Hot Wheels Rug

Besides designing fabric, I've also been designing children's interactive rugs. This one is a licensed artwork for Hot Wheel.

Flat and fat and who's path am I on anyway?

I've been feeling so monotone lately.

I think I'm going through the change.

That's what my mom calls it. "Going through the change".

I used to think that was something that happened to women in their 50s or possibly even in their 60s .... but ... apparently... I am wrong. Women are becoming peri-menopausal as early as their 20s these days! Not that I'm anywhere near my 20s....

I haven't written nearly as much as i have wanted, because ... to be honest with you ... whenever I sit down to write, I stare blankly at my computer's monitor for seemingly hours without a word to say.

The only thing I seem to accomplish is to breathe in deep and exhale a gust of air and watch my bangs blow upward toward the ceiling as I wait for just the right words to pop into my brain. But the only words that do surface are words like whatcha-macallit and thinga-majig or that doo-hickey.

What happened? My brain was once full. And now.. it's like someone gathered up all my passion and fun and excitement and drive into one large empty grocery bag and then tossed it into the nearest garbage bin.

For a while now, I've been self-reflecting and evaluating my blog, my life, my friends, and pretty much everything else that happens to find it's way across my path. Is this the right path for me? Is there a better one?

Everything that once was, seems to be no longer. The only thing predictable now is the unpredictability. My body is not playing fair anymore, either. I'm not liking it. It's almost as if the simple smell of food seems to be enough to pack on a coupla pounds around my mid-section. It's nothing short of hormonal terrorism.

My life feels like it's passing me by in a galloping pace and I want to jump in and start living in it more. I want to feel excited about things again like I once did not that long ago ... when it's 2 am and I'm super wide awake but who cares, because this is so much fun! And then I wake up early because I can't wait to start doing whatever that is again.

I'm not recognizing me much these days. My stories don't seem to have any rhythm to them. In fact, I don't feel like telling them. Sometimes I begin and then after a paragraph, I fear the story is not interesting enough and I need to stop. I want to show a project I've been working on and even that seems puny and silly to share.

I think, perhaps, my Muse has packed up her bags and bought a one-way ticket out of town.

Hang in there with me. I'll be back sooon. The me that once was.

Isn't that right? Those who have traveled this path before me? We really do come back as ourselves, don't we? Please say yes....

... and then I turned 12

When i was 7, I couldn't get enough of Clifford the Big Red Dog, the Encyclopedia Brown series, Amelia Bedelia, The Little's Take a Trip and Harold the Purple Crayon.

When I was 9, I moved on to Charlotte's Web, Charlie & The Chocolate Factory, Harriet the Spy, The Great Brain and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

By 11, I was reading Of Mice and Men, Little Women, Gone With The Wind, Mystery at Thunderbolt House and Mrs. Mike.

And then I turned 12.

Something happened. It was called Assigned Reading.

I had to read whatever I was given within a short period of time and then write about it.

Or worse!

Stand in front of the classroom and speak about it publicly.. making sure I gave the entire class the proper eye contact and project my voice across the classroom.

One of the books I had to read was The Red Badge of Courage. In my assignment, I had to point out the emotional symbols in the book. Such as ... Henry sees a lot of blood (emotional symbol) and death (emotional symbol) and this causes him to run away from battle (emotional response) which makes him feel ashamed (another emotion).

Something shifted inside me during that time, and, no matter how hard I tried to read, the words would just fall off the page and into my lap.

I suffered quietly.

I cheated my way through book assignments and public book reports from that day forward.

Sometimes, when I could, I falsified my own book report with make-believe characters and created summaries or stole them from short stories out of a magazine and lengthened them into any novel I wanted it to be.

Because in truth .. by then, the only things I read were the back of cereal boxes, Tigerbeat magazines and my mother's National Enquirers.

I envy those who join book clubs and those who spend their weekends by the pool reading their books expanding their minds by what they read.

I have read two books in the past three years or more. Fried Green Tomatoes and The Secret Life of Bees. Both books brought me so much joy. I remember how I felt between readings. I missed the characters and I looked forward to delving back in and reading. And I felt so sad when the book was over.

That's how all books should be.

Do you have a favorite book that I would perhaps enjoy reading? A book where the words stay in place and don't slip down the page and onto my lap? Summer is quickly approaching. I would so enjoy joining the others around the pool with a book in hand instead of my People magazine.

I'm interested in all types of books in all different categories. Or so, I would like to think that.

Just as long as there are easy-to-read short chapters with medium size text with lots of paragraphs just incase I wanted to stop reading between chapters, it would be a nice resting place.

(smile)

It is never too late....

"Everyone is afraid they have missed the boat. We worry that we are too old, we missed it, it passed us by ... or we fear we might miss it if we are not looking all the time. But the truth is, you ARE the boat. No matter how old or young you are, you are the boat. You can't miss it! If you are still alive, you have things to do!" ~Carolyn Myss

It is never too late to sail. Do it today. Lick you finger and figure out the wind. And just head in that direction. Your fate will carry you.

Inside other people's fridge

I'm not sure why, but it just feels wrong to be a guest in someone else's house and open the door to their refrigerator. Even if they ask me to take out the gallon of milk, my eyes stay fixed on the milk carton and I don't allow them to wander anywhere else.

It's as though I've been asked to grab an extra roll of toilet paper in the master bedroom's bathroom or grab a coat from someone's closet.

I thought it would be fun to take pictures of the inside of refrigerators. A place that feels so private. A place we sometimes fear to venture.

100 B.C. (100 years Before Cowboys)

When I was a small child, I somehow got this notion that B.C. meant Before Cowboys. First there were indians that roamed our land. And then the cowboys came and chased all the indians off to the southwestern states where they were corralled into indian reservations or sold arrow heads in New Mexico.

So if someone said, "it was the year 100 before B.C.".. I imagined it being a land of indians and buffalos and colored corn.

When I was between 3 and 4, i played cowboys everytime i had the chance. I used to carry my baby bottle in one of my holsters as I rode merrily through our house on my play stick horse!

When I was 5, I would play at Kathy's house and hop on her rocking horse.. It had a pull-string with a ring attached at the end and I loved pulling that string up toward my shoulder to hear the horse winny.

When I was 6, we tied a shoe-string across our stingray bike's handlebars and maneuvered the string to steer our bikes as if it were the reins on our horse. Other times, we'd loop a rope around someone's chest and under their arms and by holding the ends of the rope, we'd steer our horse from behind.

I remember playing Bonanza when Chucky jumped out from behind a tree and told me to drop my gun and put my hands up. I did. He shot me anyway.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

I leaned over holding my gut. "ooh. You got me!" I gasped and staggered a tiny bit before collapsing onto the grass, directly on top of my toy metal gun. I still wear the scar on my left knee.

And then one morning when I was 7, Terry came running over to my house in her brand new indian suit with war paint on her cheeks and feathers in her headband. And we never played cowboys again.

From that day forward, we played indians.

I loved the way the water color paint would dry out and feel pulled across my cheeks. My indian suit was my old Daniel Boone suit but Terry swore she would never share our secret.

And she didn't.

We'd run around in bare feet. We shot bow and arrows. We carried rubber tommyhawks in our belt. We made our teepee by hanging a large sheet from the clothesline and then spreading out all four corners using books to place it firmly on the ground.

Playing cowboys sure was a lotta fun. But, so was playing indians.

And, then again. So was playing pirates. And pretending to be little people. Or Swiss Family Robinson. Or Lassie. And Harriet the Spy. Or playing army or pretending to be The Monkees. Growing up as a kid back then sure is different than growing up as a kid today. And I'm grateful I was born in such a time as then.

Friendships that move on

Ya know how it was when you were a kid and you'd hang out with your friend and you didn't hafta do much.

Maybe just read Archie comic books together. Or watch tv. Or hop on pogo sticks. Or listen to records or go on bike rides through the neighborhood. Or wander down to the creek to catch crawdads or pretend you were stranded on the island just like Gilligan and the gang.

I have a friend who I did just that with.

No penciling in on my calendar weeks in advance. He was my automatic friend. My automatically be there friend.

"Hi! Ya wanna hang out? it's such a beautiful day!"
"Sure! You wanna go on a picnic?" He'd say.
"Yes! I'd love that!"
"I'll pick up some snacks... see you in about 15 minutes!"

"whatcha doin'?" He'd ask.

"Oh, " I'd say, "I'm thinkin' of painting my gutters..."
"Ya need some help? I'll be right over and bring my ladder!"
"That's great! See ya when ya get here!"

"Hey what are you doing tomorrow?" He'd ask.
"Not sure. What are you doin'?" "Ya wanna go to the A's game? We can barbecue there in the parking lot before the game!"
"Sure! That'll be fun! Let me know what I should bring!"

We had an easy, spontaneous, always ready friendship. We hung out together a lot and all the time.

"Ya wanna come over and watch LOST?"
"I'll be right over."

"Hey! I wanna go on a walk, ya wanna join me?"
"Sure! I'll see you in five minutes!"

Such an easy friend to say yes to. And now he is gone.

He moved away two weeks ago. Three hundred long miles away.

This morning I needed to pick up dirt to fill up sink holes in my backyard. Normally, I'd call my friend, "Hey! Whatcha doin? Ya wanna help me bring in some dirt?"

He'd say, "Sure! See ya there!" And he'd drive up in his truck and we'd haul that dirt out to my backyard.

But this time he wasn't there.

The air felt so empty.

The day felt longer than it used to feel.

I called up another friend with a truck and asked the same question. He never returned my call.

Friendships. Really comfortable friends are golden. I didn't always need my friend to help me in my chores. More often than not, we needed each other for fun and adventures and to share a laugh with. We didn't hafta pencil each other in a month in advance. We were instead, the ever-ready spontaneous friend who was always available for fun.

He will always live in my heart.

And I miss him.

Especially today.

My Sister, my hero.

Photo by J. Andres Vargas

My sister just ran 233.6 total km covered over six days. A total of 33,800 ft of elevation was climbed and it was calculated that she burned over 30,000 calories.

She ran through the jungles and rainforest of Costa Rica, along mountain trails, single track across ridgelines and coastal ranges. She's 50 years old and came in 3rd place among the women.

She is amazing.

She wrote this to us:

I just finished my second day and I am now in 3rd place. The heat and humidity is staggering. This is by far the hardest thing I have ever done. It is also the most incredible thing I have ever done. What can I say about the first two days? Heat, humidity, mud, snakes, swamp, lots of no trails. Just straight up the rainforest. At times it is a little scary, but it is simply amazing. I told one of the race directors today, that if I died after this race, it would be okay. My life would be complete. It rained alot yesterday and the humidity was horrible. We got up at 330 am today and the heat and humidity was horrible. It is like being in a steam room 24-7. This race is not for everyone, that is for sure. It is hard to stay organized and putting the tent up in the pouring rain is quite comical.

I miss you all. Mom, please don´t worry about me. I am having the time of my life. Tomorrow is a very hard day. It is hard to imagine running in this terrain again. I am feeling good though. The people here are great. Matt is rafting down a river today and I hope he is having fun. I love you Caleb, Chelsea, and Courtney. Hi Angie, Wally, Tyler and Kate! Hi Shawn, and Mom!! I say your notes today. Thankyou they really help. They made me almost cry. I love you all and can´t wait to tell you all about this incredible adventure.

and this:

well, the race is over and i am so happy to be finished with this adventure. the coastal challenge was the hardest race i have ever done. they didn't tell us that we would be swimming and bouldering, and running up steep muddy rainforest trails. actually they were not trails, we had to navigate straight up through the jungle looking for course markers. the heat and humidity was outrageous. we saw snakes, alligators, and lots of monkeys. they kept telling us that they had plenty of anti-venom in case we got bit by a snake. that was reasurring. one day we swam for 2 hours through a large river with our packs on before running for 7 hours more. on that day, i ran alone for 8 hours in the rainforest. it was exciting and exhausting all at the same time. camping in the middle of nowhere is interesting too. there was no downtime and the spiders in our make-shift cold showers were as big as softballs. i came in 3rd. the two women who beat me are in the 30s, so i can't complain. if you thought i was skinny before, well baby, look at me now!! wow, what 6 days in the jungle does to the bod!! thanks everyone for all the support. i love you all.

----

Kelly is my hero. I know she can do anything. Brenda says she can be in the Green Berets. I think she could be in the Pony Express. (If they still had the Pony Express). Kelly truly believes in mind over matter. I started to wonder what has been my great challenges in my life have been. I know we all have them.

I have always been a great believer in listening to what makes our heart sing with joy. Finding exactly where our inspiration lives and then moving forward towards it. If you open your heart you will hear something that is devinely right for you... and life-fulfilling. Kelly has found that. So have I in a different way.

I have found it in my art.

We can spend endless hours in what brings our heart joy. That's when you know you have found it.

You can read more about my sister on her blog here.

A Simple Way to Make Soup

"It's really simple," she told me. "You just take whatever jar of spaghetti sauce you happen to have in your cupboard.. and dilute with water and that becomes your tomato base. Then you simply cut up whatever vegetables you have in the fridge.. and there's your soup!"

What a brilliant idea! Ever since I put in my new kitchen, I imagined myself cooking delicious dinners in it. But if you recall my 5-minute egg or my tuna casserole, you'll know I am not a very good, imaginative cook. 

Last night, I poured in the Prego Pasta Sauce (the expiration date was 8/31/07 but it smelled okay when I opened it up) and added water and soon I was cutting up potatoes, carrots, asparagus, green beans, bell pepper, onion and even poured in some rice.

And then a little bit more rice since it had dropped to the bottom of the pot and I couldn't see it. I waited about five minutes... stirred it... didn't see too many flakes of rice, so I poured in some more. I wasn't sure how much I had poured in. But within fifteen minutes my soup had turned into a more of just a rice dish.


I nearly broke the spoon trying to stir through that sludge of rice. If you're hungry, come on over. I have enough to feed an army.

More fabric to show!

There was a month or so where I was hammering out all kinds of fabric designs, but wasn't in a place to show them until now.
This is another new release for Michael Miller Fabrics called Jungle Jam.

These were a lotta fun. The large piece was done several months earlier and we had the artwork thumbtacked to our design wall. I had nearly forgotten about it when Kathy asked me to design a few coordinates to go with it... "let's send it out by the end of the day tomorrow..."

And I put my foot on the excellerator of sheer adrenaline and simple passion of of illustrating and design and this is what I came up with.

i sure love my job.

facebook

Facebook has been a strange phenomena for me.

Suddenly I am connecting with friends I haven't seen since I was a teenager doing missionary work and its stirring up all kinds of various emotions for me.  I haven't gone to church since that time, and I have mostly lived my life worried what my missionary friends would think of me knowing that about me. Afraid of disappointing, and fearing the feeling of judgement.

At the same time, it was such a long time ago that many of my friends who are in my life now, have no idea that I was ever in full-time ministry. Just like the people I knew back then, don't know about my un-churched life now.

Such a criss-cross of interractions and experiences in my lifetime.

During the time I served as a missionary, (making $19 a week)... I spent weeks in the roughest, most brutal neighborhoods of Harlem and in Flatbush and Bushwick districts of Brooklyn, NY, Portsmouth, VA, Tacoma, WA and Dallas, TX --and even in women's prisons.It was such an adventure.

We spent hours praying for the lost that they might find Jesus. But deep in my heart, where I was afraid to look myself, I wondered and worried if I had ever really found Him.

"Please God," I would pray. "Please reveal Your love to me in a mighty way." I prayed that same prayer everyday. With my eyes closed and heart pounding, I would be afraid to open them in fear of what I would find. Would I see Him in all His glory? Would I fall on the ground from the force of His love? Each day, I would open my eyes and each day I woudn't see anything except for what was in front of me and simply believed in faith that "yes, Jesus loves me for the bible tells me so."

During my stint as a missionary and afterwards, I feared I would say or do something that wasn't perfectly right or good. My insides were constantly swarming with emotions. Always conflicting, always feeling less than. Always admiring others' beauty and shaming my own.

And now that portion of my past has reunited to my future. All blending in, side-by-side in facebook, like an outdoor picnic with friends from all different walks of my life, I need to let it go and let life make its own history.

So. Here I am. Thank you for those who still remember me and want to friend me. This is me. Living my life the best I know how. I have a long way to go, but enjoy moving along with you.. toward a deeper spirituality and being a better person in this life of ours.

So. Let's start the charcoal. Lets unthaw the meat. The party is about to begin and you're all welcome to participate. Its gonna be party of a lifetime.

Winners and Losers

I grew up in the age where there were winners and losers. 

Not everyone received a trophy for coming in 5th place. There was only one winner. 

Now a days, no one comes home a loser. (I see it a lot on talk shows, like on Ellen for instance). They all are winners. 

I understand why they do that. It doesn't discriminate. It doesn't create any feelings of shame for the loser. But it doesn't really create any kudos for the winner either.

I've been a winner and I've been a loser. Either place, it has pushed me forward. 

As a loser, I learned by falling short of my goal pushed me to want to do better and so I learned how to strategize. When I won, it was my hope fulfilled. It propelled me to believe in my dreams and inspired me to continue further. 

The other day it was pointed out to me that my Tot Town fabric was shown on the website TRUE UP as Best Juvenile Print of 2008!

I feel really satisfied by that. 

I think everyone fears not fulfilling their potential. Not maximizing all that we are meant to accomplish.  

This new year I am focused on living the life my soul intended. Just like you are wanting to live the life your soul intended. We're really not any different after all.

Here are two of my fabric designs. One is from the Bot Camp line. The other goes along with my Sea Monkeys. You can visit our company blog to see more. You'll really enjoy Kathy's blog, filled with lots of fun ideas and free tutorials. Just remember when you're hangin' out there, to remember to come back here, too.

I'll be waitin.

My Skiing Monkey fabric

I designed this fabric to go along with my sea monkey fabric. Available in flannel and cotton. Would you wear these as pajama bottoms? I would!


I would like to wear pajama bottoms out of these, too.  (Monkeys are such a kick to draw because they are so funny doing anything human!)

I sure love my job. I never know from week to week, what I'm going to dig out of my pockets to design.

And suddenly there was nothing left of December and the year 2008 slipped right out of my hands like a sudsy bar of soap.

December was a very busy month for me. As I know it was for you.

I spent the second week in New York City upgraded to an apartment suite overlooking Times Square. It was beautiful. Snow fell the size of snowballs. I went there on business to work and to also attend our company end-of-the-year party in SoHo. It was such a wonderful, magical week for me.

And then Christmas zipped around the corner in a rapid pace and I was busy focused on that. Afterwards, my best friend flew out here to visit me for a week and suddenly it was 2009. And then that sped by in a blur and soon it is now a week after that.

Happy New Year!

My wish for you this new year is for you to discover some sweet magic in places and in people you'd never expect it. And with this glimpse of enchantment, your life will feel softer and more beautiful.

I will be back soon.

The Red Balloon

Recently, while sitting in a dark theater, waiting for The Secret Life of Bees to start, I watched the movie trailer of Pixar's movie UP . Watching the balloons raise the old man's house and carry him away, reminded me instantly of The Red Balloon. Did you ever watch it as a kid?

I did.

I loved movie day at school. My heart would jump out of my skin with excitement whenever the teacher rolled in the movie projector. I would quietly and slowly inch my desk to the right or the left so I wouldn't see a single silhouette of a head sitting in front of the screen to block my view.

I think I watched The Red Balloon in the second grade and then maybe again in the third grade and perhaps again in the fourth grade. It was an old film... made in the 1950s but it felt it was much older than even that.

If you haven't seen it, the movie is about a cherry-red helium balloon who loves a young school boy. It follows him to school and waits for him until school is out and follows him home again. They are best of friends.

And what third grader can't relate to friending a balloon or a stick-horse or even a security blanket for that matter.

The red balloon is so adorable, it's like your favorite puppy. And then one day, a bunch of bullies ganged up on it, pelting rocks at it ... and .... eventually popping it.

yeah. Popping it.

I have to admit that for me, the slow, sweaty deflating death of the read balloon was absolutely gut-wrenching. My eyes swimming with tears would spill out and down my cheeks and it would embarrass me sitting there at my desk in school. I instantly wanted to run home and hug my mom. And my dogs and cats. And my dolls. And my bike.

I'm quite sure that is the reason even today, I feel sad when a light bulb burns out. Or when the Christmas Tree who once stood so tall and green, adorned with such beautiful decorations is now laying naked on the curb waiting to be carried off to its final resting place.

I blame it all on the red balloon.

That young boy who played the leading role and who is now a much older adult was being interviewed on NPR radio last year and he said he genuinely believed during filming that the red balloon was alive. He said, "The Red Balloon was my friend." The guy interviewing him asked him, "When you were filming it, did you really feel that way?" And he responded, "Yes, yes, he was a real character with a spirit all his own."

You might find this funny, but I believe him.
I believe in the red balloon.

I just might create a bumper sticker with that on it.



Oh. By the way.

At the end of the movie, (as best as I remember it) all the balloons in Paris escape children's little hands and balloon stores to scoop up that young grieving boy and carry him somewhere.

Somewhere I never knew.

I think that was the happy ending. But if you're sensitive like me, I wanted them to pick up his grandmother so he wouldn't be alone. I worried that living a life with helium balloons may not be the best place for him in the long run.

Ya know?

Tuna Casserole Recipe

While having lunch with Kathy the other day, she told me about her childhood cookbook she actually used to cook with and described the illustrations of the eggs diving into the bowls and I was so inspired by these images, I couldn't get it out of my mind.

When we returned back to the studio, she pulled it out from the shelf and showed it to me. It was everything I imagined it to be. Adorable illustrations with truly simple instructions.

When I was a kid, I always loved eating tuna casserole for dinner. Even now, as an adult, I will occasionally pack a Stouffers tuna casserole entree to take for my lunch at work. So you can imagine my excitement when I came across a Tuna Casserole recipe I could easily make for myself.

Ok. So I admit it.

I'm obviously not the greatest cook. Nor am I the most intuitive cook. I have no clue what ingredients taste good with what.

I photocopied these two pages and I headed off to the grocery store to pick up a few items.

Ingredients: Tuna Fish, Condensed Mushroom Soup, Piminto, Small bag of chips and an onion.

I skipped the pimento because I figured they were those green olives with the red circles inside, and I didn't see any reason to include them.

I did buy the small bag of potato chips and the cream of mushroom soup. I already had a can of tuna and an onion.

Returned home to my newly updated kitchen, turned on music ... and I went to work.

As I was stirring the tuna fish and the cream of mushroom soup together, I started to vaguely think this might be a bad idea. Having already scrapped the idea of adding the pimento olives, I simply stirred in the small chopped onions and crumpled a small bag of potato chips on top as the recipe explained and then placed it in the oven.

It didn't look right.

It didn't feel right.

Short of a gray mushy matter, it looked like something I should be pouring down the garbage disposal instead of into my pyrex dish for my dinner.

But I placed it in the oven anyway and cooked it for 30 minutes at 350 degrees.

When the buzzer sounded, I scooped up that lovely gray matter onto a plate and I ate my dinner.

Maybe it's just my own personal observation, but I found it rather bland and boring.

If I were writing the recipe, I would have added extra ingredients such as celery and peas and noodles! NO0O0DLES for heaven's sake. Is that so wrong?

No, of course not. And why didn't I add those things myself? Because I didn't believe in my own cooking talent skills.

Hey, you know what? I learned something about myself tonight. I carry around the same beliefs about my house-keeping skills and keeping house plants alive.

Tonight I'm believing in second thoughts . . .

A day in my life

I love this time of year. It is so beautiful and breath-taking.

This is how I spent my weekend. The Autumn in all it's wonder and splender gets me feeling so rejuvinated. I feel its hug.

Autumn reminds me of putting on my running shoes to go for a run, or saying yes to the hair designer who wants to cut my hair in layers... or biting into an after dinner mint and tasting the white gooey center.

In those moments I am so happy with delight I can't remember what follows....

And then it hits me.....

I realize that I don't like running. I forget that as soon as I say yes to layers, I can not wait for them to grow out. And the dinner mint. Oh! The dinner mint! It looks so dark and delicious but as soon as I bite into that soft, seemingly melted mint... my tongue pushes it forward and I need to dispose of it instantly into my napkin.

Autumn is just like that to me.

As soon as the scissors start to clip. Or I start to run. Or I bite into that gooey center... i remember what follows and my joy is over with.

It is called Winter.

A bird brain isn't what we think it is

I heard on the news the other day that a bird. Yes, a bird. Saved a child's life. You can read about it here.

A one-year-old Quaker parrot saved a two-year-old's life by shouting "Mama baby! Mama baby!" when that sweet little bird noticed the little girl was choking. The babysitter came out of the bathroom and noticed the little girl was blue in the face and she performed the Heimlich maneuver which stopped her choking.

I instantly thought of Alex the bird.

Have you heard of him? He was an African Grey parrot who passed away last year.

I once saw him on an evening news show and he was talking to his trainer and it appeared evident to me that he wasn't simply mimicking words.

In the report, he asked for a nut and the trainer said she would give him a nut afterwards. Alex then said, "I wanna go back." (to his cage). She wanted him to perform in front of the camera and the bird wasn't in the mood. The trainer said to Alex, "C'mon!" but Alex just wasn't in the mood to perform and he said, "I'm sorry."

His last words to his trainer as she put in his cage on the last night of his life, Alex looked up at her and said, "You be good, see you tomorrow. I love you."

He died of natural causes. He was much too young. He was just 31.

Experts say he had the brain of a 5-year-old and the emotions of a 2-year-old.

You can view a video of him here. I hope you do. It will make your heart swell.

If you were my friend then

I'd let you ride my sting-ray bike with the steering wheel while I rode your boring bike with the flower basket in front. You could color with all the new crayons that aren't flat or broken and I would give you the last red otter pop in the box. We would build a fort together and I would let you be president while I was vice-president. When playing monopoly, you can use the car to be your piece while I pick something like the dog or shoe or thimble.

If you were my friend then, we would count to three before hanging up the phone. But I would stay on the line until I heard you actually hang up.

Goodbye!
Goodbye!

(silence)

Are you still there?
Yes.
Let's hang up on the count of three.

Ready?
Ready!

One... Two... Three.
bye!
G'bye!

(silence)

Hello?
Hi!

Hey! You were supposed to hang up!
I was waiting for YOU to hang up.
I was waiting FOR YOU to hang up.

Let's do it again.

One. Two. Two and a half. Three.
Bye!
Bye!

Hello?
Hello!

If you were my friend then, I would watch Star Trek with you even though I liked Lost in Space better. When we pretend to be The Monkees, I would play the part of Micky or Michael or Peter because you would want to be Davy Jones. In the movie theater, you'd get the seat closest to the center. We would speak in a fake language whenever we were in front of strangers. We would tell ghost stories shining the flash light under our chins and then fall asleep in our flannel sleeping bags with our transistor radios playing under our pillows.

If you were my friend then, we'd sware we would always be friends. And we would be. We would prick our fingers with a thumb tack and then rub our blood together donning us Blood Sisters.

And we were.

And we are.

Thelma's in Houston

So, I'm walking along the long aisles at Quilt Market trying to digest all the new fabric that is coming out this season when my cell phone rings.

"Shawn! We're on our way to Thelma's to have lunch, ya wanna join us? It's just a few blocks from where you are!"

"Sure!" I said, "I'll meet you outside of Door C!"

And within minutes, we were pulling up to the curb across the street from Thelma's Bar-B-Que.... a few short blocks south of the George R. Brown Convention center at 1020 Live Oak.

"This is a restaurant?" I asked. "Are ya sure?"

I didn't see any signs indicating it was nor did I see any signs of people. It looked as though it was deserted.

"Sure it is! I've eaten here lots of times before!"

I slowly opened up the screen door and the three of us walked inside. The bright autumn daylight blinded my eyes for a moment before adjusting to the darkened diner. It was anything but deserted. Families with small children. Couples and friends and people eating alone. All laughing and talking and eating... looking up on occasion to watch the TV that hung in the corner. I followed my eyes to the outline of the interior paint which the painter had painted the walls around the TV.

This is what I love about the South. Finding wonderful little neighborhood dives and then opening the door, walking inside and wrapping your heart around the magic of it all.

If you happen upon downtown Houston, do yourself a favor and drop into this lovely place... where the food is not only delicious, but you walk away feeling the love.

Truly a magical place.

Pictured above: Velma and Thelma.

Turn it down!

This morning, I was in a hotel lobby carrying a large transistor radio and it kept blaring the voice of Sheri Lynch from the syndicated radio morning show Bob & Sheri . And people all around me kept telling me to turn it down as Bob and Sheri were actually there in a conference room broadcasting their radio morning show LIVE and I was interrupting their signal.

I was beside myself.

First of all, I didn't know how to turn it off ... there didn't seem to be a volume or power control anywhere on it ... and secondly, I didn't know why I was carrying such a large radio around with me in this day and age of ipods.

"Can you turn down that blasted radio!?!" The man shouted at me!

I quickly sat down on one of those large chairs in the lobby trying to muffle the noise with my sweater. A young girl runs over to help me find the volume switch. She can't find it either. Everyone is staring at me. "Shut off that radio!!!"

I opened my eyes and saw the ceiling of my bedroom. I rolled over and stared at my clock radio with Sheri Lynch still talking away and saw it was 8:10 am and Lisa was picking me up at 8:25 for another long day at work.

Nothing like waking up in a panic realizing I had overslept nearly an hour.

All my days are melting into one as we work around the clock for the upcoming International Quilt Market this weekend in Houston. As soon as I come up for air I have some stories to tell.

The Wee Hours

It is Garbage Day.

And it is early in the morning. I like to call them the wee hours.

It is quiet and peaceful this morning in my neighborhood except for the trucks.

BEEPbeepBEEP .... their sound is difficult to miss. I open up the blinds and peer out. I see a lady in her robe walk out to the walk, bend over and pick up the morning paper.

She would be so surprised to know that I am awake.

I know without a doubt I have surprised Mollie, my adorable cat. She thought I got up to use the bathroom, so she waited on my bed for me to return.

"Surprise!" I told her as I hurried down the hall toward the kitchen.

I woke up 2-1/5 hours earlier than usual because instead of working overtime after work, I will work overtime before work. I have a friend visiting me. And we have dinner plans tonight. I worked overtime a couple of nights ago and we missed our evening plans on account of it. I feel happy for my quick-thinking solution for this evening.

I feel giddy and alert. My mind thinks I'm going on vacation. My eyes keep looking for my suitcase. Surely I am going somewhere really fun because why else would I be awake when the moon is still up?

"Surprise!" I tell myself. "You're going to work!"

It seems the earlier one wakes up, the less there is be distracted by. So I got ready in record-speed. I watered my potted plants. I watered the boxwoods. I threw out the garbage. I chatted with my nextdoor neighbor taking her dog out for a walk.

"Shawn! What are you doing awake so early?!"
"I'm going to work extra early and putting in my overtime in reverse!"

She nods. I don't think she understood.

It is peaceful. I love the mornings. Just like I love tidy, uncluttered homes. But I know only too well it's just like keeping a clean, uncluttered home. I will never be natural at it.

I love this cute animation. It's called The Ok Book. I wish I had written and animated this.

My To Do List

Remember a few weeks back or maybe it was a couple of months ago, when I was so thrilled by my newly organized clean house? Everything was neatly put away and the house was so clean, I didn't panic when someone dropped by unexpectedly or asked to use my bathroom.

I loved this feeling of calm that went through me and I was determined to make this my new reality!

It was then, when my next door neighbor and her friend dropped in to see my newly updated kitchen. She was so taken back by my clean, uncluttered home (it was her first time she ever walked into my house, so she thought this was normal for me), and was so inspired, she took two days off to clean her house and emptied two carloads of junk to the Good Will! The friend she was with told me later that she went home and kicked her house!

I LOVED it and yet, I have to admit, I did feel a wee bit highfalutin. It did look a bit staged... as if there was a For Sale sign up and an Open House was about to begin.

Well.

As you can see by my list (and so far the list is up to 23 things to do by tomorrow afternoon), I have somewhat fallen back into my old ways.

First it was the small things.

Leaving the newspaper and a few bills on the kitchen table. (I'll put it away later....)

Not putting away the three magazines I took outside with me in the backyard to read-- er, thumb through -- and then left them on the kitchen counter.

The clothes I folded from the dryer sat on the living room coffee table because I was in the middle of watching Big Brother and forgot to hang them in my closet during a commercial.

The cat food that dropped from Mollie's dish eventually adhered to the floor, so I left it.

The quick impromptu cleanings just before someone dropped in, was quickly tossed into the garage and now I need to clean that up.

It is now nearly back to where it once was, although the closets are still in good organized order.

I admit it: The task of putting everything away where they belong does not come naturally to me. (and probably the reason why the closets stay so clean). Neither does the determination in keeping my sink sparkling clean. And my aim is still slightly off when I throw my worn clothes across the room hoping to land in the hamper. How hard is it really, to walk over and place the clothes in the actual clothes hamper than leaving them all laying on the floor around it.

By the way, I never use the word "highfalutin". It came to me in a sudden moment and I think it's a pretty cute word so I used it a few paragraphs above. But it's not really me. In an honest moment of confessing to you that I was feeling pretentious with my neighbor and her friend while showing them my neat and tidy house, I felt pretentious again using that fun, cute word.

I'm not apologizing, but just wanted to let you know.

Off to clean the house. . . .

Can you hear me?

I have been so quiet lately. I don't know what it is or why that is.

It's like my heart and my head has gotten disconnected. I go through the motions throughout my day, and I get things accomplished, but I don't feel truly there.

I'm present but I'm not focused. It's as though my thoughts are someplace else, but the truth is, I'm not thinking much of anything. I imagine inside my brain, it's just a lot of interstate highway without much traffic.

I think deep down inside, in my core - spirit - soul, where my brain operates without words, I am asking myself what I was born to be. What I can do to leave my mark in this world long after I am gone. I know I will never have kids.

So. What will my kids be?

Fabric is a great child. The fabric I have designed can live on years after my life is over. It's the same with the children interactive rugs I've created. There is a lot of creative stuff inside me that still wants to come out. I still want to write a book. Or two. And I daydream of starting back my comic strip.

Someday.

I need to feel more empowered to do these things. I need to have a healthier, stronger core and ego surrounding my talents. I've always felt that I was the kid who stands halfway down the court in a one-point-behind basketball game and just as the last bell rings at the finish of the game, I loft the ball high up in the air and it's on track to reach the basket.... and the entire crowd is moved to silence holding their breath as they stand to see if we win or lose the game. The ball hits the rim and it spins around and around and around ... I look out and and everyone appears to have stopped into slow-motion.. and if this were a movie.. the ball would fall in ... but it's real life... and the ball circles the rim another time or two.. and then .... spills out and bounces a few times down on the court, losing the game.

I'm good enough to picked for the team. But not always good enough.

Someday I will be.

That sure is a tricky word, isn't it? Even toxic. When you're a kid, the word someday is the worst word in the English language. Even when you get older... the word someday isn't a good word because you know that someday is probably never going to happen.

"Can we go to Disneyland?"

"Not now, but someday..."

Everyone's got a someday.

Like buying a home up in the hills overlooking Dry Creek Valley in Healdsburg.

That's my someday.

Or adding a bathtub and shower in the master bathroom.

These somedays are like a placeholder name to put something off.

When I was a young girl I fell in love with Tony Defranco of the musical group The Defranco Family. I saw this photo on the inside cover of Tigerbeat while waiting for my mom to buy our groceries at Luckys and was instantly smitten.
I wrote Tony a fan letter and he wrote me back hoping I can see them perform that summer at Magic Mountain.

"Can we go!? Can we go!!?"
"Maybe. If not this time around, we will take you someday."

I eventually had that someday about 10 years ago.

The Defrancos sang at the first Retrofest in Santa Monica. I believe it was the first time they performed since the 70s. I flew down there, stayed at the LAX Hilton and went to see them in concert the following day. It was a little disappointing. I was no longer the little girl who had the crush on Tony. The music sounded amateur. I felt a tinge bit embarrassed sitting there in the small audience. But I always wanted to see them in concert. And was thrilled I accomplished one of my somedays.

I want to enjoy this journey in my life. I don't want to sit on the side lines waiting for that someday to potentially never happen.

I just need to reconnect my brain and my heart back together again. To focus back in. To rediscover what new project I can work on that will bring me my joy.

I guess for now.. i'm experiencing the quiet before the storm. The rest before the race. I got my shoes tied and I'm ready to embark on whatever it is that draws me. Or what I draw out. I truly am. So bring it on.

banana pops

"Pick a hand! Pick a hand!" she said as soon as I opened up my front door.

She was giddy with excitement with two hands hidden behind her back.

"The left one," I said before changing my mind. "No, the right. The right! No... no. The left! Make it the left!"

I watched her for a moment, while her shoulders bounced up and down shuffling between hands before pulling out a frozen chocolate covered banana for me. She wasn't wearing her usual makeup and her hair looked almost like schlack to her head. As I extended my hand to accept it from her, my eyes rivoted to her dark cave-like smile.

She caught my eye contact and quickly slapped her hand up to her mouth. "I've been violently ill with the flu and threw up my teeth this morning. I had one hand grabbin' onto my hair jus' like this to hold my hair up and I had this other hand flushin' the toilet and I jus' wasn't quick enough to grab my uppers before they swirled down the drain!"

She then smiled an upsidedown smile to show me her unhappiness. When I saw a few lower teeth just barely sinking up above her gums, I suddenly felt like I was about to get ill myself.

"Pick a hand!" She shouted again. "Pick a hand. Nuthin' but a hand!" From her other hand, she pulled out the yellow box. "After you eat my delicious treat, you're gonna wanna make yer own, so here's a gift!"

She was a neighbor I hardly knew.

I barely said the words: "thank you" before she got a worried look to her face, cupped her hands to her mouth and ran toward her home.

I watched her run down the sidewalk as I closed the door. I took a deep breath and felt ashamed for what I was about to do.

I took one look at the chocolate covered banana and another at the box and I knew only too well, not to hold on to something I knew I would never eat. I tossed them both away.

Gift-giving. It's really in the timing. Had she felt well, I wouldn't have thought anything about eating the banana she had handed to me. But now, I wasn't able to get past the thought of even keeping the box. Except to snap this picture of it that looks like perhaps the shelf date has expired years ago.

The Pavement Picasso

I am sure you have all seen the brilliant chalk artwork that Julian Beever has created on pavement since the mid 1990s.  His drawings create the illusion of three demensions. I am in awe each time I see his work and I think you will be, too. This beautiful wonderful creation drawn only in chalk on a street that will be washed away in time and if not caught on film, it would be gone forever. 

You can view a video on youtube of him at work here. 

(Sorry. I don't know who to give the photo credits to, as I received this in an email).