First off, I might as well tell you my first name isn’t Amelia. It’s something a lot more pedestrian. The popularity of certain names can be like radio carbon dating, providing a fairly accurate guesstimate of a person’s age. If you look closely at this picture, which is pretty resplendent in all it’s seventies glory, and then focus on the little blonde in the lower right hand corner… well that would be me. Hello!
I still remember being simultaneously pissed off and embarrassed at my Dad for yelling at me, for swearing, seconds before my sullen glare would forever be captured on film. It was so unfair! In the way life only can be at eight. When your aunts, uncles and cousins are punctuating their sentences with profanity and not catching flak for it. And who the fuck was my Dad kidding? He was the worst of the lot. Fiercely intelligent, wildly passionate, clearly delusional, though this wouldn’t be quite so clear until I was in my early twenties, love can make denial a powerful thing.
Now I’m a single mom of two children; lovely goofballs, who are so good hearted they make my heart fit to burst. I have my own struggles, but who doesn’t? We’re all broken and in need of healing. So I do a lot of crafty/creative things to quiet my mind. Well that and I run up and down stairs a lot to burn off energy. And I pray.