comfort

Aromas are memories. Something drew me to the orange spice tea at the market yesterday. I could smell familiarity. Just brewed my first cup and was absolutely overwhelmed by the journey it took me on. I was instantly thrown back to my 20s. That's the smell of youth. I didn't realize it until just a few minutes ago when I breathed in that first warm sip. It's the tea of my girlhood. When I was young and liberal and fresh with hopes, I drank that tea. I wrote poetry late into the night and pondered my immediate future while savoring that brew. I read Kurt Vonnegut and worked on macrame. It was my drink of choice, long forgotten. I couldn't remember it until this very moment when it flooded into my nose and fogged up my brain. A simple smell was a lovely gift. Certain aromas conjure up specific memories for all of us. One of my favorites is the smell of a swampy pond. When I was in college, I worked at Baskin-Robbins (no surprise). Late at night, I'd pack a quart on my moped and mosey along home, about a 20 minute ride on rural roads. Every night I'd pass a swampy place. It smelled of wet grass, stagnant pond water, and fresh night air. It was heavenly. Made me feel peaceful. To this day it is my favorite smell. It's fragrant and genuine. It's quiet and earthy. It's cinnamon, puppies, and baby powder. It's the stuff that makes memories that last for a lifetime.

joy

There's my boy standing on the corner in his new sneakers and a button down shirt. Tears welled up in my eyes before I could park my car, his brother and sisters excited to see him while bouncing in the backseat. That funny bit of an awkward moment when they all looked at one another after months apart. I about jumped out of my skin. Could not get around my car fast enough to hug my beautiful boy. Yes, of course, I blubbered while the kids popped around me like pinballs. I'd been anticipating this day for weeks and when it came, it was everything I'd expected. My youngest daughter was giddy on her sibling high. She was giggly and wiggly and happy. My youngest son was smiling, happy to have his brother back. He's been surrounded by estrogen for weeks. Girl t.v. shows, girl games, and girly conversation. Testosterone was finally near. He and his brother and sister got on the X-Box, playing videogames and shooting bad guys. Great fun when you're ten years old. His older sister was quietly content. She has missed her big brother, their high school conversations and having someone in your household that understands what you're going through. I watched her watch him. She misses him terribly. They all do. We barreled into the car and headed off to the beach for reaquaintance and a walk along the pier. Seaweed fights and ocean foam, giddy emotions flitting through the salt air. We people-watched and I watched my kids. I watched them laugh and meld back into a unit. That easy casualness that comes from family, from love. I could not get enough of it. It felt like an elixir to me. It grounded me again. My chicks in the nest while it rested in my hands. It's the new reality, but I'm grateful for it.

blend it

Art is a blessing. In my life it's one of my salvations. It frees me into a place where nothing bothers my mind. Pick up a pencil, a sheet of white paper, and it all comes out. Good and bad, wild and crazy, soothing and senseless. I can live my life in the confines of what people expect of me, follow the rules, and behave. But art lets me scream. It releases me mind and spirit. Art is a great release of energy and emotion. Without it I'm not sure who I'd be. Connection is so important to keeping us grounded and setting us free. Loving something so much that it's never a chore. Art is at the top of my list of things that I can honestly say keep me feeling like myself. It keeps me real. I am so grateful to have the opportunities to express myself without constriction. Art is there for the taking. No one has to like what I do, it flows without care. It comes out how it wishes and isn't that what art is? Expression without borders. Let it go.