Tag Archives: freelance

The first step is admitting you have a problem.

cart before

I admit it. I like to find things in other people’s trash.  Not deep in the trash under banana peels or dirty diapers or anything, mind you (I am still a germaphobe), but trash that’s visible from my car as I drive by.

I like to think of it as high-end dumpster diving. Or re-purposing of perfectly salvageable items on their way to the dump via the neighborhood trash truck. Items for which it causes me physical pain to think about them being hoisted up and over the back of the garbage truck cab and tossed into that teetering back heap in pieces.

These dumpster dive treasures call my name and wave me down as I drive by, shouting out to me “Hey, hey you…  Here I am… Yes, me! Isn’t this a shame?  You can’t let this happen, can you?”  They wait for me to slowly turn my car around to take a closer look and that’s when if they had a tail it would certainly start wagging … and in the car they go.

This is why my kids and MacGyver don’t even flinch when once every few months they see a new piece of very questionable looking furniture in the garage.  They know the drill.

Maybe I’m a hoarder, It may be genetic.  But I like to think of it as being a rescuer.

So, when I was driving through my neighborhood a couple of weeks ago and saw this old tea cart out on the curb by someone’s trash cans, I had to stop and perform a rescue mission. Yes, I was already cutting it close for my appointment, but I could hear the roar of the trash truck getting closer and her demise was imminent.

She had badly chipped veneer (under a perfectly quaint and in-tact wood framed glass tray) and she was missing wheels (which the owner was kind enough to set out for the likely rescuer) and she was was scratched, crooked and unsteady as hell.  In the back of my 4Runner she went.   

cart wheel

MacGyver grinned and shook his head as I later pleaded this poor little tea cart’s case and asked for his help in attaching the wheels and leveling her out.  ‘She can make it,’ I explained.

And so it was.  Here are the steps of this ‘little cart-that-could’s rebirth:

1. MacGyver reattached the little wheels under the cart. cart level

2. She was still unsteady due to the odd wheel configuration, so MacGyver worked to level her by adding spacers above her smaller wheels.  I was the assisting nurse, keeping watch on her vitals by watching for the little bubble in the little window of the metal level.

3. Then came the spray paint.  Oh, the glorious spray paint.  I can change the world with a few cans of spray paint.

cart paint

4. I taped and sanded her tray and on the front lawn where I still had good sunlight (my neighbors think I’m nuts) I gave it a few shots of a brilliant, deep red to test out the color.  She started to smile instantly.

5. Then the next day after the glue dried on the little wheels, this little cart got a thorough sanding and a coat of all-over red, except for her big, center wheels which I spray painted black as if they were the black patent shoes she needed for her new, red dress.cart red

6. Her makeover was complete.  She turned out so beautiful in the end that we decided to let her live with us on a permanent basis.  She has found a home in my dining room.

Despite her questionable background,  this little tea cart has made a lovely addition to our family and she seems to be working through her abandonment issues.

It turns out that you just never know what you might find on someone else’s curb on trash day.  And what it could become.  And that, my friends, is the fun of it.

Have you ever dumpster-dived?

Moved by Manilow.

barryThis week’s WordPress writing challenge was to write about how music moves me.

Hearing certain songs can bring me back to the exact slices of time in my life as quickly as the sound of a can opener can bring a cat to the kitchen.  These melodies are able to suspend any current moment, often squeezing my heart a little in the process.

Not knowing this challenge was coming, I coincidentally picked up a vinyl record last week while traveling for the kids’ fall break last week in Portland, Oregon.  In keeping with the “Keep Portland Weird” vibe, we seemed to find hat stores or vinyl record stores on every other corner.  On our last night there, I finally made the family stop in one of the vinyl record stores, determined to find an album that would take me back for a little mini-vacation within my vacation. They humored me.

I knew exactly which one I needed to find because I could see the album cover in my head (or maybe I knew subconsciously which one I could easily find without breaking the bank because no one else would want it).  I flipped through the album covers in the small “Pop” section as my kids marveled at the sight of these round, black plastic discs of music throughout the store.  I quickly found the album I was looking for as if it had been right there waiting for me.  The guy at the register didn’t even flinch as I placed the shiny white Barry Manilow album on the counter.  I paid the full $3.60 for it and am now this record’s proud owner.

Here is my list of top time-transporting music,  along with the moments that flash through my mind when I hear it. Good old Barry in his white disco suit and gold chain tops the list.

  • Any Barry Manilow or old Chicago tune –  I can hear the words of  ‘Copa Cabana’ and  ‘Boogie Woogie Woogie’ and  “Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?’ as they swirled about our dark wood-paneled family room as my mom and sister and I listened to them on the turntable of our silver stereo with a hard, clear plastic box top that set upon my grandfather’s antique steamer trunk which was nestled in our groovy brown shag carpet.
  • ‘Amazing Grace’ – Sitting next to my grandmother in church and hearing her beautiful voice as I watched tears well up in her eyes as she sang it with all her heart,  Just writing about it makes my own do the same.
  • ‘Jungle Love’ by Steve Miller Band –  Driving my Dad’s jeep one summer while my car was being repaired and playing this song over and over again in the boombox that I had chain-locked to the passenger seat because the jeep didn’t have a stereo.
  • ‘Mercedes Benz’ by Janis Joplin – Cruising on the interstate with my friend Marcy for twelve hours to Connecticut for the summer in my little red car.  I couldn’t stand Janis Joplin when the trip began but Marcy was determined to make me a fan.   It worked.
  • Any Sinead O’Connor tune – Sitting with my junior year college housemate on our rickety rattan love seat in our little old house on Duncan Street that had an old gas stove and windows painted so many times they hardly opened.
  • ‘Sugar Pie Honey Bunch” by the Four Tops – Riding in my dad’s car long ago with this song roaring, watching the music take him back and hearing him whistle along in exact harmony.  I love hearing him whistle.
  • Johnny Cash and other old country songs- Learning to waterski on my friend Kelly’s boat at the lake.  I can hear the boat radio in the background along with the sound of the idling engine as her dad made yet another roundabout to let me try again, and again, and again to get up on those skis.  He was ever so patient and determined to get me up on those skis. And he did.
  • Aretha Franklin’s ‘Dr. Feelgood’ and anything Harry Connick, especially ‘All of Me’ –  So many moments of that fall during my senior year of college when I met MacGyver.
  • Styx “Too Much Time on My Hands” – I can see my college friend’s face making fun of me for how excited I became every time a Styx song came on the radio.
  • ‘Rosana’ by Kool and the Gang – First boyfriend back in high school, riding in his old Camero.
  • REO Speedwagon – Cruising on my tenspeed bicycle with no hands with my Sony Walkman strapped to the center of the handlebars.  Because I was cool.
  • ‘Jagged Little Pill’ by Alanis Morisette – Working at my most fun ad agency job in an old warehouse with a school bus in the middle which served as my colleague’s office.
  • Michael Jackson and Billy Squier tunes – Walking to Skaggs Alpha Beta grocery store in 7th grade with my friend Lisa with two headsets plugged into that same Sony Walkman.  Because we were both cool.
  • Sheryl Crowe’s ‘Soak up the Sun’ – All the bittersweet memories with my dear friend Courtney who lost her battle with cancer years ago.  It was her theme song that last year and it makes me smile.
  • Black Crowe’s Hard to Handle –  Riding in my friend Mel’s little red Nissan Sentra while we air-drummed and air-guitared this song in traffic one night when she drove me home after a very long day at that ad agency.
  • ‘Like a Virgin’ album by Madonna and Prince’s ‘Little Red Corvette’ – Wearing out the cassette deck in my first car listening to these tunes while driving to and from my high school job selling shoes at the mall.
  • ‘Rock Lobster’ by the B52s, and the entire BeeGee’s ‘Saturday Night Fever’ album – Dancing with my sister as she taught me the dance moves to these songs on that same brown shag carpet on that same shiny stereo with the clear, hard plastic top.

Whew, there you have it, a lengthy smattering of songs and their corresponding flashing moments, many close to my heart.

Clearly music moves me.  Along with white disco suits and gold chains.

What songs move you?

Self-Check-Out Be Damned.

IMG_4978[1]There I was, with 32 minutes to run into the grocery store for a few items before I had to pick up my son from an appointment. I knew better, but I headed into the nearby Safeway despite my doubts.  It was close, and it has a great floral department (I needed flowers for a friend).

My ‘few items’ soon turned into 20 items.  The fruit tart that I grabbed to take to a friend’s house for my contribution to the evening ‘s dinner was super sticky and kicked off my lovely Safeway experience. All of the tart packages were sticky, but Safeway’s fruit tarts are good, and I needed one, so I grabbed it anyway.  Then the rotisserie baked chicken with the crumpled packaging had me wondering if it would leak all over my car.  But I placed it in my basket anyway and powered on.

After I grabbed some peppers and cantaloupe, the last item I picked up was a small flower arrangement.  Notice anything in common with these items?  For some of us, these would be classified as items that are tricky for the sellf-check-out lane.  No problem, you say?  Just use the human check-out line, you say? This is what I would do at my normal grocery store, staffed with at least two or three human checkers at all times of moderate shopping traffic. Nope, not this store.

This Safeway is consistently staffed with only ONE live human checker, a cobwebbed “Express Lane” and a sea of I-Robot self-check-out stations eager to high-jack your grocery shopping experience at any time.

I was cutting it close on time, and the single live human line was far too long.  (Maybe because there was only ONE CHECKER and it was 5 pm on a Friday.  But I digress.) I took a deep breath and headed over to the self check-out lanes, which send me off the rails with even the smoothest of transactions. I can do this, I told myself.  I can use the self check out without having a blackout rage moment or cursing loudly like a woman with anger management issues.

I pressed start. ‘PLEASE START SCANNING YOUR ITEMS,’ a curt and condescending female voice directed me. I scanned the first few things without a hitch. ‘BEEP, BLIP, BEEP.’ I was on a roll.  This might work.

Then the baked chicken with the sketchy packaging was up. After many attempts… ‘PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE,’ I-Robot chirped. ‘PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.’  ‘PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.’ I took a deep breath. Here we go, I thought, as  I looked over at the snarky captain of the I-Robot fleet.  He headed my way.  He proceeded to peel off the greasy sticker wedged into the side of the packaging, then scanned it without a word and began to walk away.

Before he walked away  I picked up my bell pepper and told him I wasn’t sure how to scan vegetables.  (I know …. “Help me, I’m poor.” comes to mind from the Bridesmaid movie.  But I did not have the time to flip through the operations manual). He silently pointed to the tiny sticker with the itsy bitsy, tiny, microscopic (did I say they were small?) numbers on the side of the pepper.  ‘Seriously?’ I chuckled in a creepy way and said,  “Whaaoooh … There is not a chance that I can even read that without my glasses.’  He briskly punched through fifteen screens and found a category to enter the peppers, without another word.

At this point I couldn’t help myself and explained to him that this is precisely why I dread coming to this store, because it is never staffed with enough checkers. I was confused in thinking he might show some concern and maybe call more checkers up front.  Nope, he simply pranced back to his command post with full smirkitude in tact.  I tried to picture my happy place but I may have gotten light-headed at this point; the rage was coming on.

I had five more items and eight minutes to pick up my son.  I looked to my right and saw the insanely long line of  angry, equally hostile looking customers waiting for a self-check-out station.  I knew they were waiting for me to surrender or pass out so they could brush me aside and use my self-check-out station to quicken their own escapes. I thought about aborting the entire mission, but I had so much time invested at this point and I could almost see the end.

“BEEP.”   “BLIP.” “BEEP.”

The last item was a greeting card.  “BEEP.” Suddenly I-Robot started  demanding, ‘PLEASE PLACE ITEM IN BAGGING AREA.’  I had already placed it in the bag but she did not believe me.  I took it out and tried again, attempting to please her.  Her rampage continued; she was calling me out like I was stealing the greeting card.  “PLEASE PLACE ITEM IN BAGGING AREA.’ ‘PLEASE PLACE ITEM IN BAGGING AREA.’ ‘PLEASE PLACE ITEM IN BAGGING AREA.’ My chest was tight as my flight instinct kicked into gear.

Just as I started to black out, I-Robot began her refrain  “PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.’ ‘ PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.” PLEASE WAIT FOR ASSISTANCE.’ Oh my god, not the snarky I-Robot captain, I’ll lose it.

At that moment, I lost all self-control and cursed at the machine loudly and crudely. Since that would definitely help matters and certainly prove a point.   I-Robot was not amused, nor was the line of survival-of-the-self-check-out- fittest behind me. Suddenly I felt like the character in the movie Friends with Money played by Frances McDermand who yells at an Old Navy employee for helping a person who cut in line and stomps out of the store only to break her nose on the glass door. (Rent it if you haven’t seen it.)

My head hung low as my blood pressure spiked, but I pressed on.  Snarky self check-out captain pranced over and reset the machine and stepped back up his two plastic steps to stand guard at his command perch.  Thank god this ordeal was almost over.  I frantically pressed any button I could find to facilitate my payment and escape.

As I broke through the doors and into the parking lot the sunlight stung my eyes and I gasped for air. I had made it out.  I looked down to find that the sticky fruit-tart juice had spilled all down my favorite  winter boots.  And I felt confident that the baked chicken juice was ready to douse the cargo area of my car in an equally awesome kind of way.

Will I return to this Safeway, you ask?  Probably.

Why, you ask?  It’s close-by and I am a glutton for punishment.

Am I surprised that in a recent American Consumer Satisfaction Index  study Safeway ranks among the very lowest of retailers and the brand has under-performed in customer satisfaction every year for the past 10 years?

Nope.

Will I complain?  I already submitted a complaint through the corporate website.

Will that save anyone from a black out rage with sticky boots in the future?

Probably not.

Do I realize that my age may have something to do with my aversion to self-check out lanes and the statistics back that up to a certain degree?

Yes, but I’m guessing I spend way more on groceries than those under age 35.  So there.

Have you ever lost your mind at a self-checkout station?

15 things I’ve contemplated writing about but haven’t.

IMG_4785I’ve been in a slump.  I haven’t been able to write a decent post this last couple of weeks to save my life.  Lots of thoughts but I haven’t been able to get anything down. So, in no particular order, here are fifteen things that I have contemplated writing about but haven’t.

1. Sunrises in Colorado this time of year which are downright breathtaking.  (Clone the other day when he saw one out the back windows before school said “That’s some Lion King looking stuff going on out there.)

2. All that I’ve learned about supplements that can help with bruising.  I was going to call the post “Tips for my Bruising Bedfellows.”  (Since I get a new bruise every fifteen minutes.  Oh, and Arnica rocks.)

3.  The news on my Rice Krispy knees. (Doc says it’s arthritis in my knees which is common and the sound probably wont’ ever go away (YUK) but some exercising and supplements might help.)

4. The wild weather extremes we’ve had in Colorado with fires and flooding.  (Good thing global warming is totally a hoax.)

5. How much I have learned about ADD  these last few weeks and how brains in people with ADD are wired completely differently. (Found some experts and it has been eye opening. Oh, and it’s very genetic.)

6. My growing desire to quit my marketing career and work at the Container Store. (For real.  My gig is sucking the life out of me molecule by molecule.  I’m over it.)container

7. My new book idea about 25 Suburban Women I Want to Punch in the Face. (The Container Store would actually be a great place for gathering book material now that I think about it.)

8. How weird this weekend is going to be for me.  (Sunday is mom’s birthday and anniversary of my sister’s death (same day – yes that’s messed up)_ and the Alzheimer’s Walk is this weekend too.  It will be the type of weekend when I go from laughing hysterically to crying hysterically at the drop of a hat and frighten onlookers unaware of my tendencies.)

walk_horizontal_webbanner_scroll

9. The strangeness of celebrating my Mother’s birthday with her when she has no idea who I am, much less that it’s her birthday.   (Don’t make me go.  *&^%#@!! Ugh.)

Cake 01

10. The fact that  I’ve been eating and drinking much better (most days) since I started working with a personal trainer. (We’ll see how much longer I can afford her but I’m starting to really notice a difference.  Luckily I hear Container Store pays well.)

11. How cool my new, free to-do app called Wunderlist is.  (It’s free and it saves me from rewriting all my lists 200 times a day.  Probably an ADD tendency.)

12. The intense waves of homesickness I still get sometimes even though I’ve lived away almost ten years. (Not sure that ever goes away completely.)

13. How weird women are. (Except for me of course.)

14. How bizarre it feels to have to kids in high school and to not be needed to drive them to and from school.  (Is there such a thing as post-middle school depression?)

15. How Steno pads and kitchen scissors scissorremind me of my Mom.  (And will probably randomly make me cry this weekend because they’ll make me think of my Mom, which will then make me think of my sister and how much I wish she could go visit Mom with me on Sunday.)

That’s all for now folks.

Happy Hump Day.

Open letter to a Barbecue Lay’s Potato Chip

chipsDear Barbecue Lays Potato Chip,

Tell me why, after all these years, have you found me again?  Now I’m afraid I won’t be able to forget you again for a while.

I have resisted your temptation for a few years now since my boys have become obsessed with you.  I have often stared at your bag in the pantry where you live with all of your relative chips.  Even though I try to store you out of my sight, I still see you.  You have just politely and quietly stared back, almost knowing that you were my forbidden fruit and having mercy on me.

Maybe it was the way that our grocery store has been recently remodeled so  beautifully, making that chip aisle damn near impossible not to stare dreamy-eyed down the aisle of shiny bags, with you now perfectly positioned at eye level upon approach.  I think I heard harps playing in the distance as I pushed my cart down that aisle the other day.

You made me buy a couple of bags of you for the kids.  I didn’t want them to run out, after all.  I brought you home, and tried to position you  in the pantry so that I couldn’t make eye contact.

But then the other night, as I was perfectly perched with my soft blanket and dimmed lights, ready to watch my trashy Sunday night Housewives TV series (that makes my life look ever so simple, which is a good thing), I heard you calling.

Maybe it was Clone’s fault for being so nice and asking me if I wanted him to get me anything after grinning at the TV screen, knowing how awful the TV show was that I was about to spend an hour with.  My household loves to make fun of me for this weekly vice.

Whatever it was, I gave in.  I ate way too many of you.   So many that I might even be able to forget you for a while since I satisfied my craving so sufficiently.  If it weren’t for the orange powdery residue you left under my nails.  That makes it harder to forget you.

You were good.  I thank you for that.

If I smoked I would have had a cigarette afterwards.

Thank you for the great Lays, my friend.

Can you spot a truly confident person?

This is a cactus-like weed I walked by in the park with my hot dogs. Unassuming and beautiful.

This is a cactus-like weed that I walked by in the park with my hot dogs. Beautifully unassuming.

I’ve always found that the easiest way to spot insecure people who lack confidence is to look for the ones in the room who are bragging the most and talking so much that others can’t get a word in edge-wise.

They feel the need to make sure that everyone knows how smart they are because I think they need reminding.  They want to be sure you know that they were really the ones who came up with just about every idea first.

And often when they ask you a question they start reminding you of  their expertise again before you can finish answering their question.  This can be exhausting or humorous (laughing on the inside kind of funny).  It depends on my mood.

Most of it comes down to listening which is a skill that I try to be mindful of and catch myself when I am talking more than listening.

I just read a great article on LinkedIn about the Nine Qualities of Truly Confident People.

These were my favorite points from the article:

-Truly confident people listen ten times more than they speak.

– Truly confident people don’t brag, instead usually they appear quiet and unassuming.  … ” They already know what they think; they want to know what you think.  They ask open-ended questions that give other people the freedom to be thoughtful and introspective: They ask what you do, how you do it, what you like about it, what you learned from it… and what they should do if they find themselves in a similar situation.” (best line of the article.)

-Truly confident people realize they know a lot, but they wish they knew more… and they know the only way to learn more is to listen more.

-Truly confident people can feel when the spotlight is starting to shine on them and they are able to adjust the spotlight so it shines on others, even if they did a lot of the work. They don’t need the glory because true validation comes from within.  And letting others feel the spotlight helps others build their own confidence. Which is a good thing if you’re already confident.

-Truly confident people own their mistakes and can admit when they are wrong.

-Truly confident people only seek approval from people who matter.  Another great line from the article: “You say you have 10k Twitter followers? Swell. 20k Facebook friends? Cool. A professional and social network of hundreds or even thousands? That’s great. But that also pales in comparison to earning the trust and respect of the few people in your life that truly matter.”

I remember insecure bullies at school when I was growing up.  They bragged, jumped up and down to get the spotlight, didn’t let others talk and were fine with making others feel less than.  They also weren’t my friends.  Unfortunately school age bullies often grow up to be adult bullies, but I try to avoid the breed as much as possible.

Truly confident people are beautiful people.

How confident are you?

Oh, tell me what you want, what you really, really want …

dandy3In my 200th post – I’m shaking things up a bit and making this post all about you.

This blog is about a lot of things.  The common thread is usually some kind of either wry or raw perspective that I have gained from my journey through this thing called life.

I have almost 600 followers now and this blog has been viewed by people in 91 countries — all of which blows my mind.  And makes me very grateful.

dandy4Which is why I want to know…

What do you like to read most here?  What about this blog do you most feel a connection with?

Do you like my posts that are about gratitude (like my first 100 when this blog started)?

Or ones that are sarcastic or self deprecating? Or about parenting or being part of the sandwich generation?

Or ones that are filled with what is sometimes pretty raw emotion?

Short posts or long ones?  Posts where I participate in a Worpress challenge or writing prompt exercise?

Or simply posts with nice pictures or paintings (no judgement here…)?

You tell me.

And thank you for being part of this blog!

dandy

Note to self: Shut your mouth.

mouthSo, my sixteen year old son got his first speeding ticket.

Before you judge, know that he was reprimanded sufficiently and that he will be paying the fine.  And that the ticket was reduced to a defective vehicle violation.

He also beat himself up about it more than sufficiently, as he was clearly upset and remorseful. Days later, as his remorse continued, I decided that the best way to make him feel better about the whole thing would be to begin recounting my litany of violations and mistakes with regard to automobiles when I was young.  I was on a roll and my stories kept getting better and better.

As the words rushed out of my mouth at full speed, MacGyver looked at me puzzled, as if wondering why I thought this was a good idea. But I didn’t get the hint.

Then at some point, thank goodness, I realized that I needed to shut my mouth.  But … as it is on many occasions … it was too late.  I have only my lack of caffeine that morning to blame for this lapse in judgement.  Duh.

Ever realized you needed to shut your mouth when it was too late?

Green Eggs, Some Ham and a Side of Life.

circus

“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who’ll decide where to go…”

― Dr. Seuss, Oh, the Places You’ll Go!

A fellow blogger reminded me of the sheer genius of Dr. Seuss and his books —  joyfully rhythmic and seemingly silly, yet all the while spinning wonderful life lessons about the challenges of life and what we can achieve if we set our minds to it.

My boys’ favorite Seuss book was “If I ran the circus” which was originally my husband’s book when he was a child.  I so vividly remember reading it to them and how we would all recite certain parts in unison upon each reading.  Those days went by so very quickly and I had no idea just how quickly the months and years would pass.

Lucky for me, they have turned out to be quite wonderful young men.  And I must give Dr. Seuss partial credit. 🙂

Theodor Seuss Geisel surrounded by his literary works. He holds one of his most popular, The Cat in the Hat.

Theodor Seuss Geisel surrounded by his literary works. He holds one of his most popular, The Cat in the Hat.

About Dr. Seuss

Born March 2, 1904, in Springfield, Massachusetts, Theodor Seuss Geisel was an American writer, poet, and cartoonist most widely known for his children’s books written under the pen names Dr. Seuss, Theo LeSieg and, in one case, Rosetta Stone.  He died in 1991 in La Jolla, California, one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been.

He sold over two million books including some of his most popular: “The Cat In The Hat,” “The Sneetches,” “Green Eggs & Ham,” “Oh, The Places You’ll Go,” and “How The Grinch Stole Christmas.”

Yet, even Dr. Seuss was rejected.

His first book, “And To Think I Saw It On Mulberry Street” was rejected 27 times before he finally got a yes. 

One of his most famous rejection letter excerpts read, “This is too different from other juveniles on the market to warrant its selling.”  Wikipedia

Good for Seuss for not giving up. And good for us, indeed.

Related p0st:  http://samanthamcgarry.wordpress.com/2013/03/02/a-letter-to-dr-seuss/

 

 

Deep thought Friday … Is your compass in tune?

Katharine-Hepburn

“We are taught you must blame your father, your sisters, your brothers, the school, the teachers – but never blame yourself. It’s never your fault. But it’s always your fault, because if you wanted to change you’re the one who has got to change.”

― Katharine Hepburn

An old friend posted this on Facebook today and I had to share it because it is spot-on.

So many times in the world we find excuses and others to blame, when it is in our power to make a decision to change just about anything in our lives.  We are the ones steering our own ship, deciding how to take the waves – head-on or at an angle, with a course, or without.

We decide how to allow others to treat us. If we let ourselves get taken advantage of or treated like we don’t deserve, it’s because we need to look inside and figure out how to set boundaries. And better understand our self-worth.

We decide whether to allow circumstances to affect us in a negative way, or to use them to help spur our emotional our growth and move us forward.

We decide what excuses will impede our goals.  When we say we’re too busy or “it just won’t work,” we are making a choice.

We decide how that guy in traffic who cut us off will make us feel.  Or how someone who was dishonest, who hurt our feelings, or who was even downright creepy, will make us feel. We have a choice … to carry that around with us or throw it overboard.

Compassion and self-awareness are points on our compass.  And sometimes it takes a painful event or two in life to help us establish these bearings.

One thing is for certain, stepping out of ourselves and looking in objectively is the only way to chart our true course.

Here’s to another inspiring bad-ass of a woman who said it right.

Georgia on My Mind…

GeorgiaOKeeffemusic
“I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life and I’ve never let it keep me from doing a single thing that I wanted to do.”
“I have already settled it for myself, so flattery and criticism go down the same drain and I am quite free.”

― Quotes by Georgia O’Keeffe

O'Keeffehands

Oh how I would have loved to have met Georgia O’Keeffe.  From what I’ve learned about her over the years, she was an inspiring bad-ass of a woman.

And now some of her works are being installed in Denver for an exhibition coming at the end of this month.  I am giddy.

desertokeeffeskyscraperOne of the greatest American artists of the 20th century and the very first female American Modernist painter, O’Keeffe didn’t play by any established rules.  She made her own.  Gotta love that.

skullShe was born in Wisconsin in 1887 and knew and told others that she wanted to  be an artist by the eighth grade. (And now that I too am obsessed with Downton Alley, I’m picturing O’Keeffe starting her career during that period since the dates are close. This makes her even more inspiring to me.)

I had the great pleasure of seeing the largest collection of her work in the world years ago at the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum in Santa Fe.  I remember one painting so huge – an entire wall – of rich, vivid clouds that it literally took my breath away. (She said she painted her skies and clouds so large so the world would see them the way she did.)

A college friend gave me a print of her Music in Pink and Blue (top painting in post) which was proudly displayed in every college house where I lived.

O’Keeffe created her own style of art, blending abstraction and realism, along with cropping techniques she saw in photos, to create iconic paintings of the American artistic landscape. Her huge-scale abstract flowers, her bold 1920s New York City skylines, and her intoxicating perspectives of the deserts, bones and skies of New Mexico… are simply unmistakable.
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What’s your favorite O’Keeffe painting?
PS: if you ever want to give a wonderful and unique gift to a child, the book  “My Name is Georgia” by Jeanette Winter is a wonderful illustrated book about being daring enough to pave your own path.

How to Recognize a Close Encounter of the Personal Kind.

space invader

You know who I’m talking about.

Those people who get so close to you that you almost feel their breath on your neck as you stand in line at the grocery store, post office or drug store.  Anywhere there is a line with people who think that you’re too slow and they’re more important,  or who were seriously raised by parents who did not teach them about respecting the personal space of others.

This often takes place as I am paying and I want to offer them a piece of gum out of my purse since they can see inside it so well.

A grown man in the next line over at the store yesterday was so up in this lady’s business and being such a spaz about it that I could feel the energy in the next lane over. (This photo does not do the situation justice and I was trying to be discreet.)  I wanted to ask him if he had to use the restroom or something since he seemed in such a hurry.

Often these space invaders have one hand on their hip, their arms crossed or even their legs crossed like this guy.  And some sighs and heavy breathing might take place. Sometimes body odor.

Naively, I always think that making some dramatic eye contact with a semi-sneer will make it clear to them that they are invading my space and they need to back off.

Or sometimes I think that if I just hold my ground and not move a single inch until I’m good and ready, they’ll get the message.

I’ve even tried slightly backing up to throw them off, to no avail.

I always want to say something like “You seem like you’re in a hurry since you’re up so close and personal with me right now, want to go ahead of me?  Or do you just want to get to know me better?”  Or “You seem like you need a hug … is that why you’re getting so close?”   But I worry that I would start something that I’m physically unable to carry through.

Any attempts I make to help space invaders realize that they are bucking  this social norm are futile.  I’m baffled.  Or maybe I’m delusional to think that I can really change another human being’s behavior? ( Logically I know this to be the answer but I still love to analyze it.)

How do you handle Close Encounters of the Personal Kind?  Any tips?

VanGogh: Looking at Mental Illness through the Works of a Master.

“If you hear a voice within you say ‘you cannot paint,’ then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced.” VanGogh

“It is better to be high-spirited even though one makes more mistakes, than to be narrow-minded and all too prudent. ” VanGogh

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I’ve always admired the works of VanGogh.  And perhaps because of my fascination with mental health (and society’s aversion to discussing it), I must admit that I looked forward to learning more of this great artist’s highly speculated background at the museum exhibit that MacGyver and I attended a couple of weeks ago.

Our museum headphones were our guide as we carefully threaded our way through the crowds and learned about this fascinating, yet troubled, artist.

A pastor’s son from Holland, Van Gogh didn’t start painting until he was 27 years old.  This was after stints as a book store clerk, an art salesman and even a preacher. He died at 37.   He sold one painting while he was alive.

After being dismissed for being overzealous as a preacher, VanGogh set out on a quest, seeking the meaning of life while painting as a way to merge his spirituality with his love for nature, art and literature. Much of what is known about him is from thoughtful letters to his brother throughout the years.

During his ten short years of his painting, he spent time in Belgium, Paris, Southern France and then in northwestern suburbs of Paris. He largely taught himself to paint through art instruction books and observing the techniques of other artists.  During each of these phases, his art took on the characteristics of what he was learning and experiencing as he battled bouts of mental illness.

My favorite paintings are from the time before his death in the northwestern suburbs of Paris, when his intense emotions gave way to his use of vivid colors and dramatic brushstrokes, and he painted nearly a painting a day for 70 days before his death.  His letters explained in revealing detail how these paintings explained the loneliness he felt and the comfort which the countryside provided for him.

Before that in Southern France (where he committed himself to a mental facility after an intense altercation with Gaughin, a leading French Post-Impressionist artist who he looked up to) and then during his final days, VanGogh painted dozens of wheat fields, which are some of my favorite VanGogh paintings.  He was drawn to them because of his spiritual connection to nature and because he saw the fields as metaphors for humanity’s cycles of life through growth and vulnerability.

I’ve tried to mimic his work in my painting shown here which resembles his “wheat field under cloudy sky” painting and incorporates a farmhouse which he also enjoyed painting.

VanGogh’s letters reveal that he was an eloquent writer with extreme intelligence, perspective and sensitivity, along with thoughts much deeper and more reflective than any of the seemingly sane around him.  I must wonder how he would do in our modern world today.  Would he be diagnosed, treated and blend better in society?  Or would that have stifled his creativity and suppressed his talent?

“When I have a terrible need of – shall I say the word – religion. Then I go out and paint the stars.” VanGogh

What VanGogh painting stands out most in your mind?

vangogh_cafe1888Self-Portrait-in-Front-of-the-EaselVan Gogh Farmhouse in a WheatfieldVincent-van-Gogh-Starry-Night

Vincent Van Gogh - Wheat Field under Clouded Sky