The High School Drop Out and My Third Grade Self, A Letter to Abbie Zysk

 Dear Abbie,

    In the third grade, I was supposed to know my times tables by heart. I didn’t. My step father would abruptly ask me times table questions at dinner. I hated it. I grew to have terrible anxiety when it was time to eat. I thought to myself as I got seated, what’s six times seven? Eight times nine? All the while, my stomach in knots. Would I get spanked for not knowing? I loved it so much more when he was away, and it was just my mother and my baby sister and I at the table. There were still mashed potatoes, but no anxiety over math. No beady eyes through tinted glasses, staring at me across the table, stoic with fork in hand. Waiting for an answer.

  So, math was never my thing. I only associated it with anxiety and feelings of not enoughness. I attempted Algebra II twice in high school and failed both times. I believed I was not a “math person”. I began at Southwestern College when I was pregnant with my fifth child, Jeremy, who is now 16. Again, I took Algebra II, and finally passed. My teacher, Mr. Leonard, was kind and compassionate, much like you Abbie. He loved us. He loved his work. I passed Algebra II after taking the exam in his office, in tears, 8 months pregnant. Hormones raging. Anxiety at its peak. He calmed me. I passed and I was so proud of it.

    After fifty-something credits geared toward graphic design, I left the college to peruse my dreams of “becoming” something. And I did.With exhaustive work, I ended up with a three year contract and jewelry line with a major gift company. Creating and caring for my children became my life for a decade.Then I ran a little shop in town for several years, immersing myself in creating displays, window dressing, ordering, hobknobbing with customers, and making people laugh. I even ran the register with minimal screw ups. Depending on who you talk to. Insert laughing Emoji here. It would be 15 years before I took another math class, all the time, the image of myself not being a “math person” firmly embedded inside of me. Feeling not smart enoughness. My third grade self still in there, my dropout self still in there, telling me I was just stupid.

    When the corona virus hit and I left the beloved little shop, the between spaces allowed me to breathe and reflect on the next phase of my life. I had been a successful artist and the shop had become a thriving business, but the little light, the desire to do something more...something more meaningful, still shone inside of me. I decided to return to school. And that, Abbie, is how I met you.

    In my usual hasty fashion, I took whatever math class fit into the equation of finishing as soon as possible. How hard could statistics be? Didn’t you just plug things into a program and write down what you got? Au contraire. I would tell people that Stats class was kicking my ass. I wasn’t kidding. I looked around the class...I was old enough to be everyone’s mother, even yours Abbie. My own mother though I was crazy for going back. She said I didn’t have the mind for it anymore. So me and the stupid third grader and the drop out inside of me took those words. We drank them up like freshly cut tulip stems, thirsty for water. Not the words from my husband, who said that I can do anything I put my mind to, or the words of my kids who said, “you got this mom”.

    I remember the first few days of class so clearly. Within the first ten minutes, I though for sure I had gotten myself in too deep. For me, it was very much like sitting through two hours of a foreign language class with no clue how to say a single word. And I quickly found that I could not round decimals. That skill got lost somewhere. I would sit at my desk, with my third grade self, and the college drop out inside of me, staring at the numbers on the page with complete dismay. Seeds of doubt became weeds of despair. It was getting too crowded in there Abbie. I taught myself to round decimals, with your guidance. I mastered it. I worked and worked and worked, for hours and hours, at it. Balled up paper all around me. Breaking the leads out of my pencils, erasing holes in paper, until I got it.

    I learned the symbols. With your kind and tireless instruction, I learned. You are the kind of teacher the world needs. Passionate about the subject matter. Eager to help students in any way possible. People never forget their teachers. Especially the good ones. You are one of those.

    On final exam day, I was so nervous. My hands shook. That isn’t like me. I’ve gotten good at talking myself down from ledges over the past 51 years. But not that one. Not that. The high school drop out and the dumb third grader, and my mother’s voice all inside of me....that got the best of me. I took a deep breath and opened the test. I had three hours. Oh shit. I had a time limit?  Oh that’s right. We had a time limit. I must have blocked that out. That sent me over the edge. All the loud voices of “I can’t” became louder and crowded out the others.

    Abbie, you told me that I could do this. I clung to your voice, through unruly tears that I couldn’t stop. It wasn’t just about the test. It was about all of my failures. Failures as a mother. Failures as a person. Failures in life choices, husbands, moves, homes, things I said, clothing, weight....it all cascaded in that moment. It sounds ridiculous. I know. Shouldn’t I have worked all that shit out in therapy? All I did was look at the first problem. Everything I learned, everything I beat into my brain, flew out of the window the moment that I knew I didn’t know the answer to the first problem.

    But you were there. You took the time to assure me, even during the test, that I knew it. It was in there. The dumb third grader, who dreaded report card day, could do this. The pregnant college drop out could do this. The bad choice maker could do this. The 51 year old woman with the foggy brain could do this.

And I did.

Thanks to you.

I will never forget you. Ever. To me, you are a super hero. An angel. A light in the darkness.

    The third grader, the drop out and the middle aged artist in me made this for you. A tiny token of appreciation. I just want to leave this letter here for you, for always. My teacher. So you know how you made a difference in my life that was more than just teaching me about medians and decimals. You helped me to find within me, something I thought I had lost. Courage. Tenacity. A love for the sound of pencil on paper.

Rosy Tomorrows, Sacred Cake and Grace

Yesterday  was most extraordinary...made up of moments that you simply have to write about. It was an I-cannot-stop-smiling kind of day. Like a strand of sparkling white Christmas lights; one moment just as bright as the next. One moment today, in particular, had such clarity. It was the kind of moment that makes a little lump in your throat with the gratitude of it all...little bits of serendipity....the amazing grace that God sends in the words, the face and the embrace of a stranger. The kind of moment in which you just know that God is at work in your life.

Those kinds occasions have always been my most favorite kind.

            I am incredibly blessed to have my work displayed in a beautiful shop in downtown Dowagiac, Michigan called “Rosy Tomorrows”. Isn’t that a great name?!

As I tied up some loose ends behind the counter, I overheard a customer in the shop exclaim how excited she was that Rosy Tomorrows had Sacred Cake jewelry…I listened for a minute as she talked about how much she loved Sacred Cake and how beautiful everything was. I told her that I was, in fact, “The Sacred Cake Lady”…and we ended up  meeting excitedly across the shop in a tight embrace…

After that sweet customer left with several pair of earrings that I had made, I said out loud to my friend Claudia (the shop owner), “Is this really my life?!” As the tears welled up in my eyes, and I was met with another embrace; this time from lovely Claudia, I could only think of the mystery and wonder of God’s grace. Just weeks ago I felt a bit (Okay, a lot) lost. Self-doubt became a constant tapping on my shoulder and I lost sight of the truest part of who I am and what I love. I worried about money. I worried about time. I worried about those tough decisions. I worried about the undone things…and the done things that pulled me down like a soaking wet quilt tied around my waist.

            Today in that brief sparkling instant, I was reminded that even though my work does not involve words, quotes or mantras, it still speaks. It brings joy and color and beauty to the wearer. When I teach, my students feel such accomplishment and joy (as do I). It is the work of my heart infused with love. It is about the most important thing in the world---other people. The truest part of me…of all of us…is the part that is priceless. The most important part of us is the imprint that we leave in the hearts and minds of others. We were created with love. We were made to love and we were made to shine to the best of our ability.

            I was reminded today that it is alright to feel lost; but to be open to the gentle unfolding of the hands of grace. I was reminded to remain present, release the worry and bring my awareness back to center. Because grace can show up when you least expect it.

            I am so humbled  by it all.

In my studio, a tiny bouquet from the yard.

Dear Emerson

"Emerson, I am trying to live,  as you said we must, the examined life. But there are days I wish there was less in my head to examine. Not to speak of the busy heart."

Mary Oliver 

Today was one of those kind of days.
The one in which I found myself lost in thoughts of how far I could get from this particular life on the money in my bank account...
Which meant I was not going to get very far.
I caught the sky over an open field as I was driving and decided to pull over. I marveled at the beauty of the clouds and the way the rays of the sun made streaks, like light is depicted in ancient religious paintings.

 Emerson would have been proud... 

Loving the CHIN I'm In

I'll be 45 soon...and it shows.
My hair is noticeably thinner and I've just let it grow like long rye grass on top of my head. Sparse and whispy like cotton candy...and it's ok. They say your hair falls out two months after a stressful event...but I can't think of one that would be any more major than others...I think it is just age and genetics. I'm ok with that. I'll either cut it impossibly short and dye it blonde, or just wear a hat. I'm still thinking about my options.
I have "crows feet" around my eyes, wrinkles and lines that get longer by the year...but I celebrate it. I earned my stripes fair and square...from lots of laughter. If laughing so much in my life means I get wrinkles to prove it, then bring 'em on! Laugh lines! The best kind of line in my opinion.
But can we talk for a minute about my chin? My chin has always been an issue with me. I've been painfully aware of it, and have been since high school, though no one ever made mention of it...they only teased me relentlessly about my unusually long legs. Bet those women wish they had my legs NOW. (smiling to myself) Though I'm sure no one else goes home at night and says to their friend or spouse, "Did you SEE the CHIN on her?!" It isn't really that bad, but we know how we magnify, in our own self defeating way, our flaws both real and imagined. You do it too. I know you do. It's part of being human.
I had a dream the other night that my birth father came to see me and we just held each other for the longest time. He asked me what happened and I said to him that I was getting old, and that was the reason I didn't look the same as the last time he saw me. I told him I'd be 45 soon and that years have a way of sneaking up on us.
They have! Suddenly I need glasses! I carry "readers" in my purse for the times when my regular glasses won't do.
But I am embracing the changes. Almost in a curious, science experiment kind of way.
I go most days without any makeup, and once and awhile, I catch a glimpse of myself in the post office window while waiting in line and I think, damn, I look awful! These people probably think I'm really really sick!
I am, and always have been prone to dark circles under my eyes and now with  the extreme hair loss and pale crepe-y skin, people must wonder! (and that is ok too)
Though they might wonder, I see wonder. Instead of going into aging kicking and screaming and smearing creams and potions onto my face and neck and fretting about looking older, I marvel at the aging process. I almost laugh at it. What I love most is, the learning process that comes with it, and being o.k. with who I have become.
I would imagine for years how I would look with a suction/lift "chin job"...looking in the mirror with my hands holding my little second chin up to see how I'd look with no "pouch" there...
BUT Today I had a revelation.
My youngest son and I were up here in my little studio and I had on the most amazing, colorful,vintage rhinestone necklace that I just repaired. He noticed that the rhinestones were catching the sun and making rainbows. All around us were colored orbs on the walls and ceiling...moving as I moved, and reflecting upward on my chin.
I asked him to capture a photo of it.
He took this one, and this one~

This is me. Unfiltered. Unsoftened. Unmade-up. But NOT Unhappy. This is the real me and the chin that I have, until today, had such disdain for and have been self conscious of my whole life. Even at my thinnest(in high school), I still had this wierd little second chin!

My chin has seen so many good things...beautiful necklaces that I, and other amazing artists have created. Sunlight reflecting from the waters of Lake Santa Fe. It has been caressed by cool mountain air and wind from southern beaches. It has been touched by tiny baby hands. It has traveled with me through life and stretched out with yawns made from remnants of the most amazing, most awe-inspired days. And it has stretched with the weight of my body, pregnant with life. 

My chin has never been happier.

Do you have a particular part(s) that you can make peace with today? I'd love to hear about it! Please leave a comment.

Making Love

Recently, I received an amazing care package from someone very special to me. My idol, Stephanie Lee!We've never even met in person. It was filled with homemade jams, a piece of amazingly gorgeous jewelry, beautiful beads, and one of the kindest, softest notes I have ever received. This has become part of the unforgettable memories of my life. I know how busy life can get. And I know what it takes to send a package to someone...I do it often in my line of work...but one carefully filled with little glass mason jars in bubble wrap among other things? Well, that is above and beyond a care package...It made me feel seen and loved and heard...all of those things which we need as a human "being".

jams and preserves

            I lined the jars up and gingerly held them up to the sunlit window, slowly turning them like chunky kaleidoscopes. Each jar carefully labeled with the contents...beautiful amber and red colors...tiny chunks of fruit carefully cut and suspended in time. Friends, I know about canning. I know how labor intensive it is...

Nanny taught me about canning.

            During the hot summer months on Lake Santa Fe in northern Florida, I'd sit barefoot and tanned in a metal folding chair on the carport with my Nanny (Kathleen) Roberts shucking peas, de-veining  string beans, snapping them into smaller pieces...the scent of raw green in my nostrils and the gentle sound of the lapping lake in the distance. She called me Jenny in her gentle, southern voice and the sound soothed me with warmth each time.

Granddaddy and Nanny circa 1982

          Those summer days are some of the most cherished memories of my life. She and I and large bowls of snap peas and beans, chatting about canning and how long she had been doing it. The sound of metal lawn chairs scraping the carport cement as I scooted closer to her so I could see how it was properly done.

The large jars of butter beans were stored up on a shelf on the carport in long, neat rows. They could be seen when you drove up onto the carport, up to the kitchen door. I can still hear her voice calling to my father, Jerry, to go and get a jar of butter beans for supper. I can see his sun-browned hands reaching for one of the the large mason jars. Jars filled with those pale beans;  jars filled with conversations and sunshine. and the labors of a community garden in the deep southern sun.

            Holding those little jewel filled jars that were sent to me, my memory was flooded like a tide pool...holding the most precious living things I could ever own; my memories.

            Nanny is gone now. She was 85. Jerry left long before her in 1983. I was 14. She always said one should never have to outlive her children, but that he was with Jesus now.

            Holding the little jars from my box to the light, I remember love. I remembered family meals around a creaky old table. And I felt loved.... my mind flooded with memories of my father; of love, family and gentle conversation with one of the softest, kindest women I've ever known. All of this from a single box bearing my name.

            I bought muffins yesterday. Savoring the thought that this morning I would open one of the jars with that familiar POPing sound as the seal breaks, and spreading the fruity sweetness over crusty brown bread and  real butter...almost like the feeling of rolling vintage jewels around in the palm of my hand. I imagine the journey from garden to hands to bowl to plate. I hear voices and laughter spilling out into the morning air.

            I sigh with the thought of it all. Where love begins and never ends...long after the jars are empty, rinsed and ready for the next season. Jars turned upside down, long bereft of their contents, a symbol of hope for another season of love to be made.



Jewelry by Stephanie Lee

Apple Blossoms and Fences

      Kim’s passing has changed me. Last night I dreamed of apple blossomtrees and skipping and running my fingers along a chain fence…I’d forgotten how that felt. I knew she was the reason I was experiencing those things. Winter is here in Michigan, and the landscape is wiry with empty trees and sheets of white. No wonder I dreamed of childhood and springtime…but even then, asleep; I was aware of her presence.

     There is not a moment that is not infused with the knowing that it could have been me in that truck, on that road, on that wintry day. Or any other day for that matter.

Each moment of my life has become more vivid, more detailed, more about love and loving more, and less about the lack of things.

     Now there are times, like any human being, that I loose my way and the frustration of every day life cowers over me. I grumble about this and that, like we all do…then I think of her.

     And I wonder if she knows how she has changed the world in the leaving of it. I wonder if that is ok to say. There are so many questions, as always, that I have learned to accept. Questions that never have answers…like why someone so vibrant and lovely has to die and leave little girls  behind. My sister and I were those little girls once. Left behind by the death of  someone vibrant and loving, and left with the wondering why and the unanswered questions.

     Kim has put the color back into my life. She has infused each day with the intricacies  and wonders of it…she has brought brilliance back into glints of sunshine through the trees and richness in sounds and more joy in the every day moments that get lost in the day. For me, there are a lot less of those lost moments now. I have become more aware of my life and those moments…more absorbed into them…needing very much to braille them into the pages of my memory.

     I wonder if she knows this. I want her to know this. Her passing was not in vain. She lives inside of me, so that I may pass that vibrancy of life and loving on to others…and on, and on, and on.

     It is a strange thing, this grief. It is a muddy composition of sadness that catches me off guard, and an awareness of overwhelming joy and gratitude for the gift of life that I have been given.Each day; a gift.

     Thank you, sweet Kim, for your presence here in this life, so that I may be more present in mine, and in the lives of others. It isn't with selfishness that I say these things. Your passing was not in vain. You are not lost to the world. You are forever a part of it; living on through your children and through those who will hold you in their hearts and minds always.

Generations are touched by the sun of your smile.

Thank You....Thank You.

     The outpouring of generosity for Kimberly and Tim Jacko's family was more than I could have ever imagined. I did not expect that I would have over 1,200 raffle tickets to run my grateful fingers through. I visited Tim the day after the funeral. He asked me to thank you, from the depths of his heart, for your generosity and gracious gifts...he wanted me to tell you that he wanted the money to go toward something meaningful. I admit, I still get choked up, even trying to type the words...but I will, because you should know. He is using some of the money collected to buy Kim's grave stone. It is something that he would not have otherwise been able to purchase for her memory.
     When I went over to visit him and his daughters, it was very emotional for me...it was a bit awkward because I wanted to hold it together for the youngest. I did. But it took all of the composure I had. Kim was all around there...every single wall of their little home was covered with family photographs. She valued family. She valued togetherness and children and laughter. SHE was valuable. Tim said she was in the midst of preparing for the new year with a fresh start. She was rearranging photos, organizing cook books and kitchen cabinets...and I thought of how often I'd done the same, never ever thinking that I may never be able to finish...but all of that has changed for me. I think of her every single day. And I'm sneaky. I quietly let the tears go when no one is around and it is quiet (like right now) and before I drift to sleep at night. They are tears of sadness mingled with tears of overwhelming gratitude for the life I have been given. For the outpouring of donations for her family that I never expected. For the restoration of my own hope in humanity. For divine grace.
     Tim's daughter Shaylee is 14, and Kim's death has been so difficult for her. After leaving the house, I could not get her little face out of my mind. I saw myself  in her, sitting there with the saddest eyes. I was transported back in time, fresh from the funeral of my step-father, who was the absolute world to me...he was every joy to me. I was 14. Just as Shaylee is...and floundering to make sense of something so senseless. It has been almost 30 years since his death, and I still get tears in my eyes and an ache in my heart with the missing of him. Angela (my sweet neighbor and friend) is actually making a birthday cake with Shaylee today, since her birthday is tomorrow.
I am going to put a donation spot on my sidebar here on the blog, for the family. There are still at least two weeks left until the drawing.

I just cannot thank you enough for your selfless gifts for Tim and his family. To everyone who contributed in every way, may your lives be blessed.
UPDATE: I am going to be giving away more than six pairs of vintage assemblage earrings. I received a generous donation from one of my favorite suppliers to make at least six more pair of Kim's favorite green earrings. Many thanks to Scarlett of Valclaws on Ebay for your generous donation of supplies!
I better get busy, eh?

Blessings to You and Yours,
Jennifer Valentine of Sacred Cake

Here Come the Brides, to Carry Me Over the Threshold of Doubt

Happy. Vintage Assemblage Bridal Earrings

  When I feel like giving up, I think about them...the precious brides-to-be that come to me and my shop for the assemblage bridal combs, earrings and bracelets that make them feel beautiful on their most special day. I sometimes hear the voices in my head that say that what I do is meaningless adornment in a world filled with so many more important things. The voices say that I'll never make lots of money, or be well known for my work....the voices say that I am wasting my time. Who do I think I am?

And, I say back to the voices, that maybe I'll never be as successful as others...and maybe I won't ever make the big bucks...but what is important is what I feel when I create, and how others feel when my creations belong to them. I feel incredible bliss when I create that nothing, aside from my children, has ever given me. My work is infused with it. It feels like a divine compulsion...something I must do even when I want to give up because my body won't cooperate, or because life gets too complicated or stressful. I escape into the little world at my desk, where old things are made new again...arranged like flowers in a vase until all of the elements seem just right.

custom bridal comb in vintage silver

Making jewelry for brides is my most favorite thing to create. It is such a humbling experience to receive photographs from "my brides" wearing something I put such deep thought and love into. I see the photographs and I shake my head in wonder and amazement and in thanksgiving for such an honor. Such a joy to be a part of one of the most special times in a woman's life...

Alison's Custom Bridal Comb and Earrings

Jenny's Assemblage Bridal Charm Bracelet

Jenny's Wedding (favorite picture)

Custom Bridal Comb Set with Antique Crinoline (some of my most favorites!)

Melanie's Lovely Australian Wedding

Melanie's Bridal Bracelet and her Beautiful Bouquet

Where do you find your bliss? Tell me about it, won't you?
I've also marked down the whole shop to clear things out for new pieces...come take a peek here.

So, I've Wanted to Tell You

I've wanted to tell you about so much...I've wanted to tell you about how the air is changing and the coolness coming in from outside as I make my assemblage jewelry there in my circle of light in the evenings is such a welcome and wonderful gift. I've wanted to tell you about becoming a grandma soon (somewhere around November 2nd) and how I can hardly wait to look into my tiny grandson's eyes, and how he has transformed my wayward and rebellious older teen into a young woman whom I can sing and laugh with...and how I have his presence to thank for that and how I know that everything that happens, happens for reasons we simply cannot foresee.
 I've wanted to tell you about the funny "stink bug" infestation on the last of the melons in the back yard, and about the last of the tomatoes in the garden and the sound of birds I've never heard before as they migrate south through this tiny town in west Michigan... and how every time I think that I am now a bonafide "Michigander" it cracks me up; the 'gander" part particularly.
and I want to tell you about how poorly my spelling has become, but my desire to write and for my work to be read burns in my belly constantly...just that life does not desire me to write much at the moments I most desire to write and that is why I am here now, late in the night, writing. Because this is the only place I find time to write. Here in the quiet spaces of the night before bed...So I write here for anyone who thinks I may have something worth reading amid the busyness of life and of love and of daily exhaustion. ( I know the exhaustion, and that is why I appreciate those who choose to read here more than I can say.)
Funny, I have many partially empty journals dating back 20+ years...journals from my 20's with maybe ten pages out of 50 blank pages filled with random thoughts and scribbles and rants between ex-husbands and diaper changes. After they began to pile up, I simply ripped the few pages out of the journals that had writing and  I stuffed them into what I call "the suitcase of life", which is an old and tattered medium-sized vintage suitcase filled with random tangible articles that verify that yes, I once existed here somewhere among the concert programs and the award for honorable mention for poetry for the High School Florida Young Writer's contest in 1986. (which has a typo in the program poem title that was supposed to read "A piece of Blue Glass." but instead reads, "A Piece of Blue Grass." which changed the meaning entirely, don't you think? So everyone at the awards ceremony must have thought, hey that 16 year old kid likes Bluegrass, eh?
I'm rambling. I know.

I want to tell you about  my husband, whom I have such a deep admiration for, for so many things...one of them being his ability to paint and draw everything from duplicating the insides of the antique pocket watches he collects and repairs, to painting and drawing amazing portraits.

some of KW's recent Sketches

Even his scribbles or painting for fun with our son becomes artistic...like the day we painted paper plates for fun~

dixie plate portrait

I want to tell you how he planted my favorite flowers in the front yard so that I can see them through the window as I work~

the last of the Queen Anne's Lace and Hydrangeas

I have cleaned my table since the last movie I made for you here. I spent a good few hours sorting and cleaning and it just feels better to have an uncluttered place to work. I've also been working on these, which will be in the shop soon~

functional assemblage art
oil can photo holders

the original oil can photo holders
 by jennifer valentine

I've been busy working on my new website also, SacredCake.com. If you have a moment, stop by and tell me what you think? It is in fairly basic stages, but I work a little each day. I am moving toward having a working shop of my very own running there soon! Until then, you can find my work in the usual place, on Etsy.com under the under name SacredCake, for those of you who may just be dropping by today! (and I'm glad you did!)

So glad you chose to come here.
Blessings to You and Yours,
Jennifer

A Peek Into my "Studio", and Some Favorite Etsy Peeps

It has been finally cooling off in the evenings here in Michigan... I've moved my beloved work table (an old and very shabby french provincial desk found in an old barn) in front of the big window in my studio. I use the term "studio" a bit loosely...it is really kind of a middle room in the middle of the house that we didn't quite know what to do with, so we made it into an office with a loveseat and we kept our old antique buffet table in there too. When Jeremy was born, the "middle room" became a baby room. The buffet turned into a changing table with a nice coat of white paint and a purchased changing pad...diapers and baby clothes in the drawers. it was perfect! We added a rocking chair and a baby swing in the room too...
Now that Jeremy is 6, the changing table has conveniently become my shipping table! It works out very well. I have a long surface to weigh, wrap and package my sales and the drawers hold envelopes and boxes and tissue paper and other office supplies...(good idea huh?)
So, now the "middle room" is my studio/shipping area where I create the vintage assemblage jewelry for Sacred Cake, and  I share it with my husband, who is a painter and also loves to repair pocket watches when he isn't writing his dissertation or gardening or working with disabled adults or being a dad. He is a very busy man!
I made a kind of silly little movie for you tonight. Just a peek into my evenings in the middle room studio. I often talk about working in my "circle of light". Well, it is a drab goose necked 1940's office desk lamp with one of those special daylight bulbs in it...and I think it needs a paint job soon...

I got the nifty Buddha fountain at Target. You can find it here, but it is out of stock online. Check your local store instead. Oh, and it says it has a trickling sound.....well, no such trickle. But it is a nice soothing water feature to have on my desk nonetheless. I really enjoy it.

If you have time, I want to share a few of my Favorite Etsy finds with you also!

I treated myself to this last week from Mireio on Etsy. She went above and beyond to find a "bigger girl" sized slip for me and dyed it the lovely deep purple color I requested. The price was very right and it arrived wrapped beautifully! I really felt like I mattered to her. And it I feel so beautiful in it! It is perfect with a jacket and leggings or over jeans. Click on the photo or the link above to visit her shop.

my custom hand dyed slip. photo courtesy of Mireio.

I also fell in love with MemrieMare on Etsy.  Completely in love with the color and the texture of this hand dyed ribbon. She has amazingly gorgeous colors....and the German glass glitter stars are so perfectly beautiful. Thickly glittered only on one side, so they can be stuck securely anywhere you need them to sparkle!

Robin Egg hand dyed Ribbon. photo by MemrieMare on Etsy.

German glass glitter stars. photo by MemrieMare on Etsy.

and last, but definitely not least, I purchased this spray from Rhea at SweetsnThings on Etsy. Rhea was very kind and added a bit of Cedar scent to the lavender linen and room spray. Just a heavenly scent, if you haven't tried it! The price is great (6.50!) and the label and deep green bottle are very pretty and so nice to keep next to my bed. I spritz a bit on my pillows before I go to sleep. Very soothing! Great customer service too.

lavender and cedar room spray. photo by SweetsnThings on Etsy

These Etsyers did not give me any "kickback" for this post about them...I don't buy things "just for me" very often, and when I do, I like to get the same caring and personal service that I give to my customers. I'm just very pleased with my shopping experience. That is what shopping on Etsy should be...an experience, right? You won't be disappointed with these sellers.
By the way, I'm not going to tell you just how many times I had to fix a misspelled word while writing this post! I need to go back to grammar school! Spell check saves me every time...

Blessings and Light to you all and thank you for being here with me today!
Jennifer

Vintage Assemblage Wedding Jewelry and a bit about Summer

Well, once again, I've been away awhile...busy with life, children, work, and getting better.
I've found myself relishing the cool days and the rainy weather we've been having...strolling around the yard after the rain subsides, looking for bits of roses and green things to trim to bring inside. I can't bring myself to cut any roses unless they are almost ready to shed! If there are enough blooms, I'll treat myself to some little buds. Our bushes are still young and not producing tons of roses yet. I've always wanted a rose garden, but never took the time to cultivate one...or splurge on bushes! This year, my husband has been lovingly planting them all over our sunny back yard. Such lovely colors... and I cannot convey the incredible sweetness of the scent some of them have...there is one in particular that is large and pale yellow that smells so amazing that it is difficult for me to tear my nose away from its velvety splendor...have you ever smelled a rose like that?
Today, I brought a  few inside to enjoy, along with some bright orange day lilies and a sprig of hydrangea...

I've never been a big fan of summer, but life has a certain amazing sweetness these days. I feel like I am more fully present in it. Less worried. Practicing being more mindful. Praying more. Feeling more and more grateful for my life, my family and my relationships.

I've been thinking about weddings again...and how much I still love making special occasion jewelry! I found myself making a couple of vintage assemblage bridal hair combs for the shop from some of my pretty vintage jewelry parts and pieces...this is one I was particularly fond of~

Cherry Blossom and Crinoline, shabby bridal comb

I used a bit of antique crinoline, a large leaf brooch, a gold plated flower piece from an old bracelet, and a few vintage shabby pearl and rhinestone earrings...I have had a couple of brides that I've made jewelry for send me amazing photographs of them wearing their jewelry and it is always so deeply touching for me to see. I feel so incredibly fortunate that they want to wear my work out of the thousands of jewelry designs out there to choose from...my work speaks out to them somehow, through the thousands of others...and I am so incredibly grateful to be a part of something like this~

Jenny's Wedding

I think it is because it makes me still believe and have faith in happily ever after.

xoxox,
Jennifer

The 4th of July, (a re-post of something from last year that you may have missed.)

Chicago circa 1940's

     I think of this little girl every fourth since I found her picture almost 6 years ago. This, aside from family photographs of course, is my most prized and adored photograph. I have made up a thousand stories in my mind about her and a thousand questions....where was she?what was her little name?who decorated the buggy?did she tie her own boots? Did she have a good life? Somehow, does she know what she means to me?Though I know she has most likely left this world already....somehow does she know that I send love to her every time I see her face?
I'd like to think so. It gives me peace to think so.
I don't think I could manage this life if I lived it believing there was nothing more after this world...that this was all there is...that there was nothing divine about our humanness...
      Somehow this has me thinking about my father and how I hear his voice speak to me often since I learned of his death. In the small and quiet places when I can talk to him out loud, he answers me. Is he really speaking to me, or is it just a way to cope with his loss? to cope with the profound loss of the hope for reparation that came with his passing from me? Does it really matter?
My thought is, that as long as love and gratitude and wonder take the place of hate and despair and hopelessness, then the world is better....humanity is better....and healing takes place. And that is what works. It is those things that make a difference. It has nothing to do with religious rites or "moralists" or the people out there trying so adamantly to prove that no God exists. I think it is about loving the questions and regarding the mystery with wonder.
      This little girl, the one in this photograph, does she know how she's changed the world? By posing for a photograph on a hot July day so long ago. Simply standing there in her boots and in her innocence...she has changed the whole world. And she knows it because I tell her, and she hears me...and because I am here to tell her story with love and gratitude and wonder.

Do you have a favorite photograph? If so, can you share a bit about it with us? It is very easy to comment. No need for an account. Just use the "anonymous" feature.

Love and Light,
Jennifer

Gifts of Love

I just want to share with you some unexpected joy I've received, just because. Sometimes I feel so unworthy of such gifts...but when I'm feeling like I've been feeling lately, I'm so grateful for their presence here around me.
Last night I wrote these words: "I don't have the strength to fight for me today. I just want to sink into this bed and these soft feathers and old quilts into oblivion....simply fade away like dusk...leaving a trail of stars. I'm really not afraid to die. I think I'm afraid of what I'll miss...will I be looking down on my children from heaven or visiting in their dreams, like my father does to me...?
the constant daily pain and creeping numbness have just become something I've learned to live with, but this disease scares me. Why this slow decay? Why now the fumbling hands as I try to create? Why, after 40 years of living, have I finally found my creative joy, only to have it taken from me bit by bit?"

This morning, I awoke feeling a little better. The cats are all out playing in the yard...it is overcast and cool. My dear husband is outside transplanting clumps of violets and wildflowers and daffodils from the back edge of the yard to the front, around our statue of Mary and around the side of our home...It's quiet except for the red winged blackbirds and sparrows tweeting in the trees next door... I hear his shovel turning soil and the hose spraying and the soft sound of curtains breathing in and out with the gentle morning breeze. Life is so incredibly good sometimes I am moved to grateful tears. And then I feel rotten about complaining about anything. I know there are people out there that have it so much worse than I can ever imagine...but it doesn't change my story or my struggle for some semblance of a "normal" life.

Jenny Lee Wentworth sent me this painting recently! It was a complete surprise! and such a delight...I cherish it....and the incredible thoughtfulness and selflessness that went into her work. She even used real egg shells at the bottom and lace from one of her favorite worn out shirts along the bottom. I love the colors and the softness and the words....her blog is a gentle space where she shares her journey into painting and into life itself...wide open to possibility and hope. You can find it here.

My dear friend Carissa Paige is another dear soul who sends me the sweetest things...this just came for my birthday this year and I'm filling it with favorite letters and things.

top of the box

bottom of the box

How sweet is that? It is a big wooden cigar box, painted and screen printed with one of my favorite girls...Carissa Paige is another gentle and dear spirit that I am so grateful for...her etsy shop is exploding with pastel color and movement! You can see it right here.

sweetness from Carissa

Last for today, but definitely not least, sweet Corinne from September House sent me this amazing unexpected gift! I love love love her sweet necklaces..I had ordered a custom necklace with queen anne's lace after I wrote this post...something about the hand embroideredness of them...and the simplicity in design and sweetness that I love. I lost that necklace somewhere along the way and ordered another recently. It came as a gift instead, from Corinne...I cherish it!

I just wanted to share a bit of life with you today...and some things that make me smile. I hope you have (or had) an amazing day today!
xoxox
Jennifer

A Letter

Dear God,

The brief darkness inside of me has given way to light. It doesn't take long for the light to come....I spend a lot of time within myself, working things through....and praying.
You know that, right? I try not to bother you too much, because I know there are people with much bigger needs, but lately I've been talking to you quite a bit and you help me work things out in ways I know I should. The sadness and the anger gives way and I feel your presence as always. Sometimes it just takes a day or two. Thank you for listening to me.
By the way, I like for you to be a "him". I'm ok with that. I like the idea of a heavenly father, and I don't get hung up on whether you should be a man or a woman. I just find comfort in you....and joy in your creations....I revel in them, really..... How do the tulips know when to rise?  I do enjoy the questions....

Oh, and I was just talking to my husband today about a quote by Einstein



“There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle.”

I think I'll still keep choosing the "everything" option.

Though there were still  patches of snow on the ground today, Jeremy and I went out to soak up the sunshine and do some sidewalk drawing...he chose to draw a rainbow...a sign of hope and promise.

Such sweetness and joy in his inside-out shirt and clunky snow boots...thank you for him. Thank you for all of my children. They have brought me such joy and they have truly been my greatest teachers.

I know that you know sometimes I loose my focus on what is good and what is deserving of thought and thanksgiving and what is deserving of just letting go. There are things I have simply just given up to you. So, I'll just let you handle the big stuff and the hard stuff and the tough questions that I can't answer, and the things that I just don't know what to do with anymore. Because you make life so much lighter. So much simpler. So much easier. So much softer. More joyful. More manageable.

More miracle.

I always come back to you.

Birds and Blossoms on my Brain, vintage assemblage jewelry

ice drops on the big tree out front
taken just this past week

It has been such a looooooonnnnnnnggggggg winter. There is still snow on the ground here in Michigan and I hear birds singing (FINALLY) outside, which means that spring is coming. It is a welcome relief from the subzero windchill that has been happening lately. I haven't been outside much this winter...I'm happy to watch it from the warmth of our home, which I am so grateful for.
I've been thinking about spring and weddings and flowers and little girls and buttons lately among other things. It helps to keep my mind off of my defective body parts and yesterdays visit to the ER (instead of going to church as planned) at the insistence of my dear husband, who was concerned for me. I'm having back trouble again...the kind that makes me afraid to move. It has been awhile since this ol' spine of mine has misbehaved so badly....and I had forgotten all about it really, until yesterday. I'm thinking it must be the change in weather...but I am recovering.
Anyway, I've been working on some new things here and there. I so adore these antiqued brass birds I've acquired and I want to put them on everything! (though so far I have resisted.)
I am so excited to be working on another order for Declaration Boutique this week. It is an amazing shop in St. Augustine, Florida that carries my vintage assemblage hair combs and earrings. I am so grateful to Heidi for her trust and confidence in my work.

Flight of Fancy Necklace

gold plated feather hairpins



antiqued brass bird hairpin
 with antique mirrored glass cabochon


Stay tuned for another giveaway, OK? (I love doing those!) I'll be back again sooner this time, than later.
THANK YOU for being here, and for taking the time to read my words and such. It means so much to me. it really does.

Black and Blue and other Stuff

I try to post more often, but where does the time go? I am finding it hard, still, to balance work with play with blogging with twitter with website with etsy with relationships with laundry with raising kids...and on top of it all, exhaustion is back again and not feeling so hot these days (again). I forget, when my health is pretty great, as it has been for exactly ONE month out of the past 7 of them, that I have this damn disease. I forget that I can't push myself too hard. I can't stay up too late or eat bad food or get less sleep or forget my medicine. To be honest, it kinda pisses me off. And yup, I'm getting older. There is so much I want to do and time seems so limited....and then I feel so dumb and ungrateful for uttering a single peep about my life when so many folks out there have it far, far worse. So what's an ungrateful, overwhelmed, sick and sometimes, angry gal to do? She makes pretty things in black and blue.

(click on the picture above if you'd like to see more)

(getting pretty good at photos with my trusty old AA battery powered Sony Cybershot 7.2 megapixel, eh?)

AND what else does she do?

She celebrates the moments that make life so incredibly beautiful. Moments like this:

My youngest with his birthday PIE. Key Lime to be exact.



Love, Your Typewritr

I opened my front door Friday to a tall stack of packages...a welcome sight.I always enjoy opening the vintage treasures i use for the shop. But there was one package I was not expecting.... I knew from the sketch on the cover that it was filled with goodness and love. I knew it was from my dear friend and artist Carissa Paige.

I was so overwhelmed and touched to see what was inside! I had just asked her several days before receiving this amazing gift if she'd like some vintage erasable typewriter paper that I had brought with me years ago from Seattle. She didn't respond and I just thought she was busy...little did I know that she was giggling to herself! The most touching part was the typed note that came in the typewriter...

I have always loved to send unsuspecting people small packages of simple blissful things. Random acts of kindness in boxes filled with my love and sent out into the world...I just don't often receive things like that, but I love love love to give them. That is the best part...the giving of thought manifested in physical form. This was such an absolute unexpected joy. I had to share it with you too.

She even enclosed a vintage typewriter brush wrapped with a large feather and soft whispy things..as if to say that any mistakes I made would be effortlessly brushed away. Lord knows I make enough mistakes.

Carissa my dear friend, thank you for your precious self and the precious gift. I can't look at that machine without smiling wide....

 p.s. Dear readers, if you'd like to see Carissa's work, you can visit her etsy shop!

Won't you share an unexpected joy in a comment? I'd love to hear it! and by the way, when was the last time you used a typewriter?