Pink Afterthoughts

         James Christensen - "The Responsible Woman"

                 

       As always, to every ying there is a yang, and that would be my parents. Everyone knows by now that I learned my appreciation for nature and the great outdoors from my Father, but there were two sides to my growing up, and my Mother had her form of influence on my character development.
      
       Long before the likes of Martha Stewart living there was my Mother, a domestic goddess, with cooking abilities that rival any chef, a quilter, a crafter, she has a room in her home that is strictly to warehouse her numerous art projects, literature, musical instruments and crafts.
      
       She loves music of all sorts and is a musician in the aspect she loves to play numerous musical instruments, guitar, piano, and the bagpipes to be exact.
     
        She loves going to theater, plays, book readings and art galleries. She loves New Age and metaphysical things and always took the time to enlighten my world with these things.  
      
       My Father is honestly and truly oblivious of the art collection she has adorning their  home. I have to assume he thinks some of the prints hanging around the home were purchased from K-mart and his lack of art understanding is bliss in my Mothers eyes. 

       My Father is the definition of a penny pincher, and if he knew some of the James C. Christensen limited edition signed prints hanging around were indeed expensive artwork I think he'd give himself an early heartattack. If he realized some of the Bev Doolittle prints were something more then a framed poster we'd be pumping prozac into him for fear of deep monetary depression.
      
       My Mother did her best to show her tomboy of a daughter the finer things in life, and I credit her with my love of art, my love of reading, my over active imagination. I grew up seeing the sides of two worlds that ironically meshed quite nicely together.
      
       Don't get me wrong, it wasn't always easy. Clothing was a definitive battle at best. My Mother and I would stand on the opposite sides of the clothing rack, she'd be holding some sort of frilly pink concoction and I would be standing on the other side holding a T-shirt and black jeans. I'd win on the argument of personal style and go into philosophical mind determination, using her own words about individuality against her.
      
       Cooking lessons were her least successful endeavor. I'd stand trying to concentrate on the proper ways to slice a carrot staring out the window at a beautiful day with wishful longing. She'd sigh and finally say "Oh go on with you!" I'd fumble over my legs as fast as I could, running out the door to find what my Father was up too.
      
       But with time, things circle back upon themselves. I find myself taking an interest in cooking these days, I find myself calling her more and more for recipes from my past, instruction, advice. She teases me and says the domestic goddess is emerging. I don't know if I would entirely agree with that, but Hamburger Helper gets alittle old after a few years :o)
      
       I know I find myself spending more time learning her crafts now, her forms of artwork. We go to Art Galleries and my appreciation of the different mediums she loves grows into my own loves. Right before me, I've realized I'm just as much a part of my Mothers loves as my Fathers loves. I know when I was younger, I thought I was nothing like her at times. But isn't that the age old quote, "You swear you'd never be, but before you know it, your a twin to your parents?"
      
       I've had difficulty describing my childhood sometimes. Because honestly, it was pretty damn good. My parents were together, they supported each other, they didn't drink, do drugs, smoke, they didn't beat my brother and I, <don't interpret that as we never got a spanking because trust me we did!> they didn't fight in front of us, we did things together as a family constantly. I've found as I emerged into the world how truly lucky I was. Where I thought my life was the norm, it feels more like an oddity now. It seems to be a rarity that I find people who had a stable Beaver Cleaver family life like I did. But all that could be another entry.........
      
       My Mother is my creative muse, a strong woman and someone I've come to admire and cherish for the things she exposed to me. I may never be a domestic diva, a cooking goddess, a Tide with bleach and downey only kinda gal, but I'll always love her for not giving up on the eternal tomboy!

The picture above is called "The Responsible Woman" I find such relevance in James Christensen's rendition of all that we as woman carry around with us. If you could see this finely detailed picture up close, you'd see so many tiny little details, as in all of his work.

The picture to the right, is of us at a yearly Scottish Clan <I won't say which one> Society dinner. My Mother plays every year with her fellow bagpipers. Yes I know, I am not wearing the plaid, I can only comply so much before I must put my foot down and stick with my comforting black :o)

Thank you to everyone who left comments, words of wisdom, encouragment, stories of their own on my previous entry. I appreciate them more then a mere word smith like I can express..............