Jennifer Garvey-Cottom

Обо мне:

The Abbreviated Version:

I've been married to my soulmate, Anthony, for 5 years, but we've been together over 7 years now!! We live just outside the Bermuda Triangle (and sometimes in it) with our son, Ethan Pierce, our collie, Mischa, and our two cats, Xander and Aspen.

We welcomed our son February 19. 2008 and having a child is the most wonderful feeling in the world! Even the most difficult days melt away with just one smile from Ethan. I was never a patient person, but since Ethan arrived, I've realized how much patience I do have and that being a mom makes me a better person. Holding him close, getting kisses from him and making him squeal with laughter fills me with such a sense of peace, well-being and pure love and it is overwhelming in the most delicious of ways...

It is true what they say: To the world, you are one person, but to one person you are the world. Ethan and Anthony are my world.

We enjoy weekends at the beach, going out to dinner, outings to Barnes & Noble, and watching our little boy grow, develop and discover a little bit more of the world every single day.

So now I'm a WIFE and a MOM foremost, and a photographer and graphic designer second. :]





"At this moment there are 6470818671 people in the world, some are running scared, some are coming home, some tell lies to make it through the day, others are just not facing the truth, some are evil men at war with good, and some are good struggling with evil, sixs billion people in the world, six billion souls, and sometimes, all you need is one" ♥







The Writer's Bio:

I’m Jennifer. I’m 3/4 Russian, and 1/4 Irish/English, but I’m blessed with an “Irish Temper”.

I’m a Floridian. I was born and raised in south Florida. I grew up in what used to be a sleepy coastal town named Stuart. It was just north of Palm Beach and just south of nowhere. When I was ten, you could count the number of traffic lights in the entire town on two hands, and anywhere you were going was just ten minutes away. Landmarks were places like the Shell gas station that once inhabited the corner of Kanner Highway and U.S. 1, or the now defunct Groucho’s, the good-times bar attached to the resident HoJo motel. The only way to make it onto the ‘island’ to people the beaches was over a series of drawbridges; during season (when the snowbirds flocked to town), the worn oxidized spans of the bridges would inevitably get stuck in their stretch heavenward, appealing to the sun or the clouds, creating havoc with their incurable traffic jams, and stranding residents and visitors alike for hours on end. In Stuart, people didn’t get ‘farmer’s tans,’ we got ‘driver’s tans’: one arm three shades darker than the rest of your body, the result of enduring hours parked on a broken-down bridge, waiting as it rediscovered its way back down, once more prostrate to the river below.

By the time I was nearing my final years of high school (built, appropriately enough on a retired dump), new life was being breathed into sleepy Stuart. Housing developments were being planned and the land razed, new bridges were in the works, fresh coats of paint blanketed tired school facades, dilapidated and outdated buildings received rejuvenating facelifts, and suddenly our town even had a motto: ‘Built on a bed of roses’... How remarkably unfitting. Somehow, the fact that we were – and still are – the “Sailfish Capital of the World” didn’t seem as alluring as that fabricated ‘bed of roses’, but we all know America’s cities and its histories were built on pockets full of those little white lies; you can find them sprinkled like fairy dust in the town library, or drifting like the windborne seeds of a chrysanthemum and taking root in your children’s text books.

The time was ripe, and Stuart wanted ‘more.’ I left for college in the midst of the transition, coming home to insufferable traffic congestion, new traffic lights (hurricane-proof, now!), modern buildings, and fountains and flowers marking every significant corner of town. Old restaurants fell by the wayside in the wake of chains like TGIFridays, Chili’s, and Applebee’s that moved in and pounced on a community ravenous for change – for bright colors, new construction, fresh stucco and decorative tile rooftops. The movie theatre of my childhood slowly disintegrated in the advent of stadium seating and retractable armrests; the town even became too wealthy for the ‘dollar theatre,’ and that too faded into obscurity – a mere memory to the long-time resident.

Sadly, even the beaches have worn away. It’s as if they no longer recognize their home: development and change altering the face of the town that was, in essence borne from their sandy shores, the ocean peaceful and tame as its lapdog. Those sugary-soft shores turned away from the construction, thumbed their noses at the strangers, lost control of the ocean – its loyal pet – and gave into this new pounding, relentless sea. Today, the county dredges sand out of the inlet – cold, rough, partially-ground, unrefined sand – and pump it onto Stuart’s floundering beaches.

Stuart is losing her appeal, it’s being drained from her veins like an unwilling blood donor. She’s turned into the beautiful woman with the vacant smile – all looks and no personality. Personality. Like the high school built on a dump – the undulating parking lots resulting from the buried trash shifting with the earth; the slightly tilted goal post that owes its special angle to the automobile hood it pierced as it was drilled into the ground; the ancient pickup truck that surfaced during the baseball field’s reconstruction in 1998...



"Money's a horrid thing to follow, but a charming thing to meet." - Henry James ..



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