I love this blog on making ice ornaments–a magical process for parents AND kids!
I lie here on my pink puffy bed in my pink silky pajamas, or pink flannel depending on my mood (the only thing you can bank on is that there will be chocolate smeared somewhere on my attire), with my pink feathered pen, writing my most delicious daydreams. Funny? Sometimes. Scandalous? Hopefully. Inspiring? Perhaps. Full of love? Always.
Welcome to my World.
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Packing tip: if you are traveling with large hats, don’t pack them, wear them.
Wouldn’t it be dreamy if people started wearing large hats while traveling? Out with sweatpants and messy buns… in with large hats and beautiful travel attire!
Whenever I enter a hat shop while traveling, my fantasy world kicks into overdrive, and with each one I try on, I become different characters dropped into fantastic worlds.
I inevitably fall in love with the biggest, most ornate ones, and I’m overcome with that feeling of “My life will not be complete without you, oh darling hat!”
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I haven’t wanted to post because there’s just so much, so much deep tragedy and trauma in my life. I don’t want to write any of it down because I want to pretend none of it is true. But as a person who has chosen to always live in truth and joy and integrity, no matter what happens, I guess I should say it. Except I can’t. So for now, I’m not going to even write about my deep deep…
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Let’s see, it’s one of those day! Henry and Annabelle found a king-cake-baby this morning and made a little pond on their high chair trays for him to swim in.(For those of you who don’t know what a king-cake-baby is–there is a tradition on Mardi Gras here where everyone gets king cakes. Inside the cake is a tiny baby–smaller than your thumb. Whomever finds the baby gets to buy the king cake the following year, if they don’t find it…
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It looked like she was some sort of goddess scattering starlight made of love-bursts right out of her body to wrap around mine. I think she would like that I am not running from my pain. but absorbing and integrating it into my soul, allowing it to change me moment-to-moment, and knowing that time and space can not separate me from her. I think she would encourage me to keep spinning my stories and assure me that they are indeed, spinning into gold. I think she would like that I have found healing in my Unhealable Wound.
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Divorce and death seem especially piercing on holidays. I don’t know why. Certainly global pandemics and worldwide quarantines don’t help matters. In fact, they do quite a bit of piercing themselves. It’s something to ponder while I sit here on this rainy morning, drinking my cappuccino with its whipped foam. I’m surrounded by pink peeps and Cadbury eggs, which of course makes me think of new life, babies, and things piercing their own way out of the cold hard earth…
