tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19056943576453563382024-03-12T21:54:12.293-07:00my most important work of art is... melizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-6386137843042058252012-08-24T07:51:00.001-07:002012-08-24T07:51:11.023-07:00the whirlwindwhen you last left your hectic heroine, i had just moved from the loft and acquired a new love interest, was dabbling in music and trying to reorganize my life. in the past few months, i've taken a weeklong jaunt back to both st. maarten and new york, beefed up my photography bookings, started (and finished, as of today) working primarily from home, and finally managed to hang all of my clothes on hangers. it's time for that ever-elusive update!<div>
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i made my new home on the top floor of a triplex, converted from an old house, in a historic neighborhood. somehow, my brain didn't process that top floor means all the heat from the floors below would rise up to mine in the summer. between plaster walls and a really decent air conditioning system, though, i've been relatively cool this entire summer. that may or may not have something to do with how many time the refrigerator door has fallen off of its hinges. it's jury-rigged, currently, because i really don't want to empty out all of the food long enough to turn it on its back and replace the bolt it needs. i am just now getting around to hanging art on some of the walls, which probably means it's time to move again. only joking! i'm not going anywhere, because a certain someone refuses to lift one more piece of furniture this calendar year. actually, i'm reasonably happy here. i've realized that, no matter where i live, there will always be a few things about my accommodations i don't love, and that there is usually a work-around if i get creative enough. call it a challenge. what makes it a home is that i live here.</div>
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as for the love? we are almost seven months into a blooming relationship. it's weathered him helping me move, several road trips, working together (we photographed a wedding together a few weeks ago, and have one more a few weeks from now), meeting one another's families, my extreme indecisiveness when it comes to choosing dinner, and a schedule so busy we seem to always be passing one another by. this mercurial girl, who loves her quality time, has somehow managed to find a great balance amidst the insanity. we see each other almost every day. we complement one another in ways i never thought possible. we make each other better. we're also normal. we're imperfect. we disagree. we get mad at one another, but we survive. he plans thoughtful little surprises that tend to turn into adventures (like getting attacked by an emu), and i subject him to watching whedon's works one after another (which he tolerates and sometimes even enjoys). </div>
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music kept us ridiculously busy for a few months. we wrote four songs together in the early months, and played a handful of small shows throughout the area. we won the final of our song competition in may, against some really awesome local writers. in june, we attended the East Coast Songwriter's Conference together. after getting some really good feedback on our songs from professionals, we decided to take a month or so off from playing out so much and give ourselves time to recharge and rediscover our creativity. it seemed a little counter-intuitive, but it worked wonders for us. we're now two songs stronger in our originals, and preparing to play our next show together in early october.</div>
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with our schedules staying so hectic, paring down my possessions and getting organized got pushed to the back burner. did i say back burner? i meant it unceremoniously was dumped into the fridge and got a little moldy. my apartment has three bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and a spacious back sunroom. my employer asked me to work from home for a while, due to some remodeling on their homefront, which means i had two rowdy boys (now 3.75 and 2.25 years old) running around my place all day. the sunroom got designated as a play space (though there is a hammock for my enjoyment, among all of the toys). the guest room was taken over at nap time (one cribbed toddler and a preschooler on a full-sized bed). the living room actually got lived in, and was recently the stage for the first at-home photo session i've done in months. the last bedroom (which i'd planned to turn into a neat, functional office) became a dumping ground for everything that couldn't fit in all the others and, suffice to say, it was a LOT of stuff. the chaos finally stopped long enough for me to organize a little this week, and i can proudly say that all of the clothes i own have a proper place. and they're in it!! i took two full bags to donate yesterday, and have plans for a lot more to go with them. there's still more work to be done, but i've made tons of progress just in the past few days.</div>
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i hope that the general tone of this update conveys that i've been busy, but happy. i learned how to play texas hold'em poker, and got even better at scrabble. i improved some of my photography equipment (new lenses, new lighting techniques) and skills. i spent most of my mornings in a hammock on a sun-soaked back porch, surrounded by laughing children and having pretend food prepared for me. i spent most of my evenings with my love, making bad puns and trying in vain to decide on a dinner option that would satisfy us both. next week, work returns to normal (nanny kid back in morning preschool, afternoons spent at his house instead of mine). fall is creeping up, with cooler nights. there are people to be photographed, and friends' babies to be born, and day trips to take. life is moving. as long as it doesn't require a moving truck, for the time being, i'm thrilled.</div>
lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-34573695645442189152012-02-27T08:53:00.003-08:002012-02-27T08:53:58.390-08:00scars on the wallI'm on my 15th straight day of 12+ hour days, most of them on 5-7 hours of sleep. I passed exhausted on day 8, and rounded the corner of delirious last night around 11pm as I finished cleaning the loft. The process of moving from the loft to my apartment is done, though, and I can't remember feeling more relief about anything in the past (measurable unit of time that I can't determine on this little sleep). However, as great as it feels to be done, I came very close to openly weeping when I had to get up for work this morning, body exhausted, mind possibly more so.<br />
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Before this stretch of days, there was a week spent in preparation for my family coming to visit in the middle of a move, and their actual visit (the 12th), which included a photo session with my 4 month old cousin. Before that, prepping for a songwriting competition (on the 7th, which we won, with a co-written duet), Valentine's Day in a new relationship (amazingly sweet and thoughtful), and starting full-time work again (keeping my best friend's child from 7:30am until 5:30pm, which also began on the 7th). In the midst of all of this, I spent spare moments (few though they were) packing and planning the move, as well as navigating the numerous potholes and, sometimes, sinkholes in my road to this moment.<br />
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As I laid drowsily in my new bedroom for the first time (mattress on the floor, possessions stacked around, fresh gray paint on the walls per my request), I wondered what life must have looked like for the previous tenant, on her first night in her new apartment in Brooklyn. She is Ana, a Russian-American artist. I don't know anything about her life beyond that, except for the scars she left on the walls of what would become my bedroom. For her, it was a studio. There were paint drips on the old wooden floor, spots worn through to plaster on the wall where she hung her canvases, with two spotlights on the ceiling to illuminate her way. It's fitting, that I should follow her in living here. An artist, who moves to New York. As I am an artist, who moved from one block to another in a southern city of little consequence. It wasn't the move I planned or dreamed. These are the thoughts I think when I'm sinking into sleep after leaving the place I've called home for two years.<br />
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When all the furniture was removed, and nothing remained inside the loft but my cleaning products and an empty echo, I was able to see the big white box for what it truly is -- a place. Yes, there are memories and attachments to it, but I am the person who made it what it had become for me, and I will do the very same thing in the next place. Like Ana's scraped walls, the loft shows scars, signs of my life there. They aren't as telling or vibrant as her paint splatters, but they'll be cleaned and repaired just as hers were, in order for the next tenant to take possession. Fortunately, we're not simply the raising of our scars. We're the bodies that hold them, the minds that remember the memories of creating them. If we were just the scars, we would never grow or change. If we were just the things we left behind, we'd have no way to carry on.<br />
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For now, I'm done thinking about moving. I just want to be still for a while, to stay in this place, to pare down my ridiculous amount of possessions into something livable. No excess. No baggage. Just me, and what is constantly in use. I'm glad to leave the scars behind, and create new ones in this new place, in time. Right now, I just want sleep.lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-88013995171181917182012-02-01T13:11:00.000-08:002012-02-01T13:30:47.434-08:00why rental ads are a lot like dating sites<br />
<div class="p1">i've been searching, nearly non-stop, for a new apartment since january 6th. for a while, my search has felt completely in vain. there have been so many mishaps, setbacks, and let-downs. i thought i might move into the very first place i looked at (in early january). it seemed close to perfect. a little high-priced, but the location and features were amazing (closets. fireplace.) however, when it came time to sign the lease, the landlord backed out on me. i've never had that happen before, and it was frightening. it made me doubt myself and all that i've worked hard to accomplish over the past few years. looking back at that first apartment, there were definitely some flaws. the entire place was painted light green. no variation. neutral enough, but no warmth whatsoever. it was on a busy street, where the traffic might keep me awake at night. it was a walk uphill to anything of real value in the neighborhood. it's not that the walk wasn't worth it, or even necessary to a body like mine, but it's a lot of effort just to get to a pizza place and a handful of bars. i'm glad i wasn't allowed to settle for something like that. a little distance does wonders for my perspective.</div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">then, another great place almost fell right into my lap. right timeline, right neighborhood. a little more work than i wanted to put into a house (yard maintenance), but for the price, it was a steal. after spending time there, and accepting the weird window in the shower and the water leak in the dining room ceiling, the broker informed me that they would need to increase the rent by $300 and make it my responsibility to find a renter for a separate unit downstairs. it was a clause i couldn't possibly fulfill, and i left, head hanging down, friends trailing behind me. they'd had ideas, too, that it would be the place for me. all my hope flew out the window. </div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">thousands of rental ads. hours of driving around, taking down numbers and calling landlords, brokerage companies. nothing was working. i was starting to get very nervous, and it was difficult to remember i still had another month to find a new home for myself and my myriad belongings.</div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">you see, i knew i'd find a place eventually. it's the timeline that was so troublesome for me, being forced to fit a mold that someone else had constructed for me. usually i have several months to look, exhaustively, and find something that fits at just the right time. quite frankly, i like to be in control. now, i am emotionally raw. it's out of my hands, and i have to leave. it won't be easy to leave this loft -- it's been home. it's what i know. i'm not used to making any sacrifices to live here. sometimes life doesn't give you a choice, about moving on. sometimes it throws the new in your face so you have no choice but to deal with it. it's a lot like emotional pain -- sometimes you are just unable to move past it until something else comes along. </div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">hardwood floors. natural light. easy care. i wasn't sure if it was out there, for me, in my price range. in my time restraint. finding a temporary place that allowed me to extend that time restraint was proving to be difficult as well, because every landlord is ultimately looking out for themselves, not for the sad-faced girl begging for a shorter lease because she's indecisive and scared to commit to something and find out it's less than she needs. so many rental ads. so many appointments. do you know how i finally found the place? by not looking. i was just driving around, distractedly listening to music, when i stumbled into the neighborhood that would one day be my own.</div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">finding a place to live is so similar to finding love. it's a fruitless search, at times. in that moment where you let yourself go and forget to try so hard, you might stumble upon the right thing at the right time, just by being open to possibility. or you might not. disappointments and delays happen, too. i've always been jealous of how easy other people seem to find things that fit them (significant others, jobs, homes), while everything is so difficult for me. my idealism gets the best of me, and time and time again, people tell me that you can't have everything you've ever wanted, and i've believed it far too easily. yes, it's difficult to find… but it's entirely possible you can find MORE than you ever wanted, at just the right time. </div><div class="p1"><br />
</div><div class="p1">the truth is this: the house itself doesn't matter. it's the feeling you get when you walk in the door. it's knowing you'll be comfortable there, that it won't stand in the way of you being yourself. it's the same thing i've been searching for in a person, as well. i got lucky enough to find both, in the span of 25 days. yes, that journey, too, began on january 6th.</div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">so, here i am, keys in hand. a new place. a new start. it's the next step, and i'm so excited to take it now that i know where i'm going. it's a perfect fit, for me. truthfully, i don't know what the next year of my life will bring, or if new york (or some other major city) is in my future at all. for now, i'm happy, right where i'm at, with hardwood floors and a hand in mine.</div>lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-12956222566307408122012-01-07T16:12:00.000-08:002012-01-10T13:07:56.956-08:00the first day of manyi just returned yesterday from eleven wonderful days in new york. my trip was an excellent break from the monotonous routine of home and holidays, from the stresses of the past few months (and there have been many). i spent new years eve and the following week in the company of one of my most long-time friends. during this trip, i once again found myself browsing apartments for rent in my friend's new neighborhood, jackson heights, queens. when the time came to board the plane, i was actually ready to head back to north carolina -- i felt inspired, ready to write more music and move forward with the life i have built here.<br />
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this morning, my landlord unexpectedly knocked on my door. he chose today to tell me that he can no longer rent to me, that he needs the apartment for a sick family member who is moving to town for medical care. since i pay on a month-to-month basis with no formal contract, even though i have asked repeatedly to resign my rental contract (this is a lapse on both our parts), there is nothing i can do. i must move. he's giving me until march to find a new place. i am absolutely devastated. this loft has been my home for almost two years. it is my "new york in north carolina". i had intended to stay here for as long as possible, and now those dreams are dashed.<br />
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what a way to start a saturday morning. what a forced march towards something new. i suppose i could look at it as an adventure, but right now i can't see past the shock and pain. it is one thing to choose to leave when physically and emotionally ready, but it is quite another to be shoved out unexpectedly with no prospects in sight. the next two months will probably be rather rocky, and it comes at a time when i had just regained some semblance of footing from a rougher-than-usual autumn. all of this, with the smell of new york still lingering in my hair.<br />
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"our homes are our sanctuaries. they're our inviolate caves, the place we feel most safe and secure, where nothing outside can touch us."-PLRlizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-35373798928507266112011-12-21T14:06:00.000-08:002011-12-21T14:06:01.736-08:00the first poem i've written in many years (go easy on me)<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">sweet like rotting fruit</span><br />
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<div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">i remember you slicing harry & david pears</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">in your kitchen and feeding me</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">one heavenly slice at a time. </div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">the swish of the knife as you pressed </div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">through the skin and your thumb</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">in my mouth as you pushed each piece past my lips.</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">i remember the shiver down my back</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">when you kissed me, your own</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">lips fresh and sweet with pear juice</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">and craving a pear later that night</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">when your lips had left mine and</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">travelled elsewhere.</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">today i cut into a harry & david pear</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">and sliced my thumb with the knife.</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">instinctively i brought it to my lips and sucked,</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">the taste of warm copper and cold juice</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">mixing together into a new memory.</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">sometimes we need to overwrite. sometimes</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">we need to reminisce. there is no romance</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">in the taste of blood, but i'll take it</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">if it means that the next time i bite</div><div style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">into a pear, i won't remember you.</div><div><br />
</div>lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-66615422908391659252011-09-13T12:39:00.000-07:002011-09-13T12:39:11.145-07:00loft updatesin case you didn't get the memo, i'm back with a vengeance to my home in nc. after a week of back-to-normal, my employers decided to give me a much-needed week-long break from work. it's been amazing thus far. i'm on weekday two, and shockingly, not spending all of my time sleeping. i've got a lot to do, and have gotten a lot done already. the biggest item on my list was trying to resolve the disdain i've developed for the chaos in my loft. i've always known my space could be amazing, but after living here a year and a half (minus the two months in st. maarten), i realize it wasn't reaching it's potential in the least. after being inspired by the minimalist studio i'd come to call home on the island, coming home to that chaos made me sick to my stomach. i knew a big upheaval was in order... but where to begin?<br />
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lucky for me, my answer came quickly. i drove past a new furniture consignment store within my first few days back in town. i walked in to look at their wares, and to ask about their process for choosing consignors. the owner made an appointment to come see several of the large pieces i've been desperate to move: the 7' tall entertainment center that matches my floors way too closely (the color of both is too honey-gold for my cold color style), and the red microsuede loveseat that was killing my color vibe (going for a good balance of cool, via grays, and warm, via taupe... bright red was swinging it from warm to hot, and not in a good way). he agreed to purchase the pieces for an agreeable rate, and is coming to pick them up today from the garage, where they are patiently waiting. these two pieces are the last "i cannot possibly fit this into a minivan if i decide to move" items on my list, and being rid of them is a huge step in my progress.<br />
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even more than a thousand miles away, i thought about my loft often while i was gone, and could not seem to solve the conundrum of furniture placement. since i'm on a month-to-month lease at the moment, i even entertained the thought of moving again, to a different space in the same city. i couldn't bring myself to commit to such a drastic step, especially because there are so many things i absolutely love about this space. after removing the last two eyesores, the space instantly felt lighter and more easy to handle. the relocation was inspiring enough that we (the best friend and i) worked out a really awesome rearrangement. i am excited to try it out, but less excited that i'll have to wait almost a week to do so. in the meantime, i've got a lot of small and not-so-small things to keep me occupied, like organizing my busting-at-the-seams closet.<br />
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all of this progress is hot on the heels of a week of clothing thrifting, craigslist shopping, and my semi-annual pilgrimage to ikea. after not being able to really shop for seven weeks, but being constantly inspired by the likes of pintrest and blogs i regularly peruse, i feel like i really went overboard in the time since i've been back in winston. from craigslist, i picked up two bar-height director's chairs. i'd been on the hunt for a while for these taller models, to go with my sometimes-standing desk, and they have proven to be a very smart and comfortable choice that has warranted daily use. their previous owner had a great wire rack that i also snatched up, because it matched my other wire racks, but in smaller scale. it fits perfectly in the open space leading to the kitchen, creating a visual barrier i've desperately needed without completely shutting off the space.<br />
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to cope with my clothing obsession, i bought 40 more wooden hangers at ikea, and they are already full (bringing my total to something like 100 hangers for nice, non-foldable clothing and outerwear). i still have piles of tees, some of which i hope to make into tanks (via <a href="http://crafterhours.blogspot.com/2011/08/tee-to-tank-tutorial-by-jen-from.html">this</a> cute tutorial). i still have stacks of jeans, and some items which have no hanger or space to stack (i still want a large dresser). i also have a huge box of yard-sale-able items that i threw together on my very last night in town before the trip. a friend of mine had a yard sale while i was gone, and graciously picked up my bins to throw in beside hers. i only sold one item, but i'm grateful i already have things organized and should be able to yard-sell again soon, provided i can procure a yard.<br />
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also at ikea, i found a 4-cube expedit unit in the as-is section for only $33 dollars, already assembled. when i picked it up, i thought about donating it to my nanny kid's playroom (which desperately needs organization options), but have since decided to keep it, since it fits perfectly under my desk. i'll use it to store my oft-used photography items, in fabric bins i already own. i also picked up two 16' tension wire mounts. my original plan was to use them to add curtains on the front of the 8'x8' sleeping loft (which will be a guest room and reading nook, once we add some railings for safety). now that we're rearranging the main room, at least one of them will span 14.5' of air to cordon off the 7' deep space in front of my two windows with floor to ceiling fabric room dividers, finally forming a sunlit bedroom that doesn't intrude on the rest of the space. it will also create a windowless living room, and (drum roll please) a dedicated photography shooting space with indirect natural light from the windows to the open-air porch.<br />
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so, yes, lots to do this week. lots to dream of and lots to work towards, but lots of progress made, and more to come.lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-71643158707240140622011-09-11T06:20:00.000-07:002011-09-11T06:20:04.237-07:00ten years laterten years ago, i was sitting in american history class at my high school. outside of that classroom, american history was being made. as part of the newspaper staff, i was pulled from class shortly after the first tower was hit to view live coverage of the event. i watched the towers fall, wanting the whole time to cringe and turn away but refraining. a few years later, i visited new york and stood in what once was their shadow, and choked back tears, trying desperately to comprehend the loss of life we'd experienced as a nation. knowing thousands of people had died within blocks of exactly where i was standing. it was a feeling i'd never known, fear and bravery, fight and flight.<br />
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that day, i became more than a north carolina native, more than a united states citizen. i became, in my mind, a citizen of the world, with a new awareness that these things can and do happen. i didn't lose anyone personally. i didn't even know my new york friends, at that time. it was the first time in my life that the gravity of national events had ever affected me in such a manner. it pulled me down, held me in place, and hit me over and over until my ungrateful heart became grateful -- for life, for this <i>kind</i> of life, for those who provide it and sustain it... and for just how lucky i am to be born into it. this consciousness, for me, will always be tied to new york, and tied to this date. it will always jerk tears from my body, because i so often forget these things in the course of my privileged daily life.<br />
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ten years ago. that makes me feel old. at least i was able to grow older. at least that searing pain of loss, for me, is not a physical one. for so many, though, it is. they have sense memory of that day -- the sounds and smells, the adrenaline pounding them from the inside out, the rushed calls to relatives and the long walk home. words will never do it justice, especially not <u>my</u> words. it lives beneath the skin of the survivors, still subconsciously covered in fallen building dust. miles away, still waiting for a call that never came from a loved one who would never come home. the eyes on the other side of the television screen, knowing that they'd soon be called up to fight.<br />
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from we who viewed from afar. for everyone who will never forget. in honor of consciousness. don't forget to live.lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-83747512365899299972011-08-17T12:13:00.000-07:002011-08-17T12:13:17.694-07:00working out the kinksI think there is probably some blog universe law about how having only text, and no photos, is detrimental to the interest in the blog. I always had problems blogging my photoshoots as well, and I think I'm starting to see why. my brain processes words and photos in different ways. mostly, I think that a good, worthwhile photo should be able to stand alone, as should good, worthwhile words. or maybe I'm just lazy and don't like spending the time to unite the two. that said, I've always like the idea of photoblogging, and I'm hoping to make it a regular part of this venture. apologies, to those of you for whom this is a cross-post or reblog of sorts. what appears below the line is what I hope will appear in the future when I post photos.<br />
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throw off the sheets (good morning)<br />
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<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLaeZusnzFiBInMlwLHzZecMXpSHiGFvVQdY53-j7kYrQGpkUMAJZbUe5Fz154DKQuIGYuhRGCHmH6KYZm4HW1aPMVgiP3Y_Rzitz8EBEer95HBZOcCY7SJC8oE2Q4wWh8BudItZvYN6dp/s1600/photo-757754.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLaeZusnzFiBInMlwLHzZecMXpSHiGFvVQdY53-j7kYrQGpkUMAJZbUe5Fz154DKQuIGYuhRGCHmH6KYZm4HW1aPMVgiP3Y_Rzitz8EBEer95HBZOcCY7SJC8oE2Q4wWh8BudItZvYN6dp/s320/photo-757754.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641901927780888962" /></a></p>lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-16558623056652424652011-08-16T16:39:00.000-07:002011-08-16T16:39:44.748-07:00where there's smokenothing says Monday quite like the smell of inadvertently burning brasierres. if that doesn't give you any indication that my problems have continued, then maybe we should talk about the smell of burning computer hardware. as much as I generally dislike Windows systems, I had a tiny moment of sad when my netbook let out first one, then a second, puff of smoke and died. that stupid little semi-pink machine was never so important to me as when it kicked the bucket, leaving me stranded in a foreign country (island, no less) with no way to communicate with my family and friends. okay, I'm being a little dramatic here. I still have an international cell phone and access to my employer's iPad. and, thanks to a conveniently timed rendezvous and an amazing friend, I now am in possession of my very first smartphone -- a secondhand iPhone 3GS. typing with my thumbs, feeling like a chimp, but ridiculously grateful for the ability to connect. the whole debacle has been a crash course in "don't know what you got 'til it's gone".<br />
<br />
perhaps now would be an apropos time to talk about the good parts of this little island adventure, before you get the wrong idea about it. <br />
<br />
-it's pretty. seriously have you seen my photos (okay, well, if were not friends on the facebook then you probably haven't)? the cliche applies: pictures don't do it justice. especially my wanna-be semi-pro shooting on auto pictures.<br />
<br />
-the beaches are enough to turn a pale, reclusive vampire like myself into a bonafide sunbather with a serious yearn for salt. the waves roll gently enough that you can easily walk out neck deep and the water is so clear you might get a complex about your need for a good pedicure.<br />
<br />
-duty free shopping. you might have to do a little haggling, but it's worth it. the netbook picked a good time to commit compu-cide. oh, and the alcohol is duty free too, so if I can't fix the problem, I can at least drown it.<br />
<br />
-sweet heavens, the food. I haven't had a bad meal yet, and I haven't even ventured over to Grand-Case, the highly acclaimed fine dining destination city of the island. I've even been cooking... and those of you who really know me know the gravity of that statement.<br />
<br />
-I'll take temperate, gorgeous 85 degree highs and lows with a slight chance of hurricanes over the comparably brutal NC winter I'll face when I return. I sincerely thought the weather would be a bit more hard to handle, closer to the equator. the sun definitely kicks a lot harder, but so does the breeze.<br />
<br />
so, when my laundry machine isn't busy burning up my bras, there are quite a few reasons to enjoy this island. and I AM taking advantage of them, when I can step out from under the netbook-smoke-filled dark cloud that seems to be following me around. lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-83355949300811205042011-08-10T10:02:00.000-07:002011-08-10T12:12:45.640-07:00getting the gutson monday night, i needed to go to the market, and since i had no quick food to fix at home beforehand, i decided to eat dinner at a local restaurant. since i haven't had seafood on-island beyond my favorite tuna steak burger (at Sunset Bar & Grille, in Maho), i looked for shrimp on a few restaurant menus, and found the best-looking shrimp entree at Pineapple Pete's (a restaurant where i've already been a handful of times). oh well, so much for adventure. when i arrived, there was a guitarist on stage playing covers. the longer i sat, the more i was awed by his super-smooth playing style and his mastery of the loop pedal to create a very full sound. he seemed very personable, especially when he chuckled at me being the only one clapping after a particularly good song. i didn't have the guts to say anything to him in person, but saw a tip jar and decided to write a short compliment on the back of my business card, and leave my email address. i had no real expectations of him (these things have gone negatively for me, in the past), but i hoped he would respond and help me find the great music scene i knew was hidden somewhere on this island.<br />
<br />
imagine my surprise when he actually responded just a half-day later. his email was kind, and he invited me to come back out that night and hear him with the full band. my employer asked me to first attend a school function with her and her son, then go out to dinner with them, and she mentioned Pete's as an option. it seemed like a great transition -- dinner with them, and drinks while listening to the band -- so i decided to drive separately. i didn't know, when i arrived, if i would have the nerve to actually approach him, but i figured at the very least i would enjoy some good music and good rum. i saw him arrive, set up, and head for the bar (which i had JUST left, to sit at a table near the front), and summoned my courage. since i'd first introduced myself via business card, i decided the best way to get his attention (he was on his iPad) was to go sit beside him at the bar and drop my business card in front of him. cutesy, but effective -- he picked it up, looked closely at it, then turned to me with a smile. thus, i received my very first double cheek-kiss greeting and met Amin.<br />
<br />
overall, the night was really good for me. we had some casual conversation, and the band did some really fun and masterful covers. Amin had spent the hour leading up to their set trying to convince me to sing a song with them, but would never produce a set list for me to choose one. of course, when the pressure's on, i'm never able to think of any common songs to sing. i know thousands of songs, casually, but if i don't really know the lyrics and vocal pattern well, my slight stage fright will obliterate them from my memory. the only song i could think to propose was "Sunday Morning" (haha, Honey James Band members), which they didn't know. however, bets are on as to whether they'll learn it before next week. it turns out that i do know many of the songs in their repertoire, so who knows. maybe the courage it took for me to put myself out there and compliment/contact someone new will also enable me to hit the stage with a really great st maarten band before i leave this island. at the very least, i feel like i've made some new, talented acquaintances. thank goodness for guts, eh?lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-39677355762705897412011-08-07T06:19:00.000-07:002011-08-07T06:19:53.460-07:00tropical depressioni've been doing a lot of thinking about how this trip has been a good trial run for moving to a faraway city, like new york. no, this definitely isn't my new york, in so many ways. it's just different enough from home that i have no idea exactly what to expect from any given situation. i can hazard a guess, but sometimes my expectations are nowhere close to what actually happens. let me recount for you the craziness that has occurred thus far on this trip, in chronological order.<br />
<br />
-sun goes down at 6:30pm (so no evening exploring alone, it's not safe)<br />
-sun comes up at 5:30am and shines directly in my four 10' glass doors<br />
-no internet or phone, for several days<br />
-working longer hours than usual<br />
-one day and night of no a/c, no fan (and i thought it was a fluke)<br />
-mosquito invasion (due to leaving windows open)<br />
-unexplained rash on my neck and jaw <br />
-nanny kid was completely unmanageable for both mom and me (two weeks)<br />
-ant invasion (including my bed, and three bites)<br />
-broke a pair of sunglasses<br />
-cut off part of fingernail while shaving<br />
-four days and nights of no a/c, no fan<br />
-jellyfish sting <br />
-bad sunburn on my legs<br />
-respiratory issues (unproductive cough, sore throat) and general fatigue <br />
-realizing that several of my sick symptoms fit with dengue fever, hurray!<br />
-three days and nights of heavy wind and rain, and a hyperactive toddler<br />
-two days and nights of no a/c, no fan<br />
<br />
so yes. i am on a lovely tropical island. just lovely. i'm glad you're enjoying my photos (on facebook) and living vicariously through me. honestly, though, i know i'm being a crank, and possibly a little melodramatic. believe me, by the time i got to potential dengue fever (fairly sure i'm in the clear), i was actually starting to laugh at myself and wonder just what would go wrong next. my laughter might have looked a little unhinged to the average spectator though...<br />
<br />
another thing i've been considering is just how "cut off" i feel here. it's exciting, and a fun opportunity, but leaving behind all of my friends and family, my loft and my daily routines, my comfort in general... to say the least, it's given me a renewed appreciation for those things. those several days i went without steady, reliable internet access weren't so bad, but when i briefly HAD internet in my flat, got ready to connect, and promptly lost it, well... i lost it. i got really upset. all i wanted to do was see familiar faces and hear familiar voices (via skype), and i couldn't. it seems stupid when you take it out of context, but it's how i felt.<br />
<br />
folks, my love language is quality time. i want the one-on-one with people i love, and i'm getting very little of it. perhaps a lot of the fault is mine. i guess i expected people back home to reach out, or at the very least to respond when i reach out. it seems like it's a case of "out of sight, out of mind." to make matter more difficult, i don't make friends easily, and it seems incredibly weird to just walk up to a stranger and say, "hi, i'm new here." also, most people i come in contact with are only here for a week at most and aren't interested in forming any kind of even casual acquaintance. they brought their friends, they'll hang with their friends, and then leave with their friends. it leaves me pretty bummed.<br />
<br />
we decided earlier this week to extend our stay here, previously ending on september 1st, to september 12th. that means six more weeks than i'd originally planned, bringing in the grand total to thirteen weeks on-island. my employer actually got her contract renewed until december, but both of us decided that it would be too much. i am hoping, in the next couple of weeks, that i'll acclimate better, or something. i've found a lot of activities i can do solo -- it's just a matter of finding the time and fitting them into my work schedule somehow. i'm hoping, by writing all of this down, i will put it all behind me and start feeling better about my time here. things seem to be taking a turn for the better, as far as incidents go, and i'm learning to be positive, though tenuously.<br />
<br />
so, if this is a trial for a future move to new york (or wherever it is i end up)... i'm not doing too well. and God forbid i break that second pair of sunglasses, or there might be tears.lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-3084411709227361202011-07-25T17:30:00.000-07:002011-07-25T17:30:01.320-07:00driving in st maarteni just thought i'd throw together a few little things about driving and vehicles in st maarten, beyond what i've already written.<br />
<br />
*on the dutch side (where i'm living), the roads are privately owned. meaning, a person or private company, instead of a municipality, is responsible for upkeep/patching/etc. yes, every road, even the main thoroughfares.<br />
<br />
*as i've already mentioned, within my first 10 minutes of driving on the island, i was fording flood waters. in the rainy season (summer, which is also the OFF season here), it happens frequently.<br />
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*speed bumps. with no/few warnings. and they aren't colored, like they are back home, so they sneak up on you on a 30 to 45 kph road.<br />
<br />
*oh, and kilometers per hour on the signs and my speedometer.<br />
<br />
*almost all of the road signs are pictures, and i didn't take a test on them, so i have no clue what many of them mean. winging it! some are obvious, but there are a few i still can't figure out.<br />
<br />
*i think i've seen ONE stop light the whole time i've been here, and it was more of an indicator that the bridge (which raises twice a day) crossing the water passing from ocean to lagoon is about to raise.<br />
<br />
*roundabouts/traffic circles are prevalent. and people who know how to use them (at least, the locals do... you can tell who the tourists are!)<br />
<br />
*if someone beeps at you, it's not a complaint. it's giving you the right of way.<br />
<br />
*there are no known rules for passing. people do it a lot, at random times. and by random, i mean both inconvenient and dangerous times.<br />
<br />
*parking is a free-for-all. yes, there are designated spaces. there are even a few paid parking garages. most of the time, though, people are very thoughtless about it.<br />
<br />
*maaany of the cars are the same, or very similar. God help you if you ended up renting a white Hyundai i10... because they are EVERYWHERE.<br />
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*it's pretty impossible to get lost if you stay on the main roads, because they follow almost the entire edge of the island.<br />
<br />
*hopping from the dutch side to the french side is easy. there's just a sign that says "welcome to france!" or "welcome to the french side!"<br />
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*despite all of this, traffic flows really well... except between 5pm and 6pm. that's when the locals are leaving work and heading back inland to their homes, and also when the two bridges raise. traffic is a horrible snarl at that point, but sometimes, there's no avoiding going out -- many shops close at 6pm.<br />
<br />
that's all i can think of, for now! i might add more later.lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-58058750833092805152011-07-21T10:27:00.000-07:002011-07-21T10:27:29.687-07:00a week of (not so) wonderfuli knew pests would be an issue here, and with risk of dengue fever with certain bites, both i and my employer have been overly careful to the tune of extra-strength bug spray. unfortunately, as a result of one of my last nights in winston, i was already behind. i left home with two mosquito bites, garnered easily in sleep after accidentally leaving my patio door open all night. i managed to mostly resist scratching said bites (except once or twice, involuntarily), and they have now mostly healed with no scabbing. tiny, pink battle scars for the war over my body. however, after being here one week, i have three horrible, dare-i-say festering, bites on my leg and foot. since i didn't actually witness myself receiving the bites, and they aren't identifiable as anything i've been bitten by before (this includes but is not limited to, mosquitoes, spiders, wasps, snakes, and flies) i'm going to attribute it to one thing: ants. lots and lots of them. in my bed, with me in it. ::squirms::<br />
<br />
in the past, i have convinced myself that i'm not terribly squeamish, but that's kind of a misnomer on my part. the sight of blood generally doesn't bother me, but i've almost passed out several times while giving blood or being injured (and, actually, i've been injured WHILE giving blood, ask me about that experience sometime). i've killed snakes with shovels, and trapped spiders under glass. things feasting on me, however, is where i draw a big, fat, squeamish line. well, let's just say i am NOT VERY FOND, and that is the least offensive way i can word it. waking up with ants in my bed definitely prompted some choice words and a nearly sleepless night (or two). this is one case in which i am thankful for all the horrible chemicals they sprayed to rid my apartment of the problem.<br />
<br />
it's apparently some kind of cardinal sin to make complaints while you're visiting a tropical paradise, but it definitely bears documentation, at least here. the thought of ants in your bed doesn't go away, even after the reality does. it wakes you up at night to flip on the lights and flip off the sheets and run your hands down your legs, brushing away phantom plagues. it leaves you tingling and itchy, anticipating more and worse, even after you've eradicated the obvious problem. it also apparently renders you unable to control your own body, because i can't help but scratch on and around these swollen bumps. fortunately, a good soak in the salty ocean water seems to really help the itching, along with a heavy hand with hydrocortizone cream and bug spray.<br />
<br />
ugh, bugs. right up there with zombies and vampires as general me-munching menaces to the population.lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-14929580828232665212011-07-16T18:35:00.000-07:002011-07-21T05:23:38.242-07:00at which point the water appears more bluei could do a lot of waxing philosophical about how all journeys have a destination and that life isn't about the destination, but mostly i'm writing to say that i've arrived at one particular destination: st. martin/sint maarten. i haven't been able to gather my words as well or as soon as i'd have liked, but with a little encouragement/subtle from a ten-year-old friend who is also traveling and blogging this summer (hello phoebe!), here i sit, contemplating my own journey. fortunately i have the next six weeks to sort through my feelings on the subject. maybe more...<br />
<br />
the past few days have been a combination of delicious blur and acute memorization. there are moments where i have to stop and remind myself that this is really happening and is not just some crazy dream. honestly, it's a little difficult when the bright blue caribbean waters are only several hundred yards away. seriously, though, how does a nanny (raised in a small town, who has never traveled extensively, much less out of the country, at twenty-six years of age) end up here, in a beautiful-though-very-americanized island paradise?<br />
<br />
my trip began early on wednesday morning. at 5am, we left for the airport in charlotte from winston, arriving just as the sun rose at 6:30. i managed to pack all of my clothes in one very large suitcase. the airline's weight limit for checked baggage is 50 lbs (unless you want to be subject to a $90 fine for overweight baggage), and i just squeezed by at 47. packing into one bag allowed me to take my guitar as my carry-on item, along with one small personal bag containing my cameras, netbook, and e-reader. after breezing through security (a first for me... i always forget something metallic on my person), we grabbed breakfast at an airport cafe and began the long wait for our 9:40am flight.<br />
<br />
i spent lots of time walking the terminal with the nanny kid, keeping him entertained, while his mom relaxed as much as possible and sat with our copious amounts of carry-on luggage (her carry-on and personal bag, his carry-on and personal bag, and my guitar and personal bag... plus a stroller). when the first boarding call came, we were able to board first (a HUGE perk of flying with a young child). they handed me a gate-check ticket for my guitar and for the stroller i was pushing with toddler in tow. we were nearly the first passengers to step on the plane, so i asked the flight attendant if i could store the guitar in the overhead. he nodded and asked me to store it only over my seat, and let us pass. that, despite the tired feeling already creeping over me, was a great reason to smile. <br />
<br />
it was a short wait to take off after boarding. we had lots of little entertainment items for the nanny kid, but i'm proud that we didn't break out the iPad at all. mostly he played with small cars and figurines, and snacked, but soon his five a.m. wakeup came calling and he drifted to sleep. almost four hours later, i caught my first sight of islands breaking through the blue waters below. my excited squirming woke the toddler sleeping halfway in my lap, and we both smiled relentlessly and chattered back and forth as the plane touched down over maho beach. a perfect landing.<br />
<br />
there is a tiny strip of beach (maybe 20 ft), a two-lane road, and a five-foot fence between the water and the end of the runway, and numerous signs stating the danger of standing near where the planes land. people do it anyway, for the rush, for the photo opportunity, and i can't help but wonder how many were under our plane as the pilots guided us in. during rough seas (not hurricanes, just storms), the water often rises up and covers the road and creeps towards the runway. as we were flying in, i saw a gorgeous natural sea cave carved into the cliffs at maho. it was the first sight that truly set my heart beating fast, a promise of adventure and excitement i hadn't yet given myself permission to feel while preparing for this trip.<br />
<br />
the next few hours were a blur. we deplaned, acquired our three checked bags, and headed to pick up our transportation. this trip has seen a lot of firsts for me, but none have held the same trepidation as driving my very first rental car (a tiny hyundai i10, with its speedometer in km instead of mph). the roads here just barely qualify for that name. though they are paved, they are cracked and potholed, and barely wide enough in some places for two cars to pass. furthermore, on this first day, the island had recently been subject to heavy rains, so the many gullies had collected up to a foot of rainwater. forwarding these gullies was much like forwarding a river in a bumper-car -- a frightening rush. i kept expecting to see water rising under my feet as i pressed the gas and brakes.<br />
<br />
we dropped off our luggage, and headed for a local market. on the first aisle, i spotted the same bag of chips we'd purchased in the airport in charlotte, which are becoming a new favorite of mine. however, the numbers below the rack of items didn't make sense to me. $10 for a medium-sized bag of chips? noticing that i had nothing in my basket, my employer pointed out to me a tiny price beside the larger one: US dollars, versus the Dutch guilders reflected in the large price. the exchange rate is currently about 1 to 2. the chips were still $4, but since we were just stocking up for a few meals' worth of food, i thought it worth it. i also picked up breakfast food (cereal and soy milk), sandwich fixings (wheat bread, turkey, cheese, and mustard), and a few other small items. my total at the register came to 80 guilders, or around US$42. not too terrible, considering that most (if not all) items on the shelves had to be shipped in. my employer assured me that we'd drive to a larger grocery store later in the week to stock up on items the small market didn't carry.<br />
<br />
after shopping, we headed back to the apartments to relax for a while, and i began to take in my surroundings. my employers have a one-bedroom, two-bath unit for the two adults and one toddler. i have a separate studio right next door. a lot of the finishes are luxury (stone tile, stainless steel appliances, rainfall shower and jacuzzi tub for one), but the furnishings are simple (the bed, chairs, and kitchen-wares). the linens are nice enough, but laughably, my bedspread is bright pink and red. the balcony is wrap-around, pergola-covered, and amazing, with views of both the ocean and the lagoon. i can watch planes take off all day long, if i so choose, which is a plus when you spend a lot of waking hours with a two-year-old boy.<br />
<br />
around six, we went out for my first dinner on the island. my employer chose sunset bar and grille for its food and location -- right on the waves at maho beach, by the runway. true to its name, it does face into the sunset and towards that intriguing sea cave. we watched planes land, listened to the waves lap, and ate well. i had a tuna steak burger with a delicious spicy sauce.<br />
<br />
by 8pm, i was crashing hard from a very long day, and very ready to test out my bed. i set an alarm for the next morning, when i would begin work at 8:45. laying in bed, waiting to fall asleep, eyes heavy, i reflected. i've made a lot of choices in my life, some good and some definitely not, but whatever choices i've made have led me to this particular point. in light of that, there are no such thing as coincidences, but i can't rule out luck. i feel so very lucky to be experiencing this, which is something i'll have to remember on the days when toddler-hood takes a turn for the worse. here's hoping that can be mitigated with lots of time in the water.lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-83302102743678177742011-06-08T13:25:00.000-07:002011-06-08T13:31:44.644-07:00going swimmingly... sort oftrying to prepare for a trip out of the country when you've never been (out of the country, much less to a tropical island) is like... walking into a dark room with no clue where the lightswitch might be or if there's even a bulb in the fixture. at least, that's how it feels at this point. i have no clue what i'm doing and i can only try to prepare, and ask a LOT of questions of people who have been there before (in particular, my employers).<br />
<br />
first things first, i took care of one of the harder tasks: buying all the swimsuits i can possibly afford. i hate, HATE swimsuit shopping. i would much prefer to swim in a full-length wetsuit (yes, long sleeves and long legs) than try to find a suit that's flattering to my body in even the smallest way. i got forced into it last weekend, though, as i was heading to the beach to spend a weekend with family. when i pulled out my suits from previous summers, almost EVERY SINGLE ONE had something wrong with it. in one, the elastic was shot. in another, the material was wearing thin. the one suit i knew fit and looked alright was nowhere to be found, and several of the others have seen the end of their days. cue the torture test of swimsuit shopping.<br />
<br />
somehow, though, i lucked out this year. amidst all the teeny tiny triangles, i found not one but two awesome suits. there seems to be a vintage cut revival going on right now, which definitely works with my curves. i spent $60-something on the them, and when i returned home after the beach trip (a little more red for the experience), i found my teal suit. so, three fitting and flattering suits. fun. i've never spent so long with access to various water options (beach, pool, hot tub), but everything i've read says to at least pack two suits (one to wear, while the other is drying or in the wash). i figure i'm safe with three. i swear i'm going to wear one on the plane in case my luggage gets lost...<br />
<br />
as for the rest of my wardrobe while on-island, i'm slowly putting it together. i've been told there are very few places to buy clothing there (my mind says there MUST be unless the locals run about naked... which, french beaches, distinct possibility), so i can't count on easily purchasing replacements if something were to happen. i'm trying to stick with either natural, breathable fabrics or quick-drying synthetics. i'm torn on whether to take some of my favorite items (to ward off homesickness) or to keep thrifting for similar items in case they get lost or damaged or just worn out from seven solid weeks of wear. i also want to pack workout gear, in hopes that i'll be motivated to make at least a few trips to the fitness center on site, but i'll likely make sure that those items can also double as pajamas if need be. that way, i'm not overpacking.<br />
<br />
as for the other creature comforts i usually shlep along, well, i'm still up in the air. i need to find out some information about power supplies and if i'll need converters. i get the feeling any unnecessary products, like my hair dryer or straightener, will be staying at home. i'll need power for my entertainment items, though, especially my netbook (music, movies, and the almighty internet). i get the feeling that skype and i are about to become best friends.<br />
<br />
i'm probably over-thinking it all. i have a tendency to prepare for the worst, especially when packing a suitcase. here's hoping that, with this much time to plan, i'll be wise. then again, i only have five weeks left...lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-48426243249328178482011-06-03T11:16:00.000-07:002011-06-03T11:16:00.385-07:00and then somewell, i suppose it's common knowledge by now that i absolutely suck at keeping this journal updated, but i've run into some recent developments that definitely merit mention.<br />
<br />
first of all, i'm days away from the six month deadline i set for myself, for a decision and possible move to new york. and no, i haven't been ridiculously busy preparing for a move -- i really do just suck at updating. i have still been combing through my possessions and getting things pretty well together for a move of some sort, but at least until the end of september, i'm here to stay. i still have several large pieces of furniture i'd like to sell, for sure -- my couch and my entertainment center, for sure. i've had no luck on craigslist with either of them, at a reasonable price, though.<br />
<br />
second, as far back as mid-february, i decided that i'd much rather spend the summer hanging out with the preschooler i nanny, and with my newly-one-year-old nephew gabe, than jet off to new york with no prospects. i called up my landlord, and extended my lease through august 31st. we didn't even sign any paperwork -- my landlord has been absolutely amazing through all of my indecisiveness, and he was fine with a verbal month-to-month payment. my official lease terminated at the end of may, and i've just made my first slightly elevated month's rent payment. i'm feeling great about my space -- the more i personalize it, the more i enjoy it.<br />
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you'll notice, third, that i said i extended to the end of august in the previous paragraph, and the end of september in the first one. there's a reason for that. last week, my employers dropped a huge surprise in my lap, one i never would have expected. first, on monday, they gauged my interest in the idea, and by tuesday they'd signed contracts and starting nailing everything down. the news? the four of us (my nanny family, plus me) will be spending seven weeks in St. Maarten, a French-Dutch island in the Caribbean. the seven weeks ends on august 31, which would be incredibly impractical for a move, so extending my lease and buying extra time seemed to be the best option.<br />
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more big news? my landlord is interested in putting the loft on the market. he mentioned when i first signed the lease that he was interested in eventually selling, and would definitely consider me when the time came. now, i know i'm not terribly interested in or even able to buy a place, but both he and the realtor are very interested in selling to me, and they're willing to go to some effort to make that happen. so, tenuous though my financials may be, it at least bears consideration. scary!<br />
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so, that's what i'm processing right now. half a summer on a tropical island, possibly purchasing a future income property or moving into a new local place, and making peace with no (permanent) new york. i have this great feeling of "right place, right time" at the moment... but that doesn't mean i'm not already mentally planning my next new york vacation!lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-66250628034015921542011-04-18T12:17:00.000-07:002011-04-18T12:17:14.342-07:00the blame gamei ended my workweek last friday feeling really down. most of the reason: i didn't feel successful at my job of caring for the two awesome boys who have been entrusted to me. i provided the basics, but as for actually enriching their lives, well, i fell short. it certainly wasn't on purpose. instead, i found myself very short-tempered with them, and with their failure to meet my expectations. come on. they're 2.5 years and 11 months, respectively. almost any expectation is too much of one, but they're both very smart boys, and i know their capabilities. still, it's my failures, not theirs, that bother me so much<br />
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i realized i was, over and over, losing my patience and saying or doing things i shouldn't. i wasn't building confidence, but was instead on a crash course to break them down. it's good that i can be honest with myself, acknowledge this huge misstep, and take steps to correct it. in doing so, though, i'm reminded of my past. i'm a product of a pretty broken life, family-wise, and of a parenting strategy that was lacking in some ways and overbearing in others. while i do believe that my past is a factor in my behavior and beliefs, i don't believe that i have to fully succumb to its wiles. i'm not forced to be subject to its dysfunction. i can live a life in which i am aware of myself, my thoughts and actions.<br />
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it's easy to put the blame on my past, and say that i am not entirely responsible for my actions. it's easy to say, "well, of course you're going to be strict... and angry... and selfish... look what you came from!" the truth of the matter, though, is that i'm responsible. me. for my own actions. and for how those actions affect everyone around me. it's silly to assume that i'm immune from the person i was brought up to be, but it's also silly to think that i can't also be more than that. one of my long-time favorite quotes is from a book i read in high school:<br />
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"i guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. and maybe we'll never know most of them. but even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. we can still do things. and we can try to feel okay about them." -charlie, from "the perks of being a wallflower" by stephen chbosky<br />
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truthfully, it didn't really get any better over the weekend. coupled with some sad news from my family, and major storms across the state, i remained pretty down. i made some pretty ridiculous choices in an effort to not over-analyze my life. at some point, though, you finally wake up from the numbness and realize that it's perfectly okay to be human, to make mistakes. that's how we're made. we can strive to be better, though. when i woke up this morning, i did feel a little better. that's not to say i'm made the 100% best choices all day, with my words and actions, but i'm trying. i'm learning how to not be angry all the time.<br />
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today, i prepared lunch for the three of us, and instead of lording over the boys and making sure they're shoving food in their faces, i sat with them and ate my own food. they ate better than they have in weeks. the toddler told me everything he did at preschool today, in between bites and without his mouth full. he didn't make a huge mess (as he does when i'm distracted), and he ate EVERY bite of his food until the very end, when he knew he was full, without me having to ask him to keep eating. he used proper words, and asked nicely to leave the table, and cooperated when i asked him to stay until we were all finished with food. the baby quietly munched, his highchair pulled up to the table with us. he signed "milk" when he was ready for a drink, and "more eat" when he had finished the food in front of him. he giggled and grinned, and didn't pitch a fit when i left the table to clean up.<br />
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yes, they're smart -- advanced for their age, sometimes -- but they're still tiny humans, tiny flawed people who will spend the rest of their life trying and perhaps failing to live up to some kind of standard set by a world which craves the impossible. the least i can do is be their encourager, and teach them by both words and examples that it's okay to mess up. i know i certainly do.lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-40980742629369965522011-04-05T12:44:00.000-07:002011-04-05T12:44:56.621-07:00national poetry monthor, why i'm being selfish with my words.<br />
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words have always been a big obsession of mine, from clever lyrics to well-wrought prose. i've always considered myself to be a writer, though the forms it has taken have often changed over the years. the first form of writing i really shared with others was poetry, so it definitely holds a very special place with me. some friends of mine have created an annual event in which they share a poem a day in a public forum, and i was invited and agreed to join it. yet, here we are five days into national poetry month, and i've not shared one measly line with them. lame, kid.<br />
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the crazy part is that i'm actually writing almost every day, even if it's just a line or two. that's incredibly often, for me. i'm inspired. i keep typing the words into this blog-writing box, and before i can hit "publish" end up transferring them over to my songwriting journals. selfish, i know, that i'm not sharing, especially when i'm writing (at least initially) with that intent. at the end of every day i am back at a blank page. it's a wonderful metaphor, another page in the book of life, but (much as life often is) it's frustrating to me.<br />
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overall, i'm creatively sated with the words i'm turning into song. i just hesitate to share them. i know they're not complete without being sung, without melody, and there's no quick and easy way for me to make and share recordings. even if i could (technologically and time-wise), i'm not sure i'd be able to do so just yet. songwriting rubs me raw, exposes all of my vulnerabilities and pulls them to the surface. it's all i can do just to mop up the mess it makes. publishing them at this early stage is akin to sticking the adhesive portion of the band-aid directly on the wound, and then pulling it off mere minutes after you've applied it. if that doesn't conjure an "ow" from you, well... maybe you're tougher than me.<br />
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if i do happen to write something that doesn't turn into a song, it will appear [<a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1161223900&ref=ts#%21/event.php?eid=210388548988015&notif_t=event_invite">here</a>]. you're welcome to join in and add your own work, even if it's not every day. you'll be in good company... and maybe, someday soon, mine.lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-73179070496197983832011-03-28T07:36:00.000-07:002011-03-28T07:36:34.130-07:00on the horizonit's been over a month since i've written anything down, in this particular place. it's been a pretty crazy month. sure, i've thought about blogging, but sitting down and taking the time to do it was too taxing. now, here i sit, absolutely exhausted and wondering where the time has gone.<br />
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looking at my loft, you really wouldn't think i've spent a good portion of the past month and a half working my booty off. it turns out that sorting your possessions is both time-consuming and tiring. i have body aches, bruises, and cuts to attest to my work. honestly, i really didn't realize how much clothing i had amassed until it was all laid out on the floor, waiting to be tried on and categorized, and forcing me to maneuver around it. i have definitely been thinking in terms of keep, toss, maybe (but needs work). that sorting process has been spilling over to other parts of my life as well, and i've been quick to let go of things and people who add little to nothing to my life. if you read this, though, don't automatically assume that if i haven't connected with you in the past month that i'm ready to let you go. <br />
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in addition to all of the work going into my home life, i also unexpectedly started nannying again full-time at the beginning of march. the two little ones are so happy to be spending time together again (they're from different families), but it's a lot of hard work and long days. on the average full-time day, i'm putting in eleven hours of nanny work. this is a huge increase from the six hour days i'd grown accustomed to working for the past six months. on the one weekday i'm not working all day, when one littlest one is with his grandmother and the eldest one is in preschool for the morning, i started taking music theory/piano/guitar lessons. it's going very well, i think, and i'm proud of the progress i'm making, slowly but steadily. it's got the inspiration flowing as well, and i began working on a new song. i've been jotting down little lyrics and melodies for future songs, too. it's exciting to have yet another artistic outlet for myself.<br />
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early march also marked the beginning of the outdoor photography season, and suddenly clients are clamoring for my attention (an awesome thing... i can't even begin to describe how great that makes me feel). i photographed the first wedding of the season, and have also stayed very busy with portrait sessions as well. i photographed four sessions this month, and i have two more booked in april. i have done little to no advertising for this. i don't feel like i deserve it at all. most of them are repeat clients, and if you know anything about the business world... it means i must be doing something right.<br />
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the toll it's all taking on my body is profound. i am losing weight. i am eating more frequently, because my body craves fuel. i no longer rely on caffeine for a boost, and keep no more sodas at home. once i get going in the morning, i'm usually a relentless force until some sixteen hours later. i fall into bed, sleep hard, and wake up just refreshed enough to get going. lately, in the mornings, i've had to make a choice between taking a short nap (while the little one naps) or making further progress with some form of work (home, photography, or music). all but one morning, i have chosen progress. <br />
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so, where is the mention of new york in this? i'm almost halfway to the deadline i'd set for myself. i honestly have no clue whether i'll meet it or not. my life is very rich here, and though it ebbs and flows, i get the feeling i'm building something amazing right where i'm at. i haven't made a decision one way or another, right now, as to when and whether i'll end up in my city of dreams. right now, though, i think i'm going to go get a well-deserved massage before tackling the upcoming week.lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-46387525631904996942011-02-21T11:54:00.000-08:002011-02-21T16:56:35.104-08:00have piano, will travel?<div style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;"><span id="internal-source-marker_0.6261418147723276" style="background-color: transparent; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">since i can’t seem to write clearly about what’s really on my heart (oh boy), i will forge ahead with what’s on my fingertips. tomorrow, i have my first formal music lesson in five years. i didn’t quite tell the whole story of my music evolution in “have guitar, will travel”, so it’s definitely time to fill in a few holes and get self-examining.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">my evolution as an artist has been through quite a number of phases and mediums. music and storytelling have always been dual-held interests of mine, though. when i was very young, i would sneak out of bed at night and turn the radio on, putting my ear right to the speaker so i wouldn’t have to turn it up above a whisper. i was always fascinated with putting together the meaning behind the songs. i met a boy (literally, we were nine!) who introduced me to alternative music, and snuck</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> tapes to me under our catholic school desks. as for the storytelling, i delved into poetry and personal journaling as an early teen and, to my shock, was published in a few anthologies. i considered trying to self-publish my poetry, as well as short novel ideas i kept stumbling through, but nothing ever really came of it (though it did spark my interest in an english/creative writing concentration in college). </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">musically, beyond being a rabid listener and shower singer, i studied flute from age 11 through 15 (though i originally wanted to play drums!). i begged for a guitar for christmas at age 13, but didn't learn to play it at all until age 15, shortly after i wrote the lyrics and melody to my first simple song. my best friend, at the time, taught me the chords i needed based on the melody i sang. i played my first solo show a short four months later, built almost entirely of my own songs, and kept playing shows through age 23. i realize now that there’s a lot of undescribed space in between ages 15 and 23. these were prolific, busy years, for me. as i said in “have guitar, will travel,” :</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“throughout high school, that was my identity, my art. i lived and breathed my music, craved the outlet. i wrote song after song, played shows to tiny packed-out coffeehouses. they were simple songs, simple expressions of the chaos of my teenage life. moving into my early twenties, i made my first relocation. the city had a bigger and better music scene. it was more difficult to break into, and i lost my nerve. instead, i began to enjoy listening to music, attending shows rather than enduring the pressure of playing them. i tried to keep up the practice schedule and writing sessions, but my previous desperate need for it was no longer there.”</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">unfortunately, that’s not the whole story. there’s a much deeper reason, and it contributed to why i not only stopped playing and writing music, but even stopped attending shows and buying new tunes. in case you haven’t gotten the picture yet, i have pursued none of these arts to the true professional level, or any end, for that matter. so, what’s holding me back? fear, bigger and badder than “lost the nerve” could begin to describe. </span><span style="font-size: small;">actually, the fear even kept me from taking in new music, lest i be inspired or challenged, and thus reminded of my failures. it perpetuates.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> if i want to move forward, and i do, the only thing i can do is to face it, and myself, inside and out. scary and nervous-making, yes.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">the weight of it is much like the impending doom of a piano dangling over my head, in cartoon-like fashion. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">for what mass media requires, i am not skinny enough, pretty enough, compelling or talented enough to sustain a music career. don’t fight me on that, please. i know where i stand, and trust me, i don’t want to BE those things only in order to be considered successful. if i honestly look at my life right now, yes, those are things i want, but for shallow reasons -- to get the boy, to gain the recognition. my heart of hearts knows that i need none of them to accomplish what i want -- the form of expression, the thrill of spilling my heart. it’s complicated even further though, because i’m so terrified of failing at anything i do, that i seem to get paralyzed halfway through doing it. that’s something ingrained in me from childhood. failure was unacceptable for me, even in small ways. trying to break out of what my heart has been conditioned to believe, even though my head knows it’s not true, has been a failure in and of itself.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">while the skinny-pretty-compelling-talented line might by true, if i actually get something out of playing shows, spilling my heart (which i do, in an incredible way)... then why let that hold me back? i'm not asking for super-stardom, a record contract, or even paying shows. i just want to express. my heart aches for it, even now. lately, i've been grasping for it in small ways; karaoke at a birthday party, helping a friend lead a group of college kids in song, surrounding myself with musicians and attending shows, finding new music. i've also found myself finally penning lyrics again. sure, i've laid down a line or two in times of complete emotional distress over the past few years, but recently it's been pouring out, so much so that i HAVE to write it into a lyric journal or record a melody into my phone. i haven't formed a whole song yet, by any means, but i have a dozen different places to start.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">ultimately, it all comes down to shifting my measure of success and failure. i don’t desire to be a professional musician. i desire to be an artist. i’ve thought hard about it, and my only real goal is this -- be competent enough in all of my art forms to express myself however i currently see fit. yes, i want to get back onstage with my own original material, and play just one completed new song live before the end of the year, but that’s kind of a sub-goal. the most important part is to work on on becoming a better artist, a better person. maybe i won’t meet society’s definition of success when it comes to any of my art, but as long as i’m not actually held back by myself, then it’s not a failure. so, off to my piano lesson -- here's hoping it'll be better under my fingers, than over my head.</span></div>lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-27717223852465970152011-02-03T13:04:00.000-08:002011-02-03T13:04:00.337-08:00killing ourselves with conveniencedisclaimer: i don't even like the word. it almost becomes a cop-out, like i'm refusing to claim my own opinion. i will say this, though -- it IS just an opinion. agree, disagree, or don't give a care. either way, it's my thought process, and i'm claiming it.<br />
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there's a new product on the market, made by a very popular company whose brand name has become synonymous with its product, so much so that people don't say "please hand me a disposable facial tissue," they say, "please hand me a (brand name)." i'm sure you know the brand, if not the product. their newest item is a disposable hand towel, made for use after each hand washing. its packaging, very conveniently, is made to fit on top of a towel bar (much like you'd find in many household bathrooms) in place of a cloth hand towel. the brand touts the germ-avoiding wonders of using one disposable towel per person after each hand washing, and never having to wash another cloth hand towel. they're attempting to make life more convenient and more sanitary, by providing one-time-use disposable products.<br />
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let's think back just a few years, to how many items that are now one-time-use disposables, which were once NOT. because i'm a nanny, i immediately consider how many disposable products we use and throw away per day, per child. dirty or wet diapers are our main export, usually around eight to ten per day (and these are laden with chemicals used to absorb more, so they can stay on longer -- convenience, again... but at what cost). then i think about the number of dirty wipes also thrown away (at least one per diaper), the number of tissues we use to wipe little noses (some days none, some days 20+), and the number of papertowels used to clean up just about ANY spill (and there are a LOT, with babies and toddlers). that's just items used on a daily basis, with one child! <br />
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why use a child as an example here? they emulate -- it's how they learn. it's short-sighted, though. a child thinks "nanny uses a paper towel to clean up a mess. next time i make a mess, i'll use a paper towel to clean it. nanny throws the paper towel in the garbage can. i'll do that, too." a child does NOT think, "if everyone in our city uses one paper towel per person, per day, that's 50,000 paper towels per day sitting around, waiting to decompose. tomorrow, it will be 100,000. a week from now, it will be 700,000. a month from now, it will be 3 million. 3 million paper towels takes up a lot of space. and how many people live in my country? and how much space do we have? and what other kinds of products are going to the landfill because we prize convenience over consciousness?" (if your child thinks this, please let me know... i'd like to high-five them AND you.)<br />
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once upon a time, people almost exclusively used cloth diapers, cloth wipes, cloth handkerchiefs, and cloth dish towels/rags. you buy them once, wash them after each use, and use them until they fall apart. in fact, some people even REUSED their items later -- when children no longer needed the cloth diapers, they would often be used as cleaning rags or, i don't know... stuffing for homemade pillows. i'm not saying these types of items wouldn't eventually end up in landfills at some point in their product life span. i'm just saying that they end up there, in less quantity and much less often (because we're not throwing them away, every day). they are multiple-use items. furthermore, what's with the selective environmentalism? why can we use a washable burp cloth (spit-up is just as gross as nasal drippings, in my opinion) for the baby, but not use a cloth handkerchief for ourself? why can we rely on our washing machines to clean one, but not the other? <br />
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let's get back to the child example. a child thinks: "i accept using one-time-use disposables because it is the way i have been lead to believe is appropriate and allowable. plus, it's convenient because i'm not the one doing the work!" a child does not necessarily think: "wait... what if there's a better way to clean and reduce germs, that won't cause 50,000 extra pieces of trash per day in the landfill near my city?" those are adult thoughts, the thoughts of a brain that can conceptualize beyond themselves. it's high time we jump on the adult bandwagon here... me included.<br />
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sadly, it's not simply a matter of providing convenience or better sanitation. one-time-use disposables promote a lifestyle which allows you to simply throw away your problems. companies are marketing to a lazy, paranoid society, one who doesn't want to do one more load of laundry a week to clean their own filth -- they just want to throw it away, for someone else to handle. the company fosters a dependence on these items by making you believe you can't perform a certain task without the item, at least not without risking grave consequences (in this case, germs!!). what gross, germ-ridden person is wiping their poorly-cleansed hands all over your cloth hand towel in your personal bathroom and forcing you to use it for months on end without washing? no one but yourself. yeah, think about that. YOU are in control of how well you wash your hands (which should be well enough to remove any significant germs) and how often you wash your hand towels. maybe it would be different if we didn't know any better, but we do.<br />
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here's the portion of this program where i jump off my high horse, and tell you a little about my own life. i use paper towels, probably on a weekly basis. i occasionally buy disposable napkins, plates, cups, and utensils for parties. i don't always carry my own reusable grocery bags. i have probably used over 100,000 disposable diapers in my career as a nanny... maybe more! i don't wash my own hand towels as often as i should when i don't have guests. i am lazy. i have taken the easy road. i have done all of this, in the past, without considering how it might affect the world around me, or even me... but one-time-use disposables aren't helping me overcome this. they're feeding the laziness, telling me it's okay to be lazy as long as i'm buying something to temporarily fix it. another problem is that it's never enough. we've tired of washing diapers, handkerchiefs, and hand towels. what's next? bath towels, bed linens, clothing? or, here's one that might hit home for some of you: technology.<br />
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as i'm starting to become more aware about the kind of life i'm leading, and of the world around me, i'm forming more opinions about what's right for me. it's not about the guilt i feel for making (what i consider to be) bad decisions, though. it's about wanting to be better, to live a better life. at the core, i'm not necessarily trying to identify with a particular environmental cause. i want to live a more conscious life, and that should extend to every part of my life... including my hand towels.<br />
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oh, and just to bring it back around to the title, here's an alternate title i considered but found to be a little too long: how natural selection is going to kill off our species with laziness and apathy.lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-12623398407152343922011-01-30T15:00:00.000-08:002011-01-31T07:21:14.964-08:00one weak(ness) later<div class="itembody"> in addition to having a public blog, i have a private journal. in it, i've been able to spill my guts in a way i know is not for public consumption. sometimes my entries are as simple as copying in private conversations i've had. sometimes they're self-scathing tirades where i rip myself open and attempt to dig out the bad with my bare hands. perhaps, in one or two over time, i've written about a lust interest of the moment (after all, it's not love when he barely knows you exist). and sometimes, they're just life notes -- things i've learned about myself and the world around me.<br />
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lately, my private entries have been about one particular subject -- my own failings and fallings. everyone has those moments, i think, where we fall miserably short and flat on our faces. we look up from the bottom in a blood pool, gravel embedded in our chin, and thank the good Lord that there's really no farther to fall. luckily, for the most part, my falls are rather short. i am a flawed individual and, as a result, i expect to fail. i aspire to more, to succeed and self-inspect, but mostly, i feel i am a realist. i do occasionally find myself on some high platform of my own making, and end up walking straight off the edge and plummeting far to the floor.<br />
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this would be the point where i am expected to reveal the big secret failing that i've made, and wax poetic about how my life is changed after standing back up from the fall. i'm not ready to do that yet. i haven't rectified it, and i haven't even begun to heal from the wounds i have caused to myself. i'm not even sure i've finished falling yet, because i can see the ground fast approaching beneath me. i am fighting an inward battle because i am continually learning what it means to be a better person, and to be honest with myself.<br />
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i didn't want to just leave you (or myself) to think that i've lost momentum. i haven't. in fact, i am growing in leaps and bounds that i wish i could write about publicly, and someday i WILL write about it, in non-vague terms. for now, though... i'm here. i'll write when i'm able. in the meantime, talk amongst yourselves.</div>lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-12248263436692381792011-01-24T22:46:00.000-08:002011-01-25T10:01:38.580-08:00have guitar, will travelsometimes i forget that i lived a life before this one, that my expression has evolved many times to make me the person and artist i am today. while cleaning out my closet, i unearthed my guitars. there are three. the first, a purple electric, was a gift i begged for when i was thirteen years old. it was more the idea of being a guitarist that i wanted, and so it sat for at least two years before i ever really endeavored to play it. a dear friend taught me some chords, which turned into songs, which pushed me into playing shows with my original material. throughout high school, that was my identity, my art. i lived and breathed my music, craved the outlet. i wrote song after song, played shows to tiny packed-out coffeehouses. they were simple songs, simple expressions of the chaos of my teenage life.<br />
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moving into my early twenties, i made my first relocation. the city had a bigger and better music scene. it was more difficult to break into, and i lost my nerve. instead, i began to enjoy listening to music, attending shows rather than enduring the pressure of playing them. i tried to keep up the practice schedule and writing sessions, but my previous desperate need for it was no longer there. during college, my heart got ripped out of my chest in a multitude of ways. for catharsis, i started writing lyrics again, and found myself singing songs under my breath again. after one particularly tumultuous semester and the decision to drop out of school, i decided to enlist as a summer camp counselor. i knew i wouldn't be able to take my electric rig with me, and thus i purchased my second guitar, a black acoustic.<br />
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that guitar traveled everywhere with me. its case still has homeland security tape and airport claim tags attached to it, from my very first airplane trip. because it's the first guitar i bought for myself, it's more special to me than the third guitar (a white electric i bought while trying to revive my music mini-career for all the wrong reasons). it's that simple black acoustic that called me from its case, interrupting my organization progress. i picked up my old friend, and played a few songs. some were my own. some were songs of others i like and sing particularly well. of course, my voice is not in shape and my fingertip callouses have faded. i couldn't play for too long without it hurting in various ways, and without being reminded of old hurts, as well, the catalyst behind so many of my songs. when i sang my last note, loud and strong, it lingered in the room, bouncing off the walls of my loft. <br />
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in so many ways, i'm still that girl with the black guitar who nervously stepped onstage and could barely sing loud enough for anyone to hear. i am still self-conscious and self-critical, and i still don't believe i have the guts to follow my dreams. the echo of my own voice, so much stronger than it used to be, tells me that i am also a new sort of girl, a girl not afraid to lay her soul bare and take chances with her life. i'm still self-conscious, but i don't let it hold me back. i'm still self-critical, but i use it to make myself better. i DO have the guts to follow my dreams. they're just different dreams, now. they will always evolve, as will i. i wonder how long i will carry the black guitar with me, how many more airport claim tags it might accumulate, and from what cities. how many more songs will i write on her strings? will our next time together find me stronger or weaker? will i ever sell her? will i ever be able? after all, i am still the girl with the black guitar, only now i carry her, instead of her carrying me.lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-63963079203935062092011-01-23T15:33:00.000-08:002011-01-23T15:33:18.618-08:00defining my stylei just took an online quiz i found at [sproost.com]. it was fairly comprehensive, and involved me looking at a LOT of photos of rooms and rating them. much like rating one of my journal entries, i had to choose whether i hate the room, don't like the room, think the room is just okay, like the room, or love the room. i could choose to single out various elements that i like or don't like, but for this, i just examined the room as a whole. below are my results, with words and phrases i truly identify with italicized. seeing it all laid out like this, i can see the cohesion!!<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">--------------------------------------------------------------------------------</div><h2>40% Vintage Modern</h2>Flea Market anyone? You know you are drawn to modern furniture and interiors, and yet you really don't like a space that feels cold and sterile. And who could blame you? And that's why Vintage Modern is so appealing to you. Though the backdrop of the room, the walls and windows, are many times white or <i>monochromatic</i>, the furniture and accessories have the color, shape and <i>texture</i> to bring the warmth into the space. The great thing about Vintage Modern is ease of <i>mixing </i>different styles in the one space. You can have a new modular sofa mixed with a great pair of chairs that your grandmother purchased in the late 1950's and the <i>new and old</i> work appear as though they were destined for each other. What's great is that even if you don't have time for swap meets and garage sales, so many of the pieces from the <i>mid-century</i> were so great that they have been remade and mimicked year after year. <div style="margin: 10px 0px;"><a class="style_more_link" href="http://www.sproost.com/StyleEngine/results#" style="display: none;" title="Click for more information on 'Vintage Modern'">More ></a></div><h3 style="margin-top: 10px;">Materials</h3>The other great thing about Vintage Modern is how low maintenance it can be — fabrics such as <i>cotton</i>, microfiber or ultra-suede and leather all look great and function even better. So whether you are having a cocktail party with friends, or kids are in the picture, the room and the furnishings can handle it. Because the style harkens back to the early twentieth century, the innovative developed during that time are very popular: acrylic, plastic and fiberglass, chrome and <i>steel</i>, and <i>molded plywood</i>. <i>Concrete floors</i>, countertops and furniture are also very popular and lacquered finishes are very common.<h3 style="margin-top: 10px;">Colors</h3>When it comes to color, walls are seen as <i>backdrops</i> for the room. Neutral tones of <i>gray, white, beige</i> and brown are very common and <i>black</i> is a common accent color. <i>Pops of color</i> on the <i>art</i>, furniture and accessories can vary dramatically based on the person, however very common colors are teal blues, army <i>greens</i> and <i>yellow</i> as well as deep oranges and bright reds.<br />
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<h2>40% Cottage Chic</h2>Who says that cottages can't be modern and chic? Who says that they have to be floral and cheesy? Not you! You love the carefree spirit that the cottage interior inspires, but you are also serious about your appreciation for <i>modern art</i> and <i>hip treasures</i>. You love old and new alike, and love to highlight them all to expose the <i>uniqueness</i> of each. What better way to show off these treasures than with a light background? <div style="margin: 10px 0px;"><a class="style_more_link" href="http://www.sproost.com/StyleEngine/results#" style="display: none;" title="Click for more information on 'Cottage Chic'">More ></a></div><h3 style="margin-top: 10px;">Materials</h3>You have a great <i>sense of humor</i> when it comes to design and even like to make fun of the style itself. Which means that you will throw in a toy boat or a vintage life preserver to keep the <i>mood</i> of the place just like the color: light! The fabrics are natural (cottons and linens) and are light in touch. Much of the <i>furniture is wood or wood framed (the lighter the better</i>, think driftwood!) and as long as it's used sparingly or with modern lines, you even throw in a wicker piece here and there.<h3 style="margin-top: 10px;">Colors</h3>Your true inspiration (whether you know it or not) is the sea... the colors found at your favorite beach: <i>white and light beige</i> of the sand, <i>a variety of blues</i> for the ocean and sky, and <i>greens and pale grays</i> of the sea glass... but the key is white! Your space should feel <i>light and airy</i> and give off the mood one has when at the beach: <i>laid back</i>! The key with Cottage Chic is balance; in one corner there could be a rustic wood table that looks like it could have been found rather than made, but it is offset with a modern vase while another corner is adorned with a modern Lucite piece.<h3 style="margin-top: 10px;">Space Planning</h3>The furniture is comfortable and the layout is cozy. The more it <i>encourages intimate gatherings</i> the better! Just watch out for the red wine spills on the new white sofa! The color throughout is light and airy - and though you love to <i>accessorize with fun colors</i> (the sky's the limit with a white background), the main color seen and felt throughout the house is white or very light versions of colors so that they feel almost white.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">--------------------------------------------------------------------------------</div><h2>20% Rustic Revival</h2>You can take kid out of the country but you can't take the country out of the kid... or is your theme "you can take the kid out of the city, but you can't take the city out of the kid?" Either way you play it, you are one of the <i>unique individuals</i> who loves a mix of modern and country. The <i>clean lines of the modern softened by rustic /vintage elements</i> is the perfect mix in your mind. And can we blame you? You've taken the best aspects of two popular designs and mixed them in a manner that appeals young and old alike. A <i>subtle background of white or light colors</i> provides a nice <i>canvas</i> for all the wonderful flea market, eBay or garage sale finds as well as the classic modern pieces that you love. <div style="margin: 10px 0px;"><a class="style_more_link" href="http://www.sproost.com/StyleEngine/results#" style="display: none;" title="Click for more information on 'Rustic Revival'">More ></a></div><h3 style="margin-top: 10px;">Materials</h3>The material palette for urban country runs the gamut because of the two extremes being mixed. On the countryside you see a lot of <i>wood, woven rope, canvas and linen, rustic metals</i> and wrought iron, cowhide and vintage leather. On the more modern side, you see acrylic, satin and <i>polished nickel and chrome, glass, faux fur</i>, refined leather, fiberglass and <i> sleek woods</i>. It's the mixing of these elements that makes the style work so well. <i>Seagrass</i> and other natural woven materials are often used for floor coverings. <i>Concrete and natural wood floors</i> are very popular, and work really well together.<h3 style="margin-top: 10px;">Colors</h3>When it comes to color, think light, casual and airy. <i>White, pale gray</i> or beige, khaki and <i>sage</i>; all of these colors make nice, subtle backdrops for Urban Country style. Think of the colors of natural linen, concrete, and if you'd like to go dark, use the dark brownish-black of iron or the deep burnt orange of <i>rust</i>. The key is to keep the spaces feeling <i>open (go modern!) and yet warm (yay for rustic!)</i>, and by going light on the walls and major pieces and more color on the accents and accessories you can achieve this mix really well.lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1905694357645356338.post-5169284542003516162011-01-23T13:01:00.000-08:002011-01-23T13:01:54.908-08:00the furniture isn't fulfilling me anymoreas i've previously mentioned, i've moved a lot in the past few years, usually once every year. after never moving, not even once in my childhood, it was definitely a big change. there's a scramble to pull together furniture and other possessions to make your home look like it has <i>enough</i>. this, for me, has been a huge trap. first of all, you can't satisfy yourself with possessions. you can only make yourself slightly more comfortable. second, stylistically, i've never really been forced (or even thought about, quite frankly) to define myself, my style. this has lead to a lot of collecting, of keeping objects that don't really "fit" with my space, because they now hold emotional value. i'm starting to learn to pull from those things to find a cohesive style.<br />
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my first home was one of four bedrooms in a third-floor apartment. for a while, my only furniture was a twin-sized mattress (on the floor), a navy butterfly chair, and a waist-high black wire shelving unit. all of my possessions fit into four plastic bins. i accumulated slowly. i bought a silver metal loft bed with an attached desk underneath (to date, the most expensive piece of furniture i've ever purchased). i bought a black metal futon, and shoulder-height black wire rack. for a while, the room seemed perfect: a place to sleep, a place to work, a place to lounge, and a way to organize. they all coordinated, by color and style, using basic materials. it was simple but held the necessities, small but light-filled, and i was happy.<br />
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there is a lot of emotion involved in purchasing, for some folks, and i guess i'm one of them. as i moved into progressively bigger residences, i acquired more stuff (furniture, clothing, decorative and personal accessories). i thought, somehow, that a nice house filled with nice things, would make me a more whole and better person. think again! my unhappiness with myself would grow, and i would feel the need to escape. my friends would help me pack, and schlep my stuff to the next residence. the final culmination of this insane thought process lead me into leasing a house that was far beyond my means, and far larger than one person should ever need. the sad part is that i didn't need to BUY any more furniture in order to put something in every room. every room doubled in size, but the furniture from my previous place still fit, in perfect proportion. when i left that house, i left behind a lot of emotional baggage, and donated almost two carloads of previously important possessions.<br />
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it's taken me nine months to come to terms with removing some of the rest of the dead weight, but with my furniture on the outs, i felt lighter, ready to move on. after a long week of work, i began to sort through my walk-in closet, an even bigger emotional minefield because it's tied directly to my body. i sorted items into several different categories. one group is clothing that i love and absolutely must keep, the essentials of my style and items i find myself washing once a week because i can't comprehend not having them available to wear. another group consists of items that fit and function, but that i either don't love or haven't worn more than a few times in the past year -- the maybe pile. there's a third pile of items that would be great and i would wear more often... if they were slightly altered (those of you who know me, know i often alter clothes temporarily on my own, but these are headed for a professional). the final group is the sell or donate pile, items that don't fit my body or my style. there's also, in my head, an entire line of conceptual clothes -- items i can't find in a particular color, cut, or fabric, but would love to own. thus, i recently bought a sewing machine in hopes of making them myself.<br />
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even still, the contents of my closet is cumbersome: there are long-sleeve layering tees and short sleeve layering tees, wear-alone tees and tank tops. there are dresses for hot days and hot nights, and skirts for when i'm feeling girly. there are low-slung leg-hugging jeans, and comfy cargo pants. there are shorts, for summer. there's even a floor-length dress, but i think i'll have it shortened to knee-length (impractical, in the city). there is a lot of clothing, and somehow, there still isn't enough. there aren't enough light-weight structured jackets for milder weather (though there are plenty of sleeveless tops needing them). there aren't enough of this one particular top that i wore so much last summer, that it's wearing through and getting pilly. there are never enough jeans that fit my ever-changing body perfectly. at least, now, i am starting to realize that clothing is just another of my artistic expressions. some works of art may be an immediate success, and some need additional work to become their best. some are just meant to be kept close for comfort (my favorite pajamas), and some are meant to display for all the world to see.<br />
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in the sell or donate pile, there are many items that no longer have a place. they were bought with a particular outfit in mind, or in an effort to be someone whom i'm not (that silk, pink flower-covered dress... or shimmering tops for nights on the town). some of these items are emotionally charged -- they embody a part of my personality (i can occasionally be girly and sweet), but they don't work for my actual body (a clinging silk dress? why did i buy that?!), and their presence is just a burden. shoes are the same... the two pairs of sling-back heels are only cute if i'm not going to walk for ten blocks, and the four pairs of suede boots make me stalk the weather forecast for an unusually precipitation-free day.<br />
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of course, you don't have to get rid of everything you love... you just have to decide what's worth schlepping across the country. what means enough that it's worth the sweat from my own brow? it's easy to hang on to things when someone else is shouldering the burden, but when you're doing it yourself, there's a certain amount of pretense that goes out the door and straight to the nearest donation center. beyond that, i'm sure, at some point, i'll end up repopulating my residence with encumbrances that make feel good. i can only strive to make sure that those items aren't trying to fill some big emotional hole in me, instead of the physical space where a couch should be.lizhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02470308625246404692noreply@blogger.com0