Graduation Gifts

When I graduated from Saint Louis University in May, I wanted to do something personal for my close friends. This is what I ended up making:

I bought a bunch of square glass plates, picked out a different picture for each friend, and used Mod Podge to affix the photo to the underside of the plate. I cut out randomly shaped pieces of different colored tissue paper and chose pieces whose colors worked well with colors in the photo. Starting along the edge of the picture, I used Mod Podge both underneath and on top of the pieces of tissue paper and added layers until I reached the edge. I added a second layer of Mod Podge once the first layer was dry. Another relatively easy project that produced a nice end result. One could do this with not only photographs, but sentimental quotes and other items as well.

Guitar

When I was in high school, I decided that I wanted to play guitar. Naturally, I would be the female Clapton and I would wow everyone with my skills. So I got a cheap Yamaha and took a couple lessons (which I didn't enjoy and therefore quit) and started teaching myself the chords. A few years later, I upgraded to a beautiful Ibanez. I thought for a bit about selling the old Yamaha, but never really got around to it. Last year, when I was home for Christmas, I pulled the poor guy out of the closet and decided to do something a little more worthwhile with him. This was the result:

Basically, I used Mod Podge to attach the background fabric to the body of the guitar. Then I put on the letters, cut from scrapbook paper, as well as the rest of the decorations.
Now it hangs of the wall above my dresser. It was a really fun project and I think it turned out pretty well. I'd like to do another guitar (or maybe a mandolin or a banjo or a similar instrument) at some point.

I Remember...

I remember the color of the grass on the day I found out my mother wasn’t returning home. Molly Barnes, the 10-year-old neighbor and big sister of Jackson the Terrible, informed me that Mom had been in a car accident. At age 3, my world crumbled. She further went on to tell me that I would be living with them from then on. I’m sure it was funny when my mom returned from her shopping trip an hour later. I’m sure that I broke into tears and hugged her legs mercilessly as my fears were relieved, but I don’t remember that part. I just remember the color of the grass and the feeling of my life deteriorating before my eyes.

I remember the taste of powdered sugar donuts on a Sunday morning. My dad and I would go camping with other fathers and daughters a few times a year, and I could never sleep well in a tent. I would be up before the sunrise, building the fire for the day and munching on mini donuts before I had to worry about sharing them with the other girls. I remember the feeling of that moist, sticky powder between my lips as I collected twigs and balled up leftover newspapers so that when everyone else rose, they would compliment my fire-building skills.

I remember the feeling of guilt then I realized what I had done. My brother had, for his 18th birthday, received a tobacco pipe from a group of friends. I, the morally indignant younger sister, could not imagine that Kyle would put his health at risk in such a disgusting manner. So I took the pipe and placed it as the top of his white bathroom trashcan, intending for him to see it and ideally rethink his decision to smoke based on my protesting action. I felt sure of myself in that decision and forgot about it moments after. Two days later, when Kyle was on a mad search for his precious pipe, I remembered my gesture. Had he really not seen it in the trash? I remember paying to replace it, but even more I remember that sinking feeling of guilt once I could deny my actions no longer.

I remember the cool feeling of rock beneath my fingers when I became aware that my body was not built to allow me to do everything I wanted. I was rock climbing with my friend Amanda and our dads. She was skinnier, shorter, more flexible, and more graceful than I. She scrambled up the face of the rock while I looked on and eagerly awaited my turn to do the same. Yet when my harness was securely attached to the tightly woven rope and I had obtained a few cursory footholds low on the wall, I came to find that it was not as easy as Amanda had made it look. The seconds turned to minutes as I struggled upward, and I became frustrated. Never before had I felt physically incapable of anything. Yet now I remember the cold feeling of disappointment as Amanda’s dad lightheartedly hassled me from ten feet below my toes.

Secret Santa Gift

Since there are 7 people in our house, we decided to do Secret Santa instead of spending our very limited stipend money on 6 gifts.  We set a limit of 5 to 10 dollars, and drew names from a hat.  I picked my roommate Jenni, and decided to do something crafty that had a little more meaning than something from Target or whatever.  I kicked around a few ideas, but inspiration hit me when I saw one of her shirts in the Goodwill bin that sits outside my door.  This was the end result:

The frame is an 11x14 canvas.  Her shirt is the background, then I used pieces of music and handmade paper as leaves.  I threw in a few splashed of gold acrylic paint as well. It's all covered in Mod Podge.  It isn't exactly what I was hoping for, but I like it. Now it's chilling on Jenni's wall by her bed.

My Daily Bread

In the room where my bed currently resides, the walls (in addition to being Pepto Bismol pink) are covered in quotes left behind by former residents of this house.  There must be hundreds of them, and though I have been reading and laughing and sleeping and living here for over four months, I still find new ones on occasion.  There is one that stands alone, near the mirror above my sink.  It reads, "The sky is the daily bread of the eyes," and it is written by Emerson.

When I first read that, and even as I repeatedly read it while brushing my teeth or removing my contacts, I didn't think about its meaning and implication.  I suppose that in the back of my head I just kind of tossed it aside as a nice little thought from a man who loved nature.  But the other day, after feeling drained due to about a hundred little hiccups and emotions that had been swirling in my head, I took the time to look up while walking home from work.  For the first time in at least a few weeks, I genuinely tilted back my head and looked at that big blue expanse above us.  And you know what?  I felt renewed and revitalized.  I was filled with the overwhelming belief that nothing is impossible and that life is truly beautiful.  Emerson makes sense to me, now.  His words have hit home in a way that helps me to find hope in the simplest things, such as a misty cloud dangling somewhere far above my head.

Somehow, for me, the sky has become my daily bread.  I've begun to recognize that this might have always been the case, and as I look back at old photos, I find many random pictures of the sky.  Some part of me has always known that looking up provides an opportunity to commune with something greater than myself.  The sky is my daily bread, not just for my eyes, but for my soul as well.

Roadtrip to Wisconsin

Belize

 

Roadtrip home from Myrtle Beach

 

 Myrtle Beach

 

Mobile, AL