Day 23/365

The first time I painted rocks, I hid them with my Mom, who thought they were all pretty bad,  except for one, which she took home with her.  She keeps it on the mantle above the fireplace, and she shows it off, “Look,  Marika painted this. She hides rocks in St Pete for people to find.  She’s such a dud.”  But I know when she says  “dud” she says it with great affection.  We think differently, she would never paint rocks.  She does other insanely creative things, like buying a chandelier, ripping it apart and making Christmas tree ornaments and necklaces with them.  And seriously, her crystal tree is gorgeous, but she is not a rock painter.  I sent her the pic of my last batch and she loved them, like really LOVED.   I’m sending her the ones she singled out.

I’m a Mama’s girl,  even now.  I always will be.  And whether I am writing or painting rocks,  I’m always  “Mommy, look what I did!” And I always want her to love it.

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