16 Years Ago.

Sixteen years ago today my dad's dad died. He had a massive heart attack and was gone before he hit the bedroom floor. He was born in and died in the same house.

Yesterday I took some photographs from my mom's house. Photos of my dad's side of the family. Theoretically, I should give these to my dad, but there are two problems with that: 1. I am not speaking to my father and 2. In all honesty, they will just end up in my hands anyhow after my dad dies. Morbid? Yes. True? Yes.

So these photo...
Images of my dad when he was a baby. Even a few photos of my grandmother pregnant which is something very cool to see. The baby pictures of my dad are nice, but I start to get sad when I see the older pictures of him; the photos when you can start to see the sadness in his eyes. But, that is a story for another blog, or really, a therapy session or three.

My absolute favorite photos are the ones of my grandfather. The ones of him serving in the war. Photos from Paris, images of him in his uniform. This is my favorite picture of him, oddly enough he wrote a little note on the back of this picture to his mother, "I don't like this one much. What do you think?"

He used to tell me stories about the war, censored stories, I'm sure. But I used to love to imagine these places and people. Sadly, I don't really remember any details. I see fleeting visions that I concocted in my mind as he spoke: him sitting in a canoe opening a metal box with cigarettes, ham sandwiches, and m&ms. Now, I am fairly certain that none of those pieces fit together correctly and are just a byproduct of my childhood imagination, but they are there. They are imprinted in my memory and therefore, associated with my grandfather and his kindness.

I also found some postcards from my grandfather to my grandmother:

Hello Honey,

I'm enjoying myself by drinking and thinking of you. I can't wait until we are together and tell you all the things I saw and did. Darling I love you and hope to be with you soon. 

Always your Honey, Joe

P.S. I got some picture made in Paris. They will send them to me in two weeks.

Decisions, decisions.

We are going to redo our bathroom. And our kitchen too! I just need a steady income first, so ya know, whatever year that happens...

In the meantime we are "redoing" our dining room. By that I mean painting, and taking out the IKEA furniture.

So, we want to brighten up the room since it only has one window that really only gets late afternoon sun. I was leaning towards an orange-y color. Then a yellow-y color. Neither of them were very "bright."

Waiting on the verdict of the bright yellow sample I just painted today. I think my favorite is the golden yellow on the left, it's called "Autumnal."

Autumnal/ Fun Yellow/ Copper Harbor
FYI: The room will be the same color above and below the chair rail. (The beige & red are what we are getting rid of!)

The orange, my daughter's favorite is called "Copper Harbor," but on the wall looks more, "Kraft Macaroni & Cheese." The bright yellow, which I know will brighten the room is called "Fun Yellow." It is bright, but I'm not loving it, apparently I'm a much more muted color person.

Thoughts?

Fun Yellow/ Copper Harbor/ Autumnal

Ars Gratia Artis.

I was in a World Literature college course when I first heard the explanation of ars gratia artis. Art for art's sake.

I have been out of college for over a decade and just finally have I been able to apply it to myself. I always have had a need to make things. To create things. I have been very frustrated with the whole task. I think, after years of pondering, that I know the root of my frustration.

My whole life I have been told to try to make money with my talents/skills. That was always, ALWAYS the underlying motivation. And that is shit. Complete and total shit. "Ooh, you could sell that." "Yeah, I'd buy that." That is the problem. I have been making and creating for others. Not for myself. Not to satisfy my inner need to create. When you stop caring what others think, when you stop looking for feedback, that is when you can just exist as an artist. And I feel overly dramatic and lofty to even call myself an artist, but ya know what? Fuck it. I make art. I am an artist.

So, I have been painting, specifically, water color. I have made at least a painting a day for about four days, yesterday I did two. And I'm proud of them. They won't be on museum walls, they won't even be on my walls, but I made them and I love them. And it feels so good to just make art because I want to; because I need to.

I don't know how to express my drive without sounding ridiculous. But this drive, this need has been with me since I was a child. And just now, at age 35 have I finally discovered how to satisfy it. It's silly, really. It's so obvious, but when you're constantly told that something "should" be one way, you don't even think of it any other way. This applies to many of areas of my life. In some areas, I have cracked the code: I no longer blindly follow my religious upbringing, and I am doing my best to eat intuitively. But when it comes to self expression, the most challenging area for me, it is just that; challenging.

I feel like the few times that I have put myself out there with photography, with words, it's often edited; and therefore, false, not completely false, just, shall we say, a mental reservation.

In my water color paintings, there is truth because, while they are simply still life; mostly fruit, today I did a flower, they are truthful because they are how I want them to be, not how I think they should be for acceptance. 

A Few Non-Related Things.

1. Instagram annoys me. I like the idea of it. What I don't like is how now all of a sudden, everyone is a photographic genius. Not that I am. By any means! But, when I age my photos, I work hard at it. I spend time with it. I work in layers and textures, various gradient maps. Now there's an app for that and I find it annoying.

2. I gave in and purchased the second and third books of The Hunger Games trilogy. Unfortunately, I left the second book at my aunt's shore house. Now I am thoroughly annoyed at myself.

3. In light of #2, I had nothing to read when I took my daughter to our swim club, but I could not swim due to my own personal "red tent" issue. I scanned my bookcase for something to read. I picked up the little book of short stories by Nick Hornby that came with my Ben Folds' CD Lonely Avenue. Nick Hornby is a fantastic writer. Very real, very common man, very enjoyable. I think I will pick up About a Boy since I loved the movie; actually, it's one of my favorites. My theory, I loved the movie, so the book must be amazing! And really, how can you not love this scene!? Seriously. Watch it. Do it right now. You're welcome.

Beach Bum.

When I was in about fourth or fifth grade, I read a book about a time traveling brother and sister. I don't remember the details of how they discovered the time travel technique, but it involved staring at a photograph and eventually they were back in the 1950s, when their parents were young.

Ever since reading (and re-reading) that book, I would desperately try to achieve time travel via photograph. Needless to say, that it doesn't work. I wish it did though, I really wish it did.

Joanna Tursi Orfeo, my maternal great grandmother.

Wouldn't you love to sit on the beach with this lady? I mean really! Fully clothed, shoes laced, and not a care in the world. I never met her, but I love her. I think she's the genetic donor of my spontaneity. Ha! I'm so funny.

You want fries with that?

I may be asking that soon. If I can't find a job. Which it turns out, I can't. Ugh. I'm so frustrated.

I feel like, and I have no evidence to back it up, but I feel like the years I spent at home raising my daughter are being held against me. I don't know what else it could be. Yeah, the economy is shitty, blah, blah, blah.

BUT... when a place you worked for 5 1/2 years before giving birth, a place where your husband and friend currently work will not even call you for an interview when you fit every requirement for a job, it's difficult not to ponder the motives.

True, I didn't like my job there when I was there. But that was six years ago. I have changed. I know that I am not looking for a career, when I was there before, I was. I felt underutilized and unappreciated. Now, I couldn't care less, underutilized me, don't appreciate me. I have other places where I can get those things.

Fuck it. Maybe it's time to clasp pearls around my neck, tie an apron around my waist and up my meds.

It's Gone.

Long time, no blog.
Not for lack of crafting. Not for lack of wanting. BUT, for lack of motivation. Lack of inspiration.

I wonder where my creativity would be if not for other blogs. I'm feeling unoriginal. I'm feeling so sad that my photography sucks. I recently looked at photos from two years ago and got excited. They are pretty and unique. I felt good about myself when I took them. But now, now, not so much.

I don't even feel like an artist anymore. I feel like one of the crafty sheep. Following along with the crafty masses. Knitting, sewing, blah, blah, blah. Anymore, I feel like the stuff I make isn't an extension of myself. I felt like that for awhile. And it made me feel good.

I have a need to create. I really do. But, my soul aches when there's something inside that needs to get out, but it can't make its way to the surface. I've had this feeling most of my life. Except for that brief period a couple years ago.

Needless to say, I'm a bit sad. What if my most creative time has passed? Then what? What do I have to aspire to? What will I become?

Jim Thorpe and Centralia Critique: Part III.

So, we headed to Centralia. The website and even the flickr stream have pictures from just last year that show abandoned homes. I was very excited to see them and photograph them.

If we weren't looking (hard) for it, we would've driven right past it. It is completely disappointing. Where homes once stood are fields. The roads that were blocked due to cracked asphalt are now repaired and car-ready.

People tend to use the area for exercise purposes: bike riding, walking, running.

I mean, sure, it's good for the few remaining residents, but it sucks because we really wanted to see ruins. Completely and totally disappointing.

I did, however, get one picture.

Jim Thorpe and Centralia Critique: Part II.

After the crappy dinner/dessert, we walked the main strip and the train station in the dark.
We then went back to our room and watched "Mad Men" and commented on how we were both hungry.

Even though the inn has a continental breakfast (I went down to get some coffee) we didn't partake. We needed to compensate for last night's atrocity. We looked through Jim Thorpe restaurants (thank the gods for free wi-fi!!!) and decided on The Albright Mansion for breakfast. It was very quaint and charming. And the food was delicious!!! WHEW! Joe got crepes with apples, walnuts, raisins and cinnamon. I decided to get something I wouldn't ordinarily get. I got an omelet with spinach, mushrooms & american cheese. Very tasty! The home fries were crispy, flavorful perfection. The whole wheat toast was a great little bite after a forkful of omelet. The coffee was fresh, delicious, and non-stop.

We walked through the town, this time in daylight. We only went in 1 shop to get Abby a little something. We were greeted by an older man who was probably hiding his white hood in the backroom. *sigh* I would've loved to go into the other shops, but Joe's back was hurting and I know he doesn't like those kind of places. SO, if anyone of my friends/family would like to go to Jim Thorpe, let's plan it!

At this point, we got into the car and took a long (not really, maybe an hour, but it seemed a lot longer because there was nothing to look at!) ride to Centralia...

...to be continued...

Jim Thorpe and Centralia Critique: Part I.

We arrived at Jim Thorpe pretty quickly. In only about an hour. We stayed at the Jim Thorpe Inn and got upgraded to a suite for the same price. SUITE! (SWEET!) duh. The only bummer about this place was that the balcony was closed for repairs and I really wanted to go up there for photo-taking purposes.

We got settled in the suite and walked to Cafe Origins. There was one other party there. And only two people working in the restaurant (the chef/owner and the waitress.) We selected this restaurant based on its vegetarian options.


I got the Syrian Spinach Pie. Joe got a bean & cheese quesadilla. Mine, which had about 5 pieces of spinach and 2 strips of onion, was OK. Joe's was mediocre; nothing on the plate to even attempt to make it look appealing.


For dessert we decided on a "slice" of banana pie. Nothing was really appealing and we just chose this totally laughable item and so not worthy of a photograph. The "pie" was 1 smashed graham cracker, topped with 1 sliced banana and about 2 tablespoons of fig jam. Those items were then completely drowned in reddi-whip. Nothing about this resembled a pie. And seriously, $7 for something my almost-four-year-old daughter could concoct was ridiculous. EXTREMELY DISAPPOINTING. On the plus side, the atmosphere was nice.

Hi.

I was finally gearing up to write a monster blog filled with the Halloween goodies we made: green witch finger cookies, popcorn balls, and my chai with honey ginger cream birthday cake. I was going to show pictures of the Cinderella costume that was worth all the blood, sweat & tears.

I then realized that my photo editing software isn't installed on the laptop. (We had a very nasty virus on the thing that took it down for a few days.)

Oh well. Hopefully soon.

I had a very nice birthday filled with my awesome family and friends. I got a lot of gifts. Very thoughtful gifts too. I'm very lucky.

Almost October!

October is my absolute favorite month. I love the weather, the crunchy leaves underfoot and the colors.

Halloween is my favorite season. It's not the specific day or because it's my birthday. Truth be told, having a Halloween birthday as a parent kinda sucks. I love the spooky (not tacky) decor.

Two years ago, I was doing the 365 project. 1 self-portrait a day for 365 days. For the month of October, I did all Halloween/Autumn inspired photos.

This year, I want to do something similar with my blog. Recipes, crafts, photos, etc. This is a challenge I am giving myself. My goal is a blog a day.

Happy October Eve!

Crafty Wish List.

*these are not my photos and are linked back to the proper source.


1. Shrinky Dink Printer Paper.


I just think this looks fun! I wanna try to make earrings. Jemaine Clement earrings, anyone?! Or I can act all clever and esoteric and make Ambrose Bierce earrings. Don't think I wouldn't. I totally would. And I'd smugly wear them. Check out this cool etsy shop and see what she did with them.


2. A serger.


This would make my sewing so much more professional looking. And plus, they're fun to use. And I wouldn't have to go back after I was done sewing a seam and do another row with my overlock stitch. *sigh* A girl can dream, right?


3. Interchangeable Knitting Needles.

I have a lot of knitting needles. I have a lot of yarn. It seems that whenever I want to start a project, I never have the right combination of the two. This would greatly reduce that problem... at least, I think it would.


4. A Walking Foot.

This would make quilting so much easier. And I'll fool myself and say that I'd make more (and better quality) quilts if I had one. No really, I would. I swear...


5. An entire craft room. Decorated how I want. All to myself.


1. My creative space, 2. Fabric storage, 3. Plate rack o' fun, 4. My sewing corner and the board with its old boring cover

This is not my room. (Go here to see her entire set.) I wish it was. I love everything about it. The red/aqua color combination. The excess amounts of crafty things! I know that my husband would hate everything I love about this room.

I'm sure I'm missing a ton of things, but these are the main ones, right now. I'm sure more things will be added as I peruse etsy and various crafty blogs. Except the room. Oh yes, I want my own room.

5-7-5

Welcome, autumn air!
Pumpkins, apples, fallen leaves.
My seasonal bliss.

Thoughts of Summer.

Summer afternoon - summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language. ~Henry James


The older I get, the less tolerance I have for the summer heat. Scratch that, it's the humidity. It's very humid and the more humid it gets, the crankier I become. I don't like sweating. I love the cool comfort of air-conditioning.

I have memories of playing with the hose on my patio. I still love the smell of the first gush of water sizzling on the hot cement. That is the smell of my childhood summers. After getting wet with the hose, I'd come in, go into my bedroom, peel off the bathing suit and slide into some dry clothes. My skin felt cool and the clothes felt warm.

I'd go into the air-conditioned living room, lay down on the rug and watch TV (probably "The Brady Bunch). The air was so cold, sometimes a blanket would be required. It was so soothing and so comforting. Perfect contentment, especially if something delicious was wafting through the air.

I also remember summers at my grandparents' house. Nana & Poppop. In my childhood mind, the backyard was enormous! There was a little pool for me and my cousin. There was a marigold yellow dishpan for us to dip our feet in prior to entering the pool to avoid stray grass from invading.

After the pool, we'd put on sundresses and sit in their air-conditioned living room. We'd get refrigerated m&m's in blue or green plastic cups and crunch on them while watching TV. To this day, I prefer my m&m's cold.

My grandfather had a full vegetable garden. I loved picking cucumbers and biting carrots fresh out of the ground. They tasted so sweet. I imagine the flavor has become enhanced in my memory over time, but that's OK. They were the best carrots I've ever eaten. My grandfather still has a vegetable garden, although it is at a different house. And now, I watch my daughter help him pluck tomatoes and cucumbers from their stems.

I guess I'm just feeling reminiscent today and contemplating what my daughter's childhood summer memories will be. I hope they are full of fun, adventures, and air-conditioning.

Kitchen Wish List. From Basic to Extravagant.

These photos aren't mine. All pictures are linked back to the original source.

1. Food Processor.Seriously, isn't it odd that I don't have one of these? I want one. I've made due without one by using my blender. But seriously, you can't make pie crust in a blender. Yes, I use the manual cutter thing, but not having a food processor is almost embarrassing.


2. Grill Pan.


Quorn cutlets would be pretty sweet on this! Corn on the cob would be too. Or Boca burgers. Or paninis!



3. Mortar & Pestle.

I don't really know *why* I want one. I just do. Oh wait, to grind up some herbs. Yeah, that's why.


4. Pasta Roller Attachment.

I want to try to make my own pasta. $150 seems like a lot of money just to try something, though. I wish I knew some one who had one, just so I could try it out.


5. Cupcake Carrier.

I don't think an explanation is needed. It's just super practical.



6. Cake Dome.


OK, I don't really need one of these, but I'd like one; preferably vintage. It's charming.


7. Rotating cake stand.

Would be a lot easier to frost cakes.


8. Cake server.


I should really have one of these. It's ridiculous that I don't.

Rose the Fairy.

We're still getting visits from Rose the Fairy in her daytime butterfly disguise. We say hello and wave. Often she waves back with her wings. I have to say, I'm thoroughly enjoying my second childhood.

Thoughts.

Sometimes (all the time) I think too much. I can easily dwell on things that I don't like about my life: my weight, my lack of money, my family crisis (not to sound cryptic, but those of you who know me, know the situation).

When you open your eyes and the first thing your husband tells you is the balance of your checking account, and you already realized that you have to email some one back about when he can see his grandchild, and last night you realized that you weigh almost as much as you did before you lost 56 lbs., it makes your mind feel heavy and your heart ache. You feel as if, if another person says something even remotely snide, your eyes will well with tears.

And then you decide to look at pictures and you see pure joy. You realize you're a damn drama queen and that it's possible to be gloriously happy just swinging on a swing.

Life.

I've come to realize that little things make me happy: a tablecloth on the kitchen table, using my little juice glasses for orange juice, a loaf of homemade bread, a bowl with cherries on and in it, blueberries in my fridge, and seeing my daughter interact with others, watching her individuality bloom.

As a mother, I am constantly on the look out for her safety and well-being, while both correcting her when she misbehaves, and guiding her with proper social skills. (those who know me can go ahead and laugh and the last thing.) Sometimes (all the time) it's difficult to let her be her own person. You have to decide if you're correcting a misguided behavior or hindering her personality. When I send her to her room for not listening and get frustrated with her for saying, "NO!" to me, I try to remember that she's an individual. She's unique. And seriously, wouldn't it bug the hell out of me if some one constantly told me when, where, and what to do? Yes, it would. I know it would because I can vividly remember being annoyed with my parents for this. The circle of life, I suppose.

It's the Little Things.

"Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication."
~Leonardo daVinci