cancer eyes. (come what May)

“My boobs are trying to kill me.”

says May, a week after being diagnosed with breast cancer.

“and you know what i dread most?” she asks, as we’re having coffee in the NIKE cafeteria, that day.

Me:  the pain?  the chemo?  fucking hell, the fear of DYING???

“No,” she says.

No?  there is something worse?  there is something more awful than those items on my what if i ever got cancer, what would i fear checklist????

apparently, there is.

cancer eyes. 

“Cancer eyes,” says May.

ok, i think, ok.

(and in my head, i’m thinking, “what the hell?”)

But here’s the thing.

When you have cancer, you have the absolute, undeniable right to determine what is going drive you up the freaking WALL.

So for May, with her jet black hair and beautiful dark brown skin, dreaded, while bald as a billiard ball, sitting in the cafeteria, running the Wildwood trails, or making a controversial statement in a meeting, the cancer eyes from someone who might be looking at her saying, “yeah, May, that’s a great point.”

because she was bald and not, ahem, because she actually had a great fucking point.

that is what she meant.

so where does this leave us.

well, it leaves us here.

to a place where i get super selfish, because today was a bad day, as far as you can have a bad day discussing sneakers.

and i love NIKE.

and i love the SWOOSH.

and i think, if i were in May’s position, i would hate those cancer eyes too.

and here’s where May’s foresight came into play like nothing i have ever witnessed before.

she wanted photos.

of her with hair.

and of her without hair.

and the entire process in between.

so she asked if i would take photos of all of it.

and, in the spirit of cancer eyes, i said yes.

because here’s the thing.

May with hair is beautiful.

but…

Bald May is more.

the adjectives are yours to choose.

mine are these:

strong, sexy, bold, powerful, defiant, kind, victorious.

look at these, then YOU decide.

and if you are fighting cancer, well hell, you’ve got a teammate in May.

IMG_3070


her boobs are trying to kill her?

NOT A CHANCE.

this is May.

and May doesn’t want cancer eyes.

and cancer won’t kill her.

and if today, you thought that you were bummed because work sucked, remember this:

work is work.  and we should take that seriously, because we are gifted/granted a job that allows us to live a fruitful life.

But.

what May teaches us is that we don’t settle.  for cancer eyes, for acceptance, for making total human infallible mistakes.

life is short.

do the right thing, apologize if you don’t, correct it, and move on.

at all costs… avoid cancer eyes.

and May,

well…

you’ve got this.

You know it, we know it, and quite frankly.

Cancer knows it and can crawl in it’s lameass dark stupid dunce corner and KISS OUR ASS.

your boobs are beautiful, and in their cancer free, reconstructed state, will continue to teach us that dwelling on the insignificant is, um… wasteful and insignificant.

to life.

peace,

AC

ps… more photos, you ask?  well ok!!!!

pps… if you’d like to order the photo book i created for May as her thank you for allowing me to photograph her journey, you can buy it here.  All profits are given to her to donate to the organizations of her choosing.

Posted in bald, breast cancer, cancer, confidence, female African American bald, female bald, mastectomy, photography | Tagged , , , | 27 Comments

Is love alive?

Today is my 42nd birthday.

not a big deal, at all.

Just a day, in fact.

But i held today up, put it in a jar, and watched it… because some amazing things went down, and how could i not honor that!

So bear with me, because a few of you get an honorable mention, and it’s no goddamn Academy Award, but it’s something meaningful to ME, and since this is my blog, you’re on here and you better accept it.

Today, this happened:

Dieter ran a beautiful route in South Boston for me.

Betsy gave $25 dollars in my honor to St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital.

Regina left me a flat of tomatoes and herbs to start my summer garden.

Dana, my deviant soul sister, practiced some “mindful flower arranging” for me today (damn i love her, but she might have been a bit more mindful of that last tanker at Bar X, now, shouldn’t she???)

My sweet husband gave me a beautiful watch, to remind me that time is, indeed, on our side… and lest we take advantage of it, there is SO much more left.

And on my insanely gorgeous morning run, i did the following:

Listened to “Wild Montana Skies” to remind me of my days growing up loving every chord in John Denver ballads, reinforcing my love of  the Rocky Mountains, whose majestic peaks, cold winds, mindblowing snow and lustful wild flowers shaped me to live bigger than life, and helped re-enforce my commitment to Ella. 

Found amazing memories in Nancy Griffith and Counting Crows in “Going Back to Georgia,” reminding me of my “wiley” days in pool halls, dark, smokey pubs, and a little dose of discovery.

Definitely took the Erasure train (A Little Respect, people) to remind me of my 4 years at Bates College (alas i missed my 20th reunion this weekend!) to pay respect to my homies that kicked my ass at quarters in Smith Hall…

And brought it home with a little “Louis Quatorze” via Bow Wow Wow and a bit of Sting (Dream of the Blue Turtles, of course) to bring back my days in high school when i thought i was the SHIT.

So many memories that have passed in the 42 years i have spent here, and i have to admit that i was quite dreading the social media aspect of Facebook alerts coming my way.  But you know what?

i fucking loved it. 

All of you, you are amazing.

My new friends in Paris, Morocco, and Egypt – thank you for opening my eyes and helping me understand more about the plight of the Middle East.  For your patience in allowing  me see, with my own heart, that it is human error that forces women to cover all but her eyes, not the word of your Allah, our God.

My mentors, one of whom today wished me to “Shine on,” indicating that though i was on the path to living life fully, her expectation was that i had so much more to do.  Yes, yes!!!

To my brother, who i love to death but drives me completely batshit. With his inability to simply answer with a “yes” or “no”, he forces me to think deeper, always peel back the layer and ask more. We all need at least one Andrew in our lives.

To my mother, who through an 11 minute introduction in Arabic, French, and English to 500 women leaders at the International Women’s Forum last week in Morocco, reminded me what shoes i have to fill… that existing with what IS is not enough… we must always reach deep inside our passions to fight for what CAN BE.

To my dad, who, above everyone else, reads in between the lines to find exactly what pushes my buttons, and hand delivered me two amazing custom gifts on his trip to Portland this week:

yeah, this is the cheeziest photo EVER. But it is a custom “I heart Lola” tank top and trucker hat, AND a plastic leaf blower that shoots bubbles. To know me is to know that Lola is my dream car, and leaf blowers are my nemisis. So yeah, we kind of HAD to take this photo.

To Lucy Walker  and David de Rothschild, who have come into my life through sheer grace over the last couple years and taught me to be a better global citizen – to relish this planet forcefully so that it can be left better than we inherited it… i adore you.

To May and Maddie… the strongest females i know.  This year is YOURS to beat cancer, and i thank you for being MY teacher in strength and courage.  How could anything be more important than your battle?

And finally, to my daughter, Savannah Hope, who, through fresh cobwebs not yet swept from her brain, completely forgot it was my birthday this morning, yet nonetheless woke up to give me a massive hug, kiss and “good morning, Mommy, I love you!”

I adore you all, and if you ask me, i say that because of each and every one of you that took the few seconds to wish me happiness today, i humbly, completely, and without any reservation say that YES, love is very, very much alive.

Shine on.

AC

Posted in Birthday, Porsche 911, wishes | Tagged , , , , , | 6 Comments

I can’t help it if my sculptor loved Poltergeist (from the point of view of an outcast mannequin).

Somebody is going to be totally offended by this post.

I don’t know who, because it would take someone who can’t take humor very well, but i guarantee you, out in this big wide blogosphere where one can get offended by the simplest goddamn thing, SOMEONE will find a way to make this a political statement about my lack of respect for someone else’s culture.

So here’s my disclaimer:

I did not start this blog to write about the same things that everyone else does.  Nor did i set out to prove that i am in expert in anything.  I simply started it so that as weird shit happens in my life, i have an outlet in which to write about it, so i don’t have to hold it in my head, because my brain only holds so much and right now it’s full of wine.

After i get through this trip, there will be some serious writing (judge later, please) about how impactful, spiritual, and heavenly Morocco has been.

But for now, i’m writing on something about which i doubt anyone has blogged before (i haven’t actually validated that, but the internets are a crazy place and i’m scared to look).

So to get to the point, here is a blog about the crazy ass mannequins in the souks of Morocco.  They all have a story, but because they are made of some form of plastic, they can’t speak, so i figured i’d do it for them.

Tell their story, if you will.

And if i get it wrong, don’t blame me.  i’m not a goddamn mind reader, people. 

So here we go.

Lady in Blue:  “OMG, do you have a thing around your neck?  because i totally have a thing around my neck, but i’m made of plastic or something so i can’t turn to see if you do but if you DO, would you let me know so i don’t think i’m alone in this Hell?”

Lady in White:  “I can’t talk, i have a fucking noose around my neck.”

As a “consumer of goods” in this world, i was totally confused by the story below.  I think the doll was for sale, but she was riding Bambi, goddamnit, and i’m not sure if she was riding Bambi because she felt bad that her (the deer’s) mom had died (sorry, did i just spoil the ending-which-is-not-quite-the-ending-so-don’t-hate-me?). So is Bambi for sale?  is this a package deal?  Like, buy the doll with the weird hat, but you also have to buy her deer, because that is her transportation in her imaginary world.  And then WTF with the luggage?  Is she a super high-maintenance doll that needs a fucking duffel, backpack AND pink carry-on?  or is that what the deer needs because he lost his mother and he’s turned to material needs (like Hugo Boss deer tuxedos for special deer occasions) to compensate?  (i have to apologize, i seriously can’t remember if Bambi is a boy or a girl.  it’s been 30 years since i’ve seen it, people.) And the doll’s like, “Bambi, you totally need some sunglasses if onl…oh shit, here are some right next to me!”

This one’s like, “fuck you all, i’m PINK.  Explain that shit, Bambi.”

and this one’s like, “yeah, well i’m going to a goddamn Rodeo, which would be SO COMPLETELY AWESOME if someone had painted my face.”

And this one’s all, “I’m a spy (and in her head she’s thinking, ‘with an amazing hairdo and new dye job’) and i’m totally packing heat, so don’t even fuck with me or i will brandish my weapon and take off your entire BODIES.”

and these girls are howling (on the inside. The sculptor here decided howling expressions probably wouldn’t have sold many head scarves so he gave them somber faces because that is totally the look you want to sell a shit ton of them) because they don’t have any bodies so they’re all, “go ahead, BITCH, just try it.”  

and he’s like, “the fuck ladies… can’t you all just get along?”

“no,” says this one, “because we all have some really major issues not the least of which is my head is taped on my body.  And also you never called me back you dickwad, and i thought you really meant it when you said you liked me, but you know what?  i HATE that sweater, even though i told you i loved it, so for the love of Allah would you quit wearing it every goddamn day???”

But this one below is the best of all… i imagine it goes something like this…(and i’ve thought through this one for days in my head):

GIRL AND BOY IN BLUE SHIRTS:  “We totally rock because we have headless parents that work for both NIKE and Adidas, but that almost caused a divorce because of course MOM works for NIKE and she almost kicked dad’s ass, but since neither of them have heads, they couldn’t see each others’ faces to hate each other (nor could they yell, which kind of ruins the whole story) so they’re still together but they don’t speak.”

GIRL(S)? IN GREEN AND PURPLE SHIRTS: “Yeah, well my mom totally works for (knock off) Adidas and just ADORES my dad because he’s a fucking TECKTONIC KILLER and you know what that means when they hit the dance floor youknowwhati’msayin’???”

GIRL IN LOWCUT HIPPIE DENIM DRESS OFF TO FAR RIGHT: “i hate all of you because i’m an 8 year old with cleavage.”

GIRL ON FAR LEFT WHO ALWAYS GETS LEFT OUT OF THE CONVERSATION:  “Hey, have any of you guys seen Poltergeist?  because we totally look like that girl.  all of us.”

and these kids HATE the Poltergeist kids, because at least they have stinkin’ heads and they don’t give their kid hosts freaking nightmares.

Good lord i have SO many things to write about Morocco.  It’s about 3 blogs waiting to happen.  But i just HAD to get this one out of my system before i can even begin to write about how deeply this trip has affected me, and i can’t start them yet because i still have probably the most amazing three days ever ahead of me (and if you think i’m bullshitting you, then check this out, it’s an invitation from the goddamn KING and QUEEN to their PALACE on Friday, which just by posting this and using bad words will probably get me uninvited but you know what, i don’t care, because how can i not get so excited for this that i don’t post it and also, i’m hoping they don’t know English well enough to translate all the swear words and be the ONLY ONES that are totally offended by this blog – they may own the corporation that makes the mannequins for all i know.  i’ve only been here 10 days, folks, i can’t know EVERYTHING). 

But for this post, just take it for what it is:  that i am a crazy person that can’t get deep into the meaning of this trip in my life until i unleash the story of the mannequins that have been running through my brain for the last 10 days.

If you want something really offensive, watch this.  Course it will probably only be offensive if you are a Republican or a tea-thingamagij, or if you hate vaginas.

Peace, or as they say in Arabic, “Inshallah.”

which is totally inappropriate given the content of this post.

But i’m trying.

AC

PS – if you’re at all interested on the album i’m keeping on non-mannequin photographs i’ve taken thus far in Morocco, and you are on Facebook, you should be able to find them HERE.

Posted in humor, Mannequins, Moroccan Souks, Morocco | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

It is my only option left, Part Deux (and why i think my doctor is not telling me i have parasites).

DISCLAIMER:

The ONLY way this blog will make sense is if you read this first.  Seriously, it’s the precursor to this whole story.

If you don’t, i cannot guarantee that we will remain virtual friends, as you will quite possibly be repulsed by me and want to break up.

The conversation between my naturopathic doctor and me, upon going back for my 8 week (which should have been 6 week) checkup, started like this:

Doctor: You’re two weeks late.

Me: Careful how you use that phrase, mister.

Doctor: It’s a fact, you just don’t listen.  I’m trying to cure your inflamed blood, disfunctioning kidneys, and clearly now we’ll have to add your flawed attitude to that list. I’m not sure i have the time.

Me: Dude, it’s not like i have a tapeworm.

(silence).

Me: Dude?

Me: DO I HAVE A FUCKING TAPEWORM?

Doctor:  Let’s have a look at your blood and hope those two weeks didn’t completely fuck up everything those secret potions i gave you were supposed to do.  snake lips don’t come cheap, lady. 

Me:  You’re a witch, aren’t you.

So he proceeded to take my blood, and just to spite me, he pricked my finger 3 times because he is mean, and as i nursed it better with slight pressure and a cotton ball, he went to get the results.

A reminder.

here is my blood cell 8 weeks ago:

All the white is inflammation, the dark spot down there in the “yolk” area is my kidney screaming for help.

And when he came back into the room, we reviewed this photo together again.

And then, and THEN, he showed me my blood today:

And when i saw this, i for the most part started hyperventilating, then i pulled an Elaine, hitting him on the shoulder and yelling SHUT UP!!!

At this point, i should probably disclose that i completely made up that entire verbal exchange above.  It is totally false.

This, however, is real:

Doctor: This is incredible.  I was expecting improvement, but Andrea, this is pretty much a perfect red blood cell.

Me: *blush*

Doctor: congratulations.  I’m proud of you.

Me: So, do we start the cleanse now, so we can begin to work on the asthma issues?

Doctor:  No.  We skip the cleanse.  Your juicing, dietary changes (potato and sugar avoidance) and natural meds are reflected in the health of your blood.  You can’t be healthier than you are now.  It’s time to start work on your asthma.

So here we go.

Out with the old detox meds, and in with the new:

Congaplex for a healthy immune system. check.

Drenamin to support “adrenal function and help maintain emotional balance.”  Wait, what the fuck?  i’m emotionally unstable?  Where did he get that from?

Min-Tran also to support emotional balance, regulates mood, relieves temporary stress… yadda yadda ya… i need to check into a clinic.

Pleo Poly R for Rheumatism.  check. thank you, doctor, for something that actually relates directly to my asthma as opposed to my emotional fucking imbalance that you think i have which i clearly do not as i am totally stable.

Pleo Poly K is i think my favorite.  for BOTH allergies and pre-cancerous fighting thingamajigs.  i love you, Pleo Poly K.  Marry me.

and now onto my new four numbers of Unda’s.

This is where i think Mr. Doctor is holding out, because he knows i am an emotional basket case (which is completely not fair to literal basket cases).

Folks, i am just going to read what the box says.  verbatim. i am not making this shit up.

UNDA 1: “For the relief of symptoms associated with biliousness, fatigue following meals (ok, sex, maybe, but meals?), and headaches.”  

Note:  the box did not have a statement in parenthesis that said “ok, sex, maybe, but meals?”.  That was me.  But the more i think about it, around 3pm, who doesn’t want a handful of Sourpatch Kids to keep them awake?  That was a hard habit to break, but maybe i have UNDA 1 to thank???

UNDA 2: “For the relief of symptoms associated with minor infectious and febrile conditions.”

UNDA 17: “For the relief of symptoms associated with acne, eczema and psoriasis.”

HOLD THE PHONE.

i don’t have any of that shit. no zits, no scratchy skin, no head flaky stuff. there must be more.  So i did more research.  and i think it’s a total cover up for what the internets say the real issue that #17 is for:

PARASITES.

i’m not kidding.  look it up.

there is no other explanation for UNDA 17, people, and what you read online is always right. 

UNDA 39: “For the relief of minor symptoms associated with irritability and anxiousness.”

Just check me into an asylum now.

So i looked this one up too, just because i hate the box by now, and alas, i found this alternative explanation:

INTESTINAL PARASITOSIS.

OK, cool.  it’s cool.  bring it on, little motherfucker parasites.

because you know what?  this is a reminder, before and after, of what this journey of holistic health did to my blood in 8 weeks.

so I’m good.  I’m sticking to it.

I’m becoming a believer, one breath at a time.

The alternative is something way worse than emotional imbalance.  The alternative begins and ends with Anthony Shadid.  It’s what started it all for me.

Peace,

AC

and PS… moons can take over a year to come back.  we’re good there.

Posted in asthma, chronic asthma, Dr. Blake Naturopath, Eastern Medicine, Holistic Health, Holistic medicine, humor, juicing | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

a note to Ella.

Ella Louise,

you are about to enter a world full of faith, optimism, hatred, controversy, politics, and hope.

since you are hours from being born, i need to write this before i see your beauty, so that when it is read, if at all, by you or your parents, you will know that it is done so without having yet seen the color of your eyes, the extent of your hair (most likely not much if your father’s genes played a huge role here) or the length of your body.

so as absolutely no one as my witness but the stars, i had to write just one thing to you.

a note of promises.

Ella.

I promise to teach you that our Earth is precious and dying, and without your help it may not survive your great grandchildren.  We re-use what we can and recycle what we cannot.

I promise to share with you my values on marriage.  In that it is about being with who you love, regardless of their gender.

I promise to take you to the Rocky Mountains and teach you to ski before you are old enough to remember learning how to ski.

I promise i will talk you out of “80’s bangs” if they ever re-trend.

I promise to be on the other end of the smart device available to you in your teens when you are conflicted with a choice and you are too scared to tell mom & dad.

Je promis de te parler en francais toujours.

I promise that i will teach you that your body, as you grow, is yours to own and defend.  that it is beautiful and confusing and wild and wonderful.

I promise that when you are left in my care, your parents will trust that what goes into your body is nutritious, organic, and, when possible, local.  We will not mention diets, fasts, fat, or skinny.

I promise not to teach you to cook, because i am a terrible cook.

I promise i will be there for every game, recital, or play you are in if it is in my power to be there.

I promise to teach you how to play “Wild Montana Skies” on the guitar because in my humble opinion everyone should know how to play at least one John Denver song by heart, and this one is my favorite.

I promise that if you come to me with “mean girl” issues, because there are mean girls out there, i will reinforce with all my might and power your right to exist as who you are, so that no one can ever strip you of your confidence to love yourself wholly.

I promise that even though i have a highly controversial massive distaste for the Beatles, if Yellow Submarine is (gulp) your favorite song for a minute, you may play it full blast in our living room.

I promise that i will be honest with you in my faith, even though it is different that that of your parents’, so that both of us together can support that it is a choice you have, versus a decision you are given.

I promise so much more, but alas it is after midnight, and as i will most likely meet you tomorrow, i should sleep, so that the first time we meet you don’t cry when you see the puffiness of my eyes or the Jim Henson “muppetness” of my hair.

Ella, babies are born every day, every minute, every second.

But YOU are someone special to me, because i just know you are going to carry my grandmothers spirit with you, which is why you carry her name in yours.

Welcome.

It’s scary out here.

But we’ve got you.

Peace,

Aunt Nini.

Posted in Uncategorized | 7 Comments

24 hours of idiocrazy.

Here’s how the conversation went, 30 seconds after the cop pulled me over on the shoulder of the I-5 friggin’ FREEWAY:

Officer: Ma’am, the reason i am pulling you over is that you have expired tags.  From August.

Me:  Are you a real officer?  Because you are HOT, and i’m thinking maybe you just play one on TV and i’m on an episode of COPS right now?

Officer:  may i please see your Drivers License and registration.

Me:  yes, but only if you show me your SAG card.  Seriously, where are the cameras?  I know they are here. 

10 minutes later, she comes back to my “vehicle.”

Officer:  Ma’am, when was the last time you were pulled over?

(i had re-applied my makeup at this point, just to make sure i did everything i could NOT to look 10 pounds heavier on camera)

Me:  i honestly have no clue.  Can you give me a year?

Officer:  2010.

Me:  i don’t remember what i did a month ago, let alone 2010.  I’m a mother. 

Officer:  Ma’am, your license has been suspended for the last two years for failing to show up to court for a speeding ticket.

At this point i was sure the camera was zooming in for a close up of my “the F*&K?” reaction.

Me: Well why didn’t the DMV write to tell me this?

Officer:  (looking at my license) Is this your current address?

Me:  well, if it were 6 years ago, it would be.

Officer: so you lived at this address 6 years ago?

Me:  affirmative (i felt like using “cop talk”).

Officer:  Ma’am, the DMV does not forward mail.  And since you have not lived at this address for SIX YEARS, chances are they gave up. This is why there is a law that you must renew your address within 30 days.

Me:  so you’re saying i’m late?

Officer:  Ma’am, you have two choices.  Either you find someone to come pick you up in 10 minutes, or i will have to tow your car.

Officer:  Also, i am going to need to put an ankle monitor on you so you don’t leave this county. And i’m taking your license and registration.  AND YOU ARE NOT TO DRIVE THIS CAR. OR ANY OTHER CAR. AT ALL.

Me:  But i’m in Wilsonville. There’s not even a place to get kale here.

Officer:  Ma’am, would you like me to take you to the slammer?  (i’ve always wanted to hear an officer say “slammer,” so i was kind of pleased with how this conversation was going).

at this point, she handed me a ticket.  I’m not sure which is longer.  This piece of paper, or the Great Wall of China. I’ll have to do some research on that.

I put in my glass of wine for scale. you’re welcome.

We finally both worked through our anger issues.  She let me substitute an ankle monitor for a NIKE GPS watch, and settled for me having a 10pm curfew instead of spending the night in jail.

Only problem left was that my court date wasn’t for a month, so my husband was going to have to don his suit and drive my ass around for 30 days.

a girl could get used to this. though i am NOT used to being in the passenger seat of my midlife crisis purchase.

My sister was super helpful. She recommended i commute via Razor Scooter, an idea she had whilst riding on the subway.

scooter lady. source of inspiration.

My daughter was also incredibly kind.  she made me a temporary license.

i was trying to come up with a creative caption for this, but it actually is pretty accurate. I have a huge forehead, i kind of looked like a hooker today, and my face is somewhat orange from some tanning lotion gone bad.

My VP was not as helpful.  I asked him if he could chauffeur me around work, as i’m very particular in my escort vehicles (in that i demand 911’s only), and this is all i got.

not too subtle, is he.

(note:  he flips me off a lot)

My husband took utter joy (revenge for his new role in our marriage for the next month?) in taking photos of me going to the DMV

Passport in one hand, citation in the other.

then the Beaverton Justice Dept

see, i told you i kind of think i looked a little “hooker-ish.” Maybe should have gone with flipflops. Or longer shorts.

then back to the DMV

by this time, round 2, i had on flip flops, had 2 year old citation paid, and was ready to take on the world.

all in a day.

in conclusion, i would like to share with all of you some lessons i have learned from this experience:

1_having your license expire is a great way to learn that you have not declared yourself an organ donor, so that you can rectify that on your new one.

2_just because you may be fortunate enough to get pulled over by a hot female cop does NOT mean that you are, in fact, on reality TV.  She was, in all seriousness, one awesome badass constable on patrol (COP meaning, did you know?), extraordinarily professional, and I would have put my life in her hands without hesitation.

3_I read a quote once that has stayed with me: “Strategy is knowing what to do when there is something to do, Tactics is knowing what to do when there is nothing to do.” I highly recommend the tactical approach of humility and honesty when approached by an officer.  I’m pretty sure tears, tantrums, or cockiness would NOT have landed me in the fortunate position of being able to operate a “vehicle” within 2 days of this highway clusterfuck.

4_you can pretty much think your life is going to suck for 30 days, only to find out that if you have an awesome husband and an employer that is super flexible, you can take care of a lot of driving issues (see: entire post, above) in about 24 hours.

5_your life can never suck for 30 days from an incident like this when you have a dear friend with cancer who in 30 days will be bald from chemotherapy and staring straight into the eyes of a double mastectomy.

6_when writing a blog, always exaggerate, it makes a much better story.  97.6% of the opening dialogue is untrue.

7_Whatever it is, TAKE IT.

Peace to the officers out there keeping us safe.  i mean it.

AC

PS: please don’t tell my husband that i got my license renewed today and can now drive.  He thinks i have to wait until my court date. i like the look of him in a suit driving me in Lola.

hotness.

Posted in Corradini Photo, DMV, learning a lesson, photography, Porsche, Porsche 911, suspended license | Tagged , , , , , , | 15 Comments

Hooded.

Andrea. Color Design, NIKE. Mother of 2.

Soren, Age 8. Martial arts master, funny guy, looks like his momma.

Linda.  From Amsterdam, snowboarder, says it like it is.

Jian. Husband, father, Michael Jordan warrior.

Hannah.  Professional radical, mum.

Shay. Designer, runner, energy giver.

Mark. Major, US Army. Foreign Area Officer specializing in North Africa and Middle East.

Sarah. Loyal, athletic, adventurer, leader.

Remco. NIKE Brand design, green card holder, cyclist, gentle giant.

Xander. Taking gap year. University of Maryland hopeful.

Sandy. King of NIKE SB, art collector, cancer survivor, musician, Uncle.

Asa. 10 years old. Soccer lover, fisherman.

David. NIKE Jordan warrior, father, 2:30 marathoner.

Zach. Son, Knight, Citizen of the world.

Kristin. NIKE creative director, rebel blogger, model.

Zack, age 19. ALL Leukemia patient, Military dreamer.

Sabeeka. Pakistani American Muslim, Red Sox fan, new blogger.

Steven. Professional photographer, father, completed solo swim across English Channel.

Karen. Designer, visionary, big heart.

Naliko. Loyal friend, brother.

Leah. Dancer, Singer, Sister.

Lisa. Dreamer, explorer, NSW product director, wannabe snowboarder.

Cindy. NIKE SB, Mother, style blogger.

Simon. Artist, bilingual, all boy.

Stacie.  Tabata drillmaster, young professional, runner, tough as nails.

Aleta. Spontaneous marathoner, kindness giver, mother.

Matt. NSW PLM, photographer, sneaker collector, and soon to be father.

Emma. Irish, raw, NIKE digital guru, runner.

Christian. Wordsmither, brand innovator, 365 hoodie wearer.

Jack.  Hates to sleep, loves to giggle.

Carl. Designer, fisherman, mad hatter.

Darla. Athlete, Capricorn, misunderstood.

Mark. Environmentalist, skier, writer, father.

Courteney. NIKE Entertainment marketing, 80’s dancer, optimist.

Miranda. High school senior, dancer, skier, and big sister.

Gavin. Professional Thinker, Father.

Payton, age 8. Sister, debater, daughter, performer.

Adriana.  Visual merchandiser, mother, Chemo Pal

Shawn. Skateboarder, Hard Rocker, Raven’s Father.

Tiffany. Natural birthing advocate, fierce mama, ballet dancer, kindergarten teacher.

Nick. Age 16. Honor student, new driver.

Jules. Mother, professional, eternal optimist.

Sue. Loyal friend, young professional, marathoner.

Savannah. Age 10. Questioner, French speaker, future WNBA athlete.

Boone. Professional photographer, climber, nature protector.

Cholee. Talent agency owner, mother, model, naturopath.

Ryan. son, toy gatherer, golfer.

Nancy. Professional mother, travel lover.

Katie. Master’s Degree in International Human Rights, marathoner, new blogger, sister.

Elizabeth. Speaks 5 languages, NIKE employee, cyclist against cancer, mother.

Michael, Henry, Parker. Brothers, sons.

From all of us, woven together, united in our uniform, different in every other way, we wish justice to the family of Trayvon.  May his young soul rest in peace. 

Thank you to all my friends who said yes to being part of this.

As always,

Peace,

Andrea. NIKE veteran, blog author, conversation starter, mother.

Posted in Hoodie, Hoody, nike, photography, Trayvon Martin | Tagged , , , , | 18 Comments

Guest post: I am an American.

I met Sabeeka Dar about 8 years ago.

As a Product Line Manager at NIKE, i would frequently travel to Boston to visit one of our key accounts, and Sabeeka was our buyer.

You’d think, so many years and jobs later, i’d have lost contact with her, but yet every trade show we’d keep running into each other, throw down a hug, a beer, and a “see you next winter!”

Then social media came along, and something awesome happened.

I learned a lot more about Sabeeka over her controversial one sentence status updates than i ever did discussing BRS 1000 outsoles or Phylon midsoles.

I learned, and i continue to learn, that Sabeeka comes from a different world than i.  One where her primary language, religion, and upbringing differs so greatly from mine.

So i couldn’t help do what i did.

I asked her to fuel all her one line status updates into a story, to publish here, about growing up in America as a Pakistani American Muslim.

The words that follow are hers.

I am so humbled and honored that she said yes to doing this, as it gives me such profound joy to have crossed paths with her in my life.

The following may not represent my point of view, nor your point of view, but rather it expresses HER point of view, which by all Constitutional accounts, she is both entitled and free to do as an American.

So to all of you reading this… grab a cup of tea, settle in your favorite chair, and allow me to introduce Sabeeka Dar:

I am an American.  I work full time, drive a fancy car, live in Cambridge, go out with my friends to Red Sox games, love PBR, cookouts on 4th of July, Cape Cod on the weekends in the summer, ski trips to Vermont in the winter.

If you didn’t know that I also love cricket, can read and speak Arabic and Urdu, and go to the mosque occasionally, you really wouldn’t have a clue that I am also Pakistani and a Muslim.

Yet at 34, I am actually struggling to figure out how to be a Pakistani American Muslim.

I have never, until recently, been into politics or policy.  I was living the typical American life in the bubble.  I was only concerned with what was going on around me and I could hardly care about what was happening globally.  I mean, what concern was it of mine if there were riots in Greece or Egypt?  I was really more intrigued by the incredible fact that Sarah Palin could see Russia from her house.

In August of 2009 I ended up going to Pakistan for a very short visit.

It had been a few years since I had last been there, a lot had changed in the 3 years that I hadn’t been home, yet it all felt super familiar.  However i immediately felt there was a shift in Pakistan.  My friends and family talked about the American policy over breakfast, lunch, dinner, tea, basically any chance they got; thinking that since I am American I can answer all their questions. The news was all about war, drone attacks, CIA roaming around freely in Pakistan etc.  The signs that I was seeing graffiti on the side of the building didn’t read Go USA! Go!

Instead, they read: Go, USA Go!

I came back really disturbed by what I had seen. How could everyone in Pakistan hate us? We weren’t even at war with these people!  We were “allies” in this “war on terror” but how come all that I witnessed in Pakistan felt so different?

I began reading online news from non-American sources. I started searching for the few articles that were published by people that were actually speaking out against the wars in which we were involved.  What I learned quickly was that it wasn’t just Pakistan; there was US resentment in a lot of places and I decided then that I needed to learn more, burst my bubble if you will, and get to the bottom of why i perceived the world to hate us.

When AC asked me if I wanted to guest blog, I said yes immediately.  A US Army Sergeant had gone and methodically killed Afghan civilians that day.  I was so fired up, so angry with our politics, so frustrated by the failure of our foreign policy that I felt I could have written a short novel!

We hadn’t even come out of dealing with the aftermath of “accidentally” burning the Qurans.  Fortunately we had managed to successfully brush under the rug the entire debacle of Marines urinating on dead Taliban.

The worst part about this is that I am listing only 3 major events that took place in this war in Afghanistan over the last two and a half months in which the US is directly involved.

Events, pivotal ones, that play a major role in making us more enemies.

Events that should show us that it is really time for us to move out of Afghanistan, finish this war, and acknowledge that we have no business being there any longer.

That we are done.

I believe history at some point will show this to be true.

When we as a people lose sight of things like this, it is a real problem that I think we need to really sit down and evaluate.

We have presidential candidates who dismiss Rules of Combat, referring to US Marines urinating on dead Taliban as “kids being kids”

We have people like Dana Loesch say really fun things such as “Can someone explain to me if there is supposed to be a scandal that someone pees on the corpse of a Taliban fighter — someone who as part of an organization murdered over 3,000 Americans. I’d drop trou and do it too. That’s me, though… Come on people this is a war.” ,  I wonder if anyone at CNN has ever heard of something called The Geneva Convention and the International Humanitarian Laws.

How have we turned into a country that is not outraged by such acts?  Are we that oblivious to basic human values and morals that we can be dismissive about such behavior and not be up in arms about it?

Do i need to be Pakistani to think that this was wrong?

Shouldn’t we all, united, think so too?

This is not about war, this is the kind of behavior that enrages the rest of the world and we should never be involved with things that justify being called a “dumb American”.

If anyone thinks that we don’t have a fear of Islam and Muslims in general, then in my opinion you need to take your blinders off.  We as a nation are just as Islamophobic as we are any other kind of phobias.

I get “randomly selected” for additional screening almost every single time I fly.  I get questionable looks when I travel to parts of this country where I am the only brown person in the entire county. Unless you have experienced this, it may be very hard to understand.

It is there, trust me, it is there.

Just like I won’t be caught making out with my girlfriend on the street of Indianapolis, I will also not be caught driving by myself in Alabama.  We have major racial issues in this country and Muslims are treated as a race, not just a religious group in America.

In 2011 a small church in Florida took it upon themselves to exercise their first amendment by planning to burn the Quran.  The irresponsibility of this act caused riots throughout the Muslim world.  The US Government had to convince Pastor Terry Jones into not making a move that would have seriously compromised the safety of our troops that all happen to be deployed in the Muslim countries.

So tell me, HOW do we make that mistake again?  How do we accidentally burn copies of the Quran mixed in with trash not even 1 year later?  How do we expect to not face consequences of this action?  It has been said that the Taliban and Al Qaeda need to do nothing but sit back and watch the US make blunder after blunder and infuriate the people themselves. I am not  appalled by this just because I am Muslim, I am appalled because I am an American that has some moral compass of why this is wrong.

We are running a successful drone attack in Pakistan.  Along with the targeted suspected terrorists it has killed hundreds of civilians.  Do you know how many times the US government has officially acknowledged the use of predator drones?  Obama has done it once since he has been in power due to extreme pressure on him to do so after a drone strike “accidentally” targeted a gathering of tribal elders and killed innocent civilians.

We are running a full scale drone attack on Pakistan that is increasingly coming under question for its legality.  To many, we are engaging in war crimes with this tactic.  I can’t say much other than the fact the name “O-Bomb-A” is seemingly justified.  It is so hard for me to understand the “American point of view” here, so unbelievably hard to not pay attention to the mass killings in which we are participating.  It saddens me that this in fact is what the world has come to.

Chris Jones of Huffington Post says it perfectly, “With credible reports of significant civilian losses and strong condemnation from the Pakistani government, the need for the U.S. to come clean about drone strikes has never been clearer. Distinguishing militants from civilians in northern Pakistan may be challenging. Yet the onus is on the U.S. to demonstrate that civilian casualties are as low as it claims and that combatant-status is properly defined and applied. Anonymous, unverifiable leaks and self-assured quips about bake sales can no longer be considered adequate or appropriate responses to civilian losses and potential violations of international law.”

And then last week we have a US Army Sergeant go on a killing spree of innocent Afghans.  I don’t know what exactly happened because you know we aren’t exactly covering this event in the US media again.  I know more from international media outlets on this topic today than from my own local paper.  A piece of news that deserves local attention so that us Americans know that one of us killed innocent people.

He killed women and children.

He shot them point blank and then proceeded to burn them.

And he has finally been charged with murder.  To me yet another piece of evidence that we need to come home.  We have done enough damage and are now causing irreparable harm that will have much longer affects than that of this war.

My hope is that that maybe you will read this and perhaps it will trigger for you what my trip to Pakistan did for me.

Maybe it will make you look at news differently.

Maybe it will deepen your interest in news articles that question our foreign policy.

Perhaps you will explore not more of what is going on in Afghanistan, Iraq and Pakistan but maybe our involvement in the rest of the world because ultimately learning lessons is what life is all about.   When we don’t learn from our mistakes, we find ourselves crashing and burning over and over again.

I fundamentally believe that we as a country have not learned anything.

We need to open our eyes and pay attention to our actions, and how they affect the world around us.

We are done with Iraq, yet I am not sure what we got out of it.  Are you?

We need to be done with Afghanistan, I am not sure what we went there for but we need to be done.

And because we can’t rest, apparently we are on track to do all of this all over again in Iran and doing so blindly without any understanding of where we stand right now and where this will lead us.

I am an American.

A Pakistani American Muslim.

I just wish the US Government would end my struggle with that fact.

Thank you for reading.

SD.

Posted in America, arabic, controversy, Pakistan, Quran burning | Tagged , , , | 8 Comments

It is my only option left.

This all started around the beginning of February. It was a Sunday morning, where i was quietly enjoying my usual routine of coffee and the crisp, crinkly sensation of reading the Sunday paper, front to back.  A few pages into the front section, my heart skipped a beat.

As soon as i saw the headline, i said, out loud, to a living room full of no one, “oh fuck.”

Back up a second.

A week prior, i was on a trail run with one of my girlfriends, and on our hill that greets us every Saturday morning around mile 1.5, i could barely get up it without feeling like my lungs were about to explode.  Here’s kind of how the conversation went:

Sarah: AC, are you ok back there?  You sound like the girl from the exorcist before her head did that 360 degree thingamajig.

AC: all good.

Sarah:  AC, seriously, do you have your inhaler?

AC: I’m good, keep running.

Sarah:  you have to do something about this shit.  I can’t carry your ass back to the car if you collapse.

AC:  you can and you will, bitch.

Anyhow, we finally reached the flat, but for the first time in many moons, i had to stop, catch my breath.

As we started running again, she seeded something in my brain that probably saved my life.  She asked if i’d ever sought out alternate (read: homeopathic) solutions to help my asthma.  Honestly, i thought i had it under control, what with all the inhalers and pills i was taking.

And then i read about Anthony Shadid.

So i decided it was time to give my middle finger to Western medicine and try another way.

It’s not that i have plans to escape Syria on a horse amidst the uprise against President Assad, but in any situation where animal hair, panic, and and elevated heart rate occur simultaneously, i am relatively positive i will be just as fucked.

So because i kind of want to live beyond age, say 60ish… i’m doing something about it.

And this is the first chapter of my journey.

So let’s start with what i do everyday to treat my asthma.

see those 3 blue beauties in the middle?  One goes by my bed, one stays in my car, and one goes in my gym bag.  I take 2 puffs about 8 times a day, and another 2-3 times at night.

I am never more than an arms length away from one, and i always have about 4 months’ supply on hand.

That lovely red one?  That’s my steroid.  Take that twice a day for about one week every month when my lungs decide they need more help.

And the bottles… that’s the really nasty stuff.  20MG’s of Prednisone.  I get to take that about once a month, for a 10 days, when i simply fail to inhale.  Which is precisely what i did after that trail run with Sarah.

The side effects of this bad boy are awesome.  The short term ones are no biggie… a dose or two here or there?  probably not going to hurt you.  But the long term ones?  No big deal, if you’re super into Cushing’s syndrome, truncal weight gain, osteoporosis, glaucoma and cataracts, type II diabetes mellitus, and depression upon dose reduction or cessation (source, Wikipedia).

It’s all good.

Except i can’t breathe.

So my journey begins.

i found a guy.

And he did so many tests on me, by the end of it, my eyeball hurt (you think i’m kidding?)

my mouth tasted like fish, my finger was bleeding, and my muscles were all cramped.

The good news:  My Blood Pressure, Cholesterol levels, Oral pH, and Tendon Reflexes are that of an extraordinarily healthy human being.  But that’s not the problem, so they SHOULD be awesome.

The bad news:   Failure on what is called an “Antigen-Antibody Screening Test” in the areas concerning my lungs.  They simply are taking as much oxygen as they can get, leaving little left for the rest of the stuff in my body that needs it.

Also, High liver disfunction.  High intolerance of Potatoes (what?), and multiple (as in bajillions) of hemangioas (he said “numerous,” but he was just being nice as we had just met).

And only 2 moons.  Moons, you ask?  You know those little white shapes on the base of your fingernails?  you should have 10.  I only had them on my thumbs.  that’s no bueno at all.  I want my moons back.

But i needed proof.  Show me the money. That this is not a big HOAX.  I mean, there are actual DOCTORS out there that are telling me that i should just keep taking the fucking Prednisone and shut the hell up.  They have degrees from really amazing schools like YALE on their walls.  So shouldn’t they be right?  Who are YOU to tell me that goddamn plants and shit can save my life?

So he listened to my rant, and then he showed me this:

That is one of my sweet baby red blood cells.

Except it’s not all that red.

In fact, it’s so full of white, the doctor actually paused before saying, “you have severe inflammation in your blood.  Very, very severe.”  That’s what the white spots are.

And the dark red in the “yolk” area?  Yep, that’s my kidney screaming at me.  Working on over drive.

So long story short, here’s the deal, closing out chapter one for you.

The goal is to get that blood cell to a beautifully pristine circle of red.

The path is as follows:

Allerplex for allergic reactions.

Calcium Lactate for calcium.

UNDA 243 for Liver.

UNDA 45 for Kidneys.

UNDA 39 for Intestines.

Nat Mur #9 for mineral deficiencies.

Poly K & A drops to clear infections.

12 Biothermal treatments for circulation.

No meat except for fish (we O+’s need a bit of meat protein), no potato based foods (and holy shit are there a lot of things that are potato based, including, much to my astonishment, anything with Dextrose, Niacin, Thiamin, and Riboflavin) and NO cane based sugar (Agave is my new BFF).

And that is just the next 3 weeks (i am already 3 weeks in).

Then we test again.  If my blood is less inflamed, if i have more moons, and if my Calcium levels are down, then we move to step 2.

Which will come in the form of Chapter 2.

But for now, i can tell you this, because THIS has happened.

_for the last 8 days i have slept through the night without taking Ambien before bed, and without one puff of my inhaler at any time before i wake up in the morning.

_I have had more energy than i have had since i was in high school.

_i have lost 11 pounds.

_i am learning that juicing with fruit is way better than juicing with steroids.

These are the ever so tiny (yet monumental, to me) gleams of hope that keep me excited, energized and enlightened.

I know beyond any doubt some of you are reading this thinking “she’s lost her fucking mind, this dude is a quack.”  Because i have thought that all my life, that this kind of treatment is just plain stupid, because if it really worked, the world of Western medicine would be a complete FAIL and we’d live to 110 without bottles full of pills to keep us alive.  If this works, why doesn’t everyone do it?

Me?  I believe it’s because we are so short on patience, we don’t treat the cause, we just want a sweet, short fix to the symptom. That’s just me, the most impatient human being figuratively EVER.

If you have some chronic condition, or wicked drugs that you swallow daily that just really pisses you off and you’ve yet to find an alternate solution, i simply am offering this as a thought to be seeded in your brain just as it was in mine. The intent is not to shun Western meds.  I will most likely always need an inhaler near by, but hopefully, through this, only will need it once a day, and not one laced with steroids, inhaled or pill form.

Don’t look at the number on your scale, look at your medicine cabinet.

Then we can talk.

But for now, it’s my path, however steep the climb, and i’m sticking to it.

To your 10 moons,

AC.

Posted in asthma, chronic asthma, Dr. Blake Naturopath, Eastern Medicine, Holistic Health, Holistic medicine, juicing, Naturopathy, Western Medicine | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Black Bow.

Here’s the deal with my prom (see ya on the flip side, male readers):

It was my junior year of high school in Salt Lake City, Utah.  I had an amazing boyfriend that iwassoinlovewithiwasgoingtomarryhim, and flipping through the pages of what was probably the most recent copy of Seventeen magazine (they didn’t have Lucky back then), i saw THE.MOST.PERFECT.GOWN.

It was gorgeous.

All white satin, strapless, with a huge black bow the size of Texas in the front.

Oh, how i wanted that beast.  Paired with white tights and black patent leather pumps, I would rock that dress like the Salt Lake fashionista that I dreamed of being.

But it wasn’t for sale.  It was on a model, but no reference to where to buy it.

And NO, I could not get it on line because it was 1987 and the internets weren’t invented yet.  We didn’t have it easy, back then.

And now that I have just dated myself as an old hag, please read on, it gets better, I promise.

The point of the above story is that the dress had a really big ass black bow.

No, wait, that is not the point.

The point of the above story is that I wanted that dress so much and because I couldn’t buy it on the world wide web, and because we had the means to do so, we went to the fabric store and bought about 30 yards of white satin and 200 yards of black satin (because the dress had a really big black bow), and we took it to a sweet woman who made that dress for me.

And I could not imagine, at that selfish time in my life, where I had everything I possibly needed but couldn’t possibly appreciate it, that every other girl on the planet couldn’t do the same.  And you know what?  I have NO idea what happened to that dress. It’s possible the black bow became a hammock or something, but that’s just a best guess.

Fast forward.

2002.

A girl named Abby Egland buys a beautiful pink gown to wear to her prom in West Linn, Oregon.

Afterwards, she and her mother look for a place where she could donate it, so that some girl who might be less fortunate, or who loved pink, could have it.

But try as they might, there wasn’t an organization dedicated and focused on just prom dresses.

So they started one. And named it, appropriately, Abby’s Closet. 

Their mission: To inspire confidence and respect in high school women by providing free formal gowns for prom and other memorable events.

And this last Saturday, I stood, camera in hand as a volunteer photographer, and witnessed the most amazing event.

3,700 girls, thousands of dresses.

All free.

The first girl lined up at 4:30 in the afternoon the day before the event even opened.  By 7am on Saturday morning when I arrived, camera in hand, the line outside was as far as the eye could see, and the place was already packed inside.

Girls.

All shapes, sizes, colors.

Red hair, purple hair.  Gay, straight, transgender.  Size zero’s, size twenty’s.  Tall, short.  Nervous, excited.  Confident, shy.

All there, patiently waiting, for their dream of finding the perfect prom gown where without this organization, many of them could not.

In the span of the 6 hours that I was there, it really hit me what this organization means to these young women.

They did more than say Yes! to the dress.  They supported each other with utmost respect and kindness.  They strutted out to the waiting crowd in their new dress and got HUGE cheers from the hundreds of girls waiting to get their turn.

And mostly, the thing that really blew my mind, is that every girl I talked to was planning on paying the experience forward somehow.  It may be through this organization, it may be through another that has deep personal meaning for them.

Abby’s Closet opened a door on the selfless act of volunteering for thousands of women this weekend.

So since this is my blog and my words and i’ve already written far too many, i’m going to leave you with two things.

First, some jump starters on organizations I personally love in case you really are looking for a place to start:

Abby’s Closet:  Dress donation locations, volunteer opportunities, and much more!

Children’s Cancer Association: Bring joy to children facing life threatening illness through musicRX or chemo pal programs.  I don’t know what I would do if my daughter ever got cancer, but if she did, i would sure as hell be happy that the CCA was around.

Myoo: My dear friend and uber environmentalist (but without all the guilt) David de Rothschild started this website as a place to go if you love adventure, love stories, and love our planet, wanting to leave it in a better place than we found it.

The Travelling Red Dress:  If you haven’t discovered The Bloggess, you should do it now.  she makes me laugh until my belly hurts and she suffers from some pretty mad stuff, and started this really cool project.  just read. Also read about the stuffed animals (as in taxidermy, not Build a Bear) she is kind of addicted to.

Oregon Humane Society:  need I say more.  well, yes.  there are literally thousands of pets that need homes.  And if you can’t have a pet at home, but you love them, then you can go there and be a best friend through volunteering.

OK, there’s a starter kit for you.

Now… drumroll please… I am obviously not going to post the 600+ photos I took on Saturday, but, as I said in my last post, this IS a photography blog, folks, so of COURSE i’m going to post some pictures!  I have chosen my TOP 10 photos, which, mind you, was an incredibly difficult task.  But I did it.

So, here we go.

#10 – “friends helping friends.” The essence of it all!

#9 “mirror mirror, on the wall“.  I so love this set (i know, i cheated by adding two).

#8 “under the dress”

#7 “the perfect twirl”

#6 perfect match!

#5 “the backstory.”

#4 There was probably only one woman in the entire crowd that was truly “found by the dress.”

#3 “Purple rain,” a whole lotta zipper, and the girl who ROCKED it.

#2 The Girl who started it all

#1 of course, is “the dress.”

It’s never too late to make magic happen.  There is always time to give back. And there is nothing quite like the feeling of paying it forward.

Thank you, Abby, from the bottom of my really super human sized Big Black Bow.

Peace,

AC

PS – go HERE if you want to check out the rest of the photos on Facebook!

Posted in beauty, Corradini Photo, fashion, Gender equality, mother daughter relationships, photography, princess, Prom Gowns, Random advise, sexuality, transgender, transgender. lesbian, wedding dresses | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments