#tattoos – Tattoos, Motorcycles, Beer, Bourbon and Faith

Tattoos, Scars, and Acceptance

I watched the sunrise in the rearview mirror as I drove to Columbus this morning. I was headed out for one of several doctors’ appointments that I have over the next few days.

Today’s first appointment was to take measurements with the PT department. This is to make sure there is no swelling in my extremities and that I am not developing lymphoedema. The second appointment was with the plastic surgeon’s office, just to make sure everything “looks” right. My surgeon has actually left OSU, so I saw the nurse practitioner, with whom I am very familiar. Her name is Hannah, and after talking with her a bit before the exam, she asked if I did anything fun this summer. I answered, “I got a new tattoo.” I laughed when she asked if she could see it, because this tattoo covers up the scar from my mastectomy. Of course, she could see it. In fact, she kind of had to see it as part of the exam.

I know I tend to talk about tattoos a lot. But that’s understood; I mean it is included in the title of my blog. It’s the first word. Tattoos kind of tell my story, the story that I don’t share with everyone. But I always find it funny when people meet me for the first time, then find out later that I have tattoos. There is always this surprise. And then there is this look, like the thought running through their mind is “I didn’t know I was better than you”.

I always wonder why people are surprised when they learn that I have tattoos. Yes, that is plural. I have more than one. Actually, I have numerous tattoos. First, I think it is because I have a professional job, that I’m responsible and dependable. Then I think maybe it’s my age. I am almost fifty and I am the parent of two adult sons. Or maybe because I’m pretty strait laced, buttoned up and direct. Whatever the reason, I am usually met with surprise when people find out “I’m tatted up”.

Just this past weekend, while enjoying a Friday evening with some co-workers, the topic of tattoos came up as a few of us in the group have multiple tattoos. We were discussing tattoos in general, what people thought of tattoos, why people get tattoos and our individual tattoos. That was when I asked one of the men in our group (whom I just recently met) if he would have suspected that I had tattoos. And he answered yes because “you’re edgy”.

I needed a beer and cigar after the tattoo discussion.

I wasn’t really sure how to take that. My husband thought it was a compliment. But me, I wasn’t sure. The conversation kind of left me unsettled only because I had never been called “edgy” before and it bothered me a bit. Normally, I’m not one to care what anyone thinks. While I’m not sure if I really cared, the word edgy seemed harsh, sharp, maybe even dangerous. I kind of liked the dangerous part.

I decided to look up the definition of edgy later that night and this is what I discovered. The primary definition of edgy is nervous, tense, or irritable. However, the second definition is at the forefront of a trend, experimental, or avant-garde. Okay, I can see his perspective. Maybe I am a little edgy.

Edgy or not, I think I am pretty self-aware. I know myself, my limits, and my capabilities. And I know who I am, now more so than ever. One thing that I know I am is Catholic. And I find myself telling more and more people that I am whether they ask or not. I’m not really sure why I do this, but I do. Maybe because I know who I am and I want other people to know too. I’m comfortable in my own tattooed skin.

Yes, I pray. And yes, I pray for you. Yes, I attend mass, and go to confession, although not as often as I should. Yes, I screw up and make mistakes. And yes, I sin, a lot, although probably a lot less than I did in college. I am, most times, a beautiful mess, but I’m God’s beautiful mess (and my husband still claims me and loves me too through all of my messiness and brokenness).

It took me along time to embrace the Catholic faith, even though I have been Catholic my entire life. I didn’t always claim it. In fact, at one point, I would have considered myself an agnostic. But then Jesus found me and he wouldn’t let go. Yeah, he has that kind of love for each one of us.

At first, I was convinced this wasn’t possible, me – sinful, scarred, broken – to be loved by God. But He is persistent, even when we are not.

There is a line from a Sugarland song, Take Me As I Am, that says “They keep yelling about my tattoos, we all live with the scars we choose. They might hurt like hell but they all make us stronger”. It is one of my favorite songs and that is one of my favorite lines.

We all have scars. Sometimes we get tattoos to cover them up. But we also live with those scars and they will make us stronger if we let them. But the real clincher is in the title – Take Me As I Am. You know who does that always – Jesus. No matter what, he accepts you just as you are, scarred, broken, bruised, confused, angry, frustrated, upset, sad, lonely, irritated, tattooed and edgy.

So today, be yourself, be who you are and give it all to God. I can guarantee He will take you exactly as you are. Yeah, He really does have that kind of love for each one of us. And today please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.

Transcendentalism, Existentialism, and Amor Fati

My husband shared a Latin phrase with me just yesterday, “Amor Fati”, which means love your fate. I had recognized the phrase immediately and thought it was connected in some way with Friedrich Nietzsche.

You see, late in my high school career and early into my college pursuits, I enjoyed philosophy and read quite a bit. Transcendentalism was my favorite philosophical theory when I was 17. I read Henry David Thoreau’s, Walden “I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately …and when I came to die, discover that I had not lived…I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.” (Dead Poets Society, is one of my all-time favorite movies.) I read Self-Reliance by Ralph Waldo Emerson. I was definitely a non-conformist in high school, so Emerson’s tenets resonated with me. I studied Immanuel Kant and eventually wrote a paper on his philosophies for a class in high school. Fr. Orsini, one of my high school religion teachers, was also studying Kant for a college course at the same time. We would have great discussions about his theories. He even read my paper before I turned it in, he was so interested (or seemed to be) in my perspective.

I also enjoyed Existentialism, dabbling in the works Friedrich Nietzsche and occasionally Jean-Paul Sartre and Soren Kierkegaard. So I guess, maybe that’s why the phrases familiarity was buried deep within my subconscious.

When Todd shared with me the phrase, its meaning, and that he was considering it as the basis for his next tattoo, I totally bogarted the idea. The significance behind it resounded with where I am right now and how I have been approaching all of the chaos that has been my life, our life. I totally understood why he wanted it. It was a great idea, it meant something; but now I wanted it too. That is okay, we have a few tattoos that are either exactly the same, or very similar, in meaning and design. That is one of the benefits of being married to your best friend.

Amor Fati is a term used to describe an attitude of acceptance; accepting everything in your life – including the pain, suffering and loss, – as good or at least necessary and with a purpose. I believe that very thing, but with a more faithful aspect. I truly believe that everything happens for a reason and that God uses the struggles, trials, and anguish to reach out to us, to speak to us and to draw us closer to Him. God doesn’t waste anything.
It was that “philosophy” that has gotten me through the trails, particularly of the past couple of years. There had to be a reason, a purpose for the pain, or else why would it be happening. Why would it be necessary? I decided to accept each moment, each challenge, each obstacle with open arms and embrace it. I thought maybe if I loved it enough (or at least to the best of my ability) it wouldn’t be so difficult. Maybe if I could find the joy within it and the grace to accept it, I could better deal with it. Maybe these things, that I never wanted to have happen, would bring about something greater that I could not see from my current perspective.

I know that life has been challenging for all of us, particularly in the midst of COVID19 and the uncertainty that it brings with it, not to mention the protests and riots, the political climate, and the division we see across our great nation. Those are the challenges that we all face, in addition to our own individual personal challenges. But all of it, ALL OF IT, has some greater purpose. We just don’t know what that is right now.

Marcus Aurelius once stated that “A blazing fire makes flame and brightness out of everything that is thrown in it.” What a fantastic way to look at life. Again, God doesn’t waste anything. Oxygen fuels fire, right? Maybe challenges fuel possibility.

So today, embrace the challenges, fuel your endless possibilities, and love your fate. And today, please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.

Believe – Binge Watching Ink Master

The COVID19 pandemic and the shelter in place order has stretched on for weeks now. I believe we are in the middle of our ninth week. During this time, I have worked from home, which has actually been quite productive. In my free time, I walk the dogs, work out, read, do yardwork, plan our family dinners, clean, and pray. I rarely watch TV. All of my friends are binge watching different series on Netflix and I have no idea what they are talking about.

Taking COVID precautions at a follow-up doctor’s visit

Don’t get me wrong, I like television. I love to watch Chopped on the Food Network and Ink Master on Paramount or reruns of sitcoms like Seinfeld. However, most of the tv shows I like are not available on-demand, like American Dreams (Remember that show?), Party of Five, or Parenthood. No matter, though, because I have all of those series on DVD. I also have The Brady Bunch and Facts of Life…don’t judge me.

But a couple of weeks ago, as my husband and I were talking about our next tattoos, I suggested that we watch the Ink Master series and all of its spin-offs from the beginning. On that particular day, the weather was crappy, we were kind of tired, and just didn’t feel like doing too much. And thus began our journey into binge watching. We typically watch approximately 3 episodes in the evening and we are already up to season five.

Binge watching with a cup of Earl Grey tea

On Sunday May 16, we settled in to watch season 5 episode 12, which featured Deangelo Williams, whose mother and aunts all died of breast cancer. The show was a tribute to breast cancer survivors. Obviously, this episode touched me personally. All the women receiving tattoos were breast cancer survivors who had had mastectomies. They were getting the area of the mastectomy tattooed (this is something that I would like to have done when my surgeries are complete). Also, during the episode, the tattoo artists had to design a tribute tattoo for Deangelo in honor/memory of his mother. The winning designer got to tattoo him. (Cleen Rock One had the winning design and gave Deangelo the tattoo). The thing that struck me the hardest was the evening that we were watching it was the same day Deangelo William’s mother passed away from breast cancer – May 16^th. Now what are the odds that I would watch that episode on that day? I am actually getting goosebumps as I type this.

I never thought I would have a tattoo, let alone eight of them. Yes, eight. The most recent (and the shortest tattoo session I might add) is the word, “Believe”. It is on my left forearm. I never thought I would have a tattoo in that location, but I do. I always worried about being able to cover them up, because what would people think? I am learning not to really care what other people think. If they are going to judge me because I have tattoos (and ride a motorcycle), then I probably don’t want to be friends with them anyway. Every tattoo I have means something, tells some part of my story. Deangelo Williams said the same thing about his tattoos – they tell the story of his life. I like that.

Believe is something that I have wanted to get for a long time. Believe is the word that Harry Houdini used whenever things got challenging or difficult or seemed impossible. In fact, BELIEVE was the secret message that he devised with his wife to test spiritualist seances should he or she die. It is a word that means a lot to me. I had that word printed on the back of t-shirts that I had made for my softball players back in 2011, when our season was extremely challenging. But it has taken on an even greater importance after dealing with breast cancer. My husband and I refer to “believe” often when things are troublesome in our own lives. He surprised me and got the very same tattoo on his right forearm. When we hold hands, the tattoos face each other. (Yes, he is a keeper, I already know.)

While 2020 has been a strange and challenging year, 2019 was the year that really tested my faith and made me question my belief in God. It was a tumultuous year, and when I thought it really couldn’t get any worse, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was then that “believe” meant something more. My faith and my belief in God using everything for the greater good, that is the “believe” that got me through.

I’m not going to lie, during the whole year of 2019, I argued with God, bargained with Him, got angry with Him, questioned Him, and even cursed Him, but I never stopped believing in Him and His infinite goodness. I don’t understand why that particular year was such a shit-show, but it was. But it was wrapped in grace and mercy, and so much good came from it. The “Believe” tattoo is a reminder of all that I have overcome because I did “believe”, and will continue to remind me to believe in God, in myself, in the goodness and kindness of others, in love, in faith, in purpose, in friendship, in that truth -that all things work together for good for those who love God (Romans 8:28).

So today, believe, regardless of the circumstance, and have faith that you are right where you are meant to be. And please pray for me as I will continue to pray for you.

Last Time for Everything

Monday February 24, 2020 will mark three weeks since I had unilateral mastectomy to treat breast cancer. The month of February has been filled appointments, surgeries, procedures, and emotions. It has been a lot to process and take in, but Monday February 3^rd, was a pivotal point. I was scheduled for an early morning mastectomy followed by reconstructive surgery.

They had moved the surgery up; I was originally scheduled to have the procedure begin at noon. Just few days before the surgery, they called and said they would begin at 7am, and I needed to be at the hospital at 5am. We live 2.5 hours from the hospital. Thankfully, my brother and sister-in-law live close to The James Cancer Center. We drove out on Sunday evening, watched the Super Bowl (well, most of it) with them, and spent the night. My brother got up before dawn on Monday morning to drive us to the hospital. (As you can tell, I have a pretty great family)

My constant companions during my recovery

That morning was kind of surreal. I had to fast because of the anesthesia, so I had no coffee. And anyone who knows me knows that was a challenge. We arrived just before 5am, and the registration room was quite full. The only thing I could think of was that all the people in that room were dealing with cancer as either a patient, caregiver, family member or friend. That, in and of itself, was a lot to take in. And I am constantly reminded of that every time I go for a follow-up visit. Every person in every office is dealing with cancer in some way, shape, or form. (if you could just take a moment to please pray for all of those dealing with cancer)

That morning was one of the longest mornings of my life. From the pre-op preparations to the litany of questions, from being poked and prodded to lying in a hospital bed in nothing but a hospital gown; I have never felt more vulnerable. I was sure they were never going to do the surgery, because it felt like I had been there for hours. In reality it might have been an hour between the time they took me back for pre-op and the time they wheeled me in for surgery.

But I knew things were going to be moving along quickly once the oncological surgeon and the plastic surgeon came to see me. They began with a sentinel node biopsy, a procedure for which they use no anesthesia. The reason is that the anesthesia will feel the same as the injection for the biopsy, so there really is no need. Let’s just say the last thing that I ever felt on my right side was an incredibly sharp stabbing pain followed by intense burning. When I mention to the doctor that “that really hurt!” He replied, “you didn’t even flinch”. I remarked that just because I didn’t flinch, it didn’t mean that I didn’t feel it. I felt it. That was the last thing I ever felt on the right side of my chest.

Shortly after the biopsy, they wheeled me back to surgery. As I hoisted myself from the bed to the operating table, the anesthesiologist inquired about the tattoo on my back, I told him it was memorial to my father, who had passed away two years ago this March. He liked it and was hoping to get memorial tattoo of his own. Shortly after that conversation, I was asleep.

I woke up in recovery about 6 or 7 hours later (the surgery was 4 or 5 hours). The nurse in recovery asked me about the tattoo on my left shoulder when I woke up, but I was so groggy and incoherent, I couldn’t even answer him. I could only ask for ice chips because I was so thirsty. I was in and out of consciousness in recovery and when I was finally coherent, they took me back to my room where my husband was waiting for me. To say that it was an emotional moment would be an understatement. He has been there for me through all of this.

They kept me overnight. By noon the following day, I was released to go home. I have been recovering ever since. While I was prepared for a long, painful recovery, I have been pleasantly surprised by the recuperation process. I have not been able to drive since I have had surgery, nor have I been able to go to work, or workout, or cook. So being without those things has been a challenge. I tend to tire more easily right now, and I am sore and deal with muscle spasms. But that has really been the extent of my recovery. I had been expecting more pain, more discomfort, more exhaustion. I had also been expecting to feel depression and isolation afterwards. I am grateful that I have not experienced all those things that I thought I would; the negative emotions, the grief, the sadness, the depression and the pain associated with a mastectomy. It is truly a blessing.

I have been catching up on my reading during my recovery.

And while resting and recovering has been a bit of challenge (I’m not really good at taking it easy), I have been able to work from home and to walk on the treadmill. I have had people offer to drive me anywhere that I might need to go. And just this past weekend, I took someone up on that offer and attended a reunion meeting. Trust me when I say that was big deal. I needed the entire next day to recover because it did wear me out. I also began cooking again this past week – just a couple of meals, because, yes cooking is a challenge. I never realized just how much you use your pectoralis muscles for everyday movements…all of those movements that I took for granted.

I go back again this week for another follow-up appointment. The results of each appointment have been encouraging. I did find out during the first follow-up that there were two areas of invasive cancer hidden beyond the DCIS. They believe they got it all, so my treatment will not require chemotherapy or radiation, only anti-cancer meds for the next ten years. Yet another blessing.

Had I not gone to the James for a second opinion, I would have gone forward with the original plan of action – a lumpectomy. The lumpectomy would not have revealed the invasive cancer because they would have only removed the identified cancerous area. The invasive cancer was in another area and was found when they biopsied the entire mass. My friend, who encouraged me to seek a second option; I credit her with saving my life because the invasive cancer would have gone undetected. And the fact that it was invasive says it all.

When this whole journey began in the middle of 2019, I never thought it would lead me down this path. Cancer was something with which I ever expected to be diagnosed. I mean, I watch what I eat, I exercise, I don’t smoke, I get regular checkups; I was doing everything I was supposed to do to lead a healthy lifestyle. And I didn’t have a family history of breast cancer. It is a mystery how I developed breast cancer. But this journey has fostered such a feeling of gratitude and the realization that there is a last time for everything.

2019 encapsulated a lot of last times for me. 2019 was the last time I was ever going to be normal; it was life before I had cancer. I was sure life would not look normal for me again – ever. I could not have been more incorrect. Each day is a step closer to my new normal. And while there have been a lot of last times, there are going be a lot of new beginnings. Some of those new beginnings actually started because I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Some of the many flowers I received. They really brighted my day.

Thank you to everyone who has prayed for me, sent me notes, letters, cards, emails and texts. Thank you to those people who made meals, sent flowers and gifts, called, and visited. Thank you to everyone who understood when I didn’t want to talk, or have visitors, or change out of sweatpants. Thank you for all the ways each of you have made this a journey of grace and mercy for me.

This quote means a lot and has helped me focus on what is important and reminds me that God is in control.

Brad Paisley’s song Last Time for Everything has become one of my favorite songs. While there is a last time for everything, last times are also opportunities for new beginnings. But even with all of the blessings that came from it; I am hoping that this is the last time that I will be diagnosed with cancer.

Today, celebrate everything because it just may be the last time, and welcome the new beginnings that await you. Today, please pray for me and I will pray for you.

Blood Drives, Tattoos and Appreciating Your Own Journey

The American Red Cross was at the High School today for a blood drive, so I decided I would go and donate blood. I used to donate frequently, because my former employer often held blood drives at work. But it has been several years since I last donated. It was time to start again.

I arrived early, the second person in line to begin the process. I had to re-register because it had been so long. They checked my pulse, blood pressure and iron content and every looked great. Then it was time for the questionnaire. It was pretty simple and straightforward. Then there was the question asking if you had gotten a tattoo in the last 12 months.

Well, I have had a tattoo. It was done in January of this year. So I said yes, I have gotten a tattoo in the last 12 months. After I completed the questionnaire, the Red Cross worker came back and asked if I had any questions. I did. I had a question about the question about the tattoo. I told her I had gotten one and wondered what the ramifications were. She asked in what state I had gotten it, and I said Pennsylvania. Well that was it, now I could not donate blood. Had it been in done in Ohio or West Virginia, I could have. It has something to do with how the states regulate tattoo parlors. So I didn’t donate blood today.

And the woman was very nice about it, she told me I could come back in January and donate. But I informed her that I was getting another tattoo is December, in Pittsburgh – because that is where my tattoo artist is located, so that was out – again. I guess I am not meant to donate blood.

I was 45 years old when I got my first tattoo. I had toyed with the idea of getting a tattoo in my 20’s. My husband had tattoos, I thought they were cool, but I didn’t think they were fore me. Then some things in my life changed.

“A tattoo is a true poetic creation, and is always more than meets the eye. As a tattoo is grounded on living skin, so its essence emotes a poignancy unique to the mortal human condition.”
–V. Vale, Modern Primitives: An Investigation of Contemporary Adornment and Ritual

My first tattoo was done on September 30, 2016. It is located on my left should blade/back. It is a compass with the words “Trust unto God and He shall direct your path.” I got it because for the first time in my life, I really put my trust in God. I believe I followed Him where He was trying to lead me. That tattoo commemorates beginning a new relationship with Christ and renewing my faith and trust in God.

Just over 1 year later, I got my second tattoo on October 1, 2017. It covers my right shoulder cap. I tend to live to in the past or focus on planning for the future. I am inclined to look at where I have been and what I have done to help plan where I want to go and what I need to do to get there. I have always done that. So sometimes, I really miss the present.

I asked the artist to design a clock face with the time 6:13pm on it surrounded by irises and the words “Be Here Now”. My son was born at 6:13pm. He was 16 when I got the tattoo and I was wondering where time had gone and what I had really missed by being so focused on everything but the present moment. My grandparents always had irises growing in their side yard. Irises have a special place in my heart. They also symbolize courage, wisdom, faith, and hope. The words “be here now”, inspired by my husband, remind me to live in the present. It is one of the most beautiful tattoos I have ever seen.

Five months after I got that tattoo, my father passed away. I wanted a tattoo to honor and remember him. There were specific words from his funeral mass that stuck with me. “For those who love you, Lord, death is not the end nor does it sever the bonds you forge in our lives.” Those words touched me deeply.

I have always loved the logo for the Franciscan Sisters TOR. It is an image of a woman at the foot of the crucified Christ. I have grown to love that image even more because of the influence and impact these sisters have had on my life. However, I was unsure how the community would feel about me getting their image tattooed on my skin. So I asked the Reverend Mother (who is not a big fan of tattoos). She was flattered by the request because she knows all of my tattoos mean something. I incorporate my Dad’s dates of birth and death and his signature. I combed through old cards and letters until I found his signature on a letter he sent me college, “Love Dad”. On May 22, 2018, I had the tattoo done on my right shoulder blade/back.

Everyone told me that tattoos were addictive. I did not believe them. I got my 4th tattoo in July 2018. I had decided in May that I wanted a new artist to do the next one. My husband had found the Gaelic phrase “Tada gan Iarracht” which means nothing without effort. I loved that phrase because it sums up so much about my life. Everything that is good in my life has come through concentrated effort.

I wanted to incorporate a shamrock and a Celtic knot into the tattoo. The shamrock represents the Trinity – The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit. It represents my faith and ongoing conversion. I also wanted a Celtic Knot. Celtic knots are endless, symbolizing continuity and the infinite and eternal. I went with a version of the Celtic quaternary knot which has four sides. The four sides are said to be symbolic of directions (north, south, east, west), elements (earth, wind, fire, and water), seasons (spring, summer, fall, and winter) or the Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke and John).

Immediately after that one, I knew I wanted an hourglass with a tree inside it, a swallow tail butterfly on the hourglass and the words Carpe Diem. The butterfly signifies transformation, resurrection and strength in vulnerability. The hourglass symbolizes the past and the future, life and death. For me it means that “old things have passed away; behold all things become new.” The tree represents strength. The roots are a connection to the past; the leaves represent growth and rebirth. Carpe Diem, reminds me to seize the day, make your life extraordinary. It complements “be here now” that is on my right shoulder cap. I had it done just a few months later.

And then came my sixth tattoo. I love Edgar Allen Poe. The poem “The Raven”, is one of my favorites. Ravens also fed Elijah in 1 Kings 17. I had my go-to artist in Pittsburgh design the entire thing. I wanted ravens, books and a candle. The ravens symbolize wisdom, the books symbolize knowledge, and the candle symbolizes spirituality and represents light over dark/good over evil. It was this tattoo that prevented me from donating blood today.

I never thought I would have a tattoo, let alone 6 within the span of a few years. And I am planning my 7th. Spoiler alert: it will be St. Michael the Archangel. But every tattoo means something and represents a part of my life. I am grateful to my husband for introducing me to the world of tattoo art and I have been fortunate to have had fantastic and talented artists who have done the work.

And I am always surprised when people find out that I have tattoos (none are visible from a professional standpoint), there is almost an attitude of “Oh, I didn’t know I was better than you” or “I didn’t realize you were __ (fill in the blank – trashy, rebellious, wild, crazy etc.)”. I am proud of my tattoos, my journey and what they represent for me.

One of the artists who did some of my work was once asked, what’s the weirdest tattoo you have ever done? The artist said that they could not answer that because tattoos mean something different to each person. A tattoo that one person might find undesirable may have a meaningful, sentimental significance to the owner. I like that answer. It made sense and made me greater appreciate everybody’s tattoos, everybody’s story, and everybody’s individual journey.

So today, don’t be so quick to judge people based on what you think you know about them, and remember that everybody has their own story and is on their own individual journey. Appreciate your own journey no matter how rocky, bumpy, crazy or scary it might seem; it will eventually lead you somewhere amazing. You might even want to get a tattoo to commemorate it. Please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.

The Journey Begins

I was in my mid 40’s when I got my first tattoo. I now have six of them. I was in my mid/late 40’s when I bought my first motorcycle. I have logged over 1,250 in less than 2 months. I have always liked beer. I became a beer snob in my early 40’s. I now appreciate an IPA in a proper glass. At that same time, I developed a love of Kentucky Bourbon. While my husband has an affection for Bulleit, Angels Envy is my favorite. And it was in my 40’s that I finally opened myself up to exploring my faith and establishing a relationship with God. Hence the reason for this blog. My 40’s have been quite an adventure, but this adventure is just beginning!

Thank you for joining me!