Walking the beach today at Fort Flagler, I took a candid photo of myself. I am not big on taking many pictures of myself because the image on the camera is not the one I keep in my head. In the picture I downloaded this evening, I realized that except for the hair color, I look exactly like my mother. It is not want I want to see. Nothing was wrong with my mother, nothing at all. I am looking at a 56 year old woman in the picture anyway so perfection belongs not in my camera image but perhaps in Hollywood where Sharon Stone looks like a 30 year old screen goddess. I just feel myself melding into my mom, losing my identity as the more I resemble her. I know I am not her. So much is different about me, my life and my personality but I am wrestling with this issue. I admired my mother but never thought I would look like her. What a silly self centered thing to say! I can hear those words from her now.

I will not post the picture. It is hard not to just delete the dang thing. It was fun at the beach on a walk. Relaxing, centering. I am going to be doing some more soul searching on this mother issue. I wonder if my sons will think along these lines although I doubt it. I really do doubt it.

Studio Morning

A plane flies overhead. Songbirds sing and crows caw. Cool air softly floats in through the open bedroom window and morning nudges me awake. Early. Very early.

Quietly, barely breathing, holding my arm still so my bracelets do not make noise; I dress in yesterday's clothes, slip on red sandals and head to the studio.

The overhead lights begin their familiar hum and the air, still warm from the afternoon's sun, feels welcoming, drawing me in - as all the creative possibilities lay about on every table surface. Here there is jewelry to be made. A wool embroidery panel to finish. Paintings on the drawing table and easel. Tools, now silent, awaiting their turn in the creative, crafting frenzy. Everything begins to call to me.
" Make me. Finish this. Be inspired by me. Create me. "

This playground of my own creation just wants to be awake with me. Wants me to be its crafty companion. Wants to again sing with working energy. Good morning, studio!

I must sleep as a toddler sleeps these days. I am tired. I sleep. Deep and hard almost always filled with dreams of rich color and activity. Then just as suddenly as I dropped off this day to sleep, I am awake. Try as I might, sleep will not come again and my mind begins the dance of activity. As if on its' own winged flight, first here and then there, my mind lands amongst the leaves of a thousand different trees. It plays here, lingers there. Makes lists and daydreams. Begins a journey deep into the day when all things look possible in the earliest of morning light. It is 4am. Now 5. I am awake and hear the sounds a new day brings. Birds. A bee buzzes the open window. A dog woofs at the deer strolling through the yard. Out the window a young rabbit makes his fist hop from the blackberry vines ringing the side yard. Clouds hang heavy, full and brilliantly white against the bluest of skies. Everything pulses with energy as the sun bursts forth over the waters beyond Kala Point. A new day has begun and what an adventure it will be.

Three AM Awake in Milwaukee.

The morning feels safer, missing the darkening mysteries of the night. The sun softly rounds the concrete crystal corners of the city's tallest buildings; lighting every window. Every surface a caress of awakening. No hidden scariness here, no sorrow, no loss. Only light. Blue reflected from the skies, a clean start, a beginning that shouts I am new. Here I am. Awake with me.

This is a picture of Phil in the Milwaukee, WI airport this morning waiting for our flight. I took the picture quickly before he knew what I was doing and before he could move. He stood like this for a long time. Quietly. Watching out the big windows. I knew he wanted to be home. Knew he was glad to be leaving but the longing and stillness and looking forward just tugged at my heart.

The longing was there for both of us. His was just so visceral, so sweet, so near.

I have heard rumors of there being northern lights in the sky tonight. Absent light pollution, just maybe, I will see that incredible blue green band of shimmering curtains in the sky. I would so love to see them!

Things have shipped off the Bead & Button show in Milwaukee and soon, I will ship off, too. This is likely my last year at B&B. Sales are slower, there are changes in how the show is structured and I am getting older and just want to stay home. I love seeing everyone but the stress of putting it all together is getting to me. I think truthfully, my studio calls to me and I want to spend more time in there painting and making jewelry. My shop, a person all on its own, an at once demanding and loving child, also would like me to be home more often, too.

It is a thrill though to read about the show on line. To see all the people excited that they are attending the show, taking classes, meeting new friends, shopping, and listening to all the beads have to say to them. Inspiration is at every corner.

I am making this journey one more time. Once more to play at what I have always thought of as bead mecca then .... we will just have to see what the future will hold.

Yesterday was my shop's 21st birthday. For twenty one years, I have been a shop keeper. A keeper of my dreams. A keeper of my creative side. I have been blessed. I love what I do. All my life I wanted to own a store. I would play in my parent's garage with a small metal cash register and set things up to sell. I would make things. Lots of things. Often telling my mom that I wanted to make something but didn't know what. She kept me supplied with painting kits, craft supplies, yarn, sketchbooks and beads. I made things from empty laundry soap bottles. I taught myself to knit and crochet. I learned wood working with our neighbor, Al. I made a gorgeous wooden church model complete with electric lights for my grandfather one Christmas. My grandmother was the recipient of many of the things I made and never once did she have a discouraging word for me. My Aunt Ann treasured my first piece of crewel embroidery and we grieved together when it was lost in the floods of hurricane Agnes. My grandmother would sit with me and cut out pieces of fabric so I could make Barbie doll clothes and patchwork quilts. My neighbor, Rachel let me use her treadle sewing machine to stitch together quilts. Quilts that I have to this day. Every Easter became a time to decorate the house with all the eggs and trees I'd made. And Christmas? Christmas was making stuff on steroids! I thrived on it.

In high school, I was truly set free and learned to do silversmithing, pottery, painting, printmaking and more. I had told everyone since I was in the third grade and obsessed with drawing windmills, that I wanted to be an artist. I had no idea of how to become " one ". I only knew that I had to make things. I also knew that I wanted to sell those things and make a job.

College saw me frantically balancing work and boyfriends and creating the portfolio of work that would take me to the next level of schooling. I learned so many new things. I sold paintings to my dad's friends even if they were pet portraits painted on black velvet. I sold drawings to fund a weekend of fun with friends. I kept at it. Painting, drawing, crafting and soon added some teaching to my days. I was becoming what I wanted and  then ..... motherhood happened.

A time to slow things down and raise a child. Fitting in all my work became a challenge. My studio space became all of a table top. I learned and studied decorative and ethnic folk art. I took sign painting jobs. I sold work at craft shows. I knitted and crocheted and quilted and dabbled and entered competitions and sent paintings around the world.

At 36, I wanted a place to have all my work around me. A place of my own to sell the things I made. I found a space to rent with an amazing shop keeper who saw something in me that allowed me into his shop to create a working studio. I worked long days and nights. I stretched my skills to levels I did not know I possessed. I made adjustments in my life that allowed this part of my soul to grow.

I am still doing it. Now in a bigger space. I love it even more. I feel blessed on this journey. I am still the girl who just wanted to make stuff and sell stuff. I do it all the time now and I could not be happier.

So as the 22nd year begins in my shop and studios, I will find new things to make, new artistic avenues to explore, new experiences to put into my work. Watch me. Join me. Creativity is as necessary as breathing.