Leaf Peeper Invasion!

This year is a wonderful return to semi normal. After a ridiculous year, my kids are in school, in person, and are Juniors. They are learning to drive. And not just drive me crazy with their teenage antics! We are doing live events finally, plus I have rebuilt my studio store for visitors, 2 at a time. We all have to adjust to the new normal and my life is no exception! You can make an appointment to come see me personally! Just email me and I will get back to you.

You should see them. The tourists come and invade my area, Bucks County, PA, for what is referred to as "leaf peeping season." Like migrating birds, you see the license plates from New York and they frantically try to find parking and a place that is open to grab a bite. New Hope is full of hustle and bustle, and the leaves could care less. Luckily, I get to see all the beauty right from my front yard: We have a sort of beachfront, lots of trees, and a canal full of geese and ducks. The colors and the energy of this place inspires me daily.

In the meantime, I am launching my business online and on several platforms. The days of me running from show to show are coming to a close. Many of the shows have gone under due to changing tastes, and discretionary spending reduction in the North East. Other shows simply could not hang on, or the CEOs were retiring. So, that and other factors have pushed me in a new ever evolving direction, both artistically and creatively. I hope you will enjoy the new website and read my blogs. I am trying to make the website more accessible to all, as it has been a source of confusion to you my dear fans. Not to worry, this too shall change!

Oh Fire Island...my yearly happy hellos and sad goodbyes.

Cripple creak! So thar ah wuzz...

cracking n'creaking, hobbling away, on my journey, to the Great South Bay.

My hip is not hip, My flee is not fly, My def isnt def, But damn I still try!

Saw me some fishies, a crab and a crane, Visited boats, with scandalous names.

"Puxxxies galore", "Bixxxhes beware", "Que es mas macho," and "Nothin down there".

Sat on a bench, watched the whole world go by, sipping on coffee, then let out a sigh.

I'll miss you my ocean, my tide pools, my bay, I'll miss feeding seagulls, I wish I could stay.

My poles and my nets, are all put away, my kids go to camp, Now the bills I must pay.

Goldfish to pet and orders to ship, getting ready for shows, tomatoes to snip.

It's time to enjoy my very last day And that's how I roll on my f.i. vacay!

Being a mom... Happy Muddas day!

Being a mom is tough. We wear many many hats and uniforms.

This year, I have donned my chauffeur hat, and traded in craft shows and trade shows. I don't mind being a (meh) cook, a (really meh) maid, a taxi driver.

I manage (not very well) schedules. I am an exam proctor. A psychologist. A nurse. A teacher. An art instructor. A fashion consultant. Sometime, when needed, a fashion editor. I know how to hoist "the girls", mmmokay?

As they grew up, the kids, (not the girls, ) allowed me to finally retire from being a hair stylist, a sports coach, and kool-aid mom, and fishing instructor.

I do provide a virtual cheering section for teams, contests, and concerts. I am a "tiger mom" too, and expert nitpicker. A cajoler, a dealmaker, a fixer. Although, I had to take lessons in Catholic guilt from my hubby, I have achieved high amateur status, I'd say.

I have prayed to Buddha, Cheezes, Gd, the earth mother, Krishna, that the kiddos come home in one piece, not in pieces, and not with diseases. I have done a rain dance for grades. Kneeling by my bed before the Sat Gods and AP angels. Not that they listened. So, back to nitpicking and guilt slinging I traipsed.

They humor me when I sing to my roses, hopelessly name the fuzzy creatures that are inexplicably drawn to our home, as I talk to myself in the car, commenting on all manner of crappy drivers, ugly dogs, annoying weather, and wacky political garbage du jour. This is why Gd invented ear buds I guess. They are very good at smiling and nodding and not listening.

I see our resident duck, Quackie, return to her nesting ground in our dutch flower box, who provides us with ducklings. She quacks up a storm, summoning her brood. I witness the little things jumping onto the ground, 3' down, then following their mother to the canal. I wish my kids would do that. But, they don't. They meander, canoodle, stray, lollygag. In the animal kingdom they would never survive. They are lucky I am their mom. And not Quackie, who would have given up a while ago.

No longer can I control where they go, who they see, who or what influences them. I cannot tell them what to read, what to listen to, or who to follow. I tried. But, they have to make their own mistakes and learn. At least that is what I tell myself as I eyeball a possible foray into margueritaland...

You mamis know from what I speak. Our bodies have been sliced and diced, or stretched like a cheap budget on a bad day. The ehem, "celebrities" in all the rags, must sell their souls to the devil himself, cuz their ain't no hollah back, gurl... from all that... unless you like getting stitched and sawed and poked and prodded and hoisted with lil" lipo and silicone to rebuild what your mama gave ya. You tell me how they don't have the requisite mom flap!

Well, jealousy aside, I wish all of you moms and aunties a great day, and eat chocolate and enjoy a trip to margueritaland if that floats your boat...flaps be damned...