Trumpeter Swans

Just now, I heard the familiar sound of Trumpeter swans and looked to the window to see them through the skeleton arms of neighboring trees. l could see the black lines of their feet, and the scalloped outline of their flight feathers. The expanse of their wings.

I looked in earnest for more. There were only two. Their streamlined bodies stretching against the frosty morning.

They are a sure sign of spring.

I noticed how dirty my windows were, after months and months of neglect. And immediate thought was, I should never have windows this dirty. 

The voice that lives inside my head is not my own. It was put there by generations who believed that clean windows were more important than swans. More important than the affection for them. More important than living.

I said back to the voice:

It’s not the dirty windows, it’s actually having them.

It’s not the dirty windows, it’s the eyes to see.

It’s not the dirty windows, it’s the sound of Trumpeters.

It’s not the dirty windows, it’s the swelling of my heart.

It’s not the dirty windows. I’m free.

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.

Pennies from Heaven (because I forgot the really good title)

            I found the perfect one word title for this post, and then as quickly as it came, I lost it. Which is very much like me I imagine. Forgetting things, names, words and appointments. Forgetting why I came into another room with the purpose lost by the time I entered into the middle of it. And then leaving said room frustrated with myself. I read that it has much to do with the neurological issues I have. I have so many labels...fibromyalgia, postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, peripheral neuropathy, depression, bulging disks and torn stuff in my spine, arthritis, Fabry's disease...

            Truth is, no one really knows why I am loosing myself to whatever this body of mine decides to do. Could be hereditary, but I know very little about my natural fathers health before he died. I only know that sometimes I am scared. I am scared of becoming encased in skin that cannot feel.

            I've lost my feet to numbness and  I experience excruciating neuropathic pain that saps my energy. I've lost my shins to partial numbness and parts of my thighs. Parts I didn't even realize were gone until the neurologist started poking me with a pin and caressing parts of me with a piece of tissue paper as my eyes were closed...

"Can you feel this?"

"This?"

"How about this?"

           Mostly, I miss the feel of the grass beneath my feet. Oh, and sand too. Now I have to wear "special" shoes. I smile to myself as I write this because I think immediately of Forrest Gump when I put them on each day....these expensive pseudo-hip mary janes with fat heels and velcro straps to keep me steady.

I miss my feet.

         But none of this can stop me from my belief that it all has a purpose beyond what I can see. Because I've seen it in action, this truly amazing Grace that God gives to us each and every day.

I look for it. And it is there.

In the smallest of things.

            Last Sunday before church we were running late. The last spots were by the big mud puddles outside of the parking lot fence. I decided to walk along the fence so I could touch it as I skirted past front bumpers, secretly savoring the cool metal beneath my fading fingertips. It reminded me of my childhood, walking by fences and running my fingertips along to cool metal as I walked. I held on to the fence to steady myself before entering the parking lot of our church. When I reached the entrance, I happened to look down. At the entrance, right by the big metal post, embedded in grass and mud and leaves, was a penny.

I was not looking for pennies. It found me. I picked it up and looked closely at the date.

1969.

The year I was born.                                                                                                                                                                                                           God knows my thoughts. He knows my pain. To me, it was a sign  that I was born for a reason. That my life has a divine plan.  Not to give up.

I'm not saying that God throws pennies down just for me to find.

What I am trying to say is that if your heart is open to receive signs...you will find them.

There are little miracles everywhere. I truly believe this. Signs of God's love exist all around us.

        I could not stop the tears coming from my eyes during the whole service that day. My youngest son, looking over at me from his seat with questioning eyes and I couldn't explain why the tears would not stop.

How can one really explain to anyone how finding a penny with 1969 on it was such a touching thing...

I guess that is what I'm trying to do here.

Through an old penny, God said to me that I was born to do this.

That my life is purposeful and that I was on the right path...just watch for big muddy puddles, touch everything and everyone you possibly can. Hold on. This numbness in your body is a gift. Use it. Use your life.

You were born to do this.

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.

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 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