So here it is, the lifetime ramification of my decision to get a tattoo.
And I don't regret it a bit. I've thought about it for so long and debated myself, worrying that getting inked would scream "Midlife crisis!" Then I stopped and asked myself when I ever based a decision on public opinion and the answer was "Never."
The tattoo artist, Phil, was awesome. We spent a lot of time talking while he worked adapting a photo I'd chosen into a piece of permanent body art. He's also interested in esoteric matters and the conversation was so lively and fun that the hour in the studio passed before I'd even realized it.
My oldest son, 20-year-old Wesley, went with me for moral support and it was so special having him there. And how cool is it for a guy to go with his mom when she gets her first tattoo?
Jessi had to work so Wes and I went to see her afterwards. She got her butterfly tattoo a couple of years ago and was supportive about my getting one. Wes wants to get one for his upcoming 21st birthday; he just needs to decide on a design.
The tattooing process did hurt a bit, but not as much as I'd expected. And Phil cut me a break on the price, I think, given all the detail he ended up putting into the work.
And I'm so proud. I've worked with birds of prey for over a dozen years, and have a passionate obsession with owls. I remember every one that's ever been in my care. There's something mystical and otherwordly about them - something magickal. I've been fortunate to have had numerous owls perched on my arm as I prepared them for their journey back to freedom.
Now I have one that will never leave.
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