Once upon a time…

First of all, yes, this is me, thirty years ago.


Oh my gosh… thirty freaking years ago.

Ok, now that that’s out of the way, this is a photograph of one of my first memories, and it has an interesting and somewhat adorable story to it.

I have always remembered the time when my father drew me a clown so that I would color it in. I was very excited, and colored it really really well, I was quite proud of the outcome, I had kept the brush within the lines very very well.

So I walk up to my dad, and I proudly present him our joined work of art.

He looked at it and laughed, and then told me “that’s all wrong”.

My heart was broken.

He the  told me to go outside and stand in the varanda, and took this photograph.

Can you see the heart ache?


OH MY GOD I WAS SO FREAKING CUTE! Look at that pout.

Yes, my favorite color was red. No, this was not a creepy kid painting a bloodied psycho clown. I really really thought I had done an excellent job.

Now the interesting bit is that as I grew, and my idea of ‘correct coloring in’ changed, so did my memory of this moment. I genuinely thought my father had been unfair, and that I had  painted it very well, with several colors.

Then, decades later, I found this photo.

Interesting how the mind works.


Well I sure as hell took my sweet time!

Just scrolled down to see when exactly I decided to make my button tree and it was scary: November 2012!

I made it yesterday lol.

Here’s the link to the original idea : Original button tree idea

I ended up grabbing a small canvas I had laying around and started making a trial painting with watercolors. I had never painted anything on a canvas, nor had I used watercolors since I was a kid, so I gave it a go. When I thought it looked acceptable (don’t really like the tree trunk, might try to fix it a bit later, but I love the background), I realized less is more, and even though my b/f had got me a big canvas for my tree, this little one, with less buttons, looked like the best option.

Just a quick recap for those that don’t feel like reading what’s on the original link: I’d play with these buttons as a kid. I’d sit on the floor looking at them and just making drawings with them on the floor. My granma kept them in a box. I loved that box, and after her death I was lucky to have found it.

Here it is, the final product:


P.s- yes, granma bought me bunny buttons 🙂
P.p.s- really need to fix that tree trunk

A year ago

Yesterday was the anniversary of my maternal grandmother’s death, my fraternal grandmother’s death would follow a month and a half later.

Today my mother went to the hospital, a terrible allergic reaction to fingerprint dust (she was at a house that got broken into, no biggy). She was having trouble breathing and could hardly speak, low oxygen levels. Towards the end of the day she told me she had to spend the night at the hospital.

Then it hit me, the fear. Stupid really but I felt that she really could die too. And it made me cry, that and remembering.

I went to visit her, she could hardly speak but it calmed me as in comparison to the frail and unconscious women that left my life, she was doing quite well (she felt like shit though).

I cleaned my hands with the disinfectant that hung from her bed. I spoke to her for a while. I left her a stuffed toy she gave me to keep her company. I kissed her goodbye, on the cheek, because both last times I kissed one of my mothers on the forehead was the last time I saw them alive.

I left after a while, got home, and started dinner while my boyfriend put the motorbike in the garage.

My hands, they still smelled of that disinfectant. The same disinfectant I used for weeks when I visited my last grandmother at the hospital. It was a soothing smell then, full of hope, it is a scary smell now.

I washed my hands, I washed the smell off.