Well, hello there. I come from a family that is prettily packaged

and talented but somewhat dysfunctional for many reasons.

We grow addictions like weeds and dream when we are awake.

We have sensitive ears, noisy fingers and loud mouths.

We all suffer from the disease of depression but don't let it

stop us from living creative lives. In the best of times, we are

eager to live up to our own expectations. In the worse of times,

we are lost in self-pity. As for myself, I define myself as a struggling

Christian, especially on Sunday, just a vessel doing God's work. I'm

a mother and grandmother, a clay artist and a photographer on

other days.

If we're going to spending time together, you may want to know a

little more about me. I always start my morning with a 30-minute jog

around the bedroom. Sometimes I have to stop to think, and forget

to start again.  I'm not a scientist-type who insists everything can be

mathematically examined, related and accounted for. As a matter of

fact, I'm more like a curious child playing in the garden between the

two houses of God and Science. Picking flowers from both makes me

happy. 

I can remember as a child, planning on living forever and so so far so

good! I didn't know what I do now that when we get older, we wrinkle,

shrink and don't have many good hair days left. We pamper what we have

left that isn't gray. The grays we'll torture by tugging, plugging and/or

dying. Our keys and glasses take to hiding from us. Sometimes our

nerves make our limbs begin jumping and jiving when there is no music.

We also keep repeating, repeating, repeating, what we know. We also 

have to contend with gravity.

                      More later from Winged for Art Therapy.