August 1, 2015

I think about this blog several times a week right before an idea takes hold and I have to hit the torch. Which is not a bad thing, except Hi there!

I've lost track of the bead sets I've made in the last few months at 1111.  It seemed like a good place to stop counting.  I'm having more fun than one person should be allowed which I should maybe feel guilty about but I don't because I'm working my noassatall off, y'all.

There's a long not perfect story behind this cross, and I'm going to share it if only to cinch the healing that it has brought.  Y'all know I lost my Nana last year, and y'all know that wreaked a whole lotta havoc in my life for a couple of months.  Fast forward and a long time friend inquired about a custom cross for her parents for Christmas.  I agreed, thinking it was exactly the thing I needed to focus on to get right in the world again.  And then December 9th my daddy died.

You know that girl who holds her head up and goes about life through trauma appearing to be untouched and capable and FINE?  I'm that girl.  Everyone kept expressing concern and I kept assuring everyone that I was completely fine.  Because y'all please just let me be fine.

December 23rd I had to help my sweet Chelseagirl cross the rainbow bridge.  And I was no longer fine nor capable of pretending to be fine so if everyone could just please leave me alone that would be great thanks.

Do I need to say here that the cross wasn't finished by Christmas?  Probably not.

In January my oldest friend of 44 years died, and my giveadamn completely busted.

In February Poppop died and the utter numbness that followed...well, no words.

I threw myself into making beads, and by threw myself I mean I sat in front of my torch for 12-16 hours a day every day 7 days a week.  It let me keep breathing with at least a tentative grasp on the world.

I pulled this cross out periodically to try.  To try coming back. To try feeling something.  There were days I did nothing but stare at it for hours before tucking it away again.

I took it to the beach, just me and it in a room for 5 days, and found myself slowly moving forward.  On it.  On acceptance.  On me.

After 9 months it is finished.  And I don't feel so broken anymore.  In fact, I might even say I'm fine.



  1. It's beautiful and obvious so much of you is in this piece!

    1. Thank you, Robbie. And thanks for stopping by. <3

  2. Oh, honey. No words are adequate. What a beautiful testament you created though -- to me it looks like the spirits of the five dear ones you lost spread across the arms, with your faith at the top, bringing solace to you, flowering back to life underneath. Good to see you back here.

    1. Bobbie, that's beautiful~ and fitting. Thank you! <3

  3. Oh, wow... I am so behind the times (i.e. I just now read this), and I'm so sorry I didn't stop by sooner. My heart is both broken for your losses, and happy that you were able to find solace creating something so lovely. Your work is always so inspiring, and it is a true artistic gift to take heartbreak and create beauty from it. Wow.