After co-op this morning, I took the kids to Chickfila for lunch. While they played in the play place, I took 2.5 hours to finally do my griefwork project from a few days ago, the one I skipped. I knew when I read through the list of topics at the beginning of the month that I wanted to sketch one. I had Britt take the digital camera, and snap a couple of photos of me across the table, and then I used one to draw, since I didn't have a mirror handy. I'm not sure that I've sketched anything since the week before Gary and I got married. Nothing dates past that in my sketch book anyway. I feel like I'm incredibly rusty at best, and that the proportions are still off.
Gary has these crinkles (as I call them) at the corners of his eyes. They are one of the things I love most about the way he looks. They are there because he is always laughing or grinning with his eyes about something. Usually because he's up to no good. When critically looking at myself today though the thing that struck me most was the lines, the furrows on my brow now, between my eyes. I have caught myself so often in the last few months with would felt like a dug in rift there, from sorrow and pain. Deep lines that are just there by default. I can almost hear the Southern admonition to look pleasant and try to smooth out my forehead, but then 5 minutes later, they are there again. And sure enough when I look there they are a permanent mark of my grief, and yet you know what they aren't near as noticeable as they feel.
Well, with no further adieu or disclaimers here is my self-portrait, don't laugh!