rini Rohrer Art Gallery—from complete beginners to lifelong artists—are tapping into their potential, finally understanding what they struggled to understand about light, color, and the roadblocks to creativity.
Art is healing.
Creativity is magic.
And at 64, I’m living my mission every day to bring more of that healing and magic into every day, for as many people as possible.
What healing energy will you open yourself up to accept? Tell me, in the comments below. I can’t wait to hear from you.
🎶 Give me your answer, fill in a form, Mine forevermore. Will you still need me, will you still feed me, When I'm sixty four? 🎶