Portfolio for Interior Design

I sent the original copy of this ink drawing, but this is the only photo I had. 

Stairs Required

Print of a stamp I created. I call it "Screw the Fence."

Collection of Leaves Required

Bike Required 

Pen

Watercolor

"Beauty Redefined"

Ink and Watercolor wash 

Sometimes Pictures Are Just Better

Ride of Humiliation

They point.

They snicker.

They mock.

Why wouldn’t they?

Silver Volvos

and crimson Mustangs

line the senior section.

Trucks splashed with mud

fill two spaces.

SUVs park crooked.

They chuckle.

They sneer.

They gossip.

I’m not surprised.

Big,

old,

white,

dorky.

They call me

soccer mom.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Friends laugh

as I back up.

Even old stick-shifts

beat my mini van’s level of

“cool.”

Still better than the

School bus. 

Natalie

You were always so picky,

filled with such high expectations.

You went on dates,

said they were lovely,

didn’t return a call.

We never thought you would be

satisfied.

You were always like Jane Austen,

waiting for dashing gentlemen

to arrive on their fine horses.

You wanted charming,

but not cocky.

Intelligent,

but not arrogant.

Caring,

but not clingy.

None of them could be your Mr. Knightly.

Then he rode by,

swooped you up in his arms.

You didn’t reject.

Like Eleanor,

you gave into sense.

For he’s the smile on your lips,

the rhythm to your heart,

the life to your eyes.

Your everlasting happiness.

Within

Ringlets of honey brown

spring from above that olive face.

Those green eyes shine with life

as that smile begins to curl,

unleashing laughter.

Within that face is a girl.

A girl whose heart is as sweet

as the color of her hair.

As she laughs,

she peers into the mirror.

She quickly quiets down;

She is silent,

again.

Within that laugh is a girl.

A girl wanting to be accepted,

to be part of something.

Pressure.

Pressure to succeed.

Pressure to be perfect.

Those green eyes shift

from friends’ perfect grades

to their low B’s.

Within those eyes is a girl.

A girl who longs to be important,

to be someone.

Where I’m From

I am from bouncy balls,

From Little Debbies and Pillsbury layers

I am from the house on the corner.

Maroon, hilly, smell of chlorine in the backyard

I am from buttercups and daises,

the great magnolia

that blooms ivory buds annually.

I’m from lasagna and olive skin,

from Johnny and George.

I’m from the notorious dog owners

and the never on times,

From quality is better than quantity

and God is bigger than the boogie man.

From

the car that smashed into the house and the piano that slid across the floor while Natalie was in the bathroom.

the magician who amuses so many.

A chest lies in my parents’ room

filled with memories of long-lost friends

and baseball games

and birthdays.

Pictures may fade to gray

but our family will last

forever. 

A Room of Gratefulness

            Though it’s rather small, our kitchen is the homiest of the rooms in the house.  It’s like a photo album, full of memories.  The mustard colored walls and roughly painted cabinets give it character.  While my father occasionally reads scripture aloud, the refrigerator hums and the tea pot whistles as if they agree with the word of the Lord.  Often on Fridays’, my momma rolls out her sourdough and stirs the boiling sauce while the sausage sizzles in the iron skillet.  I always snatch some mozzarella.  My dad, too, picks at the cheese, but he grabs it less surreptitiously than I.  The whiff of homemade pizza baking in the oven is a blanket, warming smiles and spirits.  Everyone is happy, grateful, and blessed to be part of such a loving family.  We end the night with comforting thoughts and heaps of laughter.