hard things

I like to think of myself as a strong person.  Strong like my great-grandma Lavera (I'd love to name a non-existent daughter Lavera in honor of her, but is that child abuse in the 2000's?) and we would call her Grandma Great.  And she was great, at least so I've been told.  She was the kind of lady that would make shoes out of car tires, shoot coyotes off her property with a rifle, and mother her children with love even though dad wasn't around much.  Remember my cushy life? (cushy, like the nice blue swede couch I have sitting in my living room)  Her life seemed less cushy. (more like a couch made out of sticks and stones and metal shards and glass and things that could potential break you if you let them)  Regardless, she was strong, and (probably) not despite her situation, but because of it.

I drew a sketch of this a while back on a day that was less than sublime and I wrote "thank you, for the hard things" in the corner of the paper.  Not because I'm awesome and always rise above my own expectations, but it just happened.  Even though I felt like that drawing... desperate/tired/etc... I felt gratitude and knew I wouldn't want to change a thing.  I am what I am because of what I've got, and I'll be what I'll be because of what I do.  Life is tough sometimes, thank goodness.

>> I woke this morning randomly humming a James Taylor song in my head and thinking, "the secret of life is enjoying the passage of time...".  Such great lyrics.
>> Are we instagram friends yet?  I hope so! (@ladyhue) I did a fun daily doodle yesterday that I am going to draw/paint today.
>> Sure, it's for sale!  Email me.