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There is beauty in the broken

I almost titled this post “I blame my mother”, but then thought better of it.

I’m a collector, I always have been; I get it from my parents.

Last year, I took a trip to the Lelanau Peninsula with my mom, aunties, and cousins. One day we took a walk on lake Michigan, and in a very short time I had managed to fill all of my pockets with rocks. Looking down at my full hands, I thought to myself “It’s a sickness, really.” At that very moment, my mother approached, hands full of rocks. “It’s a sickness, really” she said to me.

So you see, it’s her fault (and my Pop is just as bad).

Over the past few years, The Commander and I have visited a number of beaches. While I do love a perfect shell, I find myself drawn to the odd and the broken ones…


And he’d always wonder aloud why on earth I’d pick up those broken bits. “What are you going to do with those” he’d ask me. “I don’t know yet, but something” I’d say. I just loved the idea of creating something beautiful using those overlooked and under loved pieces.

Well, I finally figured out the something…




Don’t let the jar of sand dollars behind the frame confuse you




I don’t know, maybe they’re silly, but they sure do make my heart happy.


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