Please, Please, Please

It's never too late,
you're never too old,
you're never too sick,
to start again from scratch.

Bishnu Ghosh

I admit, I was a little nervous going to my yoga class at the gym. I signed up as a present to myself for quitting smoking (going on six months now, cold turkey, no sneaks!) My lungs are completely happy with me and congratulate me daily. My hips, not so much. They've been shaking their warning finger at me for a few months now, though I chose adamantly to ignore it. When I saw a picture of myself on the internet that I didn't recognize at all, that fervently shaking finger turned into "I told you so!" And just like the breath of fresh air March had blown into my house, I felt it just as strong in my body. I've been active ever since. Now, I had seen the girl who lead the yoga class and I judged her obviously fake tan and bleach blonde hair and instantly decided that wasn't the kind of situation I wanted any part of. I have been to proper bikram yoga in very inspiring atmospheres and have gotten used to the slow and stretching pace I practice at my house. I know myself well enough that with my newfound enthusiasm I was going to need a little more accountability to keep motivated. I sucked it up, grabbed my yoga mat and made my place within the class, in the back row, of course. My first class, she turned on the stereo and played a Michael Jackson mix. Doing yoga to Michael Jackson made me want to turn my downward dog a little dirty. My body was confused. I wanted desperately to hold my pose, but my hips intrinsically wanted to bounce around the room like Beyonce. As I held my airplane for a full minute, I reminisced about the days I thought I was going to grow up, move to NYC and dance in a studio like on the show "Fame". I loved their outfits and ability to seem weightless and I coveted the girls strong, sleek bodies. With the introduction of In Living Color, I wanted to be a "fly girl". While I secretly worked out to New Kids on the Block videos, learned every lyric to En Vogue songs, blasted Slick Rick on the stereo with my brother, I was wearing Poison and Guns N Roses t-shirts and head-banging to Black Sabbath at my 8th grade dance. Ever the contradiction. I was unstoppable, the DJ couldn't stump me. I knew every lyric and every dance move, no matter what the genre, and usually could sense what song was going to play before everybody else. Oh, middle school.


I secretly hoped that the world would follow Sir-Mix-Alot's taste in women, then I wouldn't have to worry so much about the Size 2 I was never going to see in my lifetime. At least the public's love affair with J.Lo's derrière has helped me feel more comfortable in my adulthood with my most obvious "asset".


So, my judging of the yogi at the gym may have been superficial and uncalled for; she has more than enough ammo to judge me as I try to keep up with what I am calling her "boot camp bikram" yoga class. In the long run, I think I will be thanking her for the transformation I already feel and for awakening muscles in my body I never knew existed. Who knows. Maybe there is still hope for me as a back up dancer. Although MJ taught me not to stop until I get enough, after watching the T.A.M.I show last night, dancing behind James Brown when he was on the mic, would always keep me coming back for more.

Old habits die hard

Spring has sprung and that means... Home moves!


Oh, the tid bits and sprinkles of memories that make you realize why you do certain things. I can still hear the record player in our split level house wailing Patsy Cline as Mom opened up the windows and declared "Spring Cleaning!" at the first hint of Spring. With a few grunts and a slow saunter to the cleaning supplies, eventually the dust wand became our make shift microphone and my 11 year old little heart could already understand Patsy's pain when she was "Walking after Midnight". Then with a quick flip of a record, we would slip into gypsy dancing to Fleetwood Mac and all troubles seemed to melt away. In the spirit of all the delightful things that happen when you rearrange the furniture and whisk away the subtle pile of dust from the winter...I will share the light with you and hope to inspire you to welcome the sun and air out the weightiness of winter. Don't forget to turn on some music and sing while you do it...

The B.F.G

I am starting to REALLY believe that Roald Dahl may have been MY grandfather in some parallel universe.  I've always been partial to the friendly giants (pretty sure I even dated one once) and although I love the fruit, I still can't help but to contemplate the infinite world contained within a normal sized peach before biting into it. When I was a child, I was certain I was going to be a writer.  At my young age, inspiration mostly came from a few childhood heroes such as Shel Silverstein (I was sure to be eaten at any moment by a Boa Constrictor), Madeline L'Engle (A Wrinkle in Time changed my life at age ten...I couldn't look at a piece of string the same ever again).  Not to mention a slew of others...


But of course, there was always the wonderful Mr. Dahl who took me on wild adventures and allowed me to make sense of what was happening in my world in a way that was fantastical but completely believable.


It came as no surprise when a few years ago, I cracked open a whimsically illustrated and wistfully written book by his granddaughter, Sophie Dahl. OF COURSE my beloved childhood author had offspring!  And OF COURSE she was creating interesting things that I love!  I have to admit, though, I was only a dial tone away from asking her personally, "What did it feel like when you tiptoed around in my head?  Did you sneak in while I was sleeping?"  I felt comforted by the words of another that felt so kindred in spirit, then instantly chalked her up to the Sophia Coppola's of the world.  I was simultaneously inspired and discouraged. I came to the defeating conclusion that the only way to get anywhere in this world is to have a last name rich in the industry and deep in artistic accolades. (p.s. since then, this has been a wavering declaration...)


I kept her book under the glass on my coffee table as a reminder that, although I went to school for art... my heart still beat loudly for words and maybe someday my love for writing and oodles of doodles and ramblings COULD turn into something SOMEDAY.  She would make a few visits in my world every once and awhile.   I remember seeing her a few times in magazines as a very ghastly version of herself and I began to turn a blind eye as I watched her ease down the slippery slope of self image as imposed by the magazine and fashion industry.  My heart sank.  I saw a gorgeous, strong, talented woman too slender for her own frame and anyone's aspiring good.  I wanted to use the same fictional phone I was going to use before, but this time,  I wanted to order her a juicy steak and some garlic mashed potatoes and meet her at a table in the woods with a canopy of twinkle lights and reminisce about our childhood as if she were my own long lost sister.  Alas, no phone call was made and I forgot about my empathy for a stranger just as quickly as the imaginary dial tone ended.


Until a few days ago, when I came across a freshly heroic version of Sophie Dahl.  She has written a new book called,


Miss Dahl's Voluptuous Delights: Recipes for Every Season, Mood, and Appetite

Hurrah, Miss Dahl! Even the title had me AND my belly doing backflips for joy! I could already imagine how wonderful this gem of a book would be. I was silently gleaming with motherly pride at the delectable outcome of the assumedly arduous journey that had lead her to it.  I ordered it immediately.


 Today, Billy brought the unopened Amazon box with him as he picked me up from my two day visit with mom and grandma Pheba.  With his own excitement, he helped me open the box in the car before we pulled away and I quickly devoured what words I could. I instantly giggled at the uncanny resemblance of our past and the close proximity it was to my recent visit with family that always stirs up interesting memories.  She spoke of her chubby childhood and how her grandmother couldn't understand why she wanted to become a vegetarian in her adolescence.  Billy watched me from the drivers seat with his usual curiosity, wondering what it could be that I had ordered this time.  Before I could share a few words of what it was or why... he looked at the cover, brought it closer to him to see better and laughed as he said, "Is that you?".


I looked at him in utter disbelief as I sometimes do when I forget just how much he gets me, and how often he doesn't know the profundity of his own words. I rested the book in my lap and he grabbed my now empty hand as if to officially say, "Hi baby. I missed you.  Welcome home."  And never have I felt so much so.

who knew that this...

{insert little girl scream in "Little Miss Sunshine" after finding our she was accepted into the contest}

is not only one of my favorite scenes from a movie, but also a little bit how I felt after seeing my color pencil story posted on the with a pencil in my pocket website. I was Olive tapping my fingers on the desk just to get through Lea's video to click on my name. You saw a preview of my entry on here, but I hope you will enjoy seeing the stories from the other participants. I can only hope that the next color I receive will inspire an exotic trip to somewhere more than an hour and a half away!


Can't wait!

sweets & treats from eclipse valentine's day faire

               

today, i am world renowned stylist

I have been loving the ability to wear many hats.  Today, I am professional stylist for Casa Bair-Garant.  An ongoing project that allows me to exercise my interior design muscle and spend some quality time with Mom.  Of course, we often pause for cups of coffee in order to watch the birds in their sanctuary in the burbs.  My favorite is in the summertime when thousands (I swear) of hummingbirds stop at each of the 5 feeders set out for them. Although today, the backdrop is very serene with several feet of snow and the only thing humming is the distant sound of a snowblower interrupted by the occasional crash of an icicle melting.


So, our goal is to help mom organize her bookshelves with some items of family history.  Including a few books that Grandpa Grover used to bring home from the paper factory.  People would drop off old books (to be recycled?) and Grover would snap up any interesting ones and bring them home.   As a child, Mom LOVED to play librarian. And with the recent discovery of these books from Grandma's basement, I now know from where my passion for collecting old books with tattered covers derived. 

about me, in one shot

It is more than just a thing you write to describe where you've been and why people should choose you.  Think back to the days when a resume was a crisp, clean ink and paper list, preferably on one piece of paper, that gave a snapshot of why you might be of interest to those who set eyes on it.  Once in those hands, the reader may slip into the role of a deity, one who thinks they have control over your life and can single handedly decide your fate.  The social web has changed all of that.  When seeking jobs after college, I can remember when I thought adding the book I was reading or including my recent music tastes on my resume was completely risque. I certainly would be dismissed if "they" knew I was reading D.H. Lawrence in my spare time (if we were being honest) and listening to Wu Tang on the suggestion of my buddhist neighbor.  In the midst of finding a "real" job, I was also looking for a "real" boyfriend. I had lost and found my heart in Ohio a couple of times, so I had taken some time off to heal the wounds. When I decided to actively look for someone, I started to see the parallels of seeking a job and seeking a mate. I realized we were all using similar tools for both. (eyes wide open, exhaustingly aware of opportunity, hopefully landing an interview or date, romancing the ideal partner or company new hire)
  
I came to realize that although the search was futile at the time, the tools I picked up along the way were absolutely essential. Partners, friends, jobs and opportunities are all serendipitous, and usually happen (yes, as they've always said) when you least expect it.
  
Looking through old ramblings while creating a new "about me" for this blog, I found something I wrote in the "about me" section when I set up my first social networking web account.  (Remember Friendster?)


With this description, I realized I was visualizing myself (also an extremely valuable tool... don't doubt for a second that those olympic gold winners aren't doing that exact same thing on top of the slopes).  Anyone who wanted to join me for the ride was welcome. Although,  more importantly anyone with malicious intent, need not apply.  Six years after writing this for an entirely different venue, I can say I would hire this girl in a heartbeat if she included this in her resume.

i am my short bed head hair in the afternoon, morning, night

i am my tweed zip up jacket bought for 21.99 on  west broadway

i am my black boots with the cuff and brown lining with zipper up the back

i am my half make-upped face in the morning from laziness and the hope that i won’t be frightened when i first glance in the mirror

i am my coffee, french pressed with 1/2 inch of cream at the bottom and a spoonful of raw sugar in a striped mug that reminds me of maxwell house commercials from when i was ten

i am my bus ride to work in london 4 years ago.

i am my bus ride to work in chicago 6 months ago.

i am my walk down broadway to the coffee shop and then reckless records on my days off

i am my sunday brunch at jack and benny’s or whole world or my house

i am my sunday driving down high street with my hand outside the sunroof

i am my licorice tea before bed 

i am my harley riding out west, arms full of tattoos

i am world traveling photographer and subsequent unicef ambassader

i am my music selection while driving

i am my published book

i am my own gallery

i am my vacation home in the south of france

i am my window in the hotel room in l'abbesses  around the corner from sacre coeur

i am my drive to work in the dark every morning

i am my fascination with written correspondence 

i am my illusions and reality all wrapped up in one fine flirtation
-skbg 2004-ish

with a pencil in my pocket

The pencil project has commenced!  The first color to arrive in the mail was Douglas Fir.  


Funny, I didn't realize that the problem wouldn't be WHAT to write, but how to edit what I wrote... I realized it may be fun to have a separate space to share the different stories inspired by the color as well.


So, I kept it simple, honest and relative to a personal story.  Instead of an action inspired by the color (which there could have been many...) it was more of an observation of this historical and abundant tree. I wrote a snapshot of part of the best seven days I experienced this February, which was with my grandmother, Pheba.  We giggled, drank coffee, watched t.v.  We made pot holders and pillows with my new sewing machine that was overwhelmingly amazing to her.  My life and pulse slowed down with hers and I was reminded, or learned for the first time, how important it is to slow down, pay attention and do things by hand.   She even held a needle and a thread in her hand for the first time in years as she showed me how she started quilt pieces back in the day.  My visit inspired her to start working on scraps that her 90 year old sister had given her a few months back.  I will post more about my visit later, but this post is about the pencil project, so...


Here is what I turned in to Lea Redmond as my first of 20 colors:

Hearts in Snow

Billy and I went out of town for a craft show I was in on Valentine's day. We spent the end of last week making valentines for others! We didn't buy each other anything for the romantic holiday and for our valentines day dinner we stopped at a local pizza place in Logan on the way home. But, before we left, we made each other fleeting valentines in our yard.

 

Enjoy the long weekend and cuddle up often with good music!

caught between snowballs and swimsuits

Looking at spring trends while cuddled in the throws of a winter snowstorm has never been comforting... it inspires yet another new goal and not related to New Years resolutions because who are we kidding?  When does winter weather inspire anything but hibernation sprinkled with a few brave days of venturing out when you have to or are inspired to?  Does moderation come easier when you live in a climate that is consistently moderate?