Making it Happen

My dearest Tumblr Followers, 

It is time to say my goodbye (but not really). I have been working towards creating my own business for the past few months, and so I’ve built myself a nifty little website to hold my work, shop, and blog in one place. 

If I’ve so captured your interest, please take a peek at The direct link to my blog can be found at

Again, thanks for the follows! And just because I don’t post to Tumblr anymore, doesn’t mean I don’t still read it. Keep it up, my friends.

Love to you all


#fields on fields on fields

#run along the water this morning

One Day I’ll

Dream: noun. A visionary creation of the imagination. A strongly desired goal or purpose.
Goal: noun. The end toward which effort is directed.
Aspiration: noun. A strong desire to achieve something high or great.
One day, I’ll own my own silk-screening business.
It won’t be booming or extremely high in profit. My products will not be overdone. It will be simple and sweet. It will start out online, if ever to leave. My products will be well thought out and of good quality. The business will promote the use of one’s own hands; it will show what those hands can and can not do. Colors will be neutral, designs will be illustrated. I will launder the cloth in my apartment’s laundromat. I will print on my dining room table. I will fold on my living room floor. Stock will be wrapped in butcher’s paper and tied with baker’s twine. Stamps inscribed with the business name will be placed on the innards of clothing backs and on the outskirts of packages. Orders will be brought to shipping centers at the end of each week.
One day, I’ll travel the world. 
I will take only a backpack. I will meet many different people and learn many new things. I’ll visit faraway places that I’d always dreamt about experiencing. I’ll see natural wonders and manmade feats. I’ll dangle my legs over the Grand Canyon and walk them over the Great Wall. I’ll swim the Barrier Reefs and climb (at least some) of Everest. I’ll feel rich cloths from India and taste spices from Spain. I’ll tour museums of every size in every city. I’ll dance in Greece and explore in Ecuador. I’ll eat things I never before considered food and find myself doing things I never assumed I could do. I’ll shut up and listen. I’ll learn to cook and dress and keep home like the natives. 
One day, I’ll run a pie shop.
It will be small, with only two ovens. Pies will be made daily. Crusts will be half butter, half shortening. Flavors will switch out both randomly and frequently. Strawberry rhubarb, blueberry, lemon meringue, pumpkin pie. Chocolate custard, cherry-peach, whipped cream, key-lime pie. Pecan, black-bottom, boston cream, shoofly pie. Apple, sweet potato, praline, marshmallow pie. Doors will open early and close late. If the pies run out before closing, the day will be over. The shop will be across the way from my friend’s Laundromat Cafe. We will send customers to one another. The street corner will smell like coffee and spices, like holidays and family gatherings. The majority of customers will be regulars, but every now and then a newbie’s nose will lead him inside.
One day, I’ll become an Art Therapist.
I’ll diagnose people with insanely unique psychological diseases. I’ll work with children too young or too anxious to speak. I’ll work with people with special needs and with elderly persons whose minds have begun deteriorating. I’ll work with those who are deaf and hard of hearing. I’ll speak in a calm voice and listen to their stories as they slowly unfold. I may have my own space, I may not. I may travel to hospital bedsides or people’s homes. If so, I’ll bring my studio with me. I’ll carry a canvas bag full of crayons, markers, pens, watercolor, paintbrushes, paper, clay, glue, scissors. If I don’t listen to their story, because of a lack of communication, I’ll watch it as it sprawls across the paper in inkblots and brush strokes. My heart will be heavy at night with my clients’ fears and anxieties, but my head will be clear come morning; I’ll feel the rewarding nature of the field I’ll have entered. Eventually, after weeks, months, sometimes even years, I’ll send people on their way with tools and skills to work through their distinct fears and anxieties.
One day, I’ll create a different kind of school system for high-schoolers. 
I’ll remember everything that had bothered me about school as a teenager, and I’ll change it. Locker’s won’t be assigned, but chosen. I’ll take online polls about what students want to eat during lunch for the week and serve that instead of whatever they were eating (or throwing away) before. Grades will be taken for transcripts, but report cards issued will be pass/fail. I’ll allow students to come and go to class as they please. Hall passes won’t exist, and instead of placing teachers strategically around the school to monitor roamers, teachers will stay in their classrooms for “office hours.” Students will choose from a catalog of classes every semester. Curriculum wiIl be based on helping teens learn to learn instead of coaching them to test. Teachers will be promoted as mentors. Lectures will happen less; discussions will happen more. I’ll make sure that when student’s teachers say, “we’re preparing you for college,” it’s a fact and not a lie. 
One day, I’ll buy a restaurant for my dad to run.
It’ll be called, “Roy’s,” and the whole family will work there. His son will work the figures for the weekly food deliveries and set his accounting skills to good use - keeping track of profit. His wife will hostess, and since she won’t be able to help her incessant cleaning habits, bus as well. I’ll wait tables and get to know the customers. He’ll be in the kitchen - the place he feels most at home. Uncle will drive from New Hampshire during summers to help with breakfast and lunch rush. Dad will be on a first name basis with our regulars. Free coffee will be common. Suspended meals will be our “thing.” One of the walls in the restaurant will have exposed brick. We’ll have photos posted and signed by everyday people and friends instead of celebrities. There will be a booth bar around the kitchen, and as he cooks, dad’ll tell stories to the tired workmen about his days as a UPS driver. He’ll tell bashful children jokes they don’t understand. He’ll probably tell attractive women how pretty they are. The food will be healthy (but not quite as healthy as the food at the vegan restaurant Uncle used to own). Sandwiches will have ridiculously goofy names and simply merge just two or three ingredients into a heavenly, delicious combination. Customers will try to create the same thing back home, but it won’t taste the same, so they’ll keep coming back.

#clouds after the #storm. #nofilter

#tomatoes. Mom’s an adorable #gardener

Walking along Sandy Neck. It’s so nice to be home for a while.