mud pies to medicine: Mismatched

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Mismatched

Two posts in one day.... INCONCEIVABLE!

As a kindergartner, I used to lay on my bed in my underwear and say to my mother "Dress me aya!" A reference to the Disney movie A Little Princess . My mother finally decided one day that I would have to dress myself. I came out looking great- I got my sister to pick out my clothes! My ability to pick out an outfit has improved drastically over the years and yet, a lot of things today just don't match, except they do. I have a shirt from Anthropologie with multiple fabrics that just don't match, but it's a great shirt! And so this principle seems to apply to more and more things. Scroll through wedding design and interior improvement sites and you'll see the mismatching. Bridesmaids dresses that are all different in styles and cuts and a slight variation on color. I even saw a wonderful jewelry organization idea at MarthaStewart.com and I loved it. I went out to the antique store and bought lots of mismatched china. Dishes like these are a challenge because of the way they reflect light when photographed. I'm still working on my ability to photograph them, but this is what I've got for now.

#23 Mismatched

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The inspiration you ask?

I miss making mud pies. There is this huge rock in my front yard. To call it a rock really does it a dishonor. It is a boulder, brought home by my father on a huge dump truck after he blasted it out of a work site. My mom one day told me that even though it is nearly 2.5 feet high, 6 feet long, and 2.5 feet wide, that it was, in fact, only half-showing. The scientist inside of me was disbelieving and set out to get some proof. Clad in a dress, bow in my hair, and my best accessory, a shovel, I trudged outside ready to prove my mother wrong. That is when the digging began. I dug, and dug, and dug, and nearly all 3.5 feet of Danielle fit in that hole when I had reached the bottom of the rock. That became my digging spot, my mud pie kitchen. Each day it was dug, and each evening it was filled back in. Sometimes the holes were small, sometimes they were enormous, and most days the hole was turned into my mud mixing bowl with that rock as my counter. The novelty never wore off. The ebb and flow of my childhood was, in many ways, measured by the ever-changing depth of that hole in the front yard, the hole that never really disappeared even each day after it was filled in. Even though the grass has grown back in that spot, there still remains, an indentation, the scars of a childhood well lived and the disbelieving scientists I have always been.

So, you ask me why I want to be a doctor? I do not want to be a doctor. I want to open a mud pie bakery with the cash register on that rock in my front yard. But, somehow, I doubt I would stay in business long, for the world seems to have lost its taste for mud pies. I guess being a doctor will have to do.