Twenty-eight years ago, can you believe it? This sculpture is titled The Juggler's Birthday, named, believe it or not, for me. As I think back, it's the only thing that has ever been named for me. My dad wanted to do something to represent that stage in a girl's life where she is juggling a childhood of treehouses and stuffed animals with the lure of make-up, clothes and boys. He and my mom did a good job of juggling me, I think. It can't be easy to raise a moody girl-child. There's a nice juxtaposition here, of sculpture, spring and growing up. This piece was first presented at the annual Dogwood Arts Festival in Knoxville, TN (not to be confused with the "Dog-Fart" festival which runs congruently) which always fell near my birthday in the spring.

That year, it fell on my birthday exactly and my parents let me take the day off from school. What a thrill to be free in the sweet Tennessee sunshine...the day goes by so fast when you're not confined by classroom walls. I wandered from booth to booth, making friends far more easily than I ever could now, and shyly revealing that it was my birthday. It's funny how kids are about that kind of thing. I wanted desperately for everyone to know that it was my actual birthday, on that very day, but I didn't want to have to tell anyone. One man, a potter, gave me a little stone chipmunk, another older man (I don't even remember what his craft was, just his leathery fingers) gave me a dime for ice cream. Big, big stuff to a little, little girl.

My present to myself on this most-recent birthday (aside from the fabric, the new running shoes and some new clothes) is to start this blog thing finally. And here I sit, feeling the need to be my most brave as I embark. Even feeling so self-conscious and knowing (almost hoping) that next year at this time, I'll look back on these early posts and absolutely cringe, I'm ready to go. So come along with me. I can't promise to be wise or even witty, but I do hope to be true.

And after all this introspection? I'm going to paint our stoop and blend some artichoke soup to chill for tomorrow's dinner. If I can manage to do that without blowing the top off the blender and painting the kitchen "artichoke soup" (doesn't that totally sound like one of those crazy paint-chip names?!), I'll consider the day a reasonable success.