Thursday, August 09, 2012

White Picket Fences

There is no cure for Fabry's disease or the issues I have with the resulting nerve damage. There is only wishing it didn't exist, and dealing with all the "stuff" that comes along with it. But then there is this~
queen anne's lace growing wildly right by the front step
That is when I do my "noticing" photographing exercise, that I have spoken of here before.

A lot of it centers around our home. I think because home is so important to me. It is a safe place. A constant that I can count on. A cocoon of comfort. I spend most of my time here, since I work at home, trying to make a living by doing what I love...making new things out of old things.

art nouveau, bridal, earrings, clear, antiqued, handmade
authentic art nouveau findings and french rhinestones
the lovely texture of milk glass creamer and sugar with embossed leaves
 I've opened a new little shop recently called "White Picket Fences", just for earrings like the handmade assemblage art nouveau earrings above...it's for all the things I adore and love to be surrounded with. Like shades of white, pale pale pinks, all things shabby chic, old and sparkly~
vintage chandelier sparkles and shabby tin tiles (even during renovation!)(and complimentary spiderwebs too
The new shop has vintage jewelry, antique linens and the recent addition of lovely handmade shabby chic lavender sachets that I have made from linens and vintage millinery flowers I loved creating them...thought they would make nice gifts.
french, lavender, sachets, etsy, white picket fences, millinery
french lavender sachets decorated with vintage millinery
I've always wanted to run a little "real" shop, but this online one will have to serve that purpose...

...you know, I still believe in happily ever after. I still believe in the sacredness of marriage and the promise of growing old with the one you love. I want my home and your home to be a sacred sanctuary, filled with the things and the people you most love.
I want to believe that when I'm gone, I've made a difference in this world.
I want my breaths to have mattered. Even after all this time, I still want the white picket fences.

There are good days when I feel strong and energetic and invincible...but I know that my "quality of life" is not going to get better. I am not the type to feel sorry for myself, but I do now and then because I'm not superwoman. I try to use my sense of humor on the really hard days and ask myself, "Are you above ground?" "Yes,?" "Then it's a good day." And then I chuckle to myself because I know it is true.
Truly, I only have today.  This day. This moment.
If you are anything at all like me, you forget on a daily basis that this could be your very. last. day.
So, I find my joy, wherever it is that day. In a dancing shadow on the wall...or a favorite song...spending time with the ones I love, or even ironing vintage linens...or in the joy of creating just a little something every day.
This poem by Mary Oliver deeply resonates with me. Especially the very last line. forgive the morbid title, but if you haven't read it, I wanted to share it with you today~
 
When Death Comes
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
to buy me, and snaps his purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;
when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,
and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,
and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,
and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened
or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

me and "Birdie" June 2012