Artwalk

Remember that thing I said?

The thing about changes?

One recently knocked on my door.

I was asked to participate in the First Friday Artwalk on Marietta Square.

Yeah.

I know. 

This is a new door.

Come see me.

Friday, April 2nd, 6-9pm.

Marietta Square.

Inside L.michelle. 

Flowers

Rose and I text about the cherry tree.

Rose asks if it is blooming.

Rose tells me she misses those blooms.

Rose says those blossoms make Georgia feel like home.

Rose says maybe I should blog about it.

I miss Rose.

Spring on Beacon Hill

Dying winter gardens.

Blooming Spring boxes.

 

Florist delights.

Inklings

It's in the air.

Can you feel it?

Dressing for transition is so tricky.

Signs of Spring in Boston on the last day of winter.

Shy pasty skin peeking out after a long hibernation. (I've been there)

 Wearing black and then wishing to not be wearing black. (I've been there)

 

What about black with a shot of color? (I've been there)

She got it just right. (I'm trying to be there)

Too bad I couldn't get a picture from the front of her.  

Mental note: get more assertive.

Here we are again.  

What do you wear when it might be warm and sunny, might not stay that way?

As for me, I'll wear some of this:

The very best self-tanner ever.

Pricey, but one tube per year is enough--and it qualifies for a free gift.  

Who doesn't love a free gift?

Living Vicariously or When I Grow Up

My friend Reba came for a visit.

I wanted to be her when I grew up.

She graduated fro SCAD with a degree in Fashion Design and Textiles.  

She picked up  and moved to Paris--without a job or the language, but with a passion for adventure.

She creates beautiful knitwear--some of which was featured in a SCAD advertisement in Teen Vogue.

She writes beautifully, keeping her charming voice clear.

She is genuine and warm.

She is beautiful.

She is stylish.

But mostly she is just good and real and lovely all the way through to her tender core.

I still want to be her when I grow up.

I love this quote:

"It is never too late to be what you might have been."

--George Eliot

What do you want to be when you grow up?

Doors and change

 

"When one door of happiness closes, another opens; 

but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us."

--Helen Keller

I've been feeling changes knocking at my door.  

Changes in my life.
In my time.
In my creativity.
And in my business.

I haven't yet known what all the changes are, but I hope I am being open to finding them.
Or being still enough to let them find me.

Sometimes knowing when to push forward in seeking and when to be quiet in listening is a challenge for me.

What about you?  

Do you hunt changes down or wait for them to arrive?

Speaking to me

Sometimes it is just everywhere.

Sometimes it is not.

Color.

I took a little jaunt to DC and was dismayed by the somberness of the residents' manner of dress.
But these scenes really spoke to me:

And this colorful friend and I just spoke.  

And spoke.  

And spoke.

What's speaking to you right now?

I want a big fat doughnut

I don't have a list of favorite books or favorite movies.  

This is because my list would tend to consist of whatever I read or watched last.

That's how my memory works.

Having admitted this, here is my new favorite book:

 

The Day I Ate Whatever I Wanted; and Other Small Acts of Liberation by Elizabeth Berg 

(look at it here).

Elizabeth Berg, as always, made me laugh out loud and sigh deeply as I related to her women.

A compilation of short stories, Berg writes about women of all ages, their actions and relationships, and their thoughts about these actions and relationships.

In the title story, the main character is a Weight Watchers member who walks out of her meeting, I'll call her Cindy.
For a day, Cindy decides to eat whatever she wants.  

I read the story and salivated as I wondered what I would eat--if even for just one meal.

I wish I could say that the foodie in me would choose a fabulous restaurant with a world-class chef.
That I would choose something exotic.  

But, alas, the only thing I can think about is a big fat bavarian creme-filled doughnut with chocolate frosting. 

 

 In WW we are told that if we have a strong craving, we should satisfy it and then count the points.

"Fit it in the plan."
If not, we may eat several other items that we don't really want just to scratch the itch and it probably won't satisfy the craving.

Here's the opening paragraph for you, just to put your salivary glands to work:

the day i ate  whatever i wanted

I began at Dunkin’ Donuts. I hadn’t gone there since I started Weight Watchers a year ago because I had to lose weight; my doctor made me go. I could have switched doctors, but who needs it with all the forms you have to fill out if you switch. You just wish there were a central headquarters with all your information that you write out once so that everyone who needs anything could tap into it.
--Elizabeth Berg

I like this book so much.
I may actually remember it is one of my favorites (like Zippy or the movie Spanglish).
I may even attempt quoting it (though usually I mess up quotes the way I mess up idioms).

For now, I'm off to Dunkin' to scratch the itch (and I will count all 8 points, Julie P.).
Afterward, I will re-read the story entitled "The Day I Ate Nothing I Remotely Wanted."
And tomorrow I will run.

What would you eat?

An Anthropologist's Notes on the American Woman or: Life Ongoing

On a recent journey I noticed an interesting phenomenon.  One that I admit I am guilty of perpetuating.
My dear friends and I were traveling to Auburn Alabama to celebrate a birthday and share a day with Barbara in her beautiful bead studio, Perch.  

These are moments we would want to remember, yet something happened when I tried to record them with my innocent little camera.

If my social scientist self were actually an anthropologist, my notepad might look something like this:

"Notes on the 40 Something American Woman.  

Of particular interest is the way she flutters and scurries when a camera is pointed in her direction.  

 What about this mammal makes her fear the lens being turned on her?  

Hypothesis: fear of not liking what the image portrays.

No.  That's not it.

Surely the subject recognizes the beauty in the story of her face and figure.  

Children were borne, laughter shared, challenges shouldered, faith gained, souls understood.

Loss and joy.  Love and pain.

Note:  wrinkles and curves are signs of life ongoing.
The subject must be aware that a digital image can not tell the real truth of that life."

Sometimes, when forced reluctantly to pose, or when we are not aware, the camera will capture a moment.

But how can a digital image really portray our experience?
The best it can ever do is spark a memory of a feeling we shared.

(me, Barbara, Valerie, Laura, Cathleen and Susan in front of Perch)

 

(just so my friends don't think  I threw them under the bus alone, I share my best Wonder Woman pose)

A final note, jotted in the side margin of my anthropologist notepad:

"future study subject: dressing room to observe the 40 Something American Woman trying on bathing suits.
Important: DO NOT take camera."

True Blood

I may be striking out in the Fashion Design Department, but this makes it worth trying:

What I see when I sew

(Olivia at work)

She creates with passion and vision.

I think she inherited the fashion designer gene.
It's truly in her blood.

I wish I had a photo of Jenny in the strapless red evening gown with hand dyed ribbon that Olivia created.
Stunning.

You do know who Jenny is, right?

How's that Jordan?  I swiped your title and played it three times.  What is your next post?
(Jordan is becoming a famous filmmaker, you can say you met him through me).

It's more like Blood, Sweat, and Tears

Very Easy Very Vogue my eye.
Why?  Why?  Why?

Why do I not remember that I dislike sewing neck bands?

 (here is the honest truth.  probably should not have added the poorly stitched label)

Why do I not remember that I puffy sleeves are not a good look on me?

 (I am not smiling on the inside)

Why do I not remember that the finished product is never as great as in my mind's eye?

 (my mind's eye sees things much more glamorously)

How do those Project Runway hopefuls look so pleased with themselves as their garment is sauntered down the runway?

And, even when they know they've blown it, they say things like,

"I can honestly say that I have been true to my aesthetic."  

Or,

"This completely represents me as a designer."

What would I say?

"I hope I am a much better designer than what this garment represents."

Or,

"Well, my idea was fabulous, even if it was way beyond my ability to execute."
Or,
"This will look beautiful on someone.  But that someone is not me."

Maybe I should have read Grandma's books first.

Or gone to a movie instead.