I've Got Something You're Going to Love

After 38 days in the hospital and 40 in rehab, Patrick came home on April 8, a Monday, to a place he had never lived in before. A couple of Polish workers were tiling the bathroom, and there was a hotplate in the kitchen where the stove should be. The stove was on order from Castorama.

We were sitting at the kitchen table when I began doodling on an envelope. One thing led to another, and pretty soon I had made a collage. The next day I made another. And another.

Ever since, I've been cutting up milk cartons and yogurt containers and turning them into collages. Every collage is made out of household debris, mostly packaging for mundane items like laundry soap and toilet paper. No glue—I just lay the pieces on a flat surface, take a picture with my iPhone, and then sweep up the bits and toss them into the recycling bin. Today I made my 13th collage in 13 days.

Patrick thinks this is a perfectly normal thing to do. I know because I checked. "Do you think I'm crazy?" I asked him. "Absolutely not," he said. Then he added, "No more than I am."

The other day, he approached me with his hands behind his back. "I have something you're gonna love," he said. Then he presented me with—ta-dah!—a warning label for a German egg beater. Today it was a circle of sticky blue paper that he had peeled off a bottle of spring water.

It has been 17 days since he came home and I still cannot believe my good fortune.

Some of you have seen the pictures of collages 1–13 on social media and asked me why. I have been asking myself the same question. Here are some of reasons I've come up with so far:

1) Because I want time to slow down.

2) Because on the tombstone of my friend Dolly McKinney are written the words "Don't forget to play."

3) Because I loved everything we did in Mrs. Tormey's art class, but I especially loved collage. (I also happen to love making patchwork quilts, which is a similar process. I would probably like building stone walls, too, if I were given the opportunity.)

4) Because scientists say art makes us smarter and more tolerant. I often wish I were both of these things.

5) Because I have become hyperaware that we throw away too much stuff. Don't ask me how turning milk cartons into works of art that have a lifespan of less than five minutes is going to fix that. Something to do with mindfulness, maybe.

6) Because everybody has a little artist inside them, right?

The little artist inside me woke up from a deep sleep as I sat with my husband on one of his first mornings home. I have a hard time just sitting, my hands like to be busy, but I wanted to stretch out that moment, which was one of complete happiness. So while my husband just sat, enjoying the feeling of being alive and being home, I picked up a pen and started doodling. And then I picked up some scissors and started cutting.

And that's how it began.

Above: Collage #13, "Askari." Styrofoam, paper, cardboard, foil, and transparent molded plastic.

Oh Joyous Day, Oh Stuffed Tomato, Oh Car That Beeps, Oh Joy

Figure by Marion Lent (paper clay, 18 cm) 

Yesterday Patrick left the rehab center for his second dose of fun and recreation since he was taken in an ambulance to the ER on January 27. Yes! A month ago, he could barely walk with the help of a walker. Yesterday he not only walked, with a cane, into his favorite bistro but he even drove himself there in his new car.

This is the almost brand-new car that he bought for a very good price just before all hell broke loose. It's white and shiny, don't ask me the make, and it beeps when you are going to back into a tree.

The Smile is a five-minute walk from our old apartment. Normally, Patrick goes there three times a week to have a beer with his friend Pascal. The people who work there are our friends. When we walked in, Marie’s face lit up. I, being me, started to get all weepy. Jeremy came out of the kitchen in his white apron and tocque and squeezed us before rushing back to make sure nothing was burning.

I ordered a stuffed tomato; Patrick ordered the steak and a tiny glass of St. Omar. For dessert he had fromage blanc with caramel and I had the crême brulée. Everything tasted divine.

We then drove to our new apartment in Butte Montceau, where Mr. Tyminski’s guys were banging on walls and drilling holes. Patrick lay down on the living room sofa and fell asleep.

I lowered our brand-new very expensive blinds to keep the sun from shining in his eyes.

Just before he began napping in earnest, Mr. T popped in to check on his crew. “Patrick is here!” I said. The two Mr. T’s discussed toilet seats.

Mr. Tyminski—Luc—had a stent put in last year; he knows something about emergency surgery.

After the nap, we sat in the kitchen, peeling carrots. Then we drove down the hill to the rehab center. We had dinner in Patrick’s room, and then I walked back home.

It was an excellent day. There is so much more that I could tell you, and I will, but not now. Now I must edit four chapters of “Myths of the Tribe,” second edition. The World’s Most Patient Writer has been waiting for me to finish this job since last fall.

Love, Sadie

PS The figure above is by the artist Marion Lent. You can see more of her work on her website, www.marionwlent.com. It is one of many works of art, including several by Vermont artists, that will make our new apartment a special place. I named this one "Lulu." Here he is standing on the microwave in our kitchen. He moves around a lot.