Taste Bud Mutiny

I had baked chips with dinner tonight. I hate baked chips. They really taste nasty. I think anyone that says they taste good is brainwashed by the potato chip marketing ploy. (yes Laura, I'm talking about you! = )
I wonder how many people eat stuff like that, that they don't like, because it's the best alternative to the real thing. Like their mind says 'but it's chips, it's good' when their taste buds say 'stop now or we'll mutiny'..ya know? I was eating the damned things because I 'couldn't' have any other kind and halfway through it occurred to me that I was forcing myself to eat something I hated. Now, I can see working through the acquired taste issues for really healthy foods but for fake potato chips? What was I thinking? Then I was reminded of the time I bought a box of snack cakes for myself and the kids. I had eaten three of them and on the last one I really started to 'taste' it. It had a very chemical like taste to the frosting. I spit it out into my hand, fake chocolate, fake frosting plus chemichals and unpronounceable additives clinging to my dragging tongue like barnacles to a ship. My brain had just talked itself into thinking it was good because it was SWEET. But it wasn't good at all. So I decided that I'd eat what I truly liked and not eat just to satisfy some mind trick about cravings and IDEAS of what should be good. I threw away the baked chips and didn't miss them at all. Nasty little things.

The photo with this post is an out-take of my daughter, Angelina. I thought the expression suited my feelings about the baked potato chips! I would have taken a photograph of those things had I had my camera with me. I seem to be leaving her at home too often when I have my little epiphanies!

Meekins is REAL!

Meekins is Cassie's best friend. A beenie baby stuffed lamb hardly bigger then the palm of my hand, she lives and breathes like a genuine member of our family. We found her hanging around a gift shop in Pismo Beach, California. My family is fond of tag shopping the beenies for birth dates that match our friends and family. Meekins shares a birthday with Cassie and we knew when we found her that she had to be ours. Stuffed animals are typically loved on and drug around the house for a few weeks before they join the hordes of other stuffed animals in plastic tubs in the garage. I feel a twinge of guilt each time we stash another loved one in the fluffy graveyard, reminded of the velveteen rabbit. But Meekins was different. She never lost her allure, gaining royal status instead. She sat at the breakfast table and shared cereal bits with Cassie every morning and I was forced to make Meekins talk in a high squeaky voice so Cassie could have a conversation with her. Meekins rode along with us on road trips and slept in bed with Cassie each night, demanding a kiss and cuddle of her own. Being that I am a photographer and Meekins is a very important member of the family I set up a portrait session for her one day and this photograph here is matted and framed not only on our fireplace mantel but also on her Daddy's desk. We can't look at Meekins without seeing Cassie's brilliant love and adoration. She is a gift to us all. She's a warm soft place for the tender love of a 6 year old to land, teaching her about friendship and perfect love. Meekins looks like a bundle of fluff and stitches but I know she is real. Go here www.deannagomesphotography.com/meekins to see a slideshow about how Meekins has come to life through the love of a little girl! Be patient because it may take a little time to load and make sure to turn your speakers on because there's great music too!

A cabin in Montana

I just got back from a week long trip to Monana. On my 13 hour drive I saw many beautiful sights but none so lovely as this little lonely cabin in the middle of a field being kissed by the heavens. I stood there watching the light dance on the prarie, and filled with the anticipation of going home, I knew I could never really go home. People change. Places change. All the things you loved and thought you 'knew' morph into realizations that the adult mind can't see the world like the heart of a child can. I can physically visit all the places of my youth but I can never see them the same. I visited Montana with a rush of joy at seeing old friends and a mixture of regret for all the many losses that were born there and that still live inside me like tiny seeds, blooming at times in the fertile grounds of sorrow, nourished by timely tearful showers. While the cabin on the prarie mezmerized me, I could only hold my breath until I truly came home. Home to Colorado. My home of 6 weeks. My new home with my husband, my three kids and our new beginnings. For me, home is where ever we are together, not where we came from. Not where we were born or where we had our first crush or learned to drive, but where we lay our heads at night listening to each other breathe softly. And when my daughter rises in the night to visit the bathroom or get a drink of water, bumping into the unfamiliar corners of our new home, I sigh with contentment that we are indeed, truly, completely, at Home.