My other hats

I tend to do a lot of different things. I write. I play with herbal remedies and cordial recipes. I make jewelry and I study history. I guess I’m a Jill of many trades…but it keeps life interesting and the hobbies come and go in waves.

Last month I received an email with an amazing opportunity but a super daunting request. I was given the chance to put my bullet jewelry in the Crocker Art Museum as a companion set to a three month exhibit by Al Farrow – who has always been one of the main inspirations for my bullet jewelry. It was a super exciting idea and I was thrilled. However, this meant I needed at least forty individual, custom designed pieces of jewelry in less than a month’s time, and they had to range in design, type, and price. Of course I jumped at the chance and said I’d do it, even though there’s a hefty cut taken by the shop and the monetary profit will be negligible. I wasn’t sure I would be able to finish in time though and have been working at it for weeks.

Today I passed the 40 mark and I still have a couple of days before the pieces have to be delivered. Apparently when Al Farrow’s amazing work is the motivator, I can do damn near anything. So consider this post my shameless self promotion and my own high five with myself…and your invitation.

If you are anywhere near Sacramento between October 11th, 2015 and January 3rd, 2016, please stop by the Crocker for this exhibit and a stroll through the gift shop. It is going to be amazing to see and I hear the shop will have some great pieces just in time for the holidays…..

More info can be found here

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The Persistant Path of Peace

It’s been over five years since the first time I stood at Ground Zero. Back then it was a pit full of cranes and heavy equipment. I stood there at the beginning of September, in the heat and the sweat and watched men work on beams so high that they looked like toys. They still wore masks as they beat metal into submission, trying to reach the sky with the bones of another building. I remember the emotional toll it took on me and how it felt to be there but not much about the area itself because the whole place was still off limits and under construction. I remember standing in front of the fire station, sobbing uncontrollably and clutching the wall. I remember looking over at the church and being angry at the idea that people viewed its unscathed structure as a miracle and proof of their god, when so much around it had been destroyed. I wondered how they could still believe in anything at all. It seemed that no one was paying attention to the space – and I was horribly offended by that idea. How could the world not stop? How did people walk next to the construction zone every day without breaking? How could things just go on?

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