The Family Tree of Flowers Tattoo
Aunts...by definition, your mom or dad's sister, the wife of your uncle, or a particular person you give respect and affection to by dubbing her thus. They come in all shapes and sizes, attitudes and dispositions, but they are yours for a reason! I was lucky to have five special women I called "aunt."
It’s something we’ve talked about in passing; noticing and embracing signs from the universe. The both of us have our own little tokens we look for and welcome to reassure us, to ground us again when our circumstances gravitate back to chaos and catastrophe. And the company we keep, shared or otherwise, largely dismisses these romantic sentiments as amusing delusions that shouldn’t warrant any kind of faithful investments; they’re simply silly superstitions that are nice enough for child’s play but have no place in any sensible adult’s regular affairs. That’s probably why I haven’t confessed to you exactly how much faith I have in these metaphysical forces. I’m just tired of being mocked, tired of the implied pats on the head because clearly I’m detrimentally naive and I’m in for a rude awakening when this cruel world finally teaches me that magic is really just a made-up fairy tale.
This story starts with my 2nd marriage; a little background for you to understand things: I was 26 living in NM and had a 6 year old girl Michelle and a 9 month old boy Chris, I was not getting along well with Chris' dad and so we separated. We had a mutual friend, who I will call Mr. S, and he helped me move out, and at the same time he took the opportunity to ask me out on a date. Mr. S told me how he had always wanted to date me since meeting me but I was never free, and knowing that I was now he wanted to get in before he lost the chance.
My family loves to get together and play all kinds of games. Since COVID we are getting together almost once a week. Recently my 14 year old granddaughter brought out a game she had gotten for her birthday in May and we gave it a try; with unbelievably hilarious results.
I started getting tattoos when I was 16. I am now 19 and have 6 professional tattoos and 4 stick n pokes which I did myself. The mountains here on my ankle in the picture posted was my 3rd tattoo I’ve ever gotten done. I’ve always loved tattoos and dreamt of getting them as a child. Once I hit 16, I jumped at the opportunity to start getting tatted up.
I have eight tattoos, all with some meaning. Most of them are sad. I have a rose for my estranged mother on my ribcage, a tiny R2D2 for an abusive ex (I’ve never even seen Star Wars), a skeleton bird with sunflowers marking a sad, lost, childhood that I find myself grieving over from time to time. But my favourite tattoo isn’t sad at all. Most people will see it and ask something along the lines of “Oh my gosh, is that Winnie the Pooh on your leg?” and I tell them that it is and I’ll pull my pant leg up or my sock down and give them a better look. “So cute!”, they exclaim “I used to love Winnie the Pooh!”
This time last year I was in Kenya swinging from one party to another. This year all I got are travel refunds and e-vouchers… thank you KQ. However, I have great memories and I look forward to the death of corona and the inevitable parties that will ensue.
I made the choice to fly back to Perth where I thought I needed to be, when I left for Sydney I remember the sad look on the face of the man who would later become my husband. his eyes were so sad, that look on his face would stay seared in my mind. So while I was in Sydney, every time I closed my eyes I could see his sad eyes, my heart was hurting. everything about the man was a disaster waiting to happen, ex wife (separated) kid it was not a good mix. But my young naive foolish heart would not allow me to see the practicalities of getting involved with someone with so much baggage.
One of the most frequently asked questions across the internet is “How do you track your family history?”. Though we mostly focus on tracing ancestry through paper and online records, there are many other ways to do that. DNA testing is one of them.
The Monetti’s as we know them date back to the Province of Salerno in the the Campania region. Carman Monetta and my great-great grandmother Michela (Magra) Magro obviously hung a different vowel at the end of the family name and begins on a chestnut farm in the town of Ponte di Cagnano.