The waters were deep, the ocean wild, I felt like I was in a well groomed jungle. Hanging in the trees directly behind me were monkeys, beside, sea turtles coasting, all while the Iguana's were lethargically making there rounds in and out of the shade.
I felt free, and was happily letting the wind play with my hair, and move my sarong any which way it pleased. You see, there are pro's to beaching on black sand. No matter the speed of the wind, the sand stays in place. The grains are quite large, there is no sand in the eyes, little granules in your bikini, or in your hair; it is the ultimate sexy beach experience.
There is something raw and uninhibited about the black sand beach, perhaps it is energy and violence through which it came into existence, explosive, hot, volcanic rock and lava permeating and consuming the land below.
There was nothing commercial about this experience, the sand made that clear. At the end of the day I don't know which I prefer. They are both suited to there environment and landscape. Ultimately I find beauty and inspiration in both. Any time on a beach is time well spent. Don't you agree? Which do you prefer? -tM
only made it to the table in the summer when I was a child. It was eaten barefoot, and on our balcony; its juice habitually made its way into the cracks watering and staining the already parched concrete.
It was a family affair. -tM
Irving Penn; Still Life with Watermelon, 1947
I laid eyes on her and all of her beauty a mere month ago and was just waiting for the perfect time to bring her home.
Her coloured presence has most certainly made me blush. Her uniqueness lays in the crimson flower she carries; she is unlike my cactus who vibes on an entirely different energetic level, and my palm who is incredibly strong and delicate in her allure. She is my third, but my palm will always remain my "Little Prince" lonely planet rose. In truth I love them all in different ways.
May she grow up to be great and strong. -tM
I chase the sun. Even as a child I would take all my clothes off and frolic in the kid sized pool on our balcony. My three best summer friends were the water, popsicles, and my sun chair in which I would lay completely bare, with the exception of my green sunglasses, and let the sun touch every part of my little body.
Something's never change, except now I take care to SPF my face, hands, and chest, and that is it, so as not to wrinkle and age prematurely. The rest of the body needs to be able to soak in the vitamin D (Did you know SPF prevents that from happening?). So these days I am happy to be walking in the sunshine.
What is your approach to the sun? Do you avoid it entirely, run after its rays, or do you meet its light in the ampleness of the shade? -tM
Social networks and plant species trying to conquer the literal jungle and mental zoo of our social constructs. That is what this piece is looking to bridge.
I bought this piece several years ago with some money left for me for my wedding day by my adoptive grandmother who had passed over 20 years ago. It reminded me of her jungle garden I used to play in as a chubby legged child. Every time I pause to admire it, I am reminded of how her strength, grace, and survival, as an immigrant in this strange and foreign landscape of ours. This piece reinforces her beautifully wild existence, and how her love made me stronger. Even though the artist's statement about this piece reads as is below, and is important to note, the beauty of this piece lays in the sentiment of the gift left behind and for her fiercely inspiring life. -tM
This series deals with the parallels between ideas travelling through social networks and plant-species conquering the jungle. Just as plants compete for soil and sun, ideas compete for mental energy. Humans allow fads to bloom, exhaust their mental energy and then wither. Some revolutionary ideas can survive in the most inhospitable conditions. These families creep, sew, poison and strangle their more docile rivals seeking to expand their territory. Profound in purpose and elegant in rendering, Lau’s “Replicator” works unite humanity with their humblest biological roots.
Lewis Miller is a well established florist and flower design guru in NYC. When he is not working on big elaborate projects he is also known as the flower bandit; making his way around to local NYC monuments and trash cans leaving explosions of flower arrangements to be enjoyed by those passers-by who stop to smell the roses. -tM
This empty storefront was once enroute to school. I would visit it mainly on my way home. It was full of candy, old freezers from the 60's, an old man, and his wife.
It was a neighbourhood store that mostly the kids would visit. I remember the owners were Polish, they didn't speak much English. She was spritely and he moved slowly, wore suspenders, brown pants, and a button down short sleeve shirt daily. He had a nose that rose to every occasion. I remember being fascinated by its size and crater shaped holes. He never really spoke, neither did we. He would just reach out his hand and we would place the change right in the center of his heavy palm.
Once she died, I remember even as a child feeling his loneliness and anger. The others would make fun of him. I don't remember if I ever joined in, if I did I have obviously erased it from memory. I don't recall if he ever had children, I hope that he did, that he too had someone who cared for him into his later years. Many years later I happened to walk by and notice that he was no longer sitting on his stool by the westerly window, all that remained were a few posters still taped to the walls and the window decals.
And took this photo.
In that instant my childhood came rushing back to me in the colour and taste of candy, pennies, nickels, and dimes, in the mouthful of gum that I new I shouldn't be eating, in uncertainty, and in hope.
The photo was taken over 15 years ago now. The store front is long gone, and now the impressions of it are a reminder of my mortality.
It is curious how change can affect a person. We often don't know the true value of a moment until it becomes a memory. -tM
This is a photo of a photo, hence the blurry quality. I have this photograph in an album along with the rest of my travel photography. Digital prints did not exist, neither did the internet. The world was a simpler place in certain respects.
I remember aimlessly walking the streets on my own, we smiled at one another, she posed for me in the most innocent of ways.
I have never forgotten her face. -tM
Secrets overheard on the subway today:
I spent a lot of time on the transit system today, unintentionally eavesdropping, sometimes when you are tuned in and not out, it is unavoidable. -tM
Love Letters. Anais Nin and Henry Miller
A friend of mine asked me today why I needed love in my life, and what that love would look like for me currently as a mature woman. I knew the answer right away, and some of the reasons remain the same, but it also made me think of the fluidity of life, growth, change, and how our needs and desire for love change as we change.
Allowing myself to become introspective about the whole topic made me realize that my approach to love has also changed; I think mostly because I have challenged loves boundaries, I have fought with its inconsistencies, I have grown to understand and love myself, and that has translated into a more compassionate love for humanity and life itself.
There is always this "search" for love, but much like happiness, it resides within ourselves. That is the most important love, the love that is most paramount in allowing you to savour a reciprocal love one day.
We all have different reasons for needing love in our lives. I think if we were all honest about the answer to that question maybe we would be more thoughtful about our choices and wouldn't be so quick to fall into it.
Monday morning ponderings.
Make no apologies for who you are. If there is anything I have come to understand as I continue to make my way through this life is just that. We as women in particular struggle with this more then our male counter parts for various different reasons. Regardless of gender, sexual orientation, creed, or religion, one should never be made to feel less then for who they are, and how they choose to live their lives.
I have struggled with this most of my life. I have never truly lived freely. At times I seemed to be meticulous about the frequency of my apologies. Responsible in life, the desire to please others, the fear of being judged, and the need to be accepted by my peers, and family became the foundation for my insecurities at a very young age. And then things slowly began to change.
The journey continues to be great, and the courage to live my life as I choose is synonymous with the fearless relationship I am still forging with myself and the world. It really does become about being courageous enough to allow your vulnerability and true self to exist autonomously from the expectations of others. And yes, eyebrows will rise, and heads will turn, but I will continue to make no apologies. I hope you will do the same.
I think there is some truth to what he says. I know that my mouth gets a note worthy amount of attention when I feel like having it live up to its full potential by dressing it up in red. -tM
Okay, last question. Why is a red lip so powerful?
Because it’s a media. We’re all red inside. I mean, its arousal, its brightness, its dynamic, it makes people look at your mouth – which is kind of freaky. That’s my theory, which no one else has really picked up on. Because a lot of women who say they aren’t comfortable with red lips is because they can’t… which means they won’t. To have someone look at your mouth is a very personal thing, it’s weird. Everyone is used to being looked in the eyes, so sometimes the thing about red is that it draws the eye to the mouth. That’s a shift in the dynamic. I like that it can mean anything. - Dick Page
I haven't been writing as much as of lately because I have been in a contemplative and reflective mood. There are moments when my thoughts sit heavy, and like the universal symbol of The Thinker I have furrowed my brow (but not too long, because furrowing your brow will cause many unwanted wrinkles; moderation is key) trying to figure out what I envision my future to be, along with what I believe I deserve, you know, the self love stuff that only women seem to go through.
Like when Tybalt slays Mercutio and then Romeo in haste slays Tybalt, this is a real turning point in my life, albeit not so dramatic, and thank goodness for that. But a turning point nevertheless. I find myself pivoting on one point shoe ever so gracefully, waiting for the other one to drop, all the while thinking about my life and which direction it will/should take. Only a woman can multi-task like this.
These lessons are all mine to learn while I ever so patiently try to just "be" and let go of my so called "control" (because really who are we kidding, we have very little of that in life). So here I am Le Penseur, not looking nearly as confident but every bit as lost in thought, I cannot help wonder what the future will bring, not in fear, but in gratitude. For truly, whatever will be, will be.
I only have a few true loves of my life friendships that I am willing to look out of and peer into windows with no matter where we are in our own lives or what the situation. They carry so many of my secrets in their back pockets, and often times it can be said that they know me better then my own family. There is a comfort in the knowing that with some I have spent my life being witness to their histories as they have to mine, and those bonds become even more poignant as we age.
Both fragile and powerful in bond, these ties belonging and shared uniquely between companions could be some of the most beautiful love stories ever written. And rightfully so, as we have chosen one another to tell our stories to and write our novels with.
It's time to strut into the weekend and all of its freedoms. I hope that you are able to take a step back and go at your own pace and allow a little extra time for stirring your coffee.
I like her sense of confidence and self. I adore her casual beauty and over night train attire. The photograph tells a story I am more then willing to become a distant witness too. There is mystery around her destination, a woman on a train in 1951 perhaps moving toward a life changing moment, or one that will simply catapult her into a new adventure. Either way, she seems prepared.
Comfortable and confident in a matter of fact kind of a way, this photograph is timeless, and possibly celebratory of a time when literal or metaphorical journeys taken by women were most important and ground breaking for the rest of the future generations to come.
At least for tonight, that is what I am thinking.