Thank you to the person who reminded me of this song today.
Ode to Orange
Some would argue the best color in town is red, or blue, or green.
Others might say its yellow, pink, or purple… or in between.
But as a self-proclaimed color whisperer, i dare place one color above them all.
Orange, you have won my heart. When I’m with you, I have a ball!
You are the color of my favorite soda, my favorite scarf, my favorite room.
You’re always warm and cozy, and in the fall you glaze the moon.
You are the color of Hostess cupcakes with that delicate white filling.
When red is too tired, and blue is too blue, you are always willing.
You are the color of so many of the delicious foods we chew.
Carrots, peppers, pumpkins, and Cheetos… just to name a few.
You are gentle when you need to be, always energetic and brave.
You are the color of the sun that brings us each new day.
You feed us, protect us, sooth our soul… depending on your hue.
Flowers, butterflies, basketballs, and that fruit they named after you.
You’re a fashion diva, a style icon… all the bloggers say so.
You are right at home with any other color of the rainbow.
The love child of red and yellow. They made magic… and you were born.
And who could forget, that you are roughly one third of candy corn.
There are some that think you’re crazy, too bold and much too loud.
But there isn’t another color out there that makes me feel more proud.
So now you know my secret, I love you, Orange hue.
Orange you super glad I wrote this little ode to you.
Mini Ode to My Dad
There’s this guy they call Captain Orange… and everybody knows
that he and Orange go way, way back. He and Orange are bros.
Captain Orange is my hero, my rock, my heart, my home.
He is the reason that I have been blessed with life. So no matter where I roam.
He is always there to save the day, even if we are miles apart.
I hear his voice, he holds my hand, he encourages my art.
He’ll say say he didn’t do enough… he’s a humble, hard-working guy.
But truth be told, he’s the one who taught me how to survive.
I see my dad in every orange sunset, flower or mushroom.
Past the sky… Happy Father’s Day, Dad. As long as I have Orange, I have you.
HAPPY FATHER’S DAY, TO ALL THE DAD’S!
Every time i look at her art it feels like I enter a different world. If, heaven forbid, someone told me I could never look art again, but they would let me choose one artist that I could still look at and i had to do so within 30 seconds… I would have to say it would be Nicoletta Ceccoli’s art. I can look over and over, and each time I feel like i’m entering a world that i might get lost in. A world that is dark and terrifying, but so enticing and whimsical there could be no turning back. If I could eat her art, I would be three thousand pounds.
Enter at your own risk… and sugary delight!
Is there an artist that makes you feel this way? (writer, poet, dancer, musician…?)
Rest in peace, Maya Angelou.
Originally posted on A poem for every day:
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
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… i always mess something up when i do a postaday challenge. i forget the link, too many tags, this time it was forgetting my #postaday tag. oh well, here we go again. If you you’d like to read the post, it’s here! :-)
My niece came to stay overnight last weekend, and we had the nicest time. At least I did, and I hope that she did. We don’t have her over often enough, but each time we do I adore her a little more. I admire her energy, her sense of humor, her maturity, her heart. I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m a kook… but I don’t care. I am a little kooky. I just like to see her being a kid, and discovering things, and having a good time.
Our weekends with her are usually much more active than we are used to, but it is invigorating. I love how tired I am when she goes home. She’s like a personal trainer! LOL. I love to look back at the pictures of our weekends together. She really enjoys being with Uncle Wes… playing video games, learning how to chop wood… but I was elated when she asked if she could paint something. She was hesitant… wasn’t sure what to paint or how to go about it, or even if she wanted to. But she got past that (with a little nudging) and what emerged was the most beautiful painting. She has loved tigers since I can remember… now she has one… her own work of art.
What artsy types of things do you do with the little one’s (or not so little one’s) in your life? If you’d like to show us… join the challenge!
xo sky blue
I am not sure why I keep thinking about them lately, but those little Russian nesting dolls have me captivated lately. Their faces, colors, little aprons… I have such a fond, but vague memory of them being in my life somehow when i was small… but i loved them then, and i am so glad to be revisiting my childhood through them. They make me think of my mom, and that feeling of being little and safe in her care. I am pretty sure we spent almost every day together until my first day of Kindergarten. That was not easy… for either one of us. But she got me on that bus and sent me out into the world, and it was great… Kindergarten had lots of crayons, and snacks! But it still was never easy, leaving my mom.
It didn’t get much easier as I left her again and again, for school, life, and marriage… but we will always be part of each other, wherever we go.
That’s what the Matryoshkas remind me of.
* artwork originally posted yesterday in my post: Art is my child. It’s a girl!
* Dolls photographed above can be purchased at worldmarket.com
You don’t have any children… you couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like. You have no idea what tired is. You have no idea what stress is. You have no idea what responsibility is. You have no idea what pain is. You just have no idea…
These statements, have been shot my way now and again… and while in my 20’s and 30’s, it didn’t sting too bad. I still had time. It’s what I wanted most in life but I still had plenty of time. But now as I approach my mid 40’s, health issues have claimed my fertility, and there is little to no chance of adoption. And that hurts. Bad. I often have thoughts that I deserve it for breaking off my engagement at age 24, to a guy who couldn’t wait to knock me up, several times over. He was a really amazing guy who wanted lots of kids. And I wasn’t sure if I was “in love” with him. So I left to see if I could find my true love. Being the “awkward” girl who couldn’t just bat my eyes to get any guy she wanted, it took me a while to find another one who could compare. And when i finally realized I had found him… i wasn’t letting go. Eight years younger, he wasn’t exactly ready for fatherhood, and I never wanted him to feel pressured… by a certain someone’s biological clock. I knew in the back of my head, every day I stayed with him my window was getting smaller. I knew I might be choosing him over possible motherhood. And before I knew it, the window was closed. Not locked, but seriously closed. And I chose this, with zero regret. I would not trade my beautiful husband. But, it still hurts. Especially knowing the man you love might never have the chance to be a father.
As a childless woman, do I know what tired is? Yes. For reasons other than parenthood, I absolutely know what tired is. But lucky for me, it might not last eighteen+ years. Do I know what stress is? Yup. Been there, done that. Again for no reasons related to hearing the word “mommy” 3000 times per day, or keeping a teenager out of trouble. Responsibility? Sure. I am responsible by choice… it just didn’t take parenthood in my case. Pain? Yup. I’ve lived in the world of “excruciating”, or more than I thought I could possibly bear. I obviously haven’t done the whole childbirth thing, so I’ll give anyone that whole-heartedly! That business, preceded by the 9 months of pregnancy business, and proceeded by 2+ years of painful breastfeeding? I can’t say I ever really longed for those experiences specifically. But the chance to be someone’s mother? I knew I would absolutely, and gratefully suck it up for that opportunity. And when cancer takes your breasts, you become acutely aware you will never know the joy, or pain, of feeding your child.
My whole life has been void of any confidence, except when it came to the thought of being a mom. Would i be clueless about things like diaper rash and breast feeding? Of course. I wasn’t going for any mother-of-year awards. But I always felt confident that I could be a good mom. I just knew I wanted to be there for someone, like my mom was there for me. I wanted to give someone life, or a home, and show them how to be kind and make art. I wanted to tell someone they could be anything they wanted to be, and they could do anything they set their mind to. I wanted to know the agony and elation of watching them grow up, and setting them free to start their own family. I know I was hoping for a lot, but nearly everyone I knew was or was about to be a parent, so I naturally thought it would just happen in my life too when it was time.
I am sure it’s very difficult being a mother. And I certainly can’t imagine how challenging it is to be especially to be a single, and/or working mother. But what I’m trying to say is that it is also really difficult not being one, and being surrounded every day by people who are, who constantly remind you of what you are not, and what you now know you likely will never be. You know that inside, you are a mother too, but you have no child. There is nothing. No one.
Of course none of this is intentional, but people who have kids, mostly talk about their kids. And understandably…I would too! Kids are awesome! And I LOVE all the kids I have been blessed to know. When you are in these shoes, you’re genuinely happy for all of the parents and their beautiful parenthood stories, and you genuinely feel for them when they are faced with the challenges of parenthood…(i really can’t imagine what some parents have gone through!), but simultaneously you feel a stabbing pain every time kids comes up in conversation, and everywhere you go surrounded by parents, children and families. You feel a thousand times more pain when you see a child that is mistreated, neglected, or considered a nuisance by their own parents… and you would have do anything to have been a good mom to that same or any child. The pain never goes away. Or at least it hasn’t yet for me. And I expect it only gets harder as you age… to get old and never know the joy of meeting your first grandchild either. What are you supposed to do with all this love you were dying to give?
Lately though, I have decided to pull my shit together and move on. I will still, no doubt, have my moments sobbing in my cubicle or the supermarket… it really SUCKS not being able to have a child. But it’s time to change my focus entirely and let go of that dream. I don’t have to spend money on diapers, school supplies and college tuitions. So I can spend it on books and art supplies… and that’s a lot of art supplies!! Art is definitely my other passion in life, and it somehow got lost along the way. I think I had the twisted belief that once I became a mom, then I would go back to my art. Silly. So now I intend to pursue it like the dickens! And so far it’s working. I’m doing it. And I feel better! I haven’t sold more than a handful of things… I may never be able to leave my day job to spend my days working on it, but I do it whenever I can. My chest feels less constricted. I’m learning more than ever. And I’m putting myself out there for the first time, knowing that it’s OK that I didn’t go to art school, and that I can still be an artist. It’s ART for heaven’s sake! I don’t agree with some of the formal definitions of art… I believe it’s whatever comes out, in whatever medium, with any level of skill, applied with varying amounts of emotion, thought, instinct and effort.
That is the beauty in my story. Maybe if I became a mother, I would have forgotten about art entirely. And that would have been superb… because hey, there would be an amazing little person in my life whom I would be happy to sacrifice everything for. But I must believe there is still much good that can come of my life, and I am learning to find “meaningful” fulfillment in other ways.
Art is my child. I’ll create it. I’ll nurture it. By art, I mean painting, drawing, sculpting, dancing, writing… Sometimes I will keep it tucked under my wing. But then I’ll send it out into the world and hope that it lives on and will make others smile.
And if somehow that window opens again to let a child in, I hope I can be half the mom that my own mother is, and I know that we will do lots of art, together. Lord knows I have the supplies!
I hope that this writing will not offend any of the beautiful moms out there who have given everything selflessly for their children. I do hope it will touch someone else in shoes similar to mine, and help give them the strength to move past the pain and toward a truly fulfilling future. Love can be given in many ways.
… i wrote this post in October 2013, when i was having an especially hard time with this whole subject, but was feeling afraid to put myself out there in this way. My husband sent me this article today, that had me thinking about it again. The article made me feel less alone. I thought maybe i should just put this post out there, in case it, or Melanie Young’s article, can make just one more woman feel less alone.