same old, same old...

It's now down to THE WIRE and I am determined to turn THE PAPER in today (or tomorrow) and I have discovered that I made (yet another) mountain out of a mole hill. Oh but I wouldn't be me if I didn't, right?

See, all I had to do was write the darn thing according to the directions but I forgot that whole directions part and thought I was writing a thesis or something and it grew and grew and became something bigger than it needed to be and I finally reread the samples my professor so nicely gave us way back when and I realized something. I could have written this in my sleep. It is just as she told me. It isn't something HUGE it is something to prove I get the technical aspects of paper writing and you know what? I didn't. I don;t play well with simple instructions. This is probably why I bomb so many tests. I know that the answers on the test reflect what we were told but I don't agree with them so I cannot answer and then I fail. I get this, I know this and I still whack myself over the head for my stubborness. Why can't I just follow instructions? This is why I don't feel comfortable in the real world. I'm not like most who flow around me. I don't fit in with appearances but I know that we are alike under the surface...at least enough alike that I am sure we can get along. So that is me in a nutshell. Overthinker stage left...

Seriously though, THE PAPER will be finished this week if not today. I may take a break to bake banana bread or stitch up some needle books or read a magazine because not only do I overthink but I am easily distracted by happy, pretty things. If you catch me online playing marble lines or the like, you have my permission to pinch me (real hard) and disconnect me from the internet. Feel free to catch me noodling about and wag those fingers and get me back on track. For now though, lookie at the prettiness I come up with when I should be writing THE PAPER...At least I know my faults...

the week in review: september 15-21

Last week could be defined as a typical week in my life. It was full of busy-ness, visiting and dark bad brain moments. Like a roller coaster ride I was up, down and all over the place. Ultimately is was all good. Monday...not so good but I schlepped myself to school to be responsible.

Sometimes I set my expectations for myself up way too high. I used to berate and belittle myself when I didn't succeed, now I bake cupcakes, take a nap or watch Gilmore Girls. It's no biggie. A bad day is bad for the day, the next time I wake up it will be better. Thankfully with all the visits and fun thrown in this week there is no more bad brain but there are new eye glasses and piles and piles of works in progress all over the tiny casa. THE PAPER will be finished this week and I can then focus on cleaning and purging and cooking and baking and the making and crafting of all sorts of fun stuff!

Happy Fall everyone!

worker bee, busy bee, study bee

bzzzzzzzzzz.....
my head is full to the brim with all I have to accomplish and start and do and finish and...and...and...so rather than play ostrich I'm gonna dandy myself up, swipe on some lipstick, gather my bundles of notes and papers and books and head to school to work on THE PAPER. See, on Monday, I looked my professor in the eye and told she would have it no later than the end of next week. I have committed...I should be committed. So I'm off to school for four hours where I must, must, must write something substantial. I have many many pages to fill. Then I will hit the market for what we need and some dried beans and rice or something else to put into the candy corn bean bags I'm making for the shop. When driving, one should combine all errands possible as long as they are on the same route so as to conserve gas and keep the car driving to a minimum.

I'm still working in starts and stops on teething bees, dilly bags, matryohska sachets, cozie cozies and other prettiness. The tiny casa is covered in fabric scraps and bits of thread and the scissors drawer has once again emptied itself.

Happy Friday! Here's what teething bee wings look like in stages.

dreaming a-go-go

I was detained from joining the land of the awake this morning by luscious vintage linens and sweet cool air. Those two ingredients generously mixed with unpaved water flume pathways, hand sewn quilts and cotton candy so pink I wouldn't be surprised if you told me I was on acid, kept me in dreamland long enough to make for a super groggy day. I spent most of the night tossing and turning and pulling the vintage floral sheet off of the mister. Once he finally stumbled into the real world, I gathered up the happy yellow quilt, tucked my smooshable hippo under my left arm and fell into the rabbit hole. My dreams were to extraordinarily vivid, I could smell the popcorn at the summer carnival and the wet pavement near the flume pathways. The story made complete sense while it played out. From the carnival rides that spun beneath picture perfect skies, the old friends and make-believe friends that joined me throughout the dream. to the absurd like the fluffy feathery hen that stood about three feet tall that acted as a guard hen to its flock and our cobblestoned street that kissed the tiny porches of our red and white gingerbread cottage complex. There was music and laughter and games and fisticuffs over the winning and not winning of technicolor vinyl doll houses.

It was a block party of where we would live if we could truly live anywhere and in anyway. We had a garden, a workshop, a cuter than cute cottage. There were wonderfully artsy neighbors, tiny hole in the wall pie palaces and chatty chickens all around. Not a car in sight but candy colored beach cruisers peppered the pathways. There were buckets of flowers and sidewalk chalk at every junction. Art was everywhere as were smiles and laughter. We had a swimming hole, and a tin-can telephone and a pygmy goat named Bernadette. It was a magical, handcrafted, bauble filled place. Not to get all creepy on you but I hope I get to visit again!

The Week in Review: September 8-14

It was an odd sort of week with lots of busy-ness, a moment of visiting, a few shenanigans with some crafting, cooking and anxiety sprinkled on top. dilly market bags were added to the shop and three were sold. Whoo-hoo! Halloween wips have been started, a swap wip was finished, flea marketing happened and a new batch of doilies have been washed. Movies were watched, floors were slept, naps were taken and migraines sneaked in. It wasn't a bad week at all, I just hope this weeks feels less anxious to me. I'm not a fan of anxious. A cold is creeping in and I need to do some mad voodoo to get it to go away. Here's to normal life, craftiness and colorful doilies tossed here and there!

abynormal

When I was in grade school I was a poster child for perfection. At least appearance-wise. I had long golden blonde hair and this wonky, crooked smile. I could approach anyone and was fearless in my quest for adventure and new friends. I stood up to bullies and protected the underdogs around me. I loved school and schoolwork, I could play for endless hours with almost anyone of any age except of course the older girls who wanted to talk about boys. I was happy and carefree and moody and whiny and always worried that my friends would leave me like my father did. Or, rather, they would go away like my sister did. I don't think I mourned the leaving of my father. As an adult I sometimes think about it and get really pissed off about the whole deal but more on the surface in how it reads in regards to my mother, brother and sister. I was so young I like to think his absence specifically didn't affect me. He wasn't really ever home anyway from what I can remember. I know it did a number on me but I like to keep ny head in the clouds. Anywhoo, that's not what this post is about. This post is about how we evolve and change yet stay the same. You know what I mean?

All through grade school I was this poster child and then puberty hit, I became a teenager in age at least, if not attitude. All my friends around me moved onto more teen-aged things and I was left behind. I wanted to be left behind. All those unknown milestones of being thirteen and older scared the heck out of me. I dug my heels in and was determined to stay a child as long as I could. I refused to conform. I was an outcast anyway since we were a bit poor. I wore chunky, clunky god-awful glasses and was not able to get braces to fix the wonkiness of my teeth. My mom sewed most of my clothes and continued to trick me into liking vintage duds. It was all to get by as I was a welfare kid and she was disabled and couldn't work. I had no idea how dismal it all was and looking back I am newly in awe of her grace, humor and industry. So there I was in junior high lagging behind the valley girls in their esprit de corp and guess jeans. I became the "weird" girl in poodle skirts and saddle shoes or black witchy boots and pleather pants in a vintage three-quarter sleeved jacket with a scarf tied round my neck. While my grade school friends merged further and further away from me with their lockers plastered with pictures of Duran Duran and Depeche Mode, I covered my Pee-chee folders with Oingo Boingo lyrics and drawings of that Selector guy from all the ska bands. My musical tastes were honestly eclectic at best. I listened to everything from Elvis Presley, Harry Chapin, and Paul Simon, to Sparks, They Might Be Giants, The Specials and The Germs. I wore out my Jesus Christ Superstar album and would fall asleep at night to Pink Floyd's The Wall or a bit of Black Sabbath.

In high school, I developed a more bizarre sense of style and did my best to emulate Lucille Ball, Imogene Coco, Cyndi Lauper and Anne Margaret. I skipped around in black oversized Oingo Boingo t-shirts with ripped jeans and knee-high stoner-style mocassin boots or psychedelic mini a-line dresses and bloomers with crimped hair and combat boots. I once carried all my personal goods wrapped up in a bandana tied to a stick a la some sort of old school hobo only to be told the stick was too dangerous. My musical taste became a bit more forgiving and I added R.E.M and some other mainstream bands to my play list but I cheered more for our local bands like Redd Kross, Thelonious Monster, Mary's Danish, The Red Hot Chili Peppers and (L.A.)Guns N Roses. I wanted to study fashion, become an Alvin Ailey dancer, own my own dance club and write children's books.

After school I dabbled in a few college courses where I met the oddball artsy kids that felt like soul mates to me. We would drink coffee at The Pikme-Up or hang out at Bourgeoius Pig or Jabberjaw and shop at Monster or American Rag. We would hit Woolworth's for grilled cheese sandwiches and chocolate malts. It was bliss. I still wanted to do fashion and dance but then I met my first serious boyfriend who introduced Syd Barret and Jimi Hendrix to my musical tastes. As the years trooped forward and my ears opened to the sounds of many more artists I found that I still preferred to cozy up to my old junior high favorites while courting the not-so-mainstream notes the indy folks out there.

Music is such a powerful tool. It can inspire and bring you back to good and bad times. It can make you weep with happiness and bring your blood pressure up in a not so good way (The Smashing Pumpkins does this to me). Music can influence your dress, your day, your smile. As I sit here and think about my fondness for the abynormal girl I have always been I cannot help but giggle at the variety of warbles coming from my tinny computer speakers. While I have been type, type, typing away I have paused to sing along to The Sweet's Ballroom Blitz. I have danced to disco by the Sylvers, crooned along off-key to Baby Don't You Cry and paused to blast World Destruction. Music, it is more valuable than diamonds or gold to me. I have recently discovered the addiction of the iTunes store and have a happy folder of oddball new tunes. If you are interested in my current playlist, gimme a shout cuz I got the fever...Boogie Fever that is.