Moons ago, before the night I fell in my bathroom and massively broke my arm, I was a massage therapist. Over time I built up a very fulfilling practice - just the loveliest gals. Mostly pregnant mamas, labor massage, post bump, infant massage, anything really that had to do with caring for and nurturing women's health was my focus. Even though the orthopedist said I healed my arm "beautifully", I never went back to massage. Instead, I took a completely different path for the next six years working in retail with a love for visual merchandising for two completely different companies, which I did exactly up to one year ago this month. (Anyone ever wonder why so much Patagonia shows up in these photos of mine? Wink!)Becoming a mama is the best thing that's ever happened to me. That and my days spent under the Big Sky followed by dropping my life anchor atop a coral reef in Belize for a while. I often write of the ocean and salt and sand, of Florida, because that's where I come from, and it's a blessing to know that somewhere I have deep, nurtured roots. I couldn't live without my espresso machine, wine, cheese, artisan bread and chocolate. I couldn't live without the sound of my children. Turns out I need the ring of their honey sweet voices daily or I get twitchy, afraid. Me who needs quiet like I need my limbs. The irony.
I unexpectedly fell in love with life from behind the lens. I imagine it all growing in healthy ways: the children, the passion, the contribution. I write. I pray. I believe in my daydreams. Today I had this grand ambition to come here and actually write something of substance and length. I was going to tell you about my nice quiet breakfast, the cookies we made yesterday, the way Sully looked like an angel while he was sitting on the floor reading Theo's superhero book and how I wanted to breathe him in while breathing out gratitude. I was even going to write about the way the lilies on our table smell like heaven and remind me of my grandma. I can only laugh at was has come instead as I type away. The call to mind along with daydreaming. It is something, I tell myself, proof that I am here, alive, well.
