Posted on 09/07/2015 by alli woods frederick

 
 

DIY Rosewater

DIY Rosewater

 
 

Oh, rosewater.  I see you in beauty stores in your perfect packaging with your glass bottles, beautiful fonts and clean design begging me to drop what little hard earned cash I’ve busted my ass off for to take home your natural, aromatic promises of near miracles in a bottle.  When used as topically, the magic packed skin tonic claims to:

 

*  be good for all skin types
*  sooth and refresh the skin
*  gently moisturize and tone
*  help calm skin by reducing redness and inflammation
*  help with acne, eczema and rosacea*
*  help maintain the elastin in your skin**
*  reduce wrinkles and tighten pores

*THIS IS NOT A CURE OR REPLACEMENT FOR THE MEDICAL TREATMENT OF ANY HEALTH CONDITIONS.  DO NOT DISCONTINUE ANY MEDICAL TREATMENTS PRESCRIBED BY YOUR DOCTOR.  IF YOU HAVE A MEDICAL CONDITION CONSULT WITH YOUR DOCTOR BEFORE USE OR MAKING ANY CHANGES TO YOUR MEDICAL TREATMENTS.
**CLAIMS HAVE NOT BEEN SUPPORTED BY CLINICAL RESEARCH.

 

Oh, fancy store bought rosewater with all your prettiness, how you tempt me.  But I know your secret.  I know the truth.  I know what everyone should know which are these two not-so-secret secrets:

 

1)  You are, in fact, rose water.  Those are your only two necessary ingredients.  Roses and water.  And that’s it.  And…
2)  You are insanely easy for me to make at home on my own for next to nothing, as compared to your oft pricey tags when I buy you in your pretty, pretty stores with your pretty, pretty packaging.

 

So, rosewater, I’m blowing your cover so other women (and men) can reap all your benefits without dropping unnecessary coin, no matter how enticing your font choices on those beautiful bottles may be.  No hard feelings?  Good.  So let’s get this rosewater infusion making party started.

 
 

BEAUTIFY YOUR SKIN WITH DIY ROSEWATER

fresh_roses

::  NOTE:  THIS TUTORIAL MAKES A VERY SIMPLE, BUT EFFECTIVE, INFUSION.  PURE, DISTILLED ROSEWATER REQUIRES A DISTILLATION PROCESS WHICH IS A LITTLE MORE INVOLVED (OKAY, A LOT MORE INVOLVED – COMPARATIVELY) AND REQUIRES THINGS LIKE A BRICK OR RAMEKIN (WHATEVER THE HELL THAT IS), TEMPERED GLASS BOWLS, A STEADY SUPPLY OF ICE AND MUCH MORE ATTENTION AND CARE WHICH RESULTS IN A MORE POTENT ROSEWATER.  IF YOUR CURIOSITY IS PIQUED AND YOU’D LIKE TO LEARN THIS PROCESS OR HOW TO MAKE YOUR OWN ROSE OIL, LET ME KNOW AND I’LL GLADLY PUT TOGETHER A DIY OR DIE SO YOU CAN LEARN THE PROCESS.  ::

 
 

SUPPLIES:

 

*  Fresh, organic rose petals.  Organic is important.  Washing and boiling won’t remove the chemicals and those toxins are going directly into your skin which then goes into your blood stream…and toxins do NOT give you a happy body or skin.  Go organic.  I know they cost a bit more, but a little goes a long way and it’s not like you need five dozen of them.  I suggest making small batches to ensure quality and prevent waste.  A little rosewater goes a long way.

::  I HAVE ROSE BUSHES IN MY BACKYARD SO I KNOW THEY’RE ORGANIC.  LUCKY ME.  BUT IF YOU HAVE TO BUY YOUR ROSES, MAKE SURE TO ASK IF THEY’RE ORGANIC, EVEN IF THEY’RE AT THE FARMERS’ MARKET (WHICH WILL BE YOUR BEST BET FOR NOT ONLY FINDING THEM BUT FOR SELECTION AND PRICE).  REMEMBER: THE PETALS DON’T HAVE TO BE PERFECT, SO EVEN IF THEY’RE A TAD WONKY OR ON THE DROOPY SIDE, THEY’RE STILL FINE TO USE (AND YOU MIGHT EVEN GET THEM TO CUT YOU A DEAL ON BLOOMS THAT ARE JUST BARELY PAST THEIR PRIME SINCE IMPERFECTIONS CAN OFTEN MEAN A ONE WAY TICKET TO THE DUMPSTER OR COMPOST PILE) – JUST BE SURE THEY’RE ORGANIC.  I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH.  JUST NO BROWNED OR SERIOUSLY WILTED PETALS.  IMPERFECTIONS AND SLIGHT AGING ARE FINE, JUST NOTHING ROTTING.  YOU DON’T WANT TO RUB ROTTING FLOWERS ON YOUR FACE.  BLECH.  ::

 
 

*  A colander (for rinsing and straining the rose petals).

*  A small pot (or pots if you’re using different varieties of roses) with a lid.

*  Distilled water.

*  A clean bowl (for the strained rosewater).

*  A funnel (for help bottling the rosewater).

*  Sterile glass jars or bottles with lids for storage.

 
 

INSTRUCTIONS:

DIY Rosewater

 
 

1)  Either pick or purchase your organic roses.  If you’re picking your own roses, try to pick them in the morning before the sun has had its way with them.

 
 

DIY Rosewater

 
 

2) Gently pluck the petals from your roses and place them in the colander. Once you have all your petals plucked, gently but thoroughly wash them off to remove any dirt and bugs.

 
 

Homemade Rosewater

 
 

3) OPTIONAL: I made two batches. One batch with the petals intact, and one batch with the petals bruised (which is a fancy way of saying mashed up). Bruising the petals helps release more oil. Basically I wanted to see if it would make a difference in the strength/potency of the finished product. I can’t honestly be sure since I have no way to measure such things, but the bruised batch was much, much darker in color and much stronger in scent. It also required a LOT more straining to remove debris so have cheesecloth handy while straining if you want to try this technique.

:: (If you decide to experiment and play with your rosewater I would love to hear your results. Feel free to share them in the comments.) ::

 
 

4) Place your petals in the pot (or pots).

 
 

pot-petals-kissesandchaos

(MY POT OF PLAIN, WASHED ROSE PETALS AND…

 
 

DIY Rosewater

…MY SECOND POT OF BRUISED ROSE PETALS.)

 
 

DIY Rosewater

 
 

5)  Pour just enough distilled water into the pot(s) to cover the rose petals.  Don’t go overboard.  Too much water will dilute your rosewater and make it less rosewater-y.

 
 

two-pots-kissesandchaos

 
 

6)  Stick the lid on your pot and, with the burners on low, bring to a gentle rolling boil.  Then reduce the heat and allow to simmer.  Make sure you keep the lid on so you don’t lose all the rosy goodness to evaporation.

 
 

rose-petals-after-steeping-kissesandchaos

 
 

7)  Allow to simmer until the petals lose their color.  Times will vary so make sure you keep checking on it.  I checked mine about every ten minutes or so.

 

8)  Once your rosewater is done. Turn off the burner and allow the rosewater to cool, making sure to leave the lid on the pot.

 

9)  When your rosewater has cooled, use the colander (or colander with cheesecloth if you use a bruised batch) to strain all the petals and debris from the water.

 

10)  Using a funnel, pour your pretty fragrant rosewater into a clean bottle or jar.  Pop a lid on it and store it in the fridge between uses.  (It really feels delightful and refreshing on the skin when it’s cold.)

 

11)  Once it’s chilled, pour some on a cotton ball, give your clean, gorgeous face a swipe and enjoy.

 
 

DIY Rosewater

::  I RECYCLED BOTTLES FROM MY FAVORITE LOCAL JUICERY (AND DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THEIR NUT MILKS – HOLY SH*T ARE THEY DELICIOUS.  YOU HAVE NO IDEA), NATIVE NECTAR, TO STORE MY ROSEWATER.  AND WHEN IT’S GONE I’LL BE RETURNING THE BOTTLES TO NATIVE NECTAR BECAUSE THEY REUSE THEIR BOTTLES.   LOVE IT.  REDUCE.  REUSE.  RECYCLE.  ::

 
 

And that’s all there is to it.  You now have a bottle of homemade rosewater to beautify your already beautiful face.  If you like you can add a few extra drops of rose absolute essential oil for a little extra oomph.  Just make sure you use genuine, absolute essential oil.  Most rose essential oil is artificial which would defeat the purpose.  So make sure you’re buying the good stuff so you can reap all the benefits.

And don’t be afraid to play.  Remember different roses yield different results so experiment until you find the roses that work for you.

Enjoy!

 
 

Rose Scented Kisses & Flowery Chaos,
Alli Woods Frederick

 
 

IMAGES  ::  UNKNOWN  ::  ALL OTHER IMAGES © ALLI WOODS FREDERICK. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.  ::
Posted in LIFESTYLE, TIPS + TRICKS, WELLNESS | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

Posted on 09/05/2015 by alli woods frederick

 
 

What’s The Lover To Do

 
 

WHAT’S THE LOVER TO DO

What’s The Lover To Do

 
 

What’s the lover to do
but humiliate himself
and wander your rooms?

If he kisses your hair,
don’t wonder why.

Sometimes in the madhouse
they gnaw on their chairs.”

– Rumi

 
 

Kisses & Chaos,
Alli Woods Frederick

 
 

IMAGES :: LOGO & CHAIR SERIES NO.1 © ALLI WOODS FREDERICK ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ::
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Posted on 09/03/2015 by alli woods frederick

 

 

Who is Nattskiftet?  Nattskiftet is the brainchild of Lisen Haglund and she’s a badass.  I came across her work on Instagram forever and a day ago and it was love at first sight.  And since I like to spread my love of all things weird and twisted as well as art I thought this was the perfect opportunity to do both.  So please join me in welcoming our newest limited edition series…

 

Naughty Nattskiftet on Travel


 

 

 

NAUGHTY NATTSKIFTET ON TRAVEL

Naughty Nattskiftet on Travel

 
 

A to the f’ing men.  Preach on.  Preach on.

 
 

Kisses & Chaos,
Alli Woods Frederick

 
 

IMAGE  ::  LOGO © ALLI WOODS FREDERICK. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.  ::  © LISEN HAGLUND.  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.  ::
Posted in CULT, LAUGH, PEOPLE | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Posted on 08/24/2015 by alli woods frederick
BY NICKIE SHOBEIRY

 

Meeting with Angels

Shortly before Mischa died I received an email from one of my favorite guest bloggers, Nickie.  Her message (and I’m paraphrasing here):  ‘I have a piece on angels that would be perfect for you.  Interested?’  My response: ‘Of course.’  Little did I know how perfect the timing would be – that two weeks to the day and almost the hour of his death, I would be posting a piece about angels after having lost mine.  Thank you, Mischa, for being my angel. You saved me every single day with your love.  And thank you, Nickie, for your seemingly divine timing (aren’t synchronicities amazing) and, as I have come to expect from your writing, beautiful and thoughtful insights.

 
 

Love is the Key:
Meeting with Angels

Meeting With Angels

 

 

I have a mother who, although not religious, loves angels. Inside our bookshelves were greeting card angels, lovingly cut-out and stuck behind my dad’s hefty dictionaries.  Whenever he wanted a definition, my mother’s angels would peak at him from under dog-eared halos.

I never understood her passion – after all, such beings were meant only for the walls of churches and children’s classrooms.  Skip forward a few years and I was writing for a local art gallery, perusing their exhibitions and feeling mighty sophisticated.  Here, I saw the work of Claire Casely, whose paintings focused on the very topic that had lingered, mostly unnoticed, in the background of my childhood.  Circling the room and taking in Claire’s vibrant, winged creations, I felt strangely comforted. Nonetheless, I simplified it into “good art”, and didn’t bother questioning why one painting…

 

‘LOVE IS THE KEY,’ HAD ME STICKING AROUND FOR LONGER THAN USUAL.

 

Meeting with Angels


 

 

Looking back, it was all pretty idyllic – white walls, sunshine streaming in from the window, this one painting, in all its blues and pinks, sparkling with natural light.  Wrestling with my new-found ambivalence, I hovered over Claire’s business cards before eventually walking out empty-handed.

It’s said that the things that scare us (or in this case, make us so uncomfortable we shred our own cuticles) will come back into our lives again.  For me, this was certainly the case.

 

TWO MONTHS AFTER MY INITIAL RUN-IN WITH ANGELS, I MET ONE PERCHED ON THE FUCHSIA-PINK SOFA OF A CAFÉ.

 

No, I wasn’t hallucinating.  Let me explain: my angel had sweaty palms and a watch that didn’t work.  My angel worried he was rambling and spilled tea on his shoes.  My angel smelled like blue lotus oil and incense, pretended he knew about wine and had handwriting too pretty to read.  My angel didn’t waver when I stepped outside to take a phone call and returned, heavy with bad news and unable to pretend I was anything more than human.

 
 

SOMETIMES, PEOPLE APPEAR IN OUR LIVES FOR ONE GLORIOUS, LESSON-FILLED MOMENT – EVEN IF THOSE LESSONS ARE HARD TO LEARN.

Meeting with Angels


 

 

Especially if those lessons are hard to learn.  Meeting this particular angel taught me about sincerity; there was something about the way he carried his love of the world on his buttoned, paisley sleeve that pushed me into living.  And of course, with push can come fall, and with revelation can come chaos.

Frankly, meeting my angel was a slap in the face.  On the third day of chaos, I stood in my kitchen, sleep-deprived and hyperventilating – for the first time in my life – while on the phone to my cousin.

 

“What the hell is happening?” I gasped, clutching at my shirt.  “Everything’s about to change. Who the hell am I?”

 

Pausing for a second, I looked out the window and strolling by was that angel.  Glancing up, he caught my eye and put a finger to his lips, before stretching his hand to the heavens in a peace symbol.

Naturally, I wanted to throw up.

 
 

Meeting with Angels


 
 

This lesson in living – in sincerity and eccentricity – came to a fever-pitch while on the swings of a nearby park.  My angel swayed gently in all his fur-coat swagger, while I grasped onto my chains, tilting back and letting blood rush to my head.  Dizzy and clearheaded, I began spotting angels in more places than one.  In fact, I found I was surrounded by them, and always had been.

Maybe when we see people in this way, we begin to trust the world a little more.  Maybe we begin seeing its little nudges and greetings.  For me, meeting my slap-in-the-face, blue-lotus-oil angel meant taking heart and truly living.  It meant reaching out to Claire and telling her this story.  It meant loving the people in my life, and recognising the angels both already there, and the angels yet to come.

 

 

Meeting with Angels


 

 

This is to my cousin Mariam, for all of it.  To John, for midnights in the kitchen.  To Katy, for the afternoon rambles.  To Nicky, for her wintertime cigarette breaks (I loved every one).  To Domleo, for driving me to the sea that one time, and to Braidwood for forgiving me for that one year.  To Immy for the coffee, to Charlotte for the phone calls, to Sarah for the essays and to Phen for the quotes.  To Sadie for her spirit.  To the strangers who have learnt to walk slowly.  To Claire for painting ‘Love is the Key’.  To my mother for her cut-out angels, and to my father for his dictionaries.

Beautifully, the list goes on.  You have all been angels.  Thank you.

 
 

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
NICKIE SHOBEIRY

Author-Pic---Nickie-Shobeiry

 
 

Nickie Shobeiry is a freelance writer living in sleepy old Devon, England. You can find out more about her on her blog, and on Twitter.


 
 
 

IMAGES  ::  LES NEREIDES – THETIS – MAXINE SIMONCELLI  ::  FEATHER © ALLI WOODS FREDERICK ALL RIGHTS RESERVED  ::  ‘LOVE IS THE KEY’ © CLAIRE CASELY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED  ::  CAFÉ SALON NAKA-OKU © CAROL LIN ALL RIGHTS RESERVED  ::  KITCHEN WINDOW; VIEW FROM THE SWINGS © NICKIE SHOBEIRY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED  ::
Posted in LIFE, SOUL MINGLING | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

Posted on 08/17/2015 by alli woods frederick

 

A Special Goodbye

** PLEASE NOTE:  THIS VIDEO THAT FOLLOWS WAS VERY HARD FOR ME TO RECORD AND SHARE WITH YOU, BUT I FELT IT WAS IMPORTANT FOR THE PEOPLE WHO LOVE HIM, HIS FAMILY THAT DOESN’T LIVE HERE, TO BE ABLE TO SHARE A FINAL MOMENT WITH HIM AND TO HAVE A CHANCE TO SAY GOODBYE, AS WELL AS THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE COME TO CARE FOR HIM.  HE IS NOT HEALTHY NOR IS HE HAPPY IN THIS VIDEO – HE WAS NOT ONLY IN THE END STAGES OF KIDNEY FAILURE BUT THE STRESS ON HIS BODY THAT SUNDAY WAS CAUSING CONGESTIVE HEART FAILURE.  HE WAS IN AGONY…AND HE WAS BRAVE AND LOVING THROUGH THE END.  SO PLEASE REMEMBER HIM AS THE CUTE, ALERT, CHIPPER AND LOVING CHARACTER THAT HE ALWAYS WAS AND NOT AS HE IS IN THIS VIDEO.  REMEMBER THE LIGHT IN HIS EYES THAT BEAMED LOVE TO ALL HE MET.  AND PLEASE CONTINUE TO SEND HIM LOVE AND PEACE AS HE FINDS HIS WAY AROUND HIS NEW HOME WITH HIS BROTHERS AND SISTERS ON THE OTHER SIDE.  THANK YOU. **

 
 
 

A SPECIAL GOODBYE FROM MY ALWAYS BELOVED MISCHA

 

::  MISCHA’S GOODBYE, WITH LOVE  ::

 
 

That video was shot Sunday morning, August 9, 2015.  My sweet baby boy, my best friend of 16 years, my confidant, my baby, my raison d’etre, Mischa, left this world, here in the comfort of our home, Monday morning, August 10, 2015, at 11:30 a.m. CST.   It has taken me a week, to the hour, to be able to write this post.

 
 

MY HEART IS BROKEN.  I AM HUMPTY DUMPTY.

 
 

It goes without saying I am beyond devastated.  I am only able to write this because I am doped to the gills.  (Better living through pharmaceuticals – thank god.)

Mischa was not a pet.  He was not some cute furry thing I bought as a living toy that existed in the background of my life.  He was the center of my life and I was the center of his and…

 
 

WE WOULDN’T HAVE HAD IT ANY OTHER WAY.

A Special Goodbye


 

My ex-husband used to ask me if I had to choose between the two of them which would I choose and I always replied honestly:  Mischa.  Always and forever, Mischa.

 
 

Anyone who had the unique opportunity to witness our friendship first hand for more than a mere five minutes knows that when I say we had a bond that was deeper and more spiritual than you find among the vast majority of humans I am not exaggerating.  These aren’t the embellished words of a grieving heart.

There was (and is) a level of understanding, of knowing, of unconditional love that was transcendent and unique.  I have only had such a connection with one human on this earth that is equal to the bond Mischa and I shared and I cherish it just as much (though it is completely different and one could never replace or heal the other).

Cynics (and I’m guessing atheists and supports of anthropomorphic fallacy as well) will surely say I’m just a sad, lonely woman who was codependent…with her cat *eye roll*, but they would be wrong – we were symbiotic and synergistic.  We were each others compliment, the life of each making the life of the other more beautiful, happy and fulfilling.

 
 

IN LOSING HIM I’VE LOST PART OF MY HEART AND SOUL, AS PART OF ME DWELT IN HIM FROM THE MOMENT WE MET.

A Special Goodbye


 
 

I wasn’t looking for cute that fateful day at the pound.  I didn’t go in search of the prettiest cat.  In fact, I didn’t find or choose him at all.  He chose me and his light, intelligence and inner beauty shone so brightly it made everything else in the room simply fade away.

He chose me and I had no option but to yield and take him into my life, into my heart and into my soul and promise him that I would always be there; that I would always care for him; that he would never want for anything; that he would never be afraid and that I would move heaven and earth to always protect him, keep him happy and make sure he knew every single day that he was loved.

If the zombie apocalypse occurred, he was my top priority – I would always come for him (and often did in my very consistent zombie related nightmares – I know…I’m weird.  It’s a genuine, longstanding fear and it can’t be helped) – always – and he knew it.  He knew all of it.  But that’s how we were.  We always just knew.

 
 

A Special Goodbye


 
 

When he was bed ridden while healing from his stroke and I sat up with him for 72 hours straight (after which he miraculously recovered…seriously…the vet had “never seen anything like it.”  My baby was such a badass) he would merely look at me and I knew if he needed food, water or to be carried over to his litter box.  A look.  That was it.  And he did the same for me…wait…I don’t mean he carried me to the litter box or brought me food…oh, you know what I mean (although the visual of him trying to carry me to his litter box is pretty damn funny).

He has been there for me, taking care of me and providing me support, love, caring and nurturing during the most trying and terrifying times of my life, always without question, without hesitation, without conditions…even when humans who professed to love me had turned their backs and were nowhere to be found.

 
 

FOR EXAMPLE:

When I was recovering from cancer he was there, never leaving my side, snuggled up against me or on me, purring, nuzzling, never getting into my knitting projects and making sure I knew I was loved when my “friends” abandoned me (I had one friend who called to check on me. One. And she’s also the only friend who came by my house to see me and offer help – thank you, Lemons. I love and miss you).

When a batshit crazy asshole was in my home and literally tried to kill me (and almost succeeded), I kept Mischa safe, continually moving him from harms way, protecting him while fighting and fending off our attacker (sometimes successfully, sometimes not) for well over an hour and then some…and the next day when I returned home from the hospital heavily medicated after a fun day of x-rays, scans, poking, prodding and police reports there he was, at the door, waiting for me with his tail up in greeting, chirping sounds of concern that I had never heard before (nor since) and with a look of such sincere worry and depth of love that, to this day, I have never seen matched by human or animal.

 
 

A Special Goodbye


 
 

And again, as I lay in bed recovering from my injuries both physical and psychological he was there glued to my side loving me when, once again, all but one or two of my friends had run for the hills rather than give me hugs or keep me company or, god forbid, pick up the f*cking phone and call.

And when times were good and glorious, we would celebrate our joy and triumphs.

And in return there was nothing, absolutely nothing, I wouldn’t do for him – including staying calm and brave for him as he made his transition from this life to the next, assuring him his pain would be over very soon, that he was going someplace where he would get to see his brother (a massive 100+ pound hair ball of a dog), Lakota, and a host of others I love and trust who have gone before me who would be there to welcome, protect him and love him.

I showered him with love and kisses; lovingly looked him in the eye; smiled (no tears were allowed) and made sure he knew I loved him deeply, profoundly and immensely…that he was my heart and soul and would be missed for the rest of my days, every day.

 
 

A Special Goodbye


 
 

I told him time passes differently where’s he was going and that our next meeting would seem like only moments to him (sadly, it will feel like an eternity for me as I must take the long road), not to be sad and that we would be reunited in no time at all.  I told him I loved him, smiling, as his eyes grew dim and their amazing, beautiful light faded into a dull, heartbreaking flatness.  He was gone.  I hope with all my heart he wasn’t scared and found comfort, peace and love in my words, my voice, my touch and in my eyes which still look for him when I walk in a room or around a corner.

Mischa was my companion, a kindred spirit, one of my spiritual tribe, an old soul, a best friend – loyal, dedicated, trusting, loving, compassionate, brilliant, wise, friendly, outgoing, kind, funny, charming, graceful and poised and always a total goofball who could work his cuteness like nobody’s business.

 
 

HE WAS EVERYTHING TO ME.  HE WAS MY WORLD.

A Special Goodbye


 
 

I hope you will join me in not only mourning his passing, but in celebrating his life.  There will be more posts to come with never shared photos and stories about his life.  There are lights in this world and there are LIGHTS in this world…and he was one of the LIGHTS.  His loving kindness, gentle heart and truly beautiful spirit deserve to be remembered and celebrated. I hope you will join me in doing just that.

Thank you for the love and kindness you have shown him.  Thank you for being his friend.  And thank you for sharing this heartbreaking but sacred moment with us.  You are appreciated and loved…

…And so are you, My Mischa…my sweet baby boy.  You will be loved and missed, forever and always.  Rest in peace, Misch…until we meet again, my precious boy…xox.

 
 

Kitty Headbutts & Sleepy Lap Nap Snuggles,
Alli Woods Frederick

 
 

::  WE’LL MEET AGAIN – SHE & HIM  ::

 
 

IMAGES  ::  ALL IMAGES © ALLI WOODS FREDERICK.  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.  NO EXCEPTIONS.  USE THESE ANYWHERE FOR ANY REASON AND YOU WILL SUFFER UNIMAGINABLY AS I RAIN PAIN AND MERCILESS HELLFIRE DOWN UPON YOU AND YOU REGRET THE DAY YOU WERE BORN.  FOR REALSIES.  I’M NOT EVEN FUCKING AROUND.  STEAL, SHARE OR USE THESE MOST PRECIOUS OF COPYRIGHTED FAMILY PHOTOS IN ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM AND I WILL COME FOR YOU LEGALLY, SPIRITUALLY, PSYCHICALLY AND WITH REALLY, REALLY, REALLY MEAN LETTERS THAT WILL MAKE YOU CRY BECAUSE I AM VICIOUS AND BRUTAL WITH MY WORDS WHEN WOUNDED.  IT’S BEST NOT TO BAIT THIS WOUNDED MAMA BEAR, SO DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT.  ::
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