Today is the day I always think of my grandmother.
Sure, it's the anniversary of my birth, but more importantly, it's the anniversary of the day I drank my first cup of coffee.
After years of sneaking sweetened spoonfuls to me when no one was looking (moonshine came later), my grandmother announced during dinner, a few weeks before my 11th birthday, that 'she was going to start letting me drink coffee when I turned 11'.
"All this talk about coffee stunting your growth!" she continued, "Humph! Look at her! She's tall enough already. A little coffee ain't gonna hurt her."
I held my breath and kept my eyes pinned to the table; not daring to look at my mother, waiting for an eruption⎯ and then... nothing. It was blessed silence.
A few moments later, normal dinner conversation resumed. I looked up and met my grandmother's eyes; she winked... I grinned..., and then started looking toward my birthday with added anticipation.
To this day, I still drink my coffee exactly the way my grandmother first served it to me: strong enough to melt the paint off a wall, with a little cream and two sugars.
It's odd. The moments you remember. I can't recall the exact day I learned to drive, started my first job, or lost my virginity... but I remember my first cup of coffee.
Here's to Grandma... I miss you.
Love,
Tess
Cute, green, and lucky? How could I resist?
Love,
I spotted this little guy (?), slowly making his way across a path while on holiday this summer. I was mesmerized.
Are you bored? Play the catchy tune and look again ;)
Have you hugged you invertebrate today?
Love,
Tess
Vangelis - Theme from 'Chariots of Fire'
I'm also a doodler⎯and yes, I've dabbled at drawing doodles ever since I could hold a pencil. I've wandered though art supply stores... fingering brushes, opening tubes of oil⎯reverently inhaling their aroma. I've visualized finished pieces, and hung them in the recesses of my mind. I've spent a lot of time thinking, and yearning, and talking about putting a brush to canvas, but didn't... until the beginning of this year.
Hmmmm... and you know what? Painting make me feel goooood; more than good⎯it makes me feel euphoric!
I am out of control (Huge coming from someone who organises her spice cabinet alphabetically) and I LIKE it!
I don't have to paint like him, or her, or you, or them, or ANYONE!
I don't have to use a fucking brush if I don't want to!
I don't even have to know what I'm doing!!
Ladies and gentlemen!: Would you please join me in shouting at the top of your lungs:
"TESS DOESN'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK SHE'S DOING AND SHE LIKES IT!"
Now go sniff some paint, take off all your clothes, and run around naked! You think I'm kidding, but I'm noooot
This is my first painting, and I wanted to share it with you.
I have seen variations of this image, when I close my eyes, for as long as I can remember.
Are you afraid?
Am I crazy?
Do I have a tumor?
What does it mean?... I don't know!!
Translating this image to canvas was difficult, because I wanted it to be perfect, and it's not; but it doesn't have to be⎯and we don't have to be...
Why are you still dressed?
Love,
Tess
