Alchemy

It might seem as though I have been slack in the writing department. I assure you, I have not. Whether or not it gets put on paper, my brain is constantly writing. Ideas flash through the grey matter at alamaring (not really - it is not a schizophrenic flight of ideas and to steal from my favorite Sheldon Cooper - "I'm not crazy. My mother had me tested!")

While I am playing catch-up on my interview transcription and blog posts, I thought I would share one of my recent columns from the paper - that would be The Pickens County Courier. I have a weekly column and if you subscribe and say you are subscribing because of my column, I might get a raise or at least begin making above minimum wage (wink, wink - nod, nod) ... Geez! I am on a Sassy role this morning. Must be the high octance coffee.

This "post" might not relate to tattooing per se, but it does relate to one of my tattoos (story to come) and I think it will connect as this project unfolds. That said .....

I imagine most people are fairly conventional when it comes to relationships.

Two people meet and begin dating. They take ample time to get to know one another, to develop trust, emotional intimacy, strong communication processes. Maybe they also develop a physical intimacy built, again, on trust and communication. They share their individual needs and wants and begin to dream of a future together making those hopes and desires a reality.

At some point, they decide they want to get married, so they get engaged. The engagement process is typically proportional in time measurement to the months and (or) years leading up to the engagement. The couple gets married and settles into life together. Maybe they start a family. They evolve as a unit built on a foundation of unconditional love and acceptance. Mutual respect and appreciation.

I’m certain it will come as no surprise to my regular readers that I see love from a slightly unorthodox perspective, which is to say that the romantic in me believes in love at first sight and soul mates. The notion that God, in all of his infinite wisdom, has divinely created perfect matches that he unites when the timing is correct.

Recently I reread my copy of Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist (an AMAZING book if you’ve never read it). In hindsight, I believe that I was drawn to the novel at the perfect time last year. My Mom had recently been diagnosed with Breast Cancer, and my world felt like it was crumbling around me. Looking back, it was also around this time that my marriage was slowly unraveling, stitch by stitch.

The book offered me a renewed spiritual peace from which I was able to cope with the massive changes taking place in my life at that time. It made me feel grounded and it gave me hope for the future.

As I read back through it, the following passage caught my attention: “At that moment, it seemed to him that time stood still, and the Soul of the World surged within him …. he learned the most important part of the language that all the world spoke – the language that everyone on earth was capable of understanding in their heart. It was love. Something older than humanity, more ancient than the desert. Something that exerted the same force whenever two pairs of eyes met, as had theirs here at the well. She smiled, and that was certainly an omen – the omen he had been awaiting, without even knowing he was, for all his life.”

“It was the pure Language of the World. It required no explanation, just as the universe needs none as it travels through endless time. What the boy felt at that moment was that he was in the presence of the only woman in his life, and that, with no need for words, she recognized the same thing. He was more certain of it than of anything in the world. He had been told by his parents and grandparents that he must fall in love and really know a person before becoming committed. But maybe people who felt that way had never learned the universal language. Because when you know that language, it’s easy to understand that someone in the world awaits you, whether it’s in the middle of the desert or in some great city. And when two such people encounter each other, and their eyes meet, the past and the future become unimportant. There is only that moment and the incredible certainty that everything under the sun has been written by one hand only. It is the hand that evokes love, and creates a twin soul for every person in the world. Without such love, one’s dreams would have no meaning.”

I find myself exploring this possibility because – without even being consciously aware of it – I have ascribed to this philosophy my entire life. I’ve said it before, and I will say it again: I believe, without a shadow of a doubt, that everything – good or bad – just or unjust – happens for a reason.

Everything we experience in our lives – the challenges, the triumphs, the failures, the setbacks, the joy and sorrow, pain and heartache – all of these things mould and shape us into the people we are supposed to be. Following the Biblical analogy where God is the potter and we are the clay – being ever shaped into the most perfect form of ourselves at the exact moment in our lives when it is imperative.

There was a time when I thought my hopelessly romantic nature was silly. Childish. My perspective, however, has shifted. I believe in the divinity of soul mates because I believe that God’s love is limitless.

The biggest problem in my marriages has been that I have lacked God as a foundation. Ever the control freak, I wanted to be in charge of every detail rather than giving it up to God and allowing Him to take the reins. I lacked faith, instead allowing myself to be consumed by fear and uncertainty.

I am saying good-bye to fear as the guiding force in my life, and replacing it with Faith, Hope and the knowledge that, with God, nothing is impossible. 

Epiphany

Driving home from Liberty this evening - I had gone there to meet Tracey, one of the women who has expressed interest about being interviewed for my book project – I had an epiphany of sorts. Writing about it now, it seems silly that something so glaring obvious struck me like lightening even when I felt like I had thought through the variety of meanings this process would hold.

Even after careful consideration, which for me is typically tantamount to extreme over-analysis, I was headed up the Easley exit, preparing to merge onto Highway 123 en route home, and it hit me: interviewing, recording and listening to other people is going to teach me so much about myself!

It is completely fine if you are thinking “DUH … Nicole!” I’m ok with that because I thought the same thing. Of course I am going to learn something about myself, about my life, about the human condition. Talking with people and hearing their stories is no different than sifting through anthologies of American Literature: these individual stories give the listener (or reader) a new perspective to consider – a unique looking glass through which to view everyday life. Stories make us more human.

The only difference between the people with whom I’m meeting and my endless volumes of Norton Anthologies is that the people inviting me into their lives and homes are not published …. YET!

As the idea that I will experience personal growth through this process [said with an exaggerated overly twangy southern accent] slaps me upside my head  (dangerous while trying to merge onto Highway 123 I might add), it also occurred to me that coinciding with the stories I am telling – the ones that do not belong to me – I might have some stories of my own, emotional responses and reflections, or maybe even times when, dare I say it, I agree to disagree with the philosophies of any particular story teller.

And because talking with people sparks ideas and generates feelings, I might want to write about those things. But I can’t – can I? This project isn’t about me; it is about other people’s stories. Obviously I have a few tattoos that have stories behind them. Deeply personal meanings that I had planned to share, peppered in among the numerous other stories I am excited to hear and write.

One of my dearest grad school friends now part of my family, Kim, recommended I read Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat. Pray. Love. I purchased the book, and it sat on my book shelf for about a year before the universe drew me to all of the incredible insights captured between the covers. While I would never compare myself to Gilbert as a writer, this Soul to Skin Project upon which I have embarked is really no different than Gilbert’s trek around the world as she discovers herself. Of course I am going to grow as a human being throughout this process! Nicole, me, as a unique individual … I use writing as a way to digest my feelings and make sense out of what I have learned.

I say all this to say that, driving home from Liberty, my mind, heart and spirit were flooded with thoughts and feelings. Things I need to digest and process and write about, and I am going to allow myself the opportunity to do just that as I work on this project. I hope you, my readers, will not find it selfish that I am doing this – that I am giving myself permission to become a part of this project instead of being an outside observer who merely records and regurgitates (I don’t mean that to sound gross. I just love that word). Maybe, just maybe, some of my insights and observations will resonate with the readers out there?

I feel like a broken record in saying this, AGAIN, but I am terribly excited about this project, process and journey. Soul to Skin continues to evolve and is taking on a life all its own. I thank you all for your patience (as I learn to juggle all the responsibilities in my life that I am now doing as a single parent), your support and encouragement and excitement about the Soul to Skin Project (my baby in the making), and for making me feel like I have permission to grow and learn and evolve throughout this process. 

She Never Ceases to Amaze Me

After Em and Ella were snuggled in and asleep last night, Mom and I rendezvoused on the stoop for a moonlit chat before going to bed ourselves. I had to remember, record in my mind parts of our conversation because it was that profoundly meaningful.

Mom read the “Always Remember I love You My Molly Mugwump” blog post and cried. This was her response to me: “I am not amazing. For thirteen years, I prayed for you. I truly believe you were a gift from God. All I have done, Nicole, is take care of you because I wanted you so badly and I promised God if he gave you to me, I would take care of you.”

She told me I was the one who is amazing and special and that she has always know this. She also said that she thinks I am finally starting to understand that I am special – though I haven’t fully grasped it in her opinion. While she has no plans on going anywhere any time soon, Mom also told me that if she went to sleep and wasn’t there in the morning, I would know that she was at peace because she has seen me happier than I have been in a long time. She said she had confidence in my ability to do anything I put my mind to, and that she is so very proud of me (I can’t type this without crying. Geez!)

We talked about other things. About this project I have undertaken. What I quoted above, however, are words I will forever carry with me. She might not think she is, but my mom is amazing to me. I only hope I can be a fragment of the mom she is -- for Em and Ella. I am humbled by the way my life has been blessed. Truly. Honestly. Deeply.

 My Mom never ceases to amaze and inspire me. I simply had to share this!

Always Remeber I Love You My Molly Mugwump

Today is my Mom’s 69^th Birthday. She has distinctively beautiful handwriting – so unique that it took loads of practice to forge her signature on notes when I skipped school. No matter how diligently I practiced, it never was exact.

A few months ago I asked her to write something to me, so that I could have a tattoo done in her handwriting. She handed me a slip of paper upon which she had written “Always Remember I Love You My Molly Mugwump.”

In honor and celebration of her birthday, Moto tattooed the message on my left ankle, swirling it somewhat around the Hamsa I had done six years ago (another incredibly emotional story for another day).

When Moto finished, I looked down and felt tears flood into my eyes. With the ink smears wiped away, there was this vivid blank handwriting that looked amazing and more than being aesthetically pleasing, I have a piece of my Mom that I will carry with me forever – not that I wouldn’t carry her in my heart, mind and soul; the tattoo, however, is a constant reminder of her unconditional love and support.

Last May my Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. Thankfully, they caught it in the early stages. She had a lumpectomy followed by six weeks of radiation therapy. Currently she is on an oral form of chemotherapy that is, somewhat, more mild than if she were receiving it IV. Still, it hasn’t been a walk in the park.

My parents divorced when I was three, and I am essentially an only child (I have a half sister who is eleven years my junior and we did not grow up together. She lived in Montana with our Dad and my Step-Mom, and I lived in Miami). Mom was a single parent in every sense of the word.

Geography, it would seem, made it difficult for my Dad to play an active role in my life. Long distance didn’t make for a warm and fuzzy or close relationship. Mom pretty much did it all – worked to support us, made sure I did well in school, helped with homework, took care of me when I was sick, encouraged me in everything I dreamed of doing. She cooked and cleaned; chauffeured me to and fro the destination du jour. She held me when I cried and joined in when I laughed.

My mother taught me – by example – the meaning of genuine, unconditional love and selflessness.

When I was a little girl, missing my Dad, crying in bed at night, my Mom used to sing “My Blue Heaven.” I always remember her changing that one lyric to “just Molly and me, and Sooters (we had a cat named Soot) makes three” offering assurance that the three of us were going to be OK. That we were going to make it.

Although my name is Nicole, the nickname Molly stuck. To Molly, my Mom added Mugwump, which she explained is a bird who has his ‘mug’ on one side and his ‘wump’ on the other. To her, I have always been and will always be Molly Mugwup.  That is one of the amazing things about Moms – something I didn’t fully grasp until I became a Mom myself: No matter how old your children are, in some ways they will forever be the little babies you snuggled against your chest while they slept and dreamed and smelled so milky sweet and perfect.

Finding out she had cancer was devastating for us both. Despite our faith in God, the idea of losing someone you love is heartbreaking. She and I have been together for thirty-five years. She still lives with us. She has been present for every event in my daughters’ lives just like she was for mine.

When she told me she had found a lump in her breast, it was almost as if time stopped and the world came to a screeching halt around me. How would we tell the girls? How would I comfort them and still be able to grieve myself? Who would I drink coffee with in the morning? Who would wander around Wal-mart with me on a Saturday afternoon?  Or listen to my ideas involving duct tape and furniture? Who would beam with pride at every accomplishment? Or read every article in the paper with my byline? Who would offer me reassurance when I felt like life was falling apart? Or tell me not to beat myself up for not doing something that measures up to my insanely impossible perfectionist standards?

I had talked to Moto a few months about wanting to have this tattoo done so I would always have my Mom’s handwriting – a visual, ever present echo of her love for me – as a literal part of me the way she has always been such a huge part of my life. Today, her birthday, seemed like the perfect occasion to have this tattoo done.

One year later, my Mom is cancer free. She is still on the oral chemo, and I have noticed a gradual slowing down. Through everything, she has not missed one day of work nor has she ceased to be active with me and her granddaughters. I find her absolutely inspiring and amazing. I do my best to enjoy each and every moment I have with her, because I know that she is not going to be around forever.

 And when the day comes that I can’t share a cup of coffee with her in the morning, I will forever be able to see her unending, unconditional love written like a soft whisper and a warm hug on my skin.

Blessed and Thankful

My mind, body and soul have been flooded with thoughts and emotions pinging, zigzagging, and ricocheting off of one another such that I feel like the Pin Ball Wizard.

Those of you who continue to follow me on this journey will come to know that I am a devoutly spiritual and faithful person. While I sometimes find myself bogged down by self-doubt or anxiety, like a cat that always lands on its feet, I find my focus and press forward toward whatever goal I have set on my horizon.

Hand in hand with my passion for writing (mentioned in an earlier blog post) has always been a love for reading. I have an insatiable appetite when it comes to written words – devouring books like a starved man in desperate need for nourishment.

Believing that everything in life happens for a reason, at the perfect time, applies to books as well. I have purchased books, brought them home with every intention of diving into the pages, only to be distracted by one thing or another. That book might sit on my nightstand for a week, six months, maybe even a year, before some current inside starts to stir and the next thing I know, I’m sitting with that book in hand.

The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho, is one example of being drawn to the exact book, the precise words, the spiritual nourishment I needed at the perfect time. It accompanied me to the mammogram and needle biopsy that diagnosed my mom’s breast cancer last May. And while I was unable to focus on reading at the time, it was in my bag while I impatiently waited for her surgeon to deliver a report after the lumpectomy.

So many thoughts and ideas in The Alchemist resonated with me at that time, making such an impact that it has become one of those books that I read over and over again. The pages have been marked with my own questions and notations – multiple passages emphatically underlined in pencil:     

“Because there is a force that wants you to realize your Personal Legend; it whets your appetite with a taste of success.”

“In order to find the treasure, you will have to follow the omens. God has prepared a path for everyone to follow. You just have to read the omens that he left for you.”

“But the sheep had taught him something even more important: that there was a language in the world that everyone understood, a language the boy had used throughout the time that he was trying to improve things at the shop. It was the language of enthusiasm, of things accomplished with love and purpose, and as part of a search for something believed in and desired.”

“When you want something, all the universe conspires to help you achieve it.”

“When someone makes a decision, he is really diving into a strong current that will carry him to places he had never dreamed of when he first made the decision.”

Making the decision to start the Soul to Skin Project has already started to carry me places I never imagined. With every fiber of my being, I believe this is what I am supposed to be doing at this precise moment in my life.

Like everything else I do, I am approaching this with unbridled enthusiasm, passion, love and purpose. Writing a book has been my dream since I was a child. Over the years I have come up with a million excuses for why I couldn’t do it. I didn’t have time. I wasn’t a good enough writer. People wouldn’t be interested in what I had to say.

I have come to the point in my personal and professional life when I am choosing to abandon my fears and doubts in order to pursue the dream that has always been inside of me. As I sit and write this I am awestruck by the surrealism of this very moment, everything leading up to it and the endless possibilities awaiting me in the future.

Thank you to everyone who has looked at the Soul to Skin Project blog, who have read the posts, who have ‘Liked’ the Soul to Skin Project page on Facebook. The outpouring of support, encouragement and love is truly humbling and amazing. I sincerely hope you will continue to follow this project, that you will share your thoughts and comments, continued support and encouragement.

Every morning that I wake up, I thank God for the blessings in my life. When I looked at the page views for the blog and had an email inbox full of Facebook ‘Likes’ and comments on the Soul to Skin Project, I was overwhelmed with feelings of positivity and possibility and immense love.

Today I feel especially blessed and incredibly thankful, and I would like to say thank you to everyone out there who has filled my soul with love, blessings, support and encouragement. None of this would be possible if all of you didn’t collectively care about this too. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!

A Rose for Mary

“A permanent reminder of a temporary feeling.” As much as I like to think Jimmy Buffet is inanely annoying (no offense to any Parrot Heads out there reading this – we can respectfully agree to disagree), I will concede that he might have a point here.

This is part of the human condition after all: sometimes we make choices and decisions in life that were not our best judgments – in hindsight, of course. Tattoos are no exceptions. I will confess that the first tattoo I got when I was 18 is no longer existent. Gone. Erased. Covered up. And another story for another day. I promise.

I bring up the subject of the cover up because the first gentleman I had the pleasure of interviewing was having an old tattoo covered up while, simultaneously, getting a memorial portrait in honor of his Mom.

While Kevin was a 20 year old student at Clemson University, he had the opportunity to travel to Okinawa, Japan and live there for a month with one of his college buddies who was from Japan originally.

Crazy as it might seem, Kevin said he arrived in Okinawa just in time to take part in a Swedish Beer Festival that happened to be the event du jour. Like many normal, American 20 year old men, Kevin knocked back a few “itty-bitty” individual sized kegs of beer. As is the tendency when one imbibes copious amounts of alcohol, Kevin “got hammered.”

Hammered. Twenty. Traveling in a foreign county. Embracing the spirit of youth and adventure. Short story long, Kevin looks down an alley, sees a sign that reads “Tat2” and decides he is going to commemorate this event in his life with a tattoo.

He enters the tucked-away-in-an-Okinawa-alley tattoo parlor, complete with red clay and dirt floors, to get his first tattoo. After standing in line behind about eight Marines who were getting inked, it was finally Kevin’s turn.

Anyone living in the SC Upstate understands the devotion and loyalty to either Clemson or USC. Kevin was a tried and true CU Tiger, so he pulled out his school identification. At the time, Clemson was represented by a symbol that looked like a C and U together with an orange flame in the center. This was Kevin’s choice for his tattoo.

Talking with Kevin, I don’t get the impression that he regrets having something Clemson related tattooed on his body. One can casually observe that he wears his Clemson University collegiate ring proudly upon his right ring finger. The problem with his tattoo had more to do with youth and carelessness.

Admittedly, Kevin was not only intoxicated when he got his first tattoo; he was also badly sunburned. Because of the sunburn, his skin did not cooperate in retaining the tattoo ink. The dye simply bled out. The tattoo artist, according to Kevin, did a less than stellar job on the Clemson piece. And the next day, Kevin and his buddy spent the day in the sun and the ocean.

He violated every cardinal rule of tattoo aftercare and, as a result, always felt like his tattoo looked like crap. Because the tattoo was on his right shoulder blade area, it was easier to forget it was there. “Out of sight; out of mind,” said Kevin. However, for the last 20 years, in the back of his mind, Kevin always thought “Man, I wish I had something that when people look at it they’re just like ‘Wow! That’s awesome.’”

Twenty years later, May 25, 2012, Kevin finds himself at Amber Island Tattoo to have his old tattoo covered up and to have a new custom tattoo portrait indelibly inked in memory of his Mom. He is nervous. Second guessing his choices.

His idea for the cover up part of the tattoo is a rose, but Kevin is worried that a rose will be perceived as feminine – calling his masculinity into question. When he tells me why he has chosen a rose, I assure him that I don’t find the choice or idea the least bit feminine.

Roses were his mom’s favorite flowers. Each year for Mother’s Day, Kevin would give his mom a new variety of rose bush – each of which she planted to create an incredibly beautiful hedge in the yard of the home she shared with her husband of 58 years.

When deciding on the photograph he wanted Moto to use as the inspiration for the portrait of his Mom, Kevin chose one of her in her younger years, when Kevin was a twelve year old boy. As a Christian, Kevin believes that when a person dies and goes to heaven, they do so in a young body. Kevin also wanted a portrait of his Mom the way he remembers her most – young, vivacious and filled with life and love.  

Kevin’s mom, Mary, was 69 years young when she passed. The cause of her death remains unknown because the family declined to have an autopsy performed. Her death was completely unexpected. Mary had not been ill, so there was no hint or warning.

Kevin’s parents woke up early the way they had every morning. While his dad, Gene, stayed upstairs to shower and get dressed, Mary went downstairs to fix herself some peanut butter crackers and a Diet Coke, after which she would curl up on the end of the couch and turn on the television. And that’s what she did. She made some peanut butter crackers, got a Diet Coke, sat down on the corner of the couch, pulled a blanket up and went to sleep.

Gene came downstairs, and looking over to see his wife, snuggled under a blanket and asleep on the couch, made a pot of coffee, poured himself a cup and sat down in his recliner directly across from her. He looked at her. Said her name. And realized she was gone. She sat there, went to sleep and never woke up.

Friday, March 26, 2010. 6:30 in the morning. Kevin will never forget that day. And though he is thankful for the way his Mom died, that it was peaceful for her and without any tragic long, drawn out suffering, it was still “very, very, very traumatic.” That dreaded phone call at 6am can change life in an instant. Kevin says it was unbelievable.

Incorporated into the rose and portrait, Kevin wants the Bible verse from Philippians 1:3: “I thank my God upon every remembrance of you.”

Moto completed the rose cover-up on Friday. The next step for Kevin will be the memorial portrait in honor of his Mom.

First Interview Friday

Tomorrow morning I will have my first official interview at Amber Island Tattoo. I have fresh batteries in my digital recorder. Camera battery is charged. Moto is on board. So excited!