For a sea of endless days raindrops have been stringing themselves like glistening Swarovski Crystals onto a vine like necklace...
Droplets gathered themselves onto tiny beginning buds...
The roses were weeping...
Heads bowed in silent reverence for the lives and homes lost in the recent swath of storms sweeping across the US...
Would you join me in lifting those touched by the recent storms in prayer? 
The little pile of left over vintage supplies sat resting in a shallow glass dish like cast offs waiting to be sorted with their like kind or possibly made over into something special. Small and insignificant, not really large enough to be kept but just wonderful enough to be crafted with, they waited.
One day fingers sifted through the minuscule parts, touching vintage pearls and paste stones from an old broken necklace, a snippet of French wire beading, a scrap of ivory silk, a piece of old hand written text, a glass bead, mother of pearl buttons, little pieces of fabrics and ribbons, metal braided brass trim, even an old rusty washer, caressing each one while willing them to reveal their intended design.
Splayed out they resembled something royal and regal in tone and texture. Little fragments of history, pieces of someones life; clothing, jewelry, buttons, trims and lace that once graced and adorned flesh and bone. Text that was illegibly scribbled by a human hand. It seemed only fitting and honoring to mold them into something representative of their previous owners, all of whom were women.
They were arranged and rearranged, snipped, molded, glued, sewn, and manipulated in a most unusual manner to form a tiny ladies slipper...
Whom ever the women were that wore the faded paste jewel and pearl necklace, 
The ivory silk blouse with mother of pearl buttons,
Who crocheted the lace, 
Or beaded the French wire designs, 
Or scribbled on a piece of paper,
I hope they are honored by this tribute to their feminine qualities. The inspiration of their past is carrying over into my present infusing and influencing my designs using little pieces of texture and textiles from their lives.
Creativity, in this case, really was a matter of turning up what was already there before me, a scattering of supplies and the spirit of the women whose touch still lingered on the objects inspiring this tribute to the mystique of all things feminine.
I hope you all have a wonderfully blessed Easter weekend!
I wanted to drop in and say a quick hello and to let you know that I am still here! Thank you all so very much for all the heartfelt prayers and messages of encouragement and healing for my mother. She has completed a huge part of the testing process and we now have some answers. We were fortunate to be working with one of the top neurologists in the United States, he and his staff have been wonderful. 
Doves mate for life, are incredibly loyal to each other and work together to build their nest and raise their young. Because they tend to nest in areas that humans can watch, people picked up quickly on the idea that doves were dedicated, honorable, and peaceful.
While hawks and other birds of prey would violently attack their neighbors, the dove was a bird of peace, eating seeds, easily trained to eat out of the hand or to become domesticated.
Beginning with the Egyptians, the dove was a symbol of quiet innocence. The Chinese felt the dove was a symbol of peace and long life.
To the early Greeks and Romans, doves represented love and devotion, and care for a family. The dove was the sacred animal of Aphrodite and Venus, the goddesses of love. The dove also symbolized the peaceful soul for many cultures.
The Bible continued this symbolism, often referring to the dove as an animal representing love, loyalty, fidelity, and honesty. The dove is entrusted with the olive branch when Noah hopes to find a new home for himself, his family, and his flock. The dove often also represents the Holy Spirit.
Today I will be following in the ideal of the early Greeks and Romans in love, devotion, and care of family. Today my mom enters a hospital 45 minutes away for a 5 to 7 day stint of testing. Violent storms are predicted for our area today and she is afraid of storms. I am praying God's peace will cover her like the wings of a dove and will linger in her heart and mind keeping her calm in the face of both physical and emotional storms during this week.
Today is pretty. You can't really define a pretty day in words or pictures, it is more of a feel. I felt the prettiness of this day as soon as my eyes fluttered open from sleep. There was a certain air about the arriving day that made it feel like something special, extraordinary even. My heart did a little flipping lift as I tossed back the blankets dipping my toe into a new day.
No testing the waters, just plunging right in with both feet connecting with the carpet, creeping with anticipation towards the curtain drawn window. Black out blinds and heavy lined panels obscuring what kind of day lay beyond their shelter. Reaching up to grasp them, I wondered if it would be a pretty day filled with sunshine and warmth or more clouds and rain. I was rewarded with sunshine, but only the barest hints as clouds moved to the forefront obscuring the warm rays.
I hurriedly completed my morning routine wanting to cast away the night by flooding the house with light. I moved through each room of my home sliding up blinds and securing them in place while drinking in each living scene like a thirsty traveler, quenching my craving for the lightness of the day.
Back where I began my days journey I reached to smooth the rumpled covers into place, hand stilled in midair, eyes riveted on the scene outside my window. How long had it been since I looked, really looked, at what was beyond these window panes I wondered. I halted, positioning myself in the middle of the window frame and looked long and deep and hard. I moved from room to room following the changing views, my windows becoming picture frames with budding scenes of movement, light, play of shadow, depth, detail, and perspective that no artist brush could ever fully capture - living landscapes teaming with life.
Today is pretty. Not because the weather is perfect, it is cold, damp, and partly cloudy here. Today is pretty. Not because the earth is giving birth to spring and little dollops of color are appearing here and there among the barren landscape. Today is pretty. Not because there is a special event or occasion marked on the calendar to celebrate although there should be. Today is pretty. Because I noticed it. Today is pretty. Because I anticipated its arrival. Today is pretty. Because I arose to greet it. Today is pretty. Because it is a gift, wrapped in the most attractive package of life, graceful, delicate, and fragile.
Carpe diem!
I must have passed the doorway dozens of times in recent weeks always snatching a longing look into its portal. I could see my green pencil poised across the corner of a piece of paper where sketch lines indicated the birthing of an idea. Those first pangs of labor being a false start to bringing a new idea into reality. The ideas time had not yet come to full term, so with a sigh, I must wait. With yearning of both heart and hands to cradle the idea I would turn away, back to the task at hand.
He nestled there, squirming this way and that...
I carried him over to the the old horse barn where he posed on the leaf littered bench...
Not being too steady on his little booted heel yet, he toppled over in a big gust of wind...
But it was not long until he found his footing and was boot scootin' all over the place, like climbing up on the barn siding...
And hammin' it up on the old halter hanging there...
He even tried his hand at tractor drivin'...Sidlin' up to the old barn and perchin' on a sign there...
I decided that was enough excitement for a one day old boot. Now that I have brought him home he is going to need a cradle to sleep in so today he will get his very own custom made boot box! 
