It has been many moons indeed since I last sat down to write. The days have been full, the nights equally so, and I've embraced this part of the journey with my time, attention, and presence. Yet as the days merge seamlessly with the nights, I yearn, once again, to reflect on this strange and beautiful path. And here is the start...
May your new year be filled with love, laughter, and great joy. Blessings to all...
After weeks of working to meet holiday deadlines, I'm ready for a little break. The girls take me out on a hunt for fairy house treasures. We collect bits of this and that on our walk: acorns, pebbles, twigs, and leaves. We splash in mud puddles and run through a cornfield, surrounded by the familiar smell of the last fallen leaves. Although its only 45 degrees, 3yo Lily refuses a coat. And to my chagrin, she never does complain of the cold. 
Emma, recently 5 and infinitely more practical, wears a coat and carries a large pink "purse" that she's filled with her essentials: pencils and a sketchbook. Once home, I bake banana bread while they transform their found treasures into a cozy new windowsill fairy cottage. And as Lily licks the bowl I finally realize what I've been missing.
Its a cold Saturday morning as I sit here at the kitchen counter, choking down the bitter remains of a once steaming cup of coffee. Why, you may ask, don't I just go grab a fresh cup? Well I ask myself the same thing and the answer is always the same: inertia. Yes, inertia. If I make the slightest move, put my feet anywhere near the cold floor, I won't sit down again until, well, tomorrow. So I'll keep working on this bitter cup because, well, caffeine is my friend, and I have news to share...
The girls spent an hour this morning choosing their finest and fanciest clothes for today's big adventure: Daddy is taking them to a concert at the symphony. I've just shuffled them out the door. Now the puppy rests at my feet, her rhythmic breathing a comfort when all is quiet. So here I sit. Through the window I see the sky is gray, and the autumn air has shifted from the rich, musky smell of fallen leaves to the crisp, blank smell of cold weather on the horizon. The disaster zone formerly known as my studio is cold cold cold, one more excuse to avoid the cleaning and organizing it so desperately needs. Maybe tomorrow...
And now for the news: Twin Pixie Studios etsy shop is now open! There you will find a range of items including holiday cards, one of a kind jewelry, art prints and more. In the spirit of holidays, I'll be donating 10% of all sales between now and December 5 to MCASA, the MD Coalition Against Sexual Assault. MCASA is an invaluable organization that advocates for victims of sexual assault/abuse through education, prevention, legal counsel, and legislative lobbying. While working an art therapist, I was fortunate to have MCASA as a resource for myself and my clients. Now as a member of their Board of Directors, I'm aware that the state and federal grant funding on which MCASA relies, is rarely if ever sufficient. This is my way of thanking MCASA for their tireless efforts on behalf of victims.
The image above is my holiday card, featuring the sweet, mischievous face of my aunt Gina. The words "nurture" and "peace" quietly emerge from the snowy background - a sentiment appropriate to the mission of MCASA. Please take a moment to visit my etsy shop: www.twinpixiestudios.etsy.com.
And please pass this on: post it on your blog, forward it to family and friends, post it on a bulletin board...And thank you all, truly and sincerely, from the bottom of my heart.
For more information about MCASA, visit their website: www.mcasa.org.
Where does the time go? It seems that just yesterday I was turning the soil, preparing new beds for spring planting as I eagerly imagined the garden canvas that would soon emerge from winter nap. Wasn't it just yesterday that, covered in dirt and sweat, I pined for the cooler weather? And then suddenly, autumn arrived in a fiery blaze of glory. Apples pumpkins and squash, plucked from the vine, are cored, gutted, carved, and mashed into and aromatic reminder of their bounty.
There are so many things to explore in theis strange and wonderful world, so many things to share. I'm easily distracted by the day to day tasks that I'm convinced should be done once and for all, period. You know the ones: laundry, dishes, cooking, cleaning...And yet as soon as I finish, there it is again! Oh my. Its only this illusion that keeps us all in clean underpants. Usually.
Recently I've take a hiatus from all that busywork to focus on my own work, my love, my joy, my art. I'll soon be opening my etsy shop, and plan to donate 10% of all sales through the month of November to benefit MCASA, an organization that works tirelessly to improve services to victims of sexual assault. 'll be posting more info in the near future, but for now, here's a piece I'll be putting up for sale. Enjoy!
It's after 11pm as I begin, and the nearly full moon is shining through the window by my chair. Ben and the kids are all asleep. Puppy, blind and deaf, sits on my feet, protective, loving, waiting patiently for me to retire for the night, while Grace, our 22lb cat, sits on the back of my chair with her tail wrapped around my neck. After 4 days of much needed rain, the skies have cleared to reveal a nearly full moon, and just in time for Halloween. And although I'd prefer a sharp object in the eye to house cleaning, we've spent the last few days removing dust bunnies - well okay, they're more like repulsive rodents - in preparation for Emma's 5th halloween/birthday celebration.
I've always hated halloween, or more precisely, "acting." It makes my skin crawl to imagine dressing up, wearing a costume, playing a part. How sad, to have lost such an intimate connection with my creative spirit, but the extra effort is exhausting. The mask is something I know intimately: as a woman, a mother, daughter, a sister, a friend, a creative. It is my facade, my persona, my comfort. What would others see if they saw me without it? What would I see?
The mask. It is, she is my familiar. Without her, I might cease to exist.
Music is drifting from the girls' bedroom where my two pixies remain awake and active despite the hour. Each night after reading we snuggle and whisper as I rub their backs. They often ask for a story about Gina when she was little - like them. Tonight I told their favorite: the story of when Gina pulled the fire alarm at school because she wanted to see the fire trucks. 
When the story is over its time to say goodnight. Yet I make no effort to disentangle myself from the cozy nest of arms and legs we've become. They beg me to stay and I do, promising just a few more minutes. Every now and then they act up and, knowing I'm entirely responsible for the situation, I threaten to leave if they don't settle down. But we all know its an empty threat - I'll never leave them. Instead they will leave me, and sooner than I can bear to imagine. So I stay as long as possible, wrapped in the joy of holding these two little girls as close as I can before they fly away.
The rain begins, and the animals are crying at the door to be let in. So I get up.
And now I settle in to write, a small menagerie to keep me company. Little voices travel down the hallway and around the corner. Giggles. Laughter. A stern reprimand from Emma. Lily's inevitable cry. Heavy footsteps march down the hall, serious and purposeful. The light patter of a tiptoe run follows. Emma marches into the room and nearly catches me hiding an ice cream carton behind the chair. She has something to report. " Mama, she shouted at me." Lily's face is streaked with tears. "I said sorry!" she cries, collapsing dramatically at my feet. I send them back to bed, but Lily needs to be carried. As I pick her up I hear a spoon clatter to the floor. I know by the time I return the puppy will have devoured what remains of my clandestine treat. 
Lily wraps her arms around me, nestling her head on my shoulder. The back of her crazy hair defies gravity, tickling my face, and her breath is warm on my neck. "Mama," she whispers, " I love you all the way to Africa and back." And I know I'll be there all night.
I've moved outside into the girls' playhouse in the back yard. Clusters of cumulus clouds drift overhead, in a cerulean sky. The girls are busy climbing up and down the sliding board as they wait for me to finish writing. A copy of Junie B. Jones and some Sneaky Peeky Spying sits beside me, a guilty reminder that it's nearly time to read in the hammock, and I'm doing something else.
"Mom, do you want to be an acrobat with us? You just have to practice and practice, and then you make up your own show."
What's it like to be an acrobat, I ask?
"Well, it just feels like being myself. It feels like happiness."
Its really so simple - that deep sense of knowing, innate to small children. The great irony is that as we age and become more "knowledgeable," we become ever more dependent on the world around us to guide us, to tell us what is right and good, what has value. Rather than allowing ourselves to trust that deep sense of knowing, we're compelled to chase after it - that nebulous detatched sense of what is "good" - that we too may be valued, important, ergo happy.
I often hesitate to write, or blog, as it were, for just that very reason: So much to say, but where to begin? So many stories to tell, stories that reflect my own deep sense of knowing that our humanity is the delicate thread that connects us all, each to the other, but am I really "good enough" to do this? To call myself an artist? Is it not arrogant to do so? 
There are so many things to do and see in this crazy amazing life, and my journey thus far has been rich indeed. Now my greatest hope is is to leave the world a bit better by raising two girls who, despite the everything, continue to trust the wisdom of the inner voice. The one that has the clarity to say, "It feels like being myself. It feels like happiness."
If only I didn't have to go in and start dinner...
There are some things that render me utterly speechless. Like family. And sisterhood. I am one of five sisters - number "two" to those veterans of large families whose first and often most pervasive sense of identity is attached to a number. And despite repeated efforts to express the fullness in my heart, words are inadequate. As such, I can only hope that the images in my last post - all family photos, sisters - tell the story. My own words are always inadequate. And this is why I make art. It is my peace, my joy, my pain, and my gratitude. It is my way of saying thank you to the great benevolent spirit that fills my life with so many blessings.
I recently made this necklace for a dear, kind, and generous friend who is like a sister to me. Her sweet face, so full of unbridled joy, is a reminder of the boundless potential that lies within. In the photo, she is flying on a playground merry-go-round. The tiny basket at the bottom, often referred to as a folk art "whimsey," was carved from a fruit pit by her grandfather. The basket, along with numerous other treasures, she gave to me in a beautiful red vintage paper box. Gifts, meant to be used in my art and jewelry. I often wonder - how did I get so lucky? Could I possibly deserve such a friend? I can only hope she feels my hand in hers, my love, each time she wears it.
It makes me want to say "Wheeeeeeeee..."
