My Life in Instagram

I kind of fell in love with my life all over again tonight. And Instagram captures the textures and tastes of this little life of mine that's still a bit shy about how beautiful it accidentally is...

My breadbox of a house that became, nearly instantly, Home.

Mish-mash of yard sale and thrifted elements, my art, tons of framed photos and stuff my kids and I like for one reason or another has somehow combined to make the most aesthetically pleasing, warm and comfortable rooms I've ever lived in.

Slowly making Sacred Space ... Inside and outside. Lying under a tree and cloud-gazing for the first time since childhood. Falling asleep in late morning on my soft nest of down pillows stuffed into an old comforter and sewn shut, a growing family of doves overhead.

Vintage strawberry kitchen that has quite literally manifested itself, almost as though the elements of a 1950's kitchen were scattered over the decades and since then have been trying to find their way back to one another.

Cooking?!? Yup. I know: it's hard to believe.

Celebrations of the spirits/souls that Incredibly have been gifted to me as "my family" in this permutation i know as "my life" are inviting me to express love in plain language, fresh ink, a neat hand and naked, unmeasured adoration.

Ice cream. Mint chip to be exact. On top of a a bed of warm, just baked, chocolate chip cookies.

"My Nest:"
Previously imagined, written about, and expressed in my art, but only as a metaphor. And now I snuggle down in its hand-made, chosen, funky realness.

Everything I need, when I need it, sitting right smack dab at my feet each time I take a step forward. I need only to stoop and pick it up.

Work I love. Work that loves me.

The unknown future spread out before me is only rarely scary. Mostly it feels exciting to not know what comes next. It is almost delicious sometimes to walk around what used to feel "walled"(but safe), and to see only open air for miles around and to find I don't want to know what's next.

The room that was "supposed to be" the dining room has become a messy, beautiful place for my kids and I to create with markers, fabric, beads, paper, words, glue, paint, photos and whatever else we please. It's a perpetual disaster. And we don't expect that room to be anything but.

I rest in the magic of this new life of mine. I rarely reach or grasp. I only sometimes wish away today in exchange for an imaginary "easier/happier" tomorrow. This moment is ok. Something I couldn't have dreamed up is around every turn. Tomorrow stands serenely waiting for me like a Buddha who has been patiently expecting me for years. Or lifetimes. Oh ya ... And this Buddha-Tomorrow is happily grinning at me, with a look very like my grandpa used to have while sitting at a table stacked with his children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. Our eyes would meet across the table and that smile I lived for would fill his face. "I'm so glad you're here; you are perfect and you make me so happy," his eyes would twinkle at me. So, now, this Buddha-Tomorrow, grins at me, delighted to see me and ready to welcome me into another day.