A Little Song I'm Working On
I've been taking some songwriting classes. I love this little song I wrote taking Abbie Gardner's songwriting workshop on Zoom. Thought I'd share it here. I was imagining myself as a little old lady, sitting at an outdoor reception for my granddaughter's wedding.
Dance Little Darlin' Let's Dance.
Chords and Lyrics:
A e a
She leans on the edge of her seat
E
Shoe tips tap where grass and floor meet
A e a
Evening sun traces her breast
d E a
casts dappled shapes through the trim of her dress
A e a
Corners starched, face creased in pride 2...3
e
The newlyweds dance, brushing her side--
a
It's yesterday, just like they say
e A
Lovers first dance on her wedding day.
A d e a
Come on little darling let's dance
a d e a a e E.....
Come on little darling let's dance
D E a d
From your very first breath til your last romance
d e a]
Come on little darling lets dance
d A e
Toe -heel she peels off her shoes
d a d E
Pink dappled grass, her sunlight, her muse
A
Its healing breeze stroking her brow
D E A
As her daughter , the mother, spins past her now
Bridge a dd e a
d a e
Whispering warm in her ear
d a e
“Recall my ribbons through her cradle, Dear?
A d a
Its glow growing long on her face
d e a
you on your pillow, we watch her awake.
chorus
a
Look, they are cutting the cake
e
Crisp silhouette, what a couple they make
Pink light vignetted by leaves
e a
A backdrop of stars created by trees
d d a
Her head nods, nestling her face
d a e
Warmth cross'd her back, his familiar embrace
a e a
His touch, his wedding band
e a
Her long ago groom offers his velvet hand
Coleuses, magic carpets, and my heart of darkness
I feel terrible. I often awaken with a dull headache and my body feeling like it is weighted down with bricks. Aside from the constant pain from my 2nd try at a hip replacement, i suffer from a crushing fatigue that has come and gone for years. In an effort to shake this feeling, I watered my garden first thing in the morning. There is always some suprise. Like a light in a dark room, or a joke to break the tension, no matter how small it is, it lightens my spirit. This morning, I noticed a tiny two-leafed coleus peeking out from under a pot. I didn't plant it there, it either grew from a stray seed or a dropped leaf.
Still feeling dull headed and flat hearted, I turned to a daily podcast meditation created by Jesuit monks called 'Pray as you go.' This morning, the reading was from Matthew 9:1-8. Jesus is moved by the faith of a group of friends carrying a parallized man toward him. He tells the man on his bed, "Take heart, son, your sins are forgiven." The ultimate reality, is that the man is made well. I confess, I often think cynically that a reliance on 'ultimate reality' is the consolation prize of faith. I have also accused Jesus of being an imaginary friend.
Speaking of blasphemy, that is what the scribes mutter about Jesus' words of forgiveness, and Jesus sees right through it. "Why do you think evil in your hearts?" He asks, then challenges them, "What is greater, to forgive sins or make a sick man well?" In their minds, they may have considered it the former, but in their hearts they needed Jesus to do the later, and He does. He tells the paralized man to roll up his bed and go home, and he does. I envision his bed as Persian rug, outdoors on the ground and I want to paint it.
The crowd was wowed, and so are we, much more impressed with physical healing than with spiritual healing, Which is greater, healing or forgiveness? Rising from the dead or promises? They seem to be connnected. Not that the man's sin caused his illness, but that a broken planet results in legs that don't work, eyes that don't see, and ears that can't or won't hear. Jesus humbles himself to accomodate the doubts of his enemies ,and as a result, a man of faith walks home. Jesus fixes what sin broke.
Groups of faithful friends that have carried John and I in prayer to where Jesus is. Though I live convinced that God is mad at me and ready to torch me with His breath, it comforts me that Jesus is moved by faith, even if it's not my own. The podcast meditation called on the listener to imagine being in the presence of the love of Christ. Confess to Him or just rest in His love, it instructs. I confessed my lack of faith, my anger, my quitting. I tried to imagine being on the side of a dusty path waiting for Jesus to heal me. I felt like I wasn't sick enough or good enough to warrant attention. I cried.
Recently, John had a bladder cancer scare. I had already thrown my hands up at God and asked "Are you really good or are you just waiting for me to let my defenses down so you can drop a bomb on me?" Annie Dillard has an image of God as a beautiful cloud. A hand comes from inside the cloud and pulls it back like a curtain to reveal a monster. Is that who God is? I was mad. I had given God the credit for being on my side and maybe I was mistaken.
Waiting for shoes to drop is a practice of bad dot connecting. I try to remember to connect the good dots instead. Like a two-year-old in a temper tantrum, I tested God with my 'are you really good' question. I know the answer, and like a toddler, fall asleep, sweaty brow on God's shoulder, body gone limp, resting in the One I know I can trust. The One who is beside me no matter what I face. The one who heals. The one who forgives sins.
Bling one, bling 2 and a little bounce in your step...
Yesterday afternoon I placed our blingy additions and 'fluffed', which is what we call opening the blossoms either by hand or with the heat gun. Apparently, earlier in the day two busloads of school children visited and had their pictures taken (or 'pictures made' if you are from the south) in front of the panel. I am guessing they were from Evergreen school who contributed to the project and I hope they found their gorgeous highly saturated painted blooms.
I took occasional breaks to show visitors how to cut unpainted bottles or gave away some extras I had tucked in my tool box. Families, business women on their lunch breaks, and two groups of adults with disabilities stopped by, walking away with magical crystal clear blossoms and spirals that bounced in rhythm with each step. One teenage young woman in a Pikechou hat visited with me. "I have had a hard life" she explained when I asked her why she was so far from where she called 'home.' She parted with a handshake, a spiral, and I wished her a better future. God spoke creation into being. Jesus spoke "go and sin no more" and I have wondered if he was speaking creation into our futures. Maybe, by the grace of the Holy Spirit our words can make things too.
the aesthetics of rest and perfectionism...
Monday, we stopped by to tame some of the larger bottles with the heat gun and fuss over details. As Chris snipped the ends off of zip-ties, and I double and triple checked for gaps, a gentleman exited the building, then exclaimed cheerfully, "You've gift-wrapped the courthouse!" Practically on his heels, a woman sighed, "Doesn't it look like a giant birthday ribbon." Their comments remind me of what a gift creating this installation continues to be, and how many people I have to thank for enabling me to give voice to a crazy song of colors that can't stop singing.
After a literally mesmerizing trip to Michael's, Chris and I spent yesterday making extra special blooms to hide in the panel. Taking into consideration the 10,000 precedents, she hesitated to suggest it, but Chris thought it would be fun to add individual pieces from our hands, inspired by the many other contributors to the project. We had an inspiring afternoon playing with new materials and will add the blossoms today, the official opening day of ArtPrize.
It was nice to be able to spend time creating the bottles, a switch from my previous production mode. I think Chris might have had an an ulterior motive, divert Dale from incessant tweaking, and it worked. I rail against perfectionism like a wanna-be former smoker rails against cigarettes. "Can't I have just one puff?" I recently posted on my FB page, 'perfectionism is a sure way to live your life in constant regret.'
And as I wrestle with the perfectionism, I recollect creation; God at the end of the work of spinning out every wonder we enjoy. At the end of the work, in community with the earth and the heavens, there was rest. "A-ha" is what they call it in aesthetics, when you give your work an 'it is finished' and feel a satisfaction you hope to pass on to those who see what you have made. When I teach art, I believe displaying the finished works as a celebration of the Sabbath. I thought a little deeper too, about Jesus breathing His last words, the last word from the one who called himself the Word, "It is finished." Oh do I strive in life, trying to perform, produce, and perfect. I imagined myself walking bent over with a burden that only truly exists in my imagination. If the last word is 'it is finished', I'm going correct my posture and step, light on my feet, into the 'a-ha' my faith invites me to dwell in. I might even dance on joy's horizon.
John, Chris, and Dale at the venue.
Too much thinking and my prayer for the day.
"The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”
― Frederick Buechner, Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC
People have always told me that I think too much. I recently wrote about an interchange with my son, when he joined the minions who have said "You think too much." After years of experience, I responded, "people have said that my whole life. It's not like I can control the volume of my thoughts. It just is. I think how ever much I think." Of course he responded, "which is too much."
This morning, I was thinking about the holy spirit being bread, a favorite Frederick Beuchner quote about our purpose in the world, and dim mirrors. I prayed 'Father in heaven,' though I believe I might be better served to pray 'Mother in heaven' or 'Ultimate Reality' but that makes me nervous. It makes me worry that I need to add 'if that's ok with you father. ' I do not always capitalize 'you' when addressing God (or god) because in the french Bible God/god is spoken to in the familiar. God doesn't just speak English and on tutoie dieu. So here is how it went down on my yellow legal pad:
"Father in heaven, I need your Holy Spirit because no matter how productive I am in a day, unless You full me with the gift of your Holy Spirit , I won't feel good about it at day's end. But if I ask for that gift, you promise to give it to me like a father gives a hungry child bread and not stones. And I will be able to go to sleep tonight having 'done well' the way Abel did. I will sleep a sleep of satisfaction. Fill me so that I can fill the deep longing of the world with the heart you fashioned to crave doing what the world needs. You know my weaknesses and failings better than I do. Help me to change and overcome self-centered attitudes, anger, blame, shame, and greed, a list that comes readily to mind if I dare to give my sin a fleeting glance. Thank you that when I glance into that abyss, because you are with me, in me, and I am in you, instead of an endless black vaccuous hole, I see a dim reflection, a reflection that will be clear one day, of who I am in you."
Humble pie.
I listened to Pray as You Go this morning hoping to start my day off on the right foot, not to earn points, which is my usual state of mind with regard to my devotional life. Today I began my morning with prayer and scripture as spiritual chiropractic alignment.
I fall into a trap of feeling I can never please God enough, thank God enough, serve God enough, love God enough, or be sorry enough for my failings. All this is true, and on top of it, Jesus says "one thing is needful." I picture Jack Palance in City Slickers, holding up his index finger and saying "one thing."
Years ago I saw a bumper sticker, "Jesus is coming. Look busy." I busy myself with a million unnecessary things in order to avoid the mystery of the true One Thing. Mary chose it, sitting and listening to Jesus, stopping in the midst of hubub and demands. Jesus came to free me into a leaping and dancing joyful life, but I look like the hymn singers outside the jail cell in the movie Amistad, the prisoner asking, "Why do they look so miserable?"
This morning, Pray-as-you-go, includes a reading from Micah. God is calling the mountains to listen to what he has to say to the people. Apparently, God has no people on His side, so He summons the rest of creation in frustration. It is an accusation; my stomach tightens. God calls on the rocks, hills, and dirt to be His witnesses. My heart sinks. I already know that I frustrate God. It's mutual.
God asks, "What have I done to you? How have I been a burden to you? I rescued you from slavery and gave you Moses and Miriam to lead you." What does God want in return? "Sacrifices of oil, grain, calves, herds? My firstborn?" The mountains lean in to listen to God respond to His own questions. All God wants is justice, tender love, and humble walking. I think of Rodney King's famous plea, "Can't we all get along?"
The podcast narrator asks, "Can you think of a time when someone loved you without expecting anything in return?" , an odd sequitur unless you realize that loving mercy, justice, and humility are not offerings to offset personal failures, but stars by which to navigate this life which you are hell bent on shipwrecking. What does God want in return? My good. God wants me to be my best self, the one redeemed from the broken pieces that I have swept and hidden in a corner, a pile of sharp edged chards marred by shame and blame. God's accusation? "What do you think I want? I don't want all of that busyness. I just want you, the real you, that unbroken you that is full of loving kindness like I am. Walk with me and you can bring that you to the universe. It yearns for it."
That simplifies my to-do list. It's not so much what I do this day, as how I do it. On my own, or with Help?
Holding onto hope, having your world rocked, and birds having their nests...
Years ago I had a hand-painted clothing line and one of my designs came with a hang tag that read "Are we holding onto hope, or is it holding onto us?" Lately, I feel like I am drowning in a primordial soup of John's cancer and its persistent implications, the loss of my father, and my own ongoing, annoying, boring health problems. It is a lonely place, but John and I are in it together and at least we have each other to understand, or try to understand, our personal struggles.
A few days ago, I noticed a bird dive bombing the front door upon my arrival. I glanced in the shrubbery to see if there was a nest tucked into or constructed at the base of one of the bushes on either side of the landing. For his part, John couldn't figure out why a bird flew right past his face every time he went out the front door. James solved the mystery. It was as plain as the nose on our faces. A little wren has woven a lovely cocoon of a nest in the center of my recycled bottle wreath. I have a number of bird houses in my garden just a few feet away, but this little creature chose the entrance to our home to create hers. Maybe if she hadn't picked the right side of the double doors, the only one we open and close, we would have missed the nest altogether. Worried that the eggs would fall out, or worse, little chicks when they hatch, we carefully lifted the wreath off of the hook and switched it to the stationary door. To my horror the nest was built assuming the door that was it's back wall, back would never change. When I looked the back of the wreath, the nest was completely exposed, like a piece of glass was there to let us look into its world, Except there was no glass, just air.
I think I held my breath as I slid it onto the hook on the opposite door, giving it an ever so gentle yank to make sure it was secure, then checking that the new door ran flush with the wreath. I worried that the bird might not adjust to her shift in real estate, but James assured me that if she could build the nest in the first place, she should have no trouble finding it and making any repairs or reinforcements.
Vincent Van Gogh loved bird nests and crocus bulbs; to him they were symbols of hope. A few years ago a book traced Vincent's steps to an old house where a drawing of his had just been discovered in a box in the attic. The writer interviewed the townspeople, one of whom recalled his grandfather telling stories of collecting nests for the painter. When Vincent's nephew and namesake was born, the artist made a baby gift a nest from his collection, much to the horror of his sister-in-law. Over the baby's crib hung VanGogh's painting of almond blossoms. After his death his paintings were tucked under beds and stashed in closets in what was to become a boarding house when Vincent's brother died six months later. His sister-in-law is a largely responsible for Vincen't post mortem success for which I am eternally grateful, though I'll bet she threw out the birdnest.
I hope nothing happens to the little family that is emerging on our front door. Life is so precarious, three eggs with paper thin shells, in a nest built into door that opens and shuts. The wren must be exhausted having to draw attention away from her charge, flying frantically, 'look THIS way!' every time someone comes to the door. Although, what snake or rat is going to dare violate a nest built out in the open and frequented by people coming and going. Maybe her choice wasn't so ill conceived after all.
There are several metaphors, I'm sure, but one is obvious. Our little fragile life we work so desperately to preserve and protect, is so out of our control. I imagine myself struggling to build a nest, a safehouse from harm, wearing myself to the breaking point trying to avert disaster. Did I chose this door or did it chose me? No matter. Something beyond me continues to hold my life in palms, tuck me under wings, hide me in clefts, and maybe, as has happened in other seasons of my life, is rocking my world for my own good.
Funny papers, Turkish lanterns, Pharell Williams and big dreams...
I was dizzy for a week, even after medication, so my doctor took a cautious road and had me go to the hospital. So far, all that has turned up is my EKG not being up to snuff. I told my nurse all about my projects when she came to collect my water bottle, so as soon as I got home I was dying to try out some new ideas. Thankfully, I had a rogue bag of bottles in the garage left from one of the dozens of 'good fairies' that collect them for me. I often come home to a sack of recycled bottles on my doorstep.
Today, I played around with Sargent Art's glitter glaze and peal medium with the comics or 'funny papers' as my mother calls them. They took on a mosaic glass look, especially the crossword puzzle!
I also filed my nails because my Jamberry nail kit comes tomorrow. In my enthusiasm for color and OCD over having all the colors in the crayon box, I signed up to represent another company that offers the opportunity to pop a surprise of color in my outfits. Prepare for Miche/ Jamberry pairings in my wardrobe though I resisted the beanie I found on eBay even though it is very fashion forward as I discovered this morning when I watch a lovely interview with Pharrel Williams. The best part was when he was asked how he feels about being the 'happy' music guy. "I feel blessed" was his reply and in the course of the interview continued to attribute his success to all of the people in his life that supported his dreams. I've got a lot of those folks too, and some big dreams brewing so hold onto your hats friends.
Small dream: Make 2 liter bottles look like this...
a bridge over water that looks like this : or this:
And someday, somewhere, a fair trade workshop that looks like this:
Cherry blossom season and the meaning of spring...
One of the best things about my work in recycled plastic is hearing from people all over the world who are using my tutorials. My favorite thing is to receive pictures, but I always get side-tracked and forget to share them here. The latest is from a woman who visited me at AnnMarie Garden in Maryland. She gave me permission to share her photos. Her hanging baskets reminds me that it is cherry blossom season in DC, not too far from where she lives.
It makes me smile to think of all of the thousands of bottles that now happily litter the landscape across the planet, not as refuse, but as art. Does it get any better than that? Psalm 103 describes God removing our transgressions as far from us as the east is from the west, and the measure of his mercy and loving-kindness is as high above the earth as is the sky. I think that might be the same distance as that of trash to treasure.
Birds have their nests and streets of golden glass...
My dad passed away on the evening of January 22nd. A couple of days before his passing I showed him this platter I had started. Only the chickadee was drawn. He weakly lifted his arm and pointed the empty space and whispered "nest." Turns out chickadees nest in hollows of trees, so this is what I have so far. My dear friend Susan Meyer, porcelain artist extraordinaire, likes the look of my line when I loosen my grip. Sometimes, like students I have taught, my goal leans toward graphic design/ bold delineated images. I tried to let go of 'perfect' which is partly driven in our culture by advertising design. It's getting there, but it still needs something in the foreground under the bird.
Last night I had the weirdest experience. I was suddenly wide awake in the middle of the night and stongly felt a presence, though I am not given to sensing things like that. In fact, this is the only time I have had an experience like this. I've always been afraid of the dark, so I had left the closet light on as a nightlight, opening the louvered doors just enough to make them fold accordion style, like a Japanese screen. The light coming through the cracks looked incandescent, radiating parallel beams of white gold, casting a wide golden beam onto the dresser mirror to the left of the closet. It was beautiful.
As my dad was dying I reminded him several times to check out why gold is like glass in heaven (Rev. 21:21) and get back with me about it. I looked at the glowing stripes glowing through the closet doors and the remarkable light column on the glass mirror. The column was a range of color..yellow to gold to brown in an ombre scale that almost made it look rounded. I understood and said : "Thanks Dad. The gold is like glass because of the Light."
Pearly gates and everything ducky...
Yesterday Susan Meyer and I worked up some fun pieces using our vintage treasures. One of the things I appreciate about teaching art is that children learn to redirect when things go wrong. Starting with odd bits and pieces pushes me in the same way, unlocking some creativity. Sifting through the 'junk drawer' tray I decided to start with an old enamelled religious bracelet that I fell in love with. It paired nicely with this crucifix and the blue and green ring reminded me of 'the whole world.' I had a tiny medallion of Mary, so it dangles from the clasp along with a 'pearl of great price.' Did you know that the apostle John describes heaven's gates as one giant pearl? I can't even imagine. 
Susan designed a fun little bracelet using vintage plastic chain. Today, I followed her lead with this gift I am giving to an expectant mother so she can remember 'everything is going to be just ducky.'
Birthday blessings...
I'm working on a theory that people close to God know what perfection tastes, smells, looks, and sounds like. My sweet friend Gena, an artist and counsellor, has walked me through shadowy days and sat for hours with me in waiting rooms. On my birthday she brought by a gigantic gift bag full of a collection of presents, each wrapped in a different highly saturated color of tissue paper. The next day I decided to make myself a proper tea with her birthday surprise. It's as if Mary Poppins stepped in to make it for me: A beautiful rich blue tea cup infuser that holds a perfectly generous amount of water, fragrant lavender chamomile tea with vanilla sugar, dark and milk chocolate covered cranberries and raisins, and a chai shortbread. I greedily wanted it to last forever so I topped off the tea with extra water and my cup overflowed. How appropriate.
Men in ships...
There is a wonderful passage from the Psalms that is inscribed on the Fisherman's Memorial Statue in Gloucester Massachusetts. Susan Meyer did this gorgeous hand-painted version on her penworked porcelain.
"They that go down to the sea in ships,
That do business in great waters;
These see the works of the Lord,
And his wonders in the deep."
Earth Day, Arbor Day, Peace Trees, Happy Trees...
I love the yellow tababuia behind our tree. It was in it's prime on Earth Day/ Arbor Day. For those of you who aren't familiar with the tababuia, the yellow blossoms don't last long and when they fall, they rain down, making bright yellow petal puddles on the ground beneath. Our realtor's daughter named them 'happy trees' so that's what we call them too.
We had quite a show of helping hands from the Multi-faith Education Project and ArtReach Orlando. The bottom tree blessed Winter Park City Hall with it's presence until it joined the other three trees at the Winter Park Chamber of 
Commerce. Go visit them there!
The trees will bring some festive color to Winter Park's Kentucky Derby event next weekend. I've been commissioned to make another fascinator for one of the hosts. Now I have the fascinator bug and ordered a book, fabrics, and lots of feathers.
I have been making plastic bottle forms since 2004 and I thought I had seen every idea. I should have known better since every group I work with brings new ideas. On Earth Day, a volunteer brought Sharpies so that participants could write messages of peace on the blossoms and I love the Chinese dragon that one gentleman created, more interested in the engineering than the final product. It is pictured next to a blossom a woman made that I think looks just like a bleeding heart bloom. My former student, Hugh, discovered a striped painting technique I am using for the derby project.
I am so grateful to The City of Winter Park, ArtReach Orlando, and the Muti-faith Education Project for doing so much prep work and making this installation such a success.
Bigger shoulders...
Yesterday, I paused with a twinge of guilt as I scribbled down prayers on my yellow legal pad. I faltered, worrying that I should pepper my letter to God with enough praises to offset my requests. Whenever the word 'should' hangs over me like a cloud, I know I need to stop and consider. So I asked myself, 'What does God say about your needs?' and recalled the verse 'cast your cares upon him for he cares for you.'
There are points in life when burdens are so heavy and so many, it seems like too much effort to take a breath, let alone carry something. In the past I have pictured myself being held by Jesus, arms about his neck only because of the strength he gives me to hold them there. Yesterday, while contemplating laying my burdens down, I imagined being lifted up like a little child, my entire weight supported by bigger shoulders. From great height I looked out at the view and had a perspective I had never seen, a distant horizon I didn't know existed.
Today we grieve the loss of John's coworker and her 9-year-old son, both killed in a car accident, leaving behind her thirteen-year-old daughter. I am looking hard at a distant blurry skyline where the earth and the clouds meet in a confusion my eyes cannot differentiate, but I am on shoulders.
trompe l'oeil...
I awakened in the middle of the night thinking about pebble candy and why we love things that look like other things. Years ago, I watched a cake competition on TV in which a contestant made a Japanese doll out of spun sugar. I was delighted and so was the studio audience and I began to wonder why. What is it about sugar that looks like porcelain, marzipan that looks like fruit, and mushrooms made of meringue that captures our imagination? I love making glass that looks like rocks. If I knew how, I'm sure I would enjoy making rocks look like glass.
My mother used to tease the grandchildren by putting peas and carrot candies on their dinner plates and insisting they eat their vegetables. We love for our 'l'oeil' to be tromped and human hearts skip a beat when something 'looks so real.' It occurred to me that one message that resonates with us is: "things are not as they seem."
Last night I with awakened with a thought, I grabbed a Sharpie on my night stand and scrawled on a yellow legal pad: "Things are not as they seem, they are better, and they are deeply good."
All Saints gift shop & more thoughts on snakes...
I'm excited that my crosses and pendants (under $45) are available in Winter Park at the gift shop at All Saints Church on Lyman. I wrote little snatches of verses to let the wearers know what was on my mind when I was making the necklaces. Sometimes my thoughts are quirky (surprise) and the little tags communicate something unexpected. I especially like this piece. It's tag reads: "If your son asks you for a fish will you give him a snake?" and on the reverse side: "How much more your Heavenly Father ..." I hope the implied "He cares for you" is understood.
looking up to see the sea...
A friend loaned John a blue BMW convertible for the weekend so we took off for the beach for the day yesterday. No, that is not where I found these darling seahorses, though it may have given me the inspiration to dangle them from my chandelier.
This afternoon while I sat with John for his 4th chemo treatment I reviewed my day and I felt discouraged. I hadn't really accomplished much of anything other than shopping at Home Goods for an hour. I wanted a little table to put on my front porch next to my turquoise chair and ended up leaving with nothing. I couldn't make up my mind and I felt too tired of stuff and of spending money. (Come to think of it, leaving empty-handed is quite an accomplishment for me.)
So, while reviewing my day, I realized the highlight was hanging these bronze seahorses from my chandelier while I chatted with Natalie. When John and I got back from the cancer center, she had made us chicken parmesian with peanut butter pie for dessert. As I was enjoying the meal and the company, I looked up to see the seahorses hanging from bubbles of chain and my heart did a ever so little leap of joy. Maybe I accomplished more than I think, or maybe accomplishing a lot isn't all it's cracked up to be. For now I'm glad for another reason to look up.
New pet trending: Seahorses!
I'm so excited with these darling carved bone seahorses I imported from China. They arrived yesterday, so I immediately incorporated one into this design and wore it to the store. Even though I was just running errands, I confess I felt pretty snazzy as well as happily accompanied by an underwater friend. My dad loves to tell the story of going to the Chicago World's Fair where he was allowed to purchase a souvenir. He chose to buy a little lizard on a leash that he pinned to his shirt, his new pet riding his shoulder all the way home to Greenbay Wisconsin. My little seahorse buddy is so cute it felt like a pet, though I resisted talking to it. If I decide to carry on a seahorse conversation I need to put wear a Bluetooth earpiece so that people will think I'm on the phone.
How do you spell unconditional love?
I donated this bracelet to an auction for the Holocaust Memorial Resource and Education Center. I was so tickled to find a kaballah charm that's Hebrew letters symbolize 'unconditional love.' Since part of the center's efforts are focused on anti-bullying it seemed the perfect addition.