Monday, December 29, 2014

Starting Over

Here we come, 2015, a New Year with a New Beginning. Every year at this time it feels like I’m starting over. 2014 has been a shedding year, much like brushing my dog, CoCo, when every season begins: her wooly coat thinning with each tuft of clumping hair I remove until I have a pile of red, silky angel hair that I throw into the wind. Sometimes I see birds swoop down and pick up a strand to line their nests as they prepare to usher in their offspring with the approaching season.
Once I had a sister who said she raised me until I was five years old, although I do not remember that. My mother gave birth to me at 40 and took to her bed with post-partum depression., removing herself for five years from the family. Beth was 13 years older than I and could do everything better than I could. She could paint and cook and she was quite beautiful with blue eyes that reflected the depth of the ocean. Over the years we lost touch and reconnected when I was 30. Beth had married at 18, raised 3 boys by herself, divorced, moved to California and then went on to become an IT engineer. Her house had burned down and her second marriage had ended with his addiction. During a visit with her while recounting one of her experiences, I asked her: “Don’t you ever get tired of starting over?”
Beth smiled and chuckled slightly, saying: “No, because that is what life is about. Starting over.”
Beth died of lung cancer when I was 49 and I was going through breast cancer. I never got a chance to say goodbye. We were literally calling each other on the phone and telling each other our diagnosis one minute and she was gone the next. I recovered and she did not.

Sometimes it is hard to imagine that with every shedding there is a new beginning and eventually, something to be gained. Often it is a remembrance of someone lost and their words of wisdom with a glimmer in their eyes. Sometimes it is selling all your belongings with an illusion of freedom and trusting only in love to propel you forward.
I feel the love when I look into the eyes of my partner or down at my hands that ache after a year of hard work. I look ahead at the path before me and see it strewn with CoCo’s angel hair and rocks that look like jewels. I look at the things I’ve created and the thoughts I’ve created in my mind that keep me asking questions.
Bring it on, 2015, let’s create (a dream).

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Opting Out

I wish there was an easy button for opting out because I would click it.  I live for those moments in life when I choose invisibility from everyday occurrences in order to dream.

Life has become so complicated  and access oriented which can be contrary to a peaceful existence.  The influx of constant information gives me sensory overload.

When I traveled to California last February, I was struck by those little moments of peace while gazing upon the snow-capped mountains in a vast desert.  As I looked upon flowers that bloom on the tips of large cacti, I was struck by the instinct of natural survival and peace.

During my visit to Palm Springs, CA I casually walked into the Crystal Palace, a crystal and healing store.  At that moment there was a "Psychic Fair" being held in the store and I chanced upon Patrick Harrington, a medium who looked quite familiar. One glance at him with his bright blue eyes, sitting at his table and I knew I had to jump on this moment and have a reading with him.  Many of the things he told me no one could have known.  I asked him about opting out and he informed me there was not 'opt out' button.  I had to 'opt in" and be more visible As a creator the process comes from within and balancing that with external output is often contradictory. 

Now, I am back on the East Coast and enveloped in a slow warming of the winter frigidity.

I adore connecting to the world, and, even though finding the balance is often elusive,  seasons change and I am ready to bloom once again as winter melts away. 

Sometimes you just have to opt out in order to opt in again.  Time for Spring's rebirthing, everyone!

Friday, January 17, 2014

A Charmed Life

Do You Lead A Charmed Life? Answering that question myself, I would say sometimes yes, sometimes no. One thing I WOULD say for sure, is that it’s been memorable. OH! The memories!
As a young girl I loved shiny pretty things. My first memories of jewelry were limited to investigating my mother’s jewelry box. She wasn’t a huge jewelry fan, but had collected a small array of interesting pieces over the years which included a pink gold Benrus watch and various hand-made pins and earrings that were purchased during her 13 years living abroad in Brazil. I would line these pieces up and inspect them closely: the clasps, the stones, and the color and texture of the metal. And then there was the shoebox full of gumball machine charms, which Sherry Carr kept under her bed. She lived across the street from me and I coveted those plastic charms with a passion that wasn’t quite admirable. These early obsessions merged with Saturday trips to the hardware store accompanying my father where I developed a fascination with hinges, nuts and bolts and how everything fit together architecturally.
Lately I’ve found myself revisiting lots of memories of people and places lost. Images that will awaken me from a sound sleep or shadows that I seem to see out of the corner of my eye as I shuffle around my studio. Often I will hear a whisper in my ear with sounds and voices unspoken that will jolt me from reality.
Seemingly “on trend” it appears that you, my friends, have been following the same path because I’ve been getting a lot of requests and packages to update your memories with your collectibles and charms. I’ve been adding charms on your bracelets, earrings and necklaces.

I’ve always loved charms: charms with moveable or secret compartments. Charms with enamel and colored accents. Gumball charms. Silver charms. Gold charms. They are so fascinating, so CHARMING, and they all mean something. Our personal lives are reflected in these tiny mementos. They have meaning and a life of their own. Truly, this is a charmed life.