Illustration Friday: Cake

A lady from a large grocery store chain with a bakery department called me on the phone from seemingly nowhere and asked if I would like to come in for an interview to be a cake decorator.

A cake decorator! I never had ever thought of being a cake decorator before-- except maybe once when I was using my Easy Bake Oven as a kid. It sort of appealed to me in that moment.

"When do you want me to come in?" I asked.
"Anytime today, " she said. "Just come into the Manager's office and ask for Char."

So I did. She took one look at me and said, "You're hired".

It felt pretty nice to being hired so quickly and easily on the spot. But then my smile and feeling good about myself faded instantly when she said, "You'll be making approximately $8 an hour, just four hours a day, then we take out $40 of union pay out of your paycheck each week so you'll gross $120 and with taxes and benefits taken out, you can probably count on about $78 a week. Sound good? Plus, you get one floating holiday off your first year and then after that you get your birthday and anniversary date off. Come in on Monday, to pick up your uniform"!

On Sunday, I walked into that large grocery store and told the young teenage manager that I could not take the job.

She just jeered at me and blew so hard, the bangs of her hair flowed back and forth by her breath and said, "Well, it's a GOOD THING you didn't quit AFTER we paid the money for you to attend Cake Decorating School!"

What I know in my Heart

I know in my heart that I am responsible for my own life. It's not how much money I make or what credentials I have earned, but it's about my soul and spirit.

I also know that ...

1. There are always two sides to every story.
2. That sometimes when I'm angry I have the right to be angry, but that never gives me the right to be cruel.
3. True friendships grow, even over the longest distance.
4. When someone says "Stop by anytime" they don't really mean it.
5. Being kind is more important than being right.
6. To accept compliments more graciously. Not to roll my eyes or interrupt them or embarrass them for their poor taste. I will listen. Absorb it. Believe it.
7. Even though my background and circumstances of life may have influenced who I am, I am responsible for who I become.
8. I can never make someone love me. The best I can do is be someone who can be loved.
9. Life is shorter than we expect it be.
10. The more I learn, the more I realize how little I know.
11. To always do my best. On some days, it may seem like I'm just barely getting by, but if it's the best I can do that day, then it's still doing my best.
12. No matter much I care, I need to realize that some people just don't care back. And there's nothing I can do about that.
13. The best way to get my house clean is to invite friends over.
14. That money seems to move away from those who try to hold on to it, and toward those who share it.
15. I feel better about myself when I make others feel better about themselves.
16. That no matter how good a friend someone is, they're going to hurt you every once in awhile and you must forgive them for that.
17. That those who want to share their religious views with me almost never want me to share mine with them.
18. Arrogant people bore me.
19. I shouldn't be so eager to find out a secret, because it could change my life forever.
20. I am responsible for my own happiness and no one else can do that for me.
21. If I do not follow my passion and enjoy my work, then my job becomes a prison.
22. It is never appropriate to say hurtful and mean things to my friends as I will regret it in a huge way.
23. Listening ... truly listening ... is more difficult than talking.
24. It's a lot easier to react than to think.
25. It's not what you have in your life but WHO you have in your life that counts.
26. To love the journey and not the destination.
27. And just because someone doesn't love me the way I want them to love me, doesn't mean they don't love me to the best they are able.
28. The price I pay for a moment of joy when exposing a secret is destroyed by a lifetime of remorse and regret.
29. No matter how hard bad my heart is broken, the world doesn't stop for my grief.
30. Nobody cares if I don't dance well. They're too busy worrying about their own dance steps to notice.
31. To eat what I enjoy and stop when I've had enough.
32. Negative people drain me and I am not obligated to keep them in my life.
33. Not to form a belief about myself based on other's negative comments toward me.
34. Families are about loyalty, love and support and do not need to be biological.
35. To always leave loved ones with loving words. It may be the last time I ever see them.
36. Maturity has more to do with what types of experiences I've had and what I've learned from them and less about how many birthdays I've celebrated.
37. When to draw the line between being nice and not hurting someone's feelings to standing up for what I believe.
38. Sometimes it isn't always enough to be forgiven by others. I also need to learn to forgive myself.
39. Know who my good friends are and continue to work hard on maintaining meaningful friendships.
40. No amount of security is worth the suffering of a life lived chained to a situation that has killed your dreams.
41. A person who quietly sits at home and cares for an ailing parent is as strong as any person who has climbed a mountain.
42. Hardship has made me stronger and self-reliant.
43. I can keep on going long after I think I can't.
44. Not to let fear of making a mistake keep me from going after what I want.
45. Three can sometimes be a crowd.
46. I value my belongings when I have fewer of them.
47. To resist the urge to say "I told you so".
48. Everyone has a story that's worth asking about and listening to.
49. Money is a lousy way to determine someone's worth.
50. I am capable of more than I can ever imagine.

That's Disgusting!

I didn't draw that picture.

It's scanned from a kid's book that I absolutely love along with "That's Mean and That's Dangerous!"

The book reminds me so much of a conversation I heard recently between two kids.

The girl asked, "What would you rather eat? A Hair Sandwich or a Booger Sandwich?"
The boy thought for a bit and replied, "I guess the Hair Sandwich. I'd wash it first with good smelling shampoo so it would taste delicious."

Then the boy asked the girl, "What would you rather eat? Cat poop over ice cream or Blood over ice cream?"

The girl squealed. "That's gross! I don't want to play anymore!"
"You HAFTA play!" he said.
"No, you can't make me!"
"Yes, I can. What is it? Blood or Poop?!"
She thought for a while and asked, "Is it a cute little kitten's poop?"



To see more funny pictures from this book, click here.

Illustration Friday: Sorry!

It's always funny to watch people monkey around at the beach until someone gets hit in the head by a beach ball. Then it's hilarious!

Laughing Betty and the gas leak

So, Dan smelled a gas leak in my studio-office.
I sniffed and I sniffed.

Yeah. I began to think I smelled it, too. So I called our local gas & electric company.

I waited hours for someone to show up. At 11:30 pm Betty showed up at my door with so many pens in her front pocket and she wore the roundest shape hair I have ever seen. There was a small circle of blue ink that left a ring around her pocket from a leaky pen -or two.

She smelled the gas odor before I open the door. "Yup, that's a gas leak alright!" she says, and explodes into a crazy belly laugh, where she leans backwards, looking up at the stars and then throws herself forward, to bend down toward her shoes.

She states she needs to climb under my house to get to this leak and now it's my turn to do the belly laugh. I was under my house soon after I first moved in and noticed how tight it was down under there. I knew I needed a much slimmer worker to climb under my house with the low lying pipes and Laughing Betty didn't fit the bill. I worried. I wanted her to know how tight and cramped it was down there, without pointing any attention to her weight.

But. She insisted.

I walked her around to the opening under my house and she kneeled down to take a look.

"Hold my flashlight Lil' Lady" she said to me.

As she crawled in, I crouched down behind her and leaned in to shine the flash light over her head so she could see, but she filled up the entire door light of space.

"HeyYyYy!" She shouted. "I can't seeeeee!"

I'm searched frantically for an opening of space to shine the light. Her legs were kicking widly and then... she was in. I handed her the flashlight and she started to crawl and I said, "You okay in there?" She turns around (which took seemingly forever to face me) and says, "I'm hard of hearing! Please do not talk to me while I'm under your house, because I can't read your lips."

"Oh no," I thought, shaking my head. "This is a really lousy idea". I really felt unsettled --even panicky-- with her crawling under my house during a gas leak while I watched from the outside door.

Within a moment, I heard:"I'm STuUCcKk!"

She crawled only about six feet before getting stuck under the large pipe I suspected she would. After several pushes and tugs and pulls, she was able to free herself, but her work trousers remained behind.

She crawled back to the door of my crawl space in her underwear, laughing again like she did on my front porch. Her entire body convulsed. It made me giggle, too.

I leaned in and grabbed her work trousers and handed them to her. She hopped around squeezing herself into them while laughing into convulsions. I started to belly laugh, too. The experience caught me so off-guard. Any moment, I was waiting for Alan Funt to appear to tell me to "smile, I'm on Candid Camera!" But he never showed up. It was just me and her.

Before she left, she apologized she couldn't help and suggested I call a plumber to come out to fix the leak and she left my home still laughing.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The next day, I got a call from her on my answering machine.

"Hello Shawn? This is Betty. Remember me from last night? I have lost my main gas key. Can you check under your house to see if I left it under there when I lost my pants? (explosion of laughter erupted). I can pick it up during a break between two house calls!"

I went back to look under my house and not only did I find Betty's key, but about $4 dollars worth of change, two credit cards, a handful of catsup packages and a half-dozen pens.

She showed up at my door and before she knocked, I heard her laughing again so hard walking up the walkway.

I opened the front door before she rang the door bell and I handed her the key and her other belongings. She thanked me and laughed at the pile of stuff that seemed so consealed inside her pockets. As she walked out the door, she turned toward me only once more and wanted to give me a quick hug. I returned it to her. She continued on her way down my front walk toward her truck and she laughed again, bending down to her shoes and then back up toward the stars, her little round vibrating hair casting shadows against the moon reflection on her truck.

Today it is quiet. And, I actually miss her.

Warm evenings and feeling nostalgic

The weather is warm and the flowers are in full bloom with such colorful fragrances of my childhood.

It instantly takes me back from when I was a kid riding my stringray bike, talking on walkie talkies and wearing my hooded sweatshirt just by the hood on my head. My mom would warn us, "Watch out for strangers!" (which seemed like an unusual request now that I think back on it). Sometimes, Terry and I would hide out behind bushes and watch for them. Once we found two men scanning the school yard with their metal detectors and we were quite certain they were going to dig a grave and come back to bury us alive.

I remember riding in the back seat of the family ford station wagon, digging my hands into the back seat hoping to find a dime or two, only to pull up a half-forgotten seat belt. We drank water from the garden hose and drank warm Kool-aid in dixie cups that was left out in the backyard sun waaay too long. We would play all day long and never return home before it got dark where the doors were open and inside the TV light flickered. I remember 5-cent scoops of ice cream at Thriftys were in the shape of a square instead of being round. Instead of ordering two scoops for a dime, we'd order two one-scoops because then we'd have an extra cone! We walked everywhere, or rode our sting-ray bikes with the card attached to the spoke to make it sound like an engine. I had a steering wheel on my bike. We ordered it from the Montgomery Ward catalog. I LOVED that steering wheel until one day in the 5th grade, a fireman came to our school to talk to us about bicycle safety and warned my mom it was unsafe for me to have that on my bike and it was taken off immediately.

We hid in anyone's yard in those days and shouted "Ollie-Ollie-Oxen-Free!" as loud we could when someone kicked over the Folgers coffee can, freeing the captives we worked so hard to find in the early shadows of the summer evening. 'Course no one ever knew what those words meant. Or if we said it correctly. We had school clothes and we had play clothes. We poked holes in lids of mayonnaise jars to house our bugs and poked holes in clay to hold our pencils or make ashtrays for our parents. We made go-carts out of cardboard attached to a wagon and tested it down steep hills. I remember watching Romper Room waiting for Miss Nancy to see me in her magic mirror. I pleaded for her to say my name, but it never happened. Troll dolls and Lucky Rabbits feet lived in our pockets. I remember playing army with the boys and we would pour catsup on Kotex pads and wrap them around our heads and under our chins for bandages. We jumped off of high front porches with umbrellas attempting to fly. We would lay out an old kitchen vinyl table cloth in Terry's front yard and run water out of the garden hose on it and it became our own Slip N Slide.

We fell out of trees. We scraped our knees, but none of us had our eyes poked out or lost an arm if we put it out the car window. And no one sued anyone. And, The Three Stooges didn't turn me into a violent person, though at the time, I misunderstood my 4th grade teacher, Mr. Crabb. I believed him when he warned our class that The Three Stooges teaches us violins, so I took up violin that year in school.

Because of my childhood, I have grown into being a creative, risk-taking, imaginative adult with the ability for fun.

Which reminds me. I need to get outside now and enjoy the daylight before the sun goes down.

Oh, Those Hardwood Floors

I want to thank those who encouraged me in keeping my hardwood floors instead of sewing the carpet scraps back together to tack back onto my floor.

I'm growing accustomed to it now.

I discovered the Swiffer Wetjet tonight. (It took me at least an hour to learn how to use it because it didn't come with a manual and I later realized by going to their website that it needed batteries!) But .. now a few hours later, I am amazed and delighted at my shiny new/old floors.

It is looking wonderful. (I'm saying this to those who will never see it in person, of course). :O)

Back when I was 10 or 11 or so, I remember my friend, Jenny, who's mother was always cleaning their hardwood floors. She would use a mop that looked like Tina Turner (from behind ... and on her head). She worked at it endlessly it seemed. And they sure seemed shiny. I remember thinking I wanted to play roller derby on it.

One afternoon, when she left to call the numbers on a Bingo game, Jenny chalked up a track around the living room and dining room, cued up Jim Croce's "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown" and half the neighborhood took off on wheels.

Jenny and I grabbed a few old abaloni shells from their backyard and put it on our heads for helmets. The others followed suit. Soon we were a team. And then we were a game.

I was on the team called the Bay City Bombers. It was an Oakland, California team and I was "Joanie Weston" the Marilyn Monroe athlete in those days, I guess. We played crazy fun. I remember feeling my heart beat not just in my chest but in my head and neck and arms and hands as I madly sailed along on my skates, exhilerated beyond breath, around Jenny's living room pushing down on Paul and Todd and Brett and Jimmy and Cindy and Kim's head or shoulder away and onto the floor beneath me.

It was an unusually, crazy, unbridled fun for me, because inside my own home -- even a single dirty finger print against the back door could prove some sort of punishment.

If just for the four or eight minutes we played, I was insanely happy and knew if I died, I would die a happy child. But guess what? Jenny's mom returned.

She forgot that little bingo machine that resembled a hamster run, where you rolled the spinner and the balls would bounce and spin and eventually pop up after a long endless spin. And when she saw us all skating and pushing each other around, we were all sent home.

I was so nervous. I wiped the sweat off my forehead and pleaded with Mrs. Peterson not to tell my parents that I roller-skated on their floor.. to perhaps inform them that I was actually a crowd participant... and in doing so, I promised I would gather up any money she saw fit to repair the scratches on her floor. She remained silent when she dropped me off the front of my home. I threw a kiss and bowed.

She turned her face, without saying a word, and put her foot on the gas of her woody station wagon and headed on home with little Jenny sitting in the back seat.. her blonde hair blowing back from the open window.

It's now hard not to remember when I'm cleaning up my own floors and listening to Tina Turner..... I wonder whatever happened to little Jenny and her mother's floors... and the rest of our old roller derby team?

I miss you and the ol' team. I've got a new floor and I'm ready to play!!

Pullin' up the carpet

Guess what I just did?

I am crossing off one of my goals I planned to do this Spring/Summer because I just pulled up my carpet in my living room. I'm looking at it and scratching my head wondering "what was I thinkin'?"

No one else has seen it yet and I know hearing their opinions will help mine considerably. I love it in other people's homes. And once they're restored, I'm sure I will be happy, but for now, my back hurts and I feel dusty and feel unsure about my efforts.

One thing I am certain of is this: It is truly rewarding to do something really productive and the satisfaction of being able to say, "I did that".

I can hardly wait to write off the other goals from my list.

(Thank you Janet for your enthusiasm and encouragement)

One Red Paperclip and a Dream

Have you heard of Kyle MacDonald from Montreal? He had this dream to trade a red paper clip for something bigger and better.

It was a game he and his friends would play when he was a boy growing up. This time he decided to push it beyond his neighborhood.

So, he put his ad on Craigslist under the Barter section back in July and within twenty minutes he traded his paper clip for a fun fish pen. He was visiting his parents in Vancouver, BC at the time and met the two women at a 7-11 parking lot to make the trade. Then he traded the fun fish pen for a door knob with a smiley face on it from a woman in Seattle. From there, he went to Amherst to trade the knob for a coleman's stove. The two guys celebrated the trade by cooking steaks on it for lunch.

He travels all over making the trades in person and the trade up gets bigger and better.

Kyle dreams of owning his own house. And I bet he'll get it. He's already up to one year's free rent on a house in Phoenix.

All from a red paper clip. And a willingness to be creative and be original.

Paint By Desire

So, the other night I decided to start painting on a 24x36 canvas. Without having an easel, I always lean my paintings against the wall, while I sit or kneel or crouch on the floor to paint.

Paintings always looks so easy to do when you see them hanging on a wall in someone else's house. "I can do that!" I find myself saying all the time. "That looks easy enough!" I can see the painting in my imagination, but what comes out of my brush onto the canvas is completely different. Much like my singing voice. And now that I think about it, it's no different than my gift-wrapping efforts as well.

I am learning that painting a picture is hard work and can't be done overnight.

When I was a kid, I would sometimes have those coloring activity books that had dots inside the drawings. This was to inform me that I could use my water color paints on it. But no matter how many times I would paint in those coloring books, the paint always seem to seep through the pages. And I never understood what all those dots were about anyway.

I loved painting-by-numbers. Remember them? You never had to make any decisions about what the colors should be like or what to paint, because it was all written out for you. I still really like the style of the bold colors and the shading. It looks so easy to do. Not really any blending at all.

But, of course, it's never easy.

Unless you're a painter.

I'm not that patient when it comes to painting.

So there I was, squatting on the floor painting, when I decided to paint a straight line and I was too shaky, so I used the blue tape one uses when painting the interior walls of a home. I taped it where I wanted the line to be straight. But I was so thrilled by thinking of that grand idea, I didn't wait for the paint to dry before ripping off the tape to see my perfect straight line.

Of course, the paint smeared.

Shaken, I stood up to step back to see my painting more clearly, when I accidently kicked the water glass over filled with a mucky orangy-greenish-blue paint. It was disastrous.

As hard as I could, I wasn't able to scrub the large stain out of my living room carpet.

Remember when I spoke of my desire of pulling out my carpet? I think I'll be pulling it up sooner than later. Because right now, all I can see when I walk toward the kitchen is the stain. I know my hardwood floors will have stains, as well. But I'm ready for the change and I'm ready for the new challenges.

Wish me well. Any recommendatons/suggestions accepted.

Speed

Vespas are not the speediest of vehicles. But I love the way they look. And I always get a kick out of seeing someone driving one. They seem so colorful. Everyone has a story and I try and imagine what theirs might be.

Contemplating Spring

I am sitting here freezing to death. I am half-believing any moment I will start to grow a thin layer of fur to keep me warm. It's been raining here too many days in a row. I heard on the news that it has rained 45 out of the last 50 days.

The average rainfall is 29 inches a year. This year it has already rained more than 15 inches over that number and there is no end in sight.

While standing over my heater vent, I looked down at my aging carpet and decided to pull the heater vent off I was standing over and pull the carpet up against the wall and see the condition of my hardwood floors. They looked pretty good in the 5 by 7 inch area I saw. I got so excited, I had to stand on my hands for a bit to keep me from pulling any more carpet up. I will wait for a warmer, sunnier day and when I'm alloted more time, I will pull away, not knowing what I'm doing, of course.

I went back to standing over my heater vent and while standing over it, feeling the warmth flow upward toward me, I started to daydream of what I will do when Spring actually arrives at my doorstep.

Here are ten things on my wish list I would like to start doing in Spring, and have them completed by the Fall.

HOME CHORES

01. I want to clean out my bedroom closet and only keep a small amount of clothes that I actually wear and donate the rest.

02. I want to lay new linoleum down on the floor under my kitchen sink, where it flooded when I first moved in and the linoleum came up.

03. I want to pull out all those sticker bushes on the side of my house that seemed to grow overnight.

04. I want to pull up my carpet in my living room just as I have seen Tanya Memme do a dozen times on A&E's Sell This House.

05. I want to paint the exterior of my house. Not because it needs it, but because I want to.

06. I want to clean out my garage and organize it.

07. I want to buy a red chair for my living room.

08. I want to create a better garden in my backyard.

09. I want to add more curb appeal to the front of my house.

10. I want to go through the boxes in my closets and throw out (or donate) the stuff I don't really need or want.

When I do these, I will post the before and after photos as I complete my list.

All day I've been singing, "The sun will Come Out Tomorrow.." and even though I know it won't be for at least another week, I am beginning to feel the spring in my walk as I contemplate Spring and daydream of those long sunny days and warm evenings of Summer.

Eye Test

How many Fs do you see in the text above? Go ahead and count them.


There are six Fs in there. Go back and read it again.

You know why you didn't count six? Apparently, the brain can't process the word "OF".

The other day I came across someone who couldn't process the word "NO", but that's another story.

Spring

I noticed on my calendar that Spring arrived last week, but I can only imagine it from a distant memory. Looking out my window here in the Bay Area, I can only see gray skies and a continual pouring of cold, constant wet rain.

Oh Spring. Please come and pay us a visit soon.

Hiding

One summer evening, when I was 16, I briefly dated a quiet guy who looked just like Vinnie Barbarino in Welcome Back Kotter. He was very kind and sweet and I couldn't come up with any valid reason why I wanted to break up with him, except that my friends were much more fun and I was bored with him. And, every moment spent with him was less time with my friends.

I was eating dinner at home with my family when I saw him drive up to pay me a surprise visit.

"Oh no!" I sighed. "Please tell him I'm not home!"

My younger brother got up to answer it. We all sat, quietly eating.

"Is Shawn home?"
"Sure!" said my brother. "Come on in."

I bolted out of my chair and with my half-eaten dinner plate and hurried outside to the back.

I ran out into the garage and then through another door into a very dark workshop filled with dust and spiders and cobwebs. I hid behind some old chairs and a sign that read: "Anyone caught stealing on these premises will be shot" that my dad actually stole.

I could hear my brother say, "Hmmm. Maybe she went into the garage. Let's have a look." I could hear them shuffling about heading toward where I hid. Surely, he wouldn't take him back into the workshop. With my dinner plate still in my hands, I crouched below the work counter completely hidden behind the "do not steal" sign. I held my breath. I was horrified they might find me.

He didn't let up on his search. "Could she be back there in that dark workshop?"

My brother turned on the light and then walked around, moving away a few chairs before lifting the sign to find me hiding. Vinnie took one look at me and told me to go to hell.

I sat there long after he left. Staring down at my shoelaces and petting my dog and feeling ashamed that I couldn't just tell him I no longer wanted to go out with him.

I saw him recently walking through a strip mall parking lot pushing a woman in a wheelchair. He was with others doing the same thing. Those in wheelchairs were handicapped in various ways. As they headed toward my direction I stopped abruptly and quickly darted into a store, unseen, and watched them through the door at them.

He and a few others pushed their way over to a small yellow bus and he began to help them board.

I stood there for the longest time, hidden from view, waiting until he boarded the bus so I could go on my way. Yet I just felt small and ashamed of myself --not only from my 16-year-old behavior but here I was, hiding from him again.

So I walked back out of the store and walked up to him. He smiled, instantly recognizing me and acted like he didn't remember me hiding in the dark workshop that night with my dinner plate. Here he was, this kind, gentle soul, taking care of those with special needs.

We only said a few words and I went on my way with a sigh of relief and a comfort in my heart that I was able to push beyond my feelings and walk up to him. I am still learning and growing. But often times, I'm still that 16-year-old girl with her own special needs... still hiding behind a stolen sign that says "do not steal".

I'm back from the desert

I just returned from having a fun and relaxing time in Phoenix.

Four days of being in the desert warmed me to my core.

It was such a wonderful reprieve from our lengthy cold wet weather back home. We're two days shy of having the wettest March in the Bay Area. I think it might even be the wettest season on record. And the weather folks don't see any change in sight.

So, today I unpacked and went back to work on some designs, stopping occasionally to stand over my heater, pretending the heat was the desert sun, imagining myself being back there with a friend I feel so comfortable with; who I never tire of being around.

I took these photos while we sat enjoying our magical dinner out on the terrace at The Phoenician in Scottsdale on Monday night. Some day I hope to return to this place.

Phone Calls

As a kid, I remember dialing up my friends on the telephone, and when no one answered, I was patient enough to let the phone ring for as long as I could tolerate it.

"Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer... you take one down, pass it around... ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall..."

I would sing it until maybe the 50th bottle. Because I knew that as soon as I hung up, they would walk in the door and miss my call.

There were no answering machines in my childhood.

I used to have the patience to wait on a busy signal. I once read Amelia Bedelia, The Littles Take a Trip and one of the Encyclopedia Brown books with that busy signal honking in my ear before I decided the busy signal tone wouldn't just change into a ringing tone.


I am still puzzled to this day, why a busy signal tone can't transfer into a ringing tone. ...."If we can put a man on the moon......"


I remember getting my first answering machine in either 1985 or 1986.

The large brown machine used a cassette tape and was attached to the phone by cords.

"Hello, this is Shawn.
I can not come to the phone right now.
But.
If you leave your name.
Your telephone number.
And a brief message.
I will call you back as soon as I can."

I stole those lines off the instructions to my answering machine manual.

I recorded my voice over and over and over again. It never seemed quite natural. Like I was reading it. Or... I phrased it wrong or swallowed in the middle of it all or didn't sound like myself. (actually I probably sounded too much like myself, and I wanted to sound more sophisticated). Many times the phone would start ringing in the midst of me leaving the message so I would have to redo it. But. Whatever the reason, it would always take me about two hours to leave a ten-second internal message, sitting under the kitchen table feeling shy and embarrassed to make this recording.

I remember being warned. NEVER say "Hello. Today is August 30th. We cannot come to the phone right now, as we're camping at the Russian River and won't be home until September 2nd. Gordon, the key is hidden under the Welcome Mat as it always is. The window in the bathroom is still broken if you lose the key and need to climb inside. To all others, leave your name and telephone number and a brief message and we'll call you back when we return. Have a nice day!"

So I learned to always say, "I can't come to the phone right now" as opposed to "No one is home to take your call." It was to keep burglars away, of course.

You know what was even worse than leaving that internal message? It was much worse when I was on the other end having to leave a message. I would call a friend and the answering machine would pick up and I would have to leave a message on the spot. Without any sort of rehearsal.

I was too shy to leave messages that first year.

If it was really urgent, I would hang up, write down what I wanted to say, try it out a few times with different expressions and then read it outloud on the message machine. I just couldn't adlib back then. Eventually I started to get brave as others were beginning to become brave and leave messages on mine.

The answering machine was a hugely new invention. And, it took us all awhile to get comfortable. And, then we eventually did.

"Oh hi!!! This is Shawn. Well. ...You probably already knew that. Um... Are you there? ... Hello? ... Are you there screening your calls? ... I can hear you breathing. ... No, I guess not. ... What? ... Hello? ... Oh. ... Sorry. I thought I heard a click. ... Annnywaaaay, I guess you're not at home. ... Well... if you get home before 10, can you call me at --- beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. (my fifteen seconds were up).

I remember before cell phones, I would be at a pay phone listening to my messages and I would inevitably get, "Hellooo Shawn. Where are you? Where are you? Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Are you there? It's me! Hello? Are you there? Are you going to the bathroom? I'll wait. I'll sing to you.. "La-la-la-la-la".. okay, take your time. I'll just tell you a funny story that happened to me at the grocery store.. " and they fill up 15 minutes of my cassette tape before they decide I'm not really home. Meanwhile, I'm depositing coins left and right.

And then after that long message, I would get these:

Beeeeeeep. "Hi Shawn. This is John. Guess you're not home, so give me a call." (Time: 2:06 pm)
Beeeeeeeeep. "Hi Shawn. Are you there? Guess not. It's John. Give me a call when you get home." (Time: 2:13 pm)
Beeeep. "Hi Shawn. It's John. Give me a call." (Time: 2:22 pm)
Beeeeeeeep. "Hi Shawn. This is John. I'm tryin' to find you. Give me a call." (Time 2:51 pm)
Beeeeep. "Hi Shawn. It's me, John. Just giving you a call to see if you're home. Give me a call when you get home." (Time 3:13 pm)
Beeeeeeeeeep. "Hi Shawn. It's just me, John. I thought you'd be home by now. Give me a call. Bye." (Time 3:51 pm)
Beeeeep...

----------------

Now, sometimes I prefer leaving a message on someone's answering machine. I've gotten quite good at speaking on the spot. I can even sing a good Happy Birthday song to anyone on an answering machine. But who gets to leave messages anymore? Everyone owns a cell phone now, too. So if you miss them at home, you can easily catch them on their mobile phone.

I certainly don't miss the endless ringing ... but.. every now and then, I secretly hope I get to leave a message ---- just like the good ole days.

Spring is in the air

We've had our fair share of snow and rain this past winter and I'm giddy with excitement that Spring is just around the corner. The sun is shining today. It seems like a long time since I've felt its warmth.

I've been sitting at my computer working on some designs, but I feel as though I need my creative battery recharged. I sit here sometimes and feel stifled in my design work. A friend of mine said to get up and out of the house for a bit and I'll be amazed at how quickly my creativity will return. So I'm off to mow my backyard as the lawn is in great need of a haircut. Then watch Lloyd act in his High School Play this afternoon.

Next weekend I'm flying to Phoenix to meet a friend and will stay here.

The change of scenery and new adventure will do wonders for my creative soul. But for now, I'll settle for the lawn mower.

Off the top of my head, here are 10 things that stir up my creativity:

1. Being around inspiring and creative people.
2. A place with a view.
3. Browsing through a bookstore.
4. An outdoor picnic.
5. Walking along the beach.
6. Listening to good music.
7. The beautiful grounds at wineries.
9. Warm weather Vacations
10. A brand new ultra-thin sharpie marker and a pad of paper.

Ker-plunk!

Do you remember playing Ker-Plunk?

It's a clear plastic tube filled with marbles, which are supported by crisscrossing sticks inserted through the tube. Then, each player takes a turn pulling out a stick, trying to dislodge as few marbles as possible. As the game progresses and fewer sticks remain, it gets harder to keep the marbles from going ker-plunk! And, at the end of the game, the player with the fewest marbles, wins.

Ever since I bought my 1950s home two years ago, I have looked forward to updating my kitchen with a modern dishwasher. But, for now, I am the modern dishwasher.

I play Ker-Plunk on a daily basis. But it's not that game we played as a kid. I play it in the kitchen. It's a test of coordination as I skillfully pull out each stick---err, cup and dish and glass and pan from my dish drainer hoping nothing drops.

One small mistake and everything goes crashing to the floor. The object is not to lose your marbles. And, I'm about to lose mine if I break any more glasses.

Just thought I'd let you know.

Chin Up!

My dearest friend lost her grandfather last night.

She called him Papaw... growing up in Texas and all. Her grandparents have lived in this small lake town in East Texas and attend the same church as Lance Armstrong's grandfather for many years. Aww. That just made me smile. It would make you smile, too, if you ever visit this sweet small town a couple hours from Dallas.

Brenda's grandparents "Mamaw and Papaw" were still driving all over the place just a couple of months ago. But ya know, what happens when old age sets in. It just sets in. They are in their mid 90s. It tears my heart out. You can't fight old age. It's a dirty trick .. this growing old.

Papaw was so alert to the end, but his lungs filled up. I knew him for more than ten years but only really knew him a short time. The first time I met him was July 4, 1995 at his home. Brenda and I pulled into their driveway that warm windy night on Independence Day, and he was in his shop working on clocks because even in his 80s he was a clock repairman and he poked his head out from the garage and said, "Booo!" in such a cute, adorable way.

"Boo". I still see and hear his sweet voice and face and I often replay that image in my memory like a "quicktime movie".

He touched me to my core. I felt my eyes glisten with emotion.

He seemed to die without much suffering so he lived this wonderful life deep into his 90 years of life driving anywhere his next adventure would take him with his wife always by his side. There was never an ill word spoken from him. He was an incredibly wonderful loving man.

Brenda called me late last night. He had just died and she just returned from the hospital after seeing him her last time. They picked up his belongings.

When we said our goodbyes, I said, "Chin up!"

It was an expression I have never said before.

She said, "whaat?"

It sorta caught me off guard, too.

I said, "chin up! Keep your chin up."

She said, "Shawn! That's exactly what Papaw would say to me each time we said "our goodbyes".. He would say "chin up!"

It sent a chill through me.


Chin up, Brenda.

I heard you, Papaw. Thanks for your message.

Humbled and Grateful

Where has the time gone? It seems like a long time since I've written anything here.

I am here. The days have a way of melting into the other... and now it is March.

I somehow missed watching the Winter Olympics and now it is over. I was busy though. Something else grabbed my attention and it wasn't the ice skaters or the snowboarders or the ski jumpers.

I keep hearing a whisper in my heart that says this is going to be my year.

So, I'm focusing on my dreams and goals in my life. I write them down in my heart and on backs of receipts and paper bags and napkins and post-its notes.

I whisper them outside and let the winds carry them on their way.

Over the Presidents Day weekend, I wrote down on my wish list how much I wanted to design fabric. Yesterday, I walked into a Fabric Company and showed them my portfolio. They hired me to do some designs for them.

I am humbled and grateful and excited over this new direction I am headed ... and in the power of dreams.




. . . I caught frogs and called them prince
And made myself a queen
And before you knew me I'd traveled 'round the world
And I slept in castles
And fell in love
Because I was taught to dream

I found mayonnaise bottles and poked holes on top
To capture Tinker Bell
And they were just fireflies to the untrained eye
But I could always tell

Cause I believe in fairy tales
And dreamer's dreams
Like bedsheet sails
And I believe in Peter Pan
And miracles, anything I can to get by
And fireflies . . .


© Lori McKenna / Fireflies (from her CD: Pieces of Me)

Who let the flys out?

I have these flies buzzing around my kitchen.

I had the door opened earlier in the day to warm up my house and since then, I've had all these buzzing flies just flapping their wings and hitting their heads and bodies against my glass kitchen door wanting to get back outside.

So I opened the door to let them out and they don't seem to notice. They just continue butting their heads against the window door unaware at this wonderful opportunity for them to be set free.

I know people like these flies.

They are trapped for various reasons. They have aspirations and longings to be free, but they, like the flies.. just keep banging their head up against the glass. There are clearly opportunities for them, but they are too busy bumping their heads to notice. Flapping their wings. Exhausting themselves.

I want to shout to the fly that, I, too, have flown the same flight pattern. I want to remind the dear fly to breathe. And when you breathe in, smell for the freshest air. Move toward that freedom. There is life where it's the most fresh. Smell the blossoms. The fragrance of new dreams. Rearrange your thinking. Your plans. Move toward the flow.

You can do it. I'm watching you and motioning you through. Loook! There's an opening. Fly through it!

Listening to Music

When I was a young girl, I always felt self-conscious by the music I loved. The teacher would let us bring in our records to school on Fridays to listen to, and while other kids brought in Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin and David Bowie, I would bashfully hide my Olivia Newton-John and Bread albums under my coat.

The first record I ever bought was The Partridge Family at K-Mart. I remember my dad drove me there so I can buy it with my Christmas money I received. Later, I went on to buy The Defranco Family, The Carpenters, Bobby Goldsboro and Eddie Rabbit. For two cents, I bought Fleetwood Mac, Boston, Pablo Cruise, Peter Frampton, Abba, Barry Manilow, Carly Simon, Carol King and Chicago on 8-track from the back of our TV Guide.

I always felt intimidated with my choice of music until I got out of high school and then it didn't seem to matter anymore.

Now I like all kinds of music.

As you know, Party Shuffle on iTunes is a mix of songs that, if you decide to select it, iTunes chooses and plays 18 songs randomly for you out of your Library.

Here's what's playing on my PARTY SHUFFLE.

01. Beautiful World (colin hay)
02. You're Beautiful (james blunt)
03. Rain (patty griffin)
04. Remember When (alan jackson)
05. Never Saw Blue Like That (shawn colvin)
06. The Power of Orange Knickers (tori amos and damien rice)
07. Don't Panic (cold play)
08. Since You've Been Around (rosie thomas)
09. The One I Love (david gray)
10. Life is Beautiful (amy correia)
11. Flies on the Butter (wynonna)
12. Talk to Me While I'm LIstening (nanci griffith)
14. Operator (toby lightman)
15. Hockey Skates (kathleen edwards)
16. Relatives (christine kane)
17. Don't Wait Too Long (madeleine peyroux)
18. As Good As I Once Was (toby keith)

(what's playing in your iTunes Shuffle)?

Sometimes Words Can Make You Feel small

Whatever happened to Mister Baldi?

I recently thought of him and his influence on my life as a young woman many years ago. I once knew this well known motivational speaker who often times traveled around the United States to tell his feel-good stories. Stories that made him look and feel good, but very rarely made the people he spoke about feel good.

The way he spoke in his sometimes quite charming manner, was actually quite enamoring. I remember sitting in his presence many times, leaning forward, hanging on to every word he said. Sometimes his eyes would seem to stop when they connected to mine and would linger there for a word.. and he'd let the word hang, while he held my glance and then move on.

I wondered if others noticed that it was my eyesight he caught while I would nervously nod my head up and down to encourage him. Like I was clapping silently with my head.

But then one day, in one of his speeches he spoke about me.

And nothing was ever the same again.

He never spoke my name, but he described me in such various detail, I knew it was me.

Hearing his story about how I was just a girl who would always just be a Wanna-Be and would never make it as an artist made my entire head sweat. He was my mentor. Someone I hugely looked up to and admired.

"What if what he said was true and my whole life as an artist is a false? What if all I am is a Wanna-Be?"

Fastforward twenty years later and apparently everything he said about me wasn't true afterall. I've made my living as a professional artist all this time, yet sometimes in the stillness of the night, I hear his story about me in my memory and shudder. I now work harder... I labor longer... because of his words.

Isn't it amazing how mighty words are? Once they're spoken, you really can't take it back.

A dear friend of mine recently said this to me about the story I just told and I'm only repeating them to you because I believe these are words for you, too.

Memorize this. Paperclip this to your heart, mind and spirit:

------

I know you already know this, but I'm going to say it anyway. Nobody cares about those words, except you. And that's because they hurt you. But those words have nothing to do with you and everything to do with his ugliness and bitterness. They are not the result of what you were or what you are; they are the result of what he is. This belief that you struggle with all the time—it isn't yours. It's like some crappy spell he put on you with his words. You formed a belief about yourself based on his cruelty, not based on what is true.

Let me tell you something, my beautiful friend: you have always been an artist. It is in your heart. Let no one tell you anything different. Remind yourself a thousand times a day who and what you are. Your opinion is the only one that matters. Whether you are making millions with your talent or keeping it all to yourself, you are an artist. No matter what.

-------

I repeat her words to myself a million times over and over and over. I have embroidered her words into my heart. And soul.

Is there someone in your life that has made you small? And brought you down?

If so, remember this: Don't take it personally. It's not about you. It's about them. Read those wise words written above and seal them in your heart.

Being an artist isn't easy. We are constantly hit with criticism and various views and critiques on our work. It would be easier to be a door greeter at Walmart or perhaps an egg sniffer at a chicken farm. Though it may not be as rewarding.

No, not nearly as rewarding.

Glamour

Illustration Friday:Glamour

I remember the old TV Show "Hart to Hart" and thinking Stefani Powers was the most glamorous woman on television. Whether she was climbing through a sewer pipe or in a fight scene, she always had that natural glamour.

For those of us who aren't Mrs. Hart, we already know it takes a lot more than makeup to make oneself glamorous. Because it's more intrinsic than anything else. But it's a good start.

o little lucy

First of all, I want to thank everyone who expressed concern over my lovely cat, Mollie, and to myself. I was extremely touched and that warmth has really carried me.

My Mollie is still gone.

I am coming to terms with it. I still have hope she will return... but... I have cleaned up her dish bowls and put her toys away. For awhile, I left her little wispy cat hairs on a pillow she loved to sleep on ... but I've now since vacuumed them up.

Animals have such a way of filling up a heart, don't they? And they leave such a void when they are gone.



I am reminded of another cat I had who walked into my life and heart two years ago.

I was putting my townhouse up for sale when the most tiniest, skinniest cat with the sharpest little fangs and the biggest head in the world, arrived on my front step and started sharpening her claws on my screen door.

"NooOo, nooo, Kitty, don't do that!"

She had the fiercest meow.

She made a low but loud guttural sound that came deep from her gut. She demanded to come in. She appeared starving so I fed her some dry kibble I had and she ate the whole bowl up. She stared up at me and her meows sounded like she was yelling at me. I was afraid to touch her. She looked diseased and worried that maybe letting her in my home wasn't the brightest idea, but I knew she needed love and caring and I felt she wasn't getting it anywhere.

This little tiny cat, I eventually called Lucy, continually clawed at my screen door to get in during all hours of the night and poked teeny holes into it. At the height of my frustration, I grabbed little Lucy and carried her off to the farthest corner of the complex I was living in. I shouted, "Staaay!!" and I ran as fast as my legs would carry me back to my home.

It was just like those old chase scenes on TV, where the woman is running and stops to look back and sees the man walking toward her and starts running again and then trips on a root, and stands up and looks back and the man is still walking and they're about the same distance apart, no matter how much running she does, he is able to keep up.

It happened just like that. I'd be running through parking lots and along curving sidewalks and then stop to turn around and I could see her walking toward me and hear her loud meowing probably saying, "I'll get you, My Pretty!" as she followed me back.

I quickly grabbed a flattened box I had for packing, and taped it to my screen door with packing tape so she couldn't scratch it. When I reached down to grab the last strip of tape, my fingers touched something soft. It was little Lucy! She was right there like a bad nightmare screaming at me with those little sharp fangs.

"Get awaaay!" I quickly rushed inside, shutting the door.

For a good hour, I could hear her scratching the cardboard demanding to get inside. Like Chucky! (I've never seen a Chucky movie, but that's how I imagine them to be). Sometimes her meows sounded like, "wullawullawullawullawallaa woooooo!" I felt I was stuck inside a horror movie.

After some silence, I began to relax a bit, when I started to hear cat claws scratching my screen door again. The cardboard was flat against the screen so I thought it was my imagination. I s-l-o-0-O-w-l-y tiptoed to my front door and opened it up. I didn't see her and as I closed the door, there was a LOUD meo0OwW and I looked at my screen door and she had squeezed herself between the cardboard and the screen door! She looked like a cardboard cutout of a cat hanging on to the screen. "Meeo0OowW"

I can't express to you how terrifying she was. At one point, I thought maybe she was a mechanical cat and I was a part of a "Smile, You're on Candid Camera" episode.

It was clear she was homeless and she slept out on my front porch day in and day out.

She clawed her way my heart and when my townhouse sold within six days and a month later, I packed up and moved away, I reluctantly packed her up, too.

I took her to the vet to be checked out and this tiny little kitten, was actually approximately 19 years old with an active thyroid! I fed her as much as she wanted because I knew she wasn't long for this world. She would eat three cans a day at least and a bowlfull of kibble. Her fur started to feel silky and soft. Her meows weren't so angry. She seemed almost joyful at this new home of hers.

Six weeks later, I could tell she was dying. She wasn't eating and her eyes were dialated. I sat beside her for an hour and a half and hoped she wasn't in any pain. I talked to her for a long time in the softest, soothing voice I could come up with. The last time I saw her alive, was seeing her tail when she climbed under the fence.

We buried little Lucy on my mom's property in the pet cemetery with all our childhood pets. I cried for three days.

Cat (napped)

Aww. A sweet wonderful cat I named Mollie came into my life last summer. We had an amazing connection. I'm not sure who loved each other more. I felt she was an old friend. I think she felt it, too. We slept together every night. She'd lean against me and use my hip or leg for her pillow. I learned how to sleep on my back motionless .. or roll over so s-l-o-0-O-w-l-y that she never woke up. She was my best friend. And I never forgot to tell her that. She told me it, too. In her own way.

Now she is gone. She mozied out to enjoy the California morning sun at 10 am a week ago last Friday and hasn't returned. I miss my Mollie. If anyone knows her whereabouts, please let go of your embrace so she can run home. She misses me, too. No Questions Asked.

E is for Early Bird

Not being much of a fan of worms, I never saw the incentive of waking up early to catch them.

I know they are good for the earth ... (and for fishin') ... but it has always been easier for me to be a ... (whoo? whooo?) .. a night owl instead.

Okay, so I've been thinking

Have you ever just been laying down just before you close your eyes to sleep and you think of your beloved aunt or grandmother who has gone on before you and wondered if they're watching over you right then? And that's sweet and nice... and maybe you lay on your back and smile up to the ceiling with your best smile. Or you poof up your hair a bit, so it looks much fuller as you lay there staring up. Maybe you turn to lay on your side.. because it makes you look more slim.

Because ... you want to look good for them.

But. What if.

You want some privacy? Are they always staring down watching? Let's assume this is all true and we really do have loved ones who have gone before us watching over us.

Do they know when to turn their face? To cover their eyes? Their ears?

If this is all real and true and God is watching over us every single moment, then I am assuming he's not all that surprised by whatever we humans do. But. What about our beloved aunt or grandmother or distant cousin?

Not that I have a lot to hide. But. Sometimes I do have an occasional itch or somewhere to pick. Do I have to always worry that I'm being watched?

There is something really comforting being watched over in this life. But I'd really like it more if I knew they have some inner awareness to know what is private and what is not.

Just so I don't have unexpected guests looking on.

Ya know what I mean?

sea

Sometimes, life's greatest moments are when we take risks. What we think might be sharks could also be sailboats. But you never know, if you never dive into your dreams and take that risk.