Using a 3D print class to create a fascinator. Check out the fascinator board on Pinterest.
How to create books and zines
How to create a book with InDesign
OMG! Music Theory
How to 3D print from Thingiverse
And writing with writing groups
There was nowhere to go but up. So up, and up we went
Concentration seems heavy to me, almost intimidating at times. I leave myself open for something to fly by like time and for something to seep in like rain water in April, hoping to be tended to like a wild garden in a breeze. Shall I take the time to consider all the possibilities of my life or the possibilities of others. The ideas are never clear to me, they just feel special and constructed into a path of home. Some people want to live on skyscrapers, others want to sing songs, simple people like to dance their way into hearts that are intricate and well casted. I simply want to be home. I want to lay upon a lap, while I sip a cup of tea, I want to lay out and moon bath under a blanket of stars and dream of places that we can travel to in the morning. How it stings to have this so close and for it to be pulled away for dementia is horrifically horrifying. Until I begin to visually fantasize about the reality that is in front of me. I stand on my home ground with people that offer light and growth into a world that has an equal number that offer disaster and stress. Thinking that the light and hope out number anything that anyone else could ever imagine beyond what they see as existence. They are my family, curls of abundance, balding, toothless, out of shape, sinful, and free. They offer some understanding of sitting in a seat and keeping tune to a life that has a beat that others understand but try to act as if they don’t hear. They are enjoyment, fullness, empathy, and everlasting. They have been pain, sorrow, and shame. All together they push through and become broken trophies that have wisdom and dominion. They have become the salt of the earth, the beauty of the world, and a token that others have forgotten to hold onto.
They are my people, that cannot be taken away, no matter how much pain you thought that would cause. Each of them is a vein that pumps and gives life to the heart and mind of a bridge or passage for someone else to cross. They hand over everything that they have carried and offer a bank that needs to be filled with new coins of pleasure. I guess that is why my heart still pumps because the will to move on doesn’t still me. I find it hard to concentrate when I am unable to feel the lines of their hands, or to see the glow in their hair, or to smell the life on their breath, all I taste is their life. I see eyes of miscolor, that rejuvenate with brightness when they laugh and their cheeks bellow, while watching their present moment and altogether forgetting the past. They sit in their experience and breath in air that is quality. These are chances that have come too far and in between. They hear music the way it should be sung, they move their bodies as if it were the last move they could make, they illustrate ideas, and tell stories that leave a burned image in your mind, they are better than any movie. So in my search I always find home. Home sweet home is always agave and grand, that is how it will stay. Home is always my family and my people, laughing, talking, and listening, from wisdom of living a life that gives flavor and existence of reality.
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