laugh with me, cry with me

I don't do makeup.

So you will appreciate the trepidation I felt, when my daughter who is studying makeup, asked me to be her model with 'mature' skin. Don't you hate that word. Mature. 

As in ... wine, cheese?  Both these things are only, in my opinion, better with age.

But skin. Come on.

So, graciously, and because I'm a good mom, I was the model with 'mature' skin.

And for a couple of hours I stepped out of my au natural world with my palette of stone, black and every shade of white, into a world of color, brushes, mirrors and hot lights. Her world. She let me in.

We're polar opposites, but she gets me. 

Subtly, she transformed me and skillfully hid the past months of sadness that I wear

everyday without noticing. Until now.

It's hard not too notice when confronting myself in the mirror with hot lights framing my grief.

Grief isn't just felt. It's worn.

Somewhere in the process I've detached.

I know this, observing myself as I ever so slowly, allow the reality

of life without my partner come a little closer every day.

Make me beautiful again. And she did.  Hide the pain. And she did. 

Vainly, (and bravely - I dont do photographs) I took photo's of myself. Of us.
I wanted her to see how happy I can be.

 Because she's happy.

David would have loved to see us together.  Like this.

Mother and daughter. Fixing each other. 

It had everything and nothing to do with makeup. Who knew. 

thank you Carly

love, mom

if not, why not?

I ventured into town today. the pretty city. I love her. 

I pushed the 3rd floor button and waited till I couldn't anymore and pushed the alarm. I'm from the deep South. We don't do small spaces. A lot of mechanical sounds later and the door opened to a beautiful friendly face, who did his best to reassure me that if I pushed the button again, it would indeed transport me to where I wanted to go. Sadly I thought: you have no idea where I really want to go, but decided not to share it with him in case I ruined his day. 

Anyway, walking back to my car, I came across this little beauty. It's my shade of pink, has wabi sabi white shutters, just look at the name, and it's facing my North Star.

Who say's I can't? 

(I'm counting on my closest, to bring me back to reality)

sea glass

I love sea glass, little gifts from the sea.

Time travellers tumbled in the ebb and flow of the rough surf has softened the edges and the colors. 

All misty hued like the ocean they came from. 

My photographs have found a new life bonding with the glass. 

I'm thinking of wrapping them in fine sterling silver wire to wear as pendants for a new jewelry range I'm working on, and yet to name.

Davids shoes

the saying goes something like this:

don't judge a man until you've walked a mile in his shoes.

For the past 3 months, I've slipped my skin and walked in 'Davids shoes'. For the first time, I felt a little, just a little of what it was like to be David. He resolutely faced each day of crushing responsibilities, that often included bearing the responsibilities of others. Without complaining. He was a worker. And generous. With a servant heart. Who never judged. Who loved unconditionally and always forgave. Always.

Selfishly, I want him back. I miss him. But he deserves Heaven.

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while DARING GREATLY so that his place shall never be with those timid souls who know neither victory or defeat." ~ Theodore Roosevelt