mud pies to medicine: Family Heirlooms

Monday, February 6, 2012

Family Heirlooms

My sister recently got engaged which I am using as an excuse to do some pseudo wedding photography. One of the classic shots I've wanted to replicate is the ring shot. Wedding photographers love to hang sparkly things on branches or put them in the sand and take pretty pictures. Well, here's my shot at it! The ring is a family heirloom- aka the BEST kind of ring. Plus its a beautiful art decoish style piece. It's perfect for her.

And if she was having a beach wedding, this would be a fun shot. But she's not.

And I made bread for the Superbowl this weekend. Second times a charm.

And here's a pretty picture of a cool bottle my dad dug up at a waterside work site.

No comments:

Post a Comment

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.