Broken Shells and Redemption 

Why do I use broken shells? To be honest, it took me 46 years to appreciate broken shells. I am a perfectionist when it comes to myself. I hold my self and the things I do artistically to an impossible standard. So, if I were to use shells they could only be perfect! Broken ones were useless.

The perfect shell.

Enter Redemption… 
It can mean so much to so many people. I was reminded of redemption in the strangest place. 

I was walking along the beach, the conditions weren’t that picturesque, matter of fact they were darn right nasty. Tons of June grass (technically it’s algae) and slugs littered the surf line, biting flies and the smell was horrible. It was just gross all the way around. But, I love the beach. It is my sanctuary, my free therapy. And, as most beach lovers know, a bad day at the beach beats any day at home. Anyways, I was walking the beach and picking up shells. It was while I was picking shells out of dried up, stinky, dead slug infested ‘seaweed’ when I was struck with a huge personal revelation. It happened as I for the umpteenth time picked up what I thought was a perfect shell, only to clean it off, turn it over, and find it broken. Thats when it hit me square in the face…. redemption.

I am that shell. Covered in disgusting filth, but I have been picked up, cleaned off, and turned over. Have you ever really looked at a broken shell? There is beauty in that brokenness. You can see the heart of whats inside that is usually hidden beneath that shell. Some of the broken edges are sharp and jagged, but then there are parts that are so polished they shine! Those qualities juxtapose each other and offer artistry that only nature can create. So, while the world can look at a broken shell and only see a broken shell, I am reminded of the beauty and worth that redemption gave me. Looking deep beneath that shell to realize that I am loved, cherished enough to be made flawless in my own brokenness.

Beauty in Brokenness

So all that lead me to this 

It is the first of many projects that will feature or include broken shells.  I am excited and look forward to what is to come. 

Have a wonderful day guys… 

You can find me on Etsy and Facebook.  

Until next time! 



Confessions of…(#21)

A Zydeco Fan.

On a recent trip trip to New Orleans it took me several days walking around the French Quarter to figure out what was missing.

On my last tour of the city in 1999 there was a sound in the air that carried you down the street with toes tapping. It was infectious and blaring out of multiple stores on every block!  That Cajun beat possessed your soul and caused anyone who heard it to dance down the street. It made the NoLa’s atmosphere as unique as the cuisine.

On my third day I realized that the toe tappin’, movin’ and groovin’ atmosphere has slipped away. Don’t get me wrong, jazz is still there and in the air, but that unmistakable sound of zydeco is just a whisper.  I heard that whisper coming from The Krazy Korner on Bourbon Street.  Drawn in by the sound of a washboard being slayed; I heard  The Daywalkers.  This band was closest thing to zydeco I had heard the whole trip. I could have stayed and listened to them for hours, but I had to leave to position myself for the Mardi Gras parade that was winding itself through The Big Easy.  On my way out of the bar I did purchase one of their newly released CD’s.


listen here

Curious about the lack of zydeco in the city I asked the bellman at my hotel.  When I questioned him where it went he got a very pensive look on his face.  He slowly looked up at me and said that it had been years since  he had heard it abundantly in city. There was sadness when he realized it was round about the time Hurricane Katrina rolled through and darn near destroyed the city.  New Orleans suffered a great deal, I just hope that wonderful Cajun beat finds itself a home again in The Big Easy… I sure did miss it!


Confessions of…(#18)

a heartbroken daughter.

My father passed away 21 years ago.  I was 23. My heart shattered.

To this day I still grieve. How could I not, no other man would love me like he did. I don’t have any lofty, fairly tale, white knight imagery of this love either. We had our ups and downs and he could be darn right mean, but he was my daddy and I was his little girl.
When he died I was just starting to get things right. I was a young mother and on my second marriage when he left us. As much as I screwed things up from the ages of 18-23 I made up for in spades as a wife and mother. I have homeschooled two amazing daughters that are currently in college and killing it. (Both on scholarship and both debt free. I couldn’t be more proud) My husband and I have been happily married for 21 years now. He is a good man and wonderful father.
We have taken every bit of financial advice he ever gave (my father was a CPA by profession) and built our lives on that. We are debt free and have a a comfortable retirement plan in place. His fingerprints are all over our lives and he is missing it. I can’t write him and tell him how much I appreciate him and the impact he has had on our lives and our daughter’s lives. I can’t thank him.
Most days it’s not a big deal. I don’t sit and pine away everyday longing to see him. But, it’s days like today, when big things happen in our family and I want to share the joy of it with him. Today my oldest daughter is starting her last year of earning her master’s. She is debt free and on track to graduate with a 4.0. My youngest landed a job in her new town that pays better than the job she left here at home. My daddy would be so proud. I just wish I had the chance to tell him and see the look of pride on his face. I can picture it, but it’s just not the same. It’s just a void, a giant deafening black hole where his cheering section used to be.

Confessions of…(#17)

a woman, a mother, a wife.

This is my husband’s office. Yes, he is a pilot. Yes, he is gone… a lot! Yes, we are married, but I refuse to identify myself as a “pilot’s wife”. I hear it more than I care to.  

Our lifestyles are very different than most. I, many times over the years, have referred to myself as a single, married mother. I spend over half of the month away from my husband. I knew the chances of this happening well before we were married. I knew what I was getting into when I said “I do”. I knew his days of being home every night weren’t going to last forever. In fact, they only lasted about 7 months after we were wed. The first time he left home for work he was gone 6 to 8 weeks. That was one heck-of-a initiation into the pilot family lifestyle. Go ahead, ask me about my appendectomy!  It’s a darn good thing I am an independent woman who can run a household and take care of herself and any little grandiose emergency that pops up when the hubby is away. Murphy lives in the basement and comes out to play as soon as the pilot is away!  The further away from home the bigger the mess.  

What I can’t stand, and didn’t anticipate, is the label that came with it…. “pilot’s wife”. I am many things including a former homeschooling mom, a darn good cook, a sharp shooter, talented, fun, out going, a bit shy when meeting new people. Why is his profession so different that the wives are identified as being a pilot’s wife? I am more than being married to what he does. 
I never heard anyone refer to my mother as a CPA’s wife. How about my brother’s wife? She’s an aquatics director’s wife. Seriously! It drives me a bit batty. I could say “frost my jets” but that might be taking it a bit too far.  😉


So This Happened Today…Thanks to YOU!  

So, when I woke up and thought “Maybe I should start a blog” I couldn’t have done it at the worst possible time. I was in no position to do so. I was about to enter the busiest time of my life. Three major vacations (two international), moving my youngest off to her rental house at collage, and running the household all in a three month period. My schedule was INSANE! I flat out didn’t have time required to dedicate to a blog, but I did it anyway. More out of ignorance than anything else. I had NO CLUE what blogging required and I fully admit that I post more than I interact and reach out. Heck! I just feel accomplished if I publish a post. Most are written in haste. Including this one. 

When I first started I never expected to get these little “awards” that WordPress gives out. I never really expected anything. I picked my host because my daughter used them. I thought I would enter the white noise of the internet and go totally unnoticed. I never expected people to LIKE it, let alone FOLLOW me. I am humbled and a bit ashamed because I know I haven’t given you my best. My “Confessions” were the vehicle to reach out and show my underbelly . The real me. Just to connect, just to post something! Those post are actually the easiest to write. I take what I’m feeling in that moment and post it. It was/is a way to make this whole thing a habit. And Confession time, I think they have become my favorite posts! 

Oddly enough I haven’t really made any post, with exception of my first one about “The Pot”, that is remotely what I originally intended. I envisioned my blog to be food related. But then our travel started and I used it as a way to journal our adventures. I haven’t even shared HALF of those tidbits.  I hope to eventually.

Right now, I’d like to take the time to say “Thank you”. Thank you for showing an interest, thank you for the likes, the comments (there are a few…..whaaaaaaaaa!!!!…. I actually got some!) I have a few more weeks before I settle into my new normal as a retired lady a leisure! That is another blog post all together! However, once settled in I promise you will receive my best. I may even step out of the old comfort zone and post things I NEVER intended!!! Who knows? Just know that I appreciate the time you take to enter my little world and acknowledge my insanity. After all, this post wouldn’t exist without YOU!

Confessions of…(#16)

Today was the first time I have stayed home all day and not gone anywhere in over a month. I am not ashamed to admit I am still in my pajamas and have zero intention of getting out of them. I have enjoyed the passing storms and watched movies in bed all day long. It was wonderful.  

Tomorrow I start the massive clean up and reorganization of the house, but for tonight, I lounge…. You can’t stop me. 😉

Storm Clouds are Rolling In!

Nothing soothes me more than to hear thunder rolling down my valley. I’ve had a crazy, busy summer and the stress started to show on me physically. My hair started to fall out. It would come out by the handfuls in the shower. I’ve had my hormone levels checked (mine tend towards the not-so-steady side of things) but the thought of the day is that this is situational and not medical (will know for sure when the results come back).  

Today is the first night in almost a month that I will be home on my couch as dusk approaches. I ate my dinner on my front porch being caressed by an oddly cool breeze. (It was almost 100* here again today) And then I heard it, off in the distance, that sweet, sweet sound…. distant thunder. It rolls down our valley sometimes seemingly endless. It’s like a soul massage. I can feel the pent up stress just flowing out of me.  

I’m home. 

I can exhale…

I can’t wait for the rain to start. To hear it on the metal roof. To hear the power of the thunder. To feel it. I love a good summer storm, and tonight I’m getting one!