Good morning! So…I woke up today unsure of what I was gonna write about since I really didn’t do much yesterday besides revert into my alter ego, Super Slug. Then, I read yesterday’s comments and the answer was right there!
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I know I’ve mentioned before I’m a scarlet woman. Scarlet, pink, blue, black, brown, and yellow. (I’m seriously colorful!) Because I’m kinda covered in tattoos.
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Residing on my belly, this was my gift to the Hubby on his
30th Birthday. The three tears represent sorrow he's had in
his life while the four starbursts represent the four joys, our family. |
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I’ve come to realize over the years that people tend to fall into one of four main categories when it comes to tats;
1) They’re HIDEOUS!
2) I don’t see the point, but to each his own.
3) They’re SO cool! Don’t you just LOVE my butterfly?
4) I get tattoos for a reason and each one has deep, personal meaning.
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I fall into category #4. I have 15 tats. Some have been touched up, some need to be, and some will never know the feel of another needle, no matter how bad others think they look. Each and every one tells a story of a moment in my life, a lesson learned, or a reminder of what’s truly important to me.
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I've always had a thing for bees. (Keeping hives
is one of my dreams.) The Virgo symbol was more of
an admiission of defeat, since I seem to draw them like crazy. |
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Several years ago, when the industry BOOMED and everyone and their cousin was
(and still is) getting inked, I wrote a piece about it.
(I posted it on my Neverland of alternative writing here.) But I’ve tended to shy away from writing too much about it on this blog since, well…I don‘t really think about them as something separate. They‘re just a part of me. But today I figured,
“Why the hell not?”
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The Sun and Moon tat on my left shoulder was designed
by my 1st husband. He insisted on this "matching tat"
before he would sign the divorce papers. Totally worth it.
The lettering, Deirfiur, is the Gaelic word for Sister. |
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I got my first when I was 18. It was the result of a drunken promise that I had hoped the others would forget upon sobering up. They didn’t. You see, I’d just been booted out of the Navy
(hearing problems) and two other failed Seamen and myself hit Fred & Peaches Tattoo Parlor in Orlando Florida after a LONG night of partying.
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I argued about what I wanted for over an hour with the owner, Fred. After he presented his 4
th design of what I was attempting to describe, I was afraid if I said no again, he’d attack me with the tattoo gun.
(He kind of threatened as much.) So I said,
“Sure!”
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| My first...in desperate need of re-inking after 25 years. |
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While in the chair, I fainted. I don’t know if it was all the blood I was seeing every time Peaches wiped the work in progress, or if it was the all-nighter the three of us had pulled with WAY too much alcohol and cigarettes and not enough food. I do know that the last thing I remember hearing was Peaches growling,
“If you pass out, I swear to fucking God, I’ll tattoo ‘I fucked up’ on your forehead!”
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I came to in a panic, checking my forehead for ink. Bless that woman for not going through with her threat!
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Before she laid the first dot of ink, Peaches warned me that tats were addictive and asked repeatedly if I was I sure I wanted to do this. Of course I was! I was 18 and was NOT going to chicken out in front of the others. So, my cat has always served as a reminder to not make promises I don’t intend to keep.
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My second
was for my daughter who, born at 28 weeks gestation, was home only a few days before being admitted back into the hospital.
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The cresent Moon was for my daughter. (She's named after
the Greek Goddess of the Moon.) |
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It’s a crap piece of work I’ve thought many a time about getting covered, but the fact that she knew it was “her” tattoo and that at the age of three she told me she loved it, permanently stayed my hand. It stands as a monument to my love for my daughter and my hopes for her to grow to have a happy, healthy life.
(And thankfully, she has.)
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The ones I’ve gotten since illness arrived hold the deepest, most profound meaning for me. They serve not only as reminder, but also as a refueling station when I’m tired and feeling overwhelmed or beat-down.
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The pieces you’ve seen the most frequently in pictures are on the backs of
my hands. They bear the names of my offspring, as well as the name of my hubby at both the beginning and the end, each separated by a tiny heart.
(Because my heart begins and ends with him.)
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I can’t look at my hands, either while typing, drawing, cooking, or even cleaning without seeing those names. They’re there to remind me of what are ultimately the most important things in my life. They are the reasons for everything I do.
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Right below the right one is one simple statement, “my life my way”. It was placed there when I had reached the end of my rope with the medical profession. It also served as the
reason I changed the name of this blog from the original
Daily Dance…because everyone should live their life on their own terms. After all, isn’t that when we’re the happiest?
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As my immune system went a bit crazier, ink began to lay differently in my skin. My right bicep bears the shadow of a Celtic knot proclaiming in Gaelic, “I live, I love, I laugh.” As the connective tissue came under attack from within, it rejected the ink, pushing much of it out. One day, I’ll have it retouched. One day.
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The last one I got most people would find rather…morbid. Or, possibly, just plain creepy. But if you know the story, it’s becomes beautifully optimistic.
(At least, that’s how I see it.)
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According to Norse Mythology, Odin had two Ravens, Hugnin and Munin. Their names translate to Thought and Memory. Every day they would roost on his shoulder and whisper in his ear about the things happening in the World that he needed to know.
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In Irish Mythology, The Morrigan, one of their Goddesses of Death and War, would take the form of a raven and consume the bodies of those who died in battle. OK, yeah, it seems pretty damn morbid. But wait for it…
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The Irish didn’t see The Morrigan as dark or evil. What she did was take the old and broken into herself and allow it to rest and renew before it was released back into the world.
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I wonder who of us doesn’t have a thing or two in our lives that no longer serves a useful purpose. Who doesn’t have something they wouldn’t like to give up, let it be reworked so it can become something positive and beautiful in our lives?
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I don’t see my Ravens as dark, I see them as a reminder to ditch the things that don’t serve me well
(like a bad attitude) in order to make room for the good.
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In this life, we all have out own ways of dealing with the difficulties. We all create our own reminders and we all decorate our homes in ways that make us feel comfortable, content, and safe.
(I view my body as the home for my soul, so the metaphor works. *grin*) I am one of the folks that simply chose ink for these purposes.
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On my right shoulder, this was gotten
to remind me I'm a survivor. Some days?
I need the reminder more than others. *grin* |
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All of my work is original. And yes, I’ve designed more tats than my flesh could probably hold. Someday there’ll be more ink, even if it’s just the words across my left wrist proclaiming “every moment matters”.
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Resting right above my right breastacle, this was
Hubby and my gift to each other for our 2nd
Anniversary. (Yep, he's got one too.)
Did you know Wolves mate for life? |
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And as far as the question I’ve heard a million times over of,
“What are you gonna think when you’re 90 and all these tattoos are faded and wrinkled?” My answer?
“I’ll be happy as hell I lived to be 90!”
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How about you? I’d LOVE to see your work and hear the story behind it. Since my tech-impaired self can’t figure out how to turn “post photos” on, if you’d like to see it posted here with the story behind it,
email me and I’ll share it here!
