My cats a critic and other adventures

My mind had been drawing a blank for months.  Everything seemed so foggy when I tried to write.  The words raced around my head, sprinted down towards my shoulder, engaged in a brisk jog over my elbow and then, just as they embarked on the finish line of my ball point pen, lost their motivation and squatted down for a quick nap in my forearm.  Oh, I just can't tolerate lazy words. 

Frankly, there were so many things I wanted to say but unlike some brilliant writers out there, I didn't have the courage to say them.  I'm the worry wart of creativity.  Always afraid of hurting someones feelings, or shocking the hell out of....well....grandma.  The truth might actually be, I've been afraid of exposing myself completely or being disappointed in the outcome.  All of these things, tussled into one big tumble weed, were the reasons I just wasn't able to get my thoughts on to paper. 

Whats so interesting about my situation is, so many things happened over the past few months worthy of writing about.  There was the birth of my new nephew who, from my assessment, might be the cutest tot to have ever been born.  He is fabulous and I couldn't be more in love with him.  Then there is my main squeeze, who's age, although much closer to the celebratory year of 100, still seems to amaze me with his giddy child like charm.  There was also the new discovery of half priced wine night at one of my favorite watering holes.  This exciting new development then lead to "ladies night"... gone wild of course.  This alone was enough material to write an entire novel.

Another adventure worthy of writing about began with a journal entry I had written on the eve of my 33rd birthday,"Do something that fulfills you".  So, after having stared at this simple line of dark devilish black ink for over a month I finally decided to either close my journal, shove it under my bed, forget the line completely and continue to live in my stale cereal boxed in life (there's no prize in here btw) OR start finding fulfillment.  So, your probably thinking I made a choice right then and there.  No, no i didn't.  I did what any normal 33 year old woman who is having a difficult time finding fulfillment would do, I distracted myself by washing dishes, watching bad TV, taking a walk, painting my nails and then taking a trip to The Body Shop.  Yeah, so after I got home from that waste of  a $20 face mask, I finally made my choice.  I kept my journal out, let go of my fear (You know that fear. That fear of being wrong?) and decided to find what makes me happy, find my fulfillment.

So there, on the dawn of a new day, with fulfillment on the brain and fear in the back seat buried under my design magazines and my face drenched in that damn $20 avocado "revitalizing" mask, I created something for me, just me, and my happiness.  I called it Networking Tuesdays. It's really a code word for hobby therapy.  I mean I have hobbies,  you know, those things that make you happy?  I just don't do anything with them.  As I sat in the planning phase of my happy new future, I told myself and my cat (who is a tough critic on goal setting and also different kinds of catnip), I WILL begin to enjoy the things that I, well, enjoy.  To do this,  I WILL embrace my hobbies.  I WILL embrace my interests.  I will find one evening a week to reach out to those around me who seem to enjoy life, the arts, those who embrace their own fulfillment.  I will listen and relish in their enthusiasm and devour their passion.  I will have drinks with them, talk about all the goodies that involve the arts, and just make some new friends. Who knew that by creating this wonderful oasis of "finding me", I would find more joy than I had in a long time?  Ok my cat did, but I sure didn't.

Oh what fun it has been.  I have met wonderful people.  Those involved in the arts.  Those that are fearless in fashion and use their bodies as a canvas. Those that relish in the world of design and enjoy the dizzy confusion yet brilliance of architecture.  Those who write with fierce passion and those who simply just love and attract people.  I have met the silly and eccentric, the quiet yet bold, the hidden gem and the boisterous innovator.  The humble, the sad, the hilarious and the passionate.  I have laughed and been inspired.  I have tasted wonderful meals, and been invited into beautiful homes.  I have received wonderful advice and found I have so much to learn but also, know more than I thought.  I have listened and been educated.  I have swallowed every morsel of artistic nirvana and allowed all the knowledge to dance merrily in my now joyful head.  The most brilliant thing of it all, my Tuesdays, is there are still so many more personalities, revelations, experiences and hobbies ahead.   

I now know this....my step is a bit more brisk, my smile a bit wider, my joy much deeper and my lazy words finally come out on paper.  I can't say that I have fixed myself, but by god I have made some improvements.  Here's to my 33rd year.  To the ever changing, ever improving (if you work at it) human experience.  A topic always worth writing about.

I'll pass on the eggnog, thanks though.

Winter is typically so dull for me.  Blankets of snow and the excitement of shopping for winter boots are, contrary to popular belief, NOT my form of fulfilment.  No, this Midwestern bohemian chooses not to indulge in the "joy" of snow sledding, "put another log on the fire" evenings and the oh so popular (for those who don't have the luxury of a garage) frozen door handles, but finds contentment in dreams of wind chimes, margarita's and sun blissed skin.  Now, with that being said, aside from these sun soaked fantasies, I will, on occasion, indulge in the Kumbaya Christmas carols and enjoy a nice cowl neck sweater, but for the most part......beam me up scotty. 
I understand, those of you out there might feel differently than me and frankly, might find offense in my negative Nancy "winter is the bane of my existence" belief.  If so, I apologize.  I would also like to note that to you, my winter lovers, I truly do hold you in the highest regard.  You embrace stinging wind and watery eyes, you laugh in the face of winter advisory warnings....."Ice storm?  Please, I've got four wheel drive and the patience to dig myself out of an igloo".  You buy wool sweaters, give leg warmers the style they deserve and pick only the finest of wrapping paper.  I truly admire your positive thinking and at times, amidst the twinkle of a winter night sky, wish I could share in your enthusiasm.  But alas, my heart lies in the romantic idea of balmy nights.
What brought on this rant you ask?  It couldn't possibly be the bottomless hole of February overtaking the afternoon sun could it?  Or surely it's not the ghostlike skin that seems to have taken over my body like the plague, forcing me to rouge every chance I get before being seen in public.  Or god forbid it's the planning a Saturday afternoon conversation "well, what should we do...I mean there really isn't much more than grocery shopping to prepare for a blizzard or....well, should we just have a drink?"  Now to relieve myself of this pierced lips syndrome, I have decided to take an adventure .  Where do you ask? I'm going to the North pole.....just kidding.  I have decided to embark on a journey to the Caribbean.  Yes, this is where my inner gypsy will go.  Oh winter look at me now!  I am heading south, running with open arms towards the equator.  I can picture it now.... in slow motion of course.....towards let's say..... a volcano?  I think that could conjure up enough heat to fulfill me for the time being. Oh wind chimes and upper lip sweat, I hear you calling my name.  "Laurrrrrraaaa, come, experience our splendor".  What a beautiful sound it is.  Palm tree leaves whistling in the wind and....wait, I hear it ever so faintly......"ma'am would you care for another margarita?".  "Why yes good sir" I would reply as I thank the pool boy for applying my sun screen. 
So winter, as you can see, I haven't let you beat me.  Although my skin is pale, my lips are cracked, my car doors are frozen and ice has limited my ability to wear a favorite pair of heels that I adore (leopard, i know, gorgeous), I have NOT lost my ability to dream of blue skies and coconuts.  Nor has it altered the use of my hands....... which were used to get on the Internet, book my flight, and jet my toosh out of this ice storm and in to a flip flop filled paradise.  Take that weatherman.  Au revoir!

blank canvas

We have a gift.  It is truly the greatest gift of mankind.  We have the gift of creativity.  This is our saviour, our opportunity.  I was priveleged enough to visit our local museum of art the other day.  A fine Sunday, filled with artistic hues and the opportune moment to view the world from another persons eye.  How lucky we are, to have the ability to express ourselves and present to eager eyes, waiting to be inspired.  The exhibit was....at best, not my cup of tea.  It didn't move me, nor did it really generate a fire inside my creative mind.  What did it do, you ask?  It reassured my belief that we all, we ALL, have this wonderful opportunity to present the world as we see it.  We have an undying human abilty to express ourselves to our core, with wild abandon, to run free, fires blazing from our passionate and eager bellies.  This my friends, to me, is the joy of artistic expression.

Chasing Pirates and a boy named Pan.

I have been waiting on Peter Pan to rescue me for years. Ahh yes, the whimsy fairy tale whispers of an ageless green super hero, swashbuckling his way into my window and extending a hand of responsibility freedom.  In my bed I lay, under a credit card purchased, debt ridden duvet cover enveloping me in my "grown up" existence.  On certain evenings, my determined sales pitch becomes even more severe; I bargain.  Yes it's true, I bargain with my man in green, "look Pete, I will gladly assist in leading a lost boys adventure or upkeep on fort maintenance if you just come and take me away".  I would even risk my own hand at the sight of said tick tocking crocodile.  But, to no avail.  He does not appear, nor does his shadow.....even the glimmer of a tinker fairy and her dust are not seen. All that exists night after night is me, in my bed, with the darkness and my thoughts to occupy time until I drift off into dizzy dreaming.
A boy named Pan.  A place called Never Never Land.  A fairy and her wings.  A captain with a hook.  A lagoon of mermaids and lost boys with swords.  I ask you, revisit this place.  We were all there once, in our youthful wonder.  We lived a life of innocence and possibility, where losing your shadow could exist and time stood still.  Our adventures were based on rocks, caves, construction paper and mud pies.  Our dreams and emotion held steady through our thirst filled eyes, delight and laughter were our dearest friends.
I miss this.  I do.  I still try in my adult path to grasp on to the happiness of life, holding tight and swinging from vine to vine.  There is truly a youthful beauty that surrounds us every single day of our lives, but as we age, this obvious picture tends to dull.  It fogs over, at times even disappears.  This scares me.  Our creative empire grows from our youth.  To continuously feel inspired and grow as individuals we must remember our innocence and simple joys.  It is in this, that we can let go, we can become free, our limitations washed away and endless knows no boundaries.
So I ask you Pan, come to my rescue.  Jump stead fast through my window in wild abandon.  Sprinkle me with fairy dust and escort me back, back to a time of effortless possibility where pajama pants were a true comfort, and the hug of a grandparent was pure joy.  Oh and please pan; remind me of my delight in sparklers, and the safety of my dogs fur, the giggles between girlfriends and my mothers familiar voice.  The excitement of sneaking cookies and the messy freedom of finger painting.  Where ice cream was for breakfast and grass stains the latest of trends; or the assured belief that stuffed animals feel and our money is made from lemonade stands.  All of these memories and more….remind me of what it felt like to be young.
I realize you might be too busy for me Peter Pan; repainting ones adult soul can be a heavy weighted request.  I know planning adventures and taunting crocodiles are on your highest of priorities, I’ve come to terms with your busy existence.  But, dearest Pan, if you do have time for a midnight perch, I beg you to extend your hand, shake firmly with purpose, and promise me, I will not forget the childlike honesty of my creative possibilities.

Tamborine

I haven't written in a while.  I've had a momentary lapse of reasoning to say the least.  I took my top hat off, put away my thinking machine and just kind of fell vacant for a moment. We're allowed, aren't we?  Please,  answer me blogging friends from across the land of laptops, monitors and ipads....we can stop when we want to right????  Well whether it is of blogging protocol or not, I took a sabbatical.  I can't tell you why, or even if it was necessary, but my soul needed a reboot.  You know, that feeling.  An immediate need to clean out the creative storage space; dust a few things off, move a few pieces here and there, and reconfigure the layout.   My thoughts just weren't flowing. I must say though, after taking some time away, I am now realizing that although breaks are nice (especially the ones that plop you down on a nice blanket of sand, stretch out the soul and give you wind blown hair) they can also bring on a sense of emptiness.  I don't enjoy emptiness, in any form.   I participate in an active existence, constantly surrounding myself with people and embracing movement.  Empty is just.....well, boring.  So, here I sit, back in the ever rambling snapshot of life's images, merrily making my mark back to my place of writing.
Interestingly enough, during my sabbatical of nothingness I still found myself delightfully inspired.  There is just so much zing out there.  Life's full frontal, pulp and seeds, gut of the earth inspiration still crept its way through my bones, and in the end, yanked me out of my funk and pierced my thoughts into motion.  I found myself to BE a canvas.  The world around me splashing it's colors in my thirsty direction.  Its all out there, waiting to be seen, even if your not looking for it. Among these boisterous exclamations was an art fair I paroozed, a much needed vacation to Florida and of course, the everyday expressions of design that seem to find my wandering eye at the perfect moment..  But most importantly, I stumbled upon a fabulous book called Just Kids.  The book, I will tell all of you, is a masterpiece.  If any of you out there have a love for art, feather jewelry and bell bottoms, bob Dylan or the electric age of rock n roll, you will love, love, did I mention LOVE this book.  Just Kids.  Patty Smith.  An epic tale that describes an era dripping with genre in it's most beautiful of forms.  Pages filled with stories of having lived, and I mean truly lived; witnessing our cultures desperation and desire to break free.  It is the true, tell tale story of friendship, art and beauty, war and peace, love and understanding.  A dedication, to the music freaks, the dreamers, those who whole heartedly danced at Woodstock, arms waving, dancing through air, feeling the sap of innocence drip mightily off their dirt filled fingernails.  The re-creation of a scene, giving a voice to the walls of The Chelsea Hotel or a face to the likes of Andy Warhol and his Nico. A beautifully bold vision of those surrendering their fear, as they put trust into the artists that moved them, allowing themselves to question the overpowering idea of one road leads to everything.  This moment in time brought forth a reckoning of the senses, a creative conundrum of possibility surrounded by the lives of artists and musicians like Bob Dylan, Janis Joplin, The Doors, Jefferson Airplane.  This is inspiration in it's truest of forms.  So to you Miss Patti Smith, thank you.  You have brought me back, head dizzy with excitement, encouraging me to feel inspired again.  And god I do.  I so so do.  And on the rodeo goes my friends....the mellow hum and honey of Dylans voice echoing off my walls and the tap tap tap of my words a blazing.

Me, myself and I.

I am an architect.  We all are.  I create the life I lead, sketching a layout with detailed precision.  I was only recently given this wisdom, by my mother.  There we sat, one afternoon going over the jibber jabber that is my life and I mentioned that if nothing else, I would welcome and embrace some ease in my life.  I just feel sometimes that my destiny and the life I have lead is an overgrown field.  Yes, the colors are rich and boisterous and filled with cartwheels, but none the less, incredibly overgrown.  Although I am responsible and grounded, I am not a grass is mowed kind of individual.  And because of this, the weeds grow high and can be extremely overwhelming and difficult to cut through. As I explained my "need for a lawnmower" theory, my mother sat, patiently, listening.  And then, the words spilled out onto the table and splish splashed their way into my waiting ear.  "Laura, you chose this path.  It is you.  If your path were a straight line you would be bored to tears.  Whether you realize it or not, you wouldn't have your life any other way."  Hmmmm.  Is it possible that my mother is right?  Is it possible that she might know me better than I know myself?  And as quickly as these questions popped in to my mind, they were answered.  Yes.  And mom, here it comes.....you are so right. It's amazing what helpful insight from people can do for you.  An overwhelming sense of relief comes over you, well it did for me anyway.  In that brief moment of introspection I finally finally finally...... forgave myself.  I have been in "Laura get your life together" purgatory for years.  Why is my path so jagged?  Why do I desire change so frequently?  Why am I never settled?  Why do my ideas race through my head like a fleet of wild horses?  Answer: Because it's just who you are.  I am who I am, and although I feel that self improvement is key and will never stop trying to better myself, I deserve to give my soul a break.  So, with that being said, it is with a full heart, that I now give myself a great big bear hug every morning, put my safari pants on and go explore through the weeds......smiling, thankful, and completely entertained.  Never a dull moment in my overgrown garden.  Thanks mom. 

Cow Hyde

I was inspired on Sunday.  Who was responsible for this enlightenment?  My grandmother......momo.  She is fabulous by the way.  Absolutely fabulous.  A design guru.  Ahead of her time. A collector of art.  The epitome of style.  And a friend.  A good friend.   Her wing  has always been strong, colorful and bold.  And in the midst of her leopard prints, red lipstick, and crystal glasses of chardonnay, she taught me, at a young age, about the necessity that are black spiked stilettos and the nirvana of cashmere.  Who could ask for anything more? 

I have always looked to her for inspiration and found it on so many occasions.  Her eye and passion for art illuminates the walls she creates within her home.  Each oil, water color, sketch, sculpture are delicately picked from her detailed eye.  Her gift is unique.  The capacity to peel back the layers, see the artist at work, feel, in her own soul, their lust to create.  I have always been fascinated by her ability to take in the entire piece of art, then break it down to it's decomposed beauty.  Her aesthetic is worth a mention as well, hell, it's worth an engraving.  All of her homes, created and brought to life, welcoming them in as part of her family.  Each room filled and mismatched in a beautifully cohesive way, all executed in a fierce expression.

Among this colorful chaos is where I sat on Sunday, comfortable in a cow Hyde chair, sipping coffee and chatting with my grandmother.  As we flipped through design magazines and gossiped about the latest and greatest, I inquired about her antiquing quests and how she became so knowledgeable in her aesthetic.  Her response?  "I just started selling out of my garage.  I had no money, but I had a need to express myself through buying and selling art, antiques or things that interested me.  I started small and then grew.  I eventually realized that this is what I'm good at, people respect my eye and from there I rode full speed ahead and never looked back."  I admire this so much.  It made me realize that every one's passion is so individual.  It's a relationship we build with ourselves.  Our ways of expressing can not be taught, told or assigned, it comes strictly from within. We find ways to do what we love, no matter what the circumstance. 

And through her story, I started thinking about myself, my family, my friends, the people who create in their own way.  Whether it's my boyfriend, the foodie, the business owner, the activist who's skillet is a blank canvas, cooks for the love of food and wants so much for those around him to live healthier lives, or my sister, the painter, who's prints and paintings have become annual Christmas cards that I look forward too each year.  My mother, the advocate for the arts, who's poise, style and love of old buildings has grown into a career and a respected place in the community, or miss Rigel, the fashionista, who's wardrobe never sees a dull moment.  Or Angie, the creative eye, who finds a broken mirror and see's it's potential for a work of art.  Carrie, the jewelry designer, the lover of stones and metal or my dear Stacey, the craft aficianado who's love of markers, paints, construction paper and glitter guns never ceases to amaze me.  Each one of these magnificent people and so many others who have touched my life, have found their inner spark, their creative juice, their "this is me and only me" freak flag.  They, like my grandmother, have embraced what they love and while moving fast and forward, choose not to look back with regret but grow and continue to inspire.

 http://www.mohawkgeneralstore.net/ - Amazing.