It's that time of year again.

That time when all the magazines at the check-out counter are shouting about how you can lose 20 lbs in a month on their new diet, or how you can FINALLY get organized this year.  Need to quit smoking?  THIS time, you can really do it.  Need to learn to (fill in the blank) and finally (another blank) and make it stick?  We can show you how.

The gyms will be full--at least up until Valentines Day, when most have dropped out in favor of chocolate and self-forgiveness. 

I am a big fan of self-forgiveness!  I've got lots of things I should do--and undo, accomplish, learn, commit to, many other shoulds.  But after my first thirty or so New Year's Resolutions came and went, the majority of which were unfulfilled, I realized New Year's Resolutions didn't motivate me.  They do work for some, no doubt.  But I did hate the gym that first few months when it would become so crowded.  (At some point, I quit the gym, too--in favor of walking my dog every day and stretching in my bedroom floor.)

In the intervening years, I had to distill it down to this: is my goal realistic?  If not, can I break it into sections, to be accomplished one at a time?  If I can't do that, what is unrealistic about it?  If it is realistic, what--in tangible, concrete terms--will allow me to accomplish it?  And lastly--what does January 1st have to do with it?  For some reason, my goal setting urges seem to hit in the fall.  I clean, organize, analyze, and study what changes I want to make.  I don't always accomplish them, but I manage enough that I have learned what works for me.

What do you do when you want to make a change, and stick to it?  What do you want to accomplish this year?   

Interesting Times...

Somehow life always manages to remind me of that old Chinese curse: "May you live in interesting times."

It is interesting, but I'd give my eye teeth for it to be boring right now.  My perspective has suffered a little warping lately, and I'm working to get it back into true.

What am I rambling on about?  Fire.  I think some of you have seen my post on MAIDA, so forgive the cross-posting.  There's a wildfire in our area that's been burning since Saturday afternoon...and is still not under control.  They're managing well, considering the winds over the last several days, and the idiocy of fame-seekers with camera drones that shut down fire control efforts. 

We are currently under "pre-evac" status, meaning we need to be packed and ready to evacuate at a moment's notice.  Well, we got packed yesterday, made arrangements to bring our elderly next door neighbor with us if it gets to that point, and then...settled in to wait.  Don't get me wrong--if I get to chose between waiting and evacuating, I'll pick waiting every time!  But it is a little tense.  The fire seems to have shifted away from our area, indeed away from most any of the more populated areas...a fact for which we are so grateful.  So we are cautiously optimistic that in a day or two, they'll have the worst of it out, and we can go back to normal life.  (I am disinclined to thaw anything else out for dinner, so the hubby might get a little bored with leftovers all in a row!)

All this has made me think about the vagaries of disaster preparedness.  I grew up in Tornado Alley (north Texas), so tornadoes are what I default to when thinking of running for cover.  A massive tornado came through our town on April 10, 1979, when I was sixteen, and our house was completely destroyed--with us in it.  This pretty much set the tone for my lifetime of what to expect. 

But later in my life, I moved with my military husband to Eglin, AFB, where I got to know several hurricanes on a first-name basis.  Charlie, Francis, Ivan, and Dennis, to name a few. 

Here's the thing...

With a hurricane, you have a LONG time to get ready, because the weather folks see it coming.  So you pack your stuff and get out with plenty of life-saving time.  The problem is you can't take everything, so you're left trying to figure out what is important enough to warrant space in the vehicle.  And what is not.  And you mourn the possible loss of what you're leaving behind.  It's awful--this sadness and preoccupation with Stuff.  It's natural, but still awful. 

With a tornado, you get almost no warning.  So you either run across town to a good friend's tornado cellar (if you're lucky) or you go hide against the bed with the mattress pulled down across you--like we did when I was sixteen.  BUT.  When you crawl out of the cellar (or out from under the mattress), you have survived.  You might have lost everything you own, but you're so happy to be alive, who cares?  We're alive!!!

This fire has been much like the hurricane.  We have loads of time to get out...but we've had to take stock of what to bring, what to leave, and sit around waiting for possible evac orders, and thinking, "I wonder if I'll ever see all this again?" 

To be honest, I think the tornado warning is the lesser of two evils.  Stuff is just...stuff.  But I'd sure miss my doll collection.  And all the craft stuff I've gathered over the years.  And our comfy sleep-number bed.  See what I mean? 

Five recycled resolutions for 2016.

I've always shied away from making New Year's Resolutions.  They never work out as envisioned, and were usually fostered in the desperation of the previous year's failures or bad habits.  Cliche as hell too--lose weight, get organized, stop procrastinating, etc.  I wish I had back all the money I spent on books, gadgets, and systems to help me keep those resolutions.  These recycled resolutions are not new.  But my approach is different, in that they are changes I have already begun to take.  As in concrete steps.  I already KNOW they are making a difference in my life.  Apparently it's taken this long for the concepts to sink in.

So, as I wrap up the end of a year that's been interesting, exhilarating, and--on several levels--a severe trial, I am learning that it helps to: 

1. play more music.  (Concrete action: load the 5-disc player every morning with something new, or at the very least, turn on the radio.)  Phil and I both work from home, and his office is in our main living area.  I have discovered--sort of by accident--that we seem to spend the day in a more energetic and optimistic mood if we have music we like as a background to our day.

2. do the yucky chores while I wait for stuff.  As most of you, I wear several hats: housekeeper, pet-tender, cook, supply officer, and doll maker.  The doll maker part is the fun job, (except for listing photos, taxes, etc.) and even the other jobs have their bright sides.  But there are always those jobs--the catbox, the dishwasher, the toilets--that just suck.  Always will.  So I do those while my morning burgers cook or while I'm on hold, those minutes that add up to nothing if I just wait (or if I sit back down with a paperback.)  And even if it's a chore that takes more than a few minutes, get it done FIRST so the rest of the day can go to more interesting things.

3. just put stuff up--now.  Yes, I am 52 years old and I've just now learned to do this.  Embarrassing.  In the past, I have made excuses for the Creative Frenzy that overtakes me during a project, and my Enabling Husband has patiently said nothing while I make a huge mess.  But either I'm growing up, or our smaller space has made its demands heard, because now I am compelled to put away the button box after I pick out what I need, to file the pattern pieces before cutting fabric, and to clear my office desk by the end of the day.

4. keep a journal.  I have had so many ups and downs this year, the journal has kept me sane.  I've always kept one, but in years past the entries only cover a stressful time, like during a move, or a job change, etc.  This year I've gotten into the habit of writing every day, or every other day.  It's safe to say that 2015 has been fairly well documented.  These are not fascinating memoirs that will someday be published posthumously, they are little books full of the mindless drivel that preoccupies me and muddles my thinking if I don't expel it. (Maybe a potential CIA tool for interrogations? "I'll tell you -- just stop reading!")  But it helps.  I will likely never re-read them, but writing them helps me.

5. stop complaining.  There are three categories of complaints in our house, and they've taken shape over the years I've spent with a man who defines the word taciturn.

              The first is general "what the hell is wrong with the world?" kind of complaint.  General venting about politics (him) or the younger generation (me) or expenses, bureaucracy, and old age (both).

              The second is the type that is actually helpful for each of us to hear.  If I am unhappy with something--a feature of the house or yard, for example, he is quite happy to find a solution and try to fix it for me.  Same goes for him--if he's grown tired of a menu item, or has decided boxers instead of briefs, then I want to know so I can change things around.

               But the THIRD category is mostly mine.  It's basic whining.  I don't do it anymore--I was trained out of it.  My taciturn man would make those noises that sound sympathetic to the novice ear, but to mine fall like splatting chunks of sarcasm.  "Aw, that's too bad," Ewww.  I hate patronizing, and I refuse to sound like Gladys Kravitz.  Some time ago it occurred to me that if the person within my hearing cannot fix what bothers me, then why say it aloud?  If I can fix it, then why have I not?  Journaling comes in very handy here, to not only vent complaints, but to determine if they're fixable.  So this was a slowly evolving resolution, but one I have kept: no whining.  Life is so much sweeter.  (For both of us.)

Those are my five resolutions.  Recycled, already time-tested, but increasingly important to mine and the hub's well-being.

I hope you all have a Happy New Year's weekend, and a great 2016.    

November is calling.

I had to go out and cut the rest of the iris that were blooming last night, because the forecast called for temps below freezing in our area.  The iris will be fine--they grow up in colder climates than this, but so many of them have blooms and I wanted to enjoy them a little longer.  Usually I enjoy them outside, but right now the heavy scent of them has filled our main living area and it's heavenly.  I'd forgotten how much they can perfume the air indoors.

Here is one I'd never met before, so I have to research and figure out who she is.  It's not terribly important in the grand scheme of things, but the search is like a puzzle and I enjoy it.

Most yards in our part of the country have rock landscaping...it's a desert, so we can't waste water on grass.

I am happy to report that I've managed to get my thyroid medicine levels up to where I'm functioning again!  Had to resort to an OTC "supplement" until I found a doctor who would listen to a patient instead of old useless tests, but I actually woke up this morning, jumped out of bed, and didn't even think of a cup of coffee (I've been decaffeinating myself over the last weeks).  Between the return of my energy, and the corrective "touch up" I had on the lasik surgery last Friday, I am a happy and hopeful lady.  I can see to clean my house now, and I have the energy too!  (I guess the hubs will be happy as well.)

The dog is gratified by the change: I take him for walks again.  Couldn't do that before, and we both missed it.  It's amazing how much I used to take for granted.  Just having the energy to clean house and walk the dog.  I don't take that for granted any longer.  I feel like Scrooge on Christmas morning.

Not much in doll news, except that I'm working on past dolls, finishing some, dressing others.  I hope to get some dolls listed in my Etsy shop--but I keep saying that and never doing it.
Maybe it's time to quit farting around in the studio and make time to just DO IT.   (If you haven't guessed, writing listings for the online store is not the funnest part of this job.  :~)

Hope your November brings you wonderful weather and good memories with those you love. 

Ch-ch-ch-changes...

So we're ten days into the new year.  Maybe a little late to go on about New Year's resolutions, but there's a rumor the topic won't expire til the end of the month.

Over the years I've seen what cycles swing around at this time of year. The gym gets suddenly and annoyingly crowded for a couple of months.  Magazines shout the diet that will slim you, books promise sure-fire ways to organize your life (for real this time) and Pinterest is rife with amazing photos of that gorgeous new decor that will make our skinnier, de-cluttered, virtuous lives complete.

Do I sound cynical?  I turned 50 in 2013, and I've failed at enough New Year's resolutions that my Cynic's license is duly earned.  That is not to say, however, that I have failed at making good changes in my life.  It's just that changes don't happen at the turn of the calendar page--that's a hard fact for an instant gratification society to accept.  Mea culpa--I've bought my share of diet books and let exercise equipment grow dusty.

A New Year's resolution is a tool that can work, in the right hands.  It doesn't for me, because of that inherent trap of "all or nothing" thinking.  Well, I ate that candy, I might as well blow it til tomorrow, or Monday.  Or 2015.

But constant evaluation--that's a tool I can use.  What areas of my life work well right now?  Why?  What extra mental (or physical) junk am I carrying around?  What small concrete steps can I take to make gradual changes that don't stress me out?  These days I'm more apt to make a big life change as a result of a medical scare (thank God it's benign) or a realization that my stress is self-induced, or a shock at discovering just how unbalanced an area of my life has become.  But I'd prefer to keep tabs on things as I go along.

The hubs and I have been married long enough to know when mutual (but gentle) reality checks are in order.  I am a grown-up...I know when I'm spending too much money on crap I don't need.  I know my house would stay clean if I'd put stuff away.  And I know I'll get stiff and old faster if I don't get off my ass and move.  I don't need a magazine to cozen me into believing it's not my fault or promise the magic pill to fix it all for three easy payments of 39.99 plus shipping and handling.

There is no magic pill.  That was as hard a lesson for me as it is for anybody.

But now that I've gotten used to it, I like it better this way.  Because at the end of this year, or next month, or six weeks from now, if I've made a change, I know it's because of my own strength, determination, and intelligence.  With each challenge mastered--no matter how unspectacular the process appears from the outside--I learn to trust myself. 

Here's to small, consistent efforts to help ourselves grow wiser in the 2014, and all the years to come.

Oh Tanenbaum, Oh Tanenbaum...

It's taken me ten years to finally realize the 3ft Christmas tree doesn't make me happy.  Yesterday I'd gotten out all the decorating boxes and tried to begin the task when I realized--it felt like a task.  Why is that?  I used to love this part!  I gave it up, hoping to find renewed inspiration with the morning.  But as the morning dawned, the realization dawned as well: it's that tree.  That poor tiny "down-sized" tree was like saying that with all the kids gone, I had no reason to enjoy a big tree. What's the use, when the kids can't be here?

I'm well aware the size--or even presence--of a tree doesn't have anything to do with a level of happiness.

But doing without my kids hurts my feelings so much already...why was I making it worse???  SO...today the hubs and I went and bought a big one.  I'm like a kid at, well, Christmas.  The tiny one will now have a little table in the family room by the fireplace (with the blue lights on it for Phil), so THERE.  I have two trees!  Pictures soon to follow of the crazy mess I call Christmas Decorating.

Of course in this process, the Halloween and Thanksgiving decorations find their storage boxes, which makes it hard because Miss Gertie just arrived with her friend Miss Astrid (from Pam at Yoborobo--thank you!).  Miss Gertie might just hang out in my studio, where the calendar just doesn't matter.  She makes me smile every time I see her.  Isn't that just the best big ol' grin?

Gertie

Astrid

Astrid will have an honored place on the Elf Shelf, along with my very first cloth and clay doll.  Elf Girl never got a name, but she's a great sport about it.  Having no name is the least of her worries, if you were to judge a book by its cover.

Astrid and Elf Girl.

Boy, was my sculpting skill newborn back then!  'S'okay.  We all have to start somewhere.  Now Elf Girl has a new gal-pal, which is great because all the other elves are smelly boys. 

Tomorrow I will get the ornaments on the tree (must let the cat explore it tonight without tempting danglies...)  I'll get photos of the finished decorating, and photos of two other additions to my doll collection:
Crazy Wax Doll and Theo.

I hope your weekend is fabulous, dahlinks.

My cup runneth over.

I've been packing.  Yeah, I know...I've been packing since December, what's new?  But we're down to the actual moving part, so it's packing in earnest.  Everything, even the paint.  You know she's serious when she packs up the craft paint.

Not the house paint, though.  We close Monday on our new house.  I'll paint (more!) walls for a few days, then we'll move that Friday.  So there won't be time next week to pack...it's gotta get done now.

The work began this morning in my studio.  As I scooped up all the brushes on my work table--great fistfuls of brushes!--I was struck by two things.

One, how marvelous they look all fanned out like that.
Two, how lucky I am to have so many.

I looked around...cones of extra thread on the window, plastic drawers chock full of supplies and materials.

The abundance of working materials is not something I take for granted, or at least I didn't think so until today.  So today I am consciously grateful for such a bounty.  When I unpack in the new studio, finding places for paint and fabric and wood and clay...I will do my best to honor this bounty and make the very best of it.  I will include in my prayer of gratitude a thanks for the time, focus, and space in which to create. 

How was your weekend?

Ours was pretty good.  I got my house cleaned up--nothing like having people over to motivate me to at least excavate the kitchen table. Daughter and her family came over.

The main objective this visit: the hubs to take daughter and son-in-law to the range.  My mission was to keep the boys at home.  Tough job, but somebody had to do it.  So they all came down (they live 45 mins away at the top of the city) and I made chicken and spaetzle dumplings.  We watched the Olympics, and the boys tumbled on their family room sleeping pallet.

The twins, full of their normal energy like Energizer Bunnies on steroids, gave the dog quite a time, since his job is to keep an eye on them.  They played w/ blocks, did crafts with glue and paper, and helped me fill all the bird feeders.  They worked hard in the garden the next morning: helped me plant a rose bush, watered the perennials (and themselves) and guarded the yard against invading space aliens.

Phil took daughter and son in law to the range (both are Air Force, neither had hand gun training) with 22.mm target pistols and a couple styles of 9mm.  I was really proud of my girl.  Here's her target.  Once she figured out the sights, she did none too shabby.

The boys were full of questions, naturally.  We taught them safety rules about guns, what to do if they find one, or if their friend shows them one, etc.  The NRA offers a gun safety education program that helps teach this, and the daughter has decided to find one for the boys.  I realize this is a hot-button issue for most people.  Rather than get into that, I'll just say I was raised to know where daddy's guns were at all times, to know what to do if I came across one, and to shoot one safely when I got old enough. 

By lunch time, they were all ready to head home--Sunday afternoons for busy families are a time to get ready for the coming week.  The boys were tired from their full weekend of being six year old boys.  Daughter took this picture of them in the back seat on the way home.  Looks like a nap was in order.

Hope your weekend was full of people you love like mine was.

When Creativity Takes a Nosedive

What do you do?  When all you want to do is sit in the quiet and read...when you find yourself actually more interested in taking care of the laundry or vacuuming the floor...what do you do?  Creative Down Times don't happen to me very often, but I'm in the middle of one right now.  My saving grace is that I know that creative mojo will reassert itself, and pretty soon the laundry will be piling up and the floor will go unswept and I'll have painted whatevers drying all over the house.

Schultz really has nothing to do with Creative Dry Spells, but he has suffered through a few of them. 

But in the meantime, it's scary! 

So does this happen to you?  If so, do you do anything about it?  Do you wait it out?  Is there anything in particular that helps you out of it sooner?  Do tell.

I think I figured it out.

What it is about those hand-made, homely rag dolls that just appeal to me so much.  Maybe it's because they represent a child's ability to use her imagination...a time when a box of jacks, a jump rope, a pair of skates were GREAT toys. 

I'd like to think it only began in the last little while, but I know it's been developing for several decades: the atrophying of imagination in our children.  Sure the little ones still have it, but as soon as they get the first game (on whatever system you care to name), it begins.  I risk being thrown in with all the old farts that glorify "the good old days".  Maybe I belong there.  But here's an example of what I mean.

Once, when I was maybe ten years old, my Uncle G.A. (that's really what we called him) dropped by to bring something to my mom & dad.  I didn't know or care what he brought; grownup stuff, whatever.  What I remember vividly was that he had to go into the trunk of his car to get it.  Of course my sister and I had to stick our noses in.  And there...we spied these humongous nails in a cardboard box.  They were probably 8" long!  We were enthralled. Who knew they made nails that big?

Now, lest you think we had no toys, I had a Barbie (Miss America, I think) and roller skates and other fine toys--same as any middle-class American kid had growing up in the early '70's.  But we were so excited about those nails.  No, it didn't occur to my mom to be worried when Uncle G.A. gave us each what amounted to an 8" steel spike, but I distinctly remember my uncle laughing at our excitement over them, and telling Mom we really must need toys badly.  Mom answered that we could entertain ourselves for hours with a cardboard box.  (Maybe after that Uncle G.A. thought his nieces were a little slow, come to think of it.)

So how does this relate to rag dolls?  Because when I go to the thrift shop, there are TONS of toys.  Most of them--especially the dolls and stuffed animals--look to be in mint condition.  I admit this is not a new theme for me.  But today as I thought about the charm of a mom-made, early rag doll, the memory of our 8 penny nails resurfaced.  I'm surely romanticizing it, to think that a girl of the mid 1800's would rather have a rag doll made of Papa's pajamas if she COULD have a fine porcelain French Bebe.  Still, reading original accounts of surviving old cloth dolls, it's clear they were treasured, whether their features were crookedly drawn with charcoal or finely stitched in colored thread. 

I wonder if I gave my nine year old grandson an 8 penny nail (putting aside his horrified mother and the social workers for a second), how long, or even if, he would be entertained?  Likely he'd look at me like Granny Jan was nuts,
and ask if he could go in and play Take Over the Universe on Xbox.

Now it's time for me to toddle off to Old Fart Land and play with my dolls.  See ya.  :~)

What I learned on Vacation.

Back less than a week, hubs went back to work yesterday, and life has mostly resumed its normal pace.  But as I un-decorated the house yesterday, I thought of a few things I've learned...

1. Life really IS too short to drink bad coffee.  Thanks a lot, Gabe.  Now the cheapo Hills Brothers is awful and I had to get the good stuff.

2. You really do eat more salad when you chop up all the veggies and store them for instant use.  Thanks a lot, Mary Jo.  Before, I could just turn a blind eye to the produce molding in the bottom drawer.

3. No matter how much laundry you wash while on vacation, somehow it multiplies on the drive home, to become--like magic!--four loads upon unpacking. 

4. Get the camera out and take pictures!  Living in the moment is part and parcel of a vacation, and part of that concept is to get those pictures of the moment, a least some of them.  You can't go back and get them later.

5. Weeds in the garden do NOT wait until you're back.  I'd swear I already knew this, but must have forgotten.

6. Memories made on vacation with family are priceless.  I knew this too, but it just seemed important to mention.  I really didn't think I could like those people any more than I already did...but I do.

Love you too, Annie.

Putting life on "Vacation Mode"...

Our life is pretty good.  I'll be the first to shout this from the roof tops.  

But today I put our life here in a holding pattern, desperate to escape for a spell.  

The count-down is accomplished. 

Bathrooms scrubbed, dishes clean, floors swept,

Etsy "vacationed", bills paid, mail held,

neighbors notified, tenants reassured,

cat re-assigned, trees watered,

truck cleaned, bags packed,

and sheets changed

for the night we return, to a clean house,

rested minds, refilled hopes, 

and a new year.

Have a wonderful Yule, and may you enjoy

a lovely, prosperous, and creative 2012!

New URL for this blog!

I spent a while trying to decide how to make the blog more relevant to the art business...the gardening and dog news are fun, and there will still be posts on that, but for the most part, it's become an art blog, more than anything else.  So what to do?  Scrap it and start over?  (My inner child hollers loud,  "But whyyyyyyiiiii???")

So I compromised and changed the URL.

Did you know you could do that?  Go to settings, then publishing, then change the url right there in the little window.  I'm sure I will have issues lining things out...but I'm convinced it was the best way to go.  If you are reading this from your normal Follow link, then it's all good.  (And if you change yours, let me know, and we'll work together to see the sum-total of effects!)

The husband asked me why change it, if it'll possibly domino or cause problems.  He's good for questions like that.  I told him I have a whopping total of 95 Followers.  With a ginormous audience like that, any damage is gonna require one helluva butterfly effect to cause a ripple in a bathtub.  Besides, I went to a few blogs that link to mine...sure 'nuf, the link goes right on thru.  Guess we'll see.

The thing is, I'm aiming for a goal, made up of little parts.

First, to eventually eliminate the website that costs money and serves very little purpose.  It did originally serve to let me check the box in Business 101 that says: Create an Online Presence.  Not so much.  More like checking the box that says: One More Site to Maintain.  Time to renew, noooo thank yew. 

The second part is tied to the first: streamline time spent online.  There are a handful of blogs I follow belonging to people I consider friends.  (You know who you are. xoxoxo)    I value that connection!  But the majority of the blogs I follow are more like keeping up with what's happening.    Having a business blog instead of a website allows me to visit those valued friends, post new dolls, and check the "art news",  all in one place.

The third part is less measurable, but maybe most important.  I must disconnect my sense of self-worth from the presence or absence of feedback!  Changing the blog to a business-related one gives me a little distance, the way no visitors to your house is different than no visitors to your store.  It's easier not to take it personally.  Those friends?  Their comments touch me, because they go out of their way to stop and Say Hi, and it makes my day and gives me energy. (more xoxoxo's!) But what wastes my day--and way too much energy--is worrying when I talk to the "empty room".  The blog is only a blog, and the presence or absence of commentary in no way reflects my self-worth.  I've assigned myself to write this one thousand times.

So, changing the URL to one more relevant, along with the Doll House where the actual listings will happen) is part of my business goal strategy.  (If you fail to plan, are you planning to fail?)  The blog will eventually serve as a website, a storefront, AND a platform for exchanges of art talk. 

For now, the blog is serving as an excuse NOT to go wash that load of laundry.
Hope you have a fabulous weekend,
and make something beautiful while you're at it.

Do you wear shawls?

I do.

Not to Wal-Mart or while I'm out gardening.  I don't know how our great-great-grandmothers managed to do so much in them, given what a pain in the butt a shawl can be.  I've crocheted a few shawls for myself, and have a ridiculous number of patterns for them.  Not sure I'll ever make them all, but I love having the patterns, love thinking of the fuzzy, slinky, or wooly yarn I'll crochet into them.  (An even bigger fantasy: I will KNiT one and PuRL two!)  But I wear them, and love them.

Here's why: they make me be still.

Aside from practical considerations--did you ever try to put a load of laundry on to wash while wearing one?--a shawl is for sitting still.  Perfect for early weekend mornings...for evenings, when dark rolls in and the chores are done.  A certain frame of mind is necessary to wear a shawl correctly, in my never-has-been-humble opinion.  A willingness to sit, unencumbered by feelings of guilt FOR sitting, and doing whatever you want to do while you sit...whether it's hand-sewing, watching TV, watching birds from the porch with a mug of tea.  

Perfect for doing nothing at all...for being still.

Do wear shawls?  Why?  When?

Diet is a Four Letter Word.

That's not original, I know.  And I'm not suffering at all, but any change in routine can domino into the rest of life.  And while I like to imagine myself as a spontaneous, live-in-the-moment free spirit, the reality is I like my routines, well, routine.

Last year, late March of 2010, the doc announced that my cholesterol and blood pressure were high, and my waistline was headed toward "metabolic syndrome" width.  This (and the complete lack of exercise) explained why I generally felt like warmed-over dinosaur turds.  On a good day.

On top of all that was a reeeelly messed up insulin response (after years of yo-yo dieting and disordered eating) that made any kind of low-calorie (read carb filled) diet a disaster for me.  So I embarked on a low-carb, moderate protein, moderate (okay, high) fat diet.  You may know it by Atkins, but please don't scold.  Lots of people worry about folks on Atkins, and given the conventional medical advice over the last five decades, it's no wonder.  But some of us thrive on it.
It's a mystery.

The good news is that within a month, my blood pressure was down, the waistline slimmer, and insane cravings GONE.  Now, a year and a half later,
I'm still livin' La Vida Low Carb, and doc was crazy-happy with my latest blood work--my cholesterol, triglycerides, etc. were all in the absolute optimum range.

The bad news is that over the last four or five months, the record heat (and, yes, pure-dee laziness) has allowed me to both dismiss exercise and slide back into some old behaviors that sabotage what is essentially very good health.  I've only gained back five pounds, even when eating an average of 3,500 to 4,000 calories a day, but still...there was way too much alcohol, too many high-carb slip-ups.   SOOOO it's back on "induction", the Atkin's version of Weight Watcher's Jump Start thing.  Which is great on one hand, because it cuts out pretty much all but 20 grams of carb a day, lets my system get back to burning fat instead of carbs for my daily energy, and reminds me what it feels like to feel good!

The not-so-great effect is that I have to think about it so much.  By that I mean the necessary planning, counting carbs, journaling what I eat, etc.  It takes longer to make a salad than to grab a handful (bowl) of nuts.  Nuts are fine on Atkins, but not by the cupful.  :~)

Now I make a breakfast every morning (eggs and bacon, anyone?), a big salad twice a day, topped with filling protein and fat, and have a lovely snack at Tea Time. (Hello, heavy cream in my tea!).  My tummy is happy, my energy is up, and my jeans don't hate me anymore.

So diet is a four letter word.  

So are love, life, and laff.  

Yeah, the last one is dumb, but I do laff more now.

Hope your Wednesday is fabulous. 

Almost Finished.

This is a dangerous time for me, with regard to my Clean Out campaign.  The Almost-Finished-Now-I-Could-Actually-Work-In-My-Studio phase.  Having taken an alarming number of donations to Goodwill, my house is almost ready for

a. company
b. the realty market
and
c. doll making.

That last bit is what worries me.  I am NOT done yet, and the urge to create is returning stronger than ever.  When I was a kid, I ran long distance for our junior high track team.  Coach Rice used to tell me something that made more sense the older I got:

"Always aim for a finish line ten feet ahead of the one they set."

For runners, this alleviates that tendency to slow up at the last second, possibly losing the race.  For my current situation, it means simply: finish the job. 
All the way, and then a little beyond.

The next week or so will pass, regardless of what I do.  So I have to choose NOW how I'm going to feel when I'm on the other side of it.  Will I be anxious and a little flustered that things are still disorganized and dusty?  Or will I be content with a job well done, and free to really concentrate on my art? 

Hope your Thor's Day is awesome.

Botanical studies...

Mother Nature had some things to tell me
this morning during my weekly tree watering. 

She said I need to listen carefully, 

because she had no intention of shouting,
or spelling anything out.  

Just because you get your feathers singed, 

it doesn't mean your goose is cooked.  

There's a time to work and a time to rest.

Know which is which. 

Sometimes, the fruit of your labor has thorns.
Proceed with caution.

Always clean up one mess before you start making another.

When times are hard, being tough is more useful than being pretty.

You don't accomplish as much when you go it alone.

The grass is greener over the septic tank for a reason.

Sometimes wonder is the correct response.

Being called a weed doesn't make you one.

Take nothing for granted.

BOOKS!

Actually this is a Cleaning Out My Life post, akin to what Dixie Redmond is doing with her Clean Slate campaign.  Our supposedly Lazy Weekend has not been so lazy, at least not for me.  I spent the majority of yesterday cleaning out our office library.  Wow.  I ended up with EIGHT tote-bags of books for the Half Priced Bookstore.  They pay cash.  Not much, which is bad, but enough, which is good because the last thing I need to do is bring home books in trade!

The process for weeding them out?  Painful, but enlightening.  

I asked Phil to take out any he didn't want.  Then Miss Ruthless took over.

1. Do I need this book for reference...or self image? 

(Old literary tomes.)

2. Can I not get fiction from the library? 

(Favorite Steven King stories.)

3. Am I reeeeelly ever going to build an adobe oven in my backyard?  

(Uh, maybe not.)

So in the end, the shelves contain lots of art books, mythology studies (first true love), gardening, herbalism and brewing, field guides, dictionaries and bibles. 

Oh, and kid books Granny Jan can read with small people when they visit.

(Miss Ruthless can just back off the kid books--I'll never give up hope.)

I can see the floor in the office now.  Who knew this room was so big? 

August Beer Summit

The hubs and I have this long standing tradition--well, since around 2003 or so--that we've dubbed The Beer Summit.  It begins as we sit of an evening in lawn chairs, watching Cat Dog show play out at our feet and listening to the hummingbird aerobatics overhead around the feeders.

Not a beer summit pic, I just like this one of the hubs.

Then one of us (these are not planned events) brings up something that's been bugging, niggling, bothering.  Not a relationship issue, more like a life issue that needs solving.  Sometimes it's an idea that's inserted itself and can't be got rid of.  Usually, a Beer Summit results in a major, life-changing decision.  We've moved across the country, begun or left jobs, started businesses after one of these sudsy conflabs. 

This most recent Beer Summit took place as we leaned against the kitchen counter after he'd come home from work.  The kitchen, instead of the back yard, because it's too danged hot to be outside lately: 45 days of over 100 degree temps.  The cold Miller Light, because this was spontaneous and we had no Shiner in the house.  But there was at least cold beer.  Summit protocol and all that.

The topic of our Summit?  Change.  In and of itself, really, but mostly Clearing Out.  Lightening the load, getting rid of the deadwood, whatever cliche you want to give it.

But what was really funny was that we discovered about five minutes into our talk that we'd both been pestered, plagued and perplexed by a simultaneous need--desperation--to do this.  Independent of one another, we'd both been feeling a drive to purge our life, household, and closets of all that STUFF that has gathered up over the years.  The list of things/activities/plans we plan to ditch was downright amazing, for packrats of our combined ability.  Here's another cliche: I felt a weight roll off me as we discussed the details for this Clearing Out goal. 

If you were to clean out your closet--literally or figuratively--what would you get rid of?

Focus, revisited.

The other day I posted about Focus, or my perennial lack of same.

But it got me thinking about the topic, as I have been finishing up seven dolls' worth of bodies, arms, and legs.  My coffee table is covered in body parts, and the husband cracks up every time he sees them.  I am currently VERY focused, because I have a doll show coming up in two weeks and I'm determined to get these particular dolls finished.

Why these particular ones?  Because they do represent having found a particular focus--maybe "direction" is a better word--in my dolls.  For the last six months, I've been drawn more and more to the cloth and clay doll, in its many incarnations.  Antique dolls such as Izannah Walkers, the Greiner maches, Kathe Kruse babies, and the old ragdolls such as Alabama babies and Presbyterians...they inspire me like none of the modern art dolls have been able to do.

Antique Izannah Walker Dolls, having a Reunion Christmas Party.

Don't misunderstand--what modern doll artists make is incredible and I can spend hours pouring over their miracles of workmanship.  But the tactile, sensory, creative part of me is drawn to these old cloth-bodied dolls in a way I didn't expect.  Hell--I myself started with gourds.  A great intro into paper clay for me, but not so cuddly.  :~)

So I asked myself how I found this direction.  Did I seek it out?  I don't think I sat one day and said "I shall make Antique Inspired Cloth and Clay Dolls!"  No...but my love of certain things has apparently been a big part of this development, this "something settled in my heart" feeling.

How can you make this work for you?

Take a look at what's in your room, right now, where you sit.  The colors, the patterns, the "look" you live with in your home.  Aside from just the decor choices (because mine are all over the place), you tend to bring things home that give you pleasure.  Go look in your art space/craft room/studio...what do you have there?  I specifically mean those things you buy/bring home that you have NO IDEA what you plan to do with...things you just had to have with no good reason why.

I have fabric.  Obscene amounts of it.  Yes, there are lots of other doo-dads, among them a seriously silly number of boxes in one form or another, but mostly...fabric.  How can I NOT make cloth dolls?  I need to touch this stuff, to make yards of skirt for something to luxuriate in.  (I'd make this kind of skirt for myself but a trip to the dentist in floor length prairie skirts might raise a brow or two, and it's not practical garb for bathing the dog.  Besides, it's 103 here right now.)

I have noticed that over the years of collecting this fabric, I have leaned toward certain patterns and colors: vintage cabbage roses, ticking stripes, toile, homespun plaids.  So many of these are perfect for the type of doll I have fallen in love with.  Combine these with my absolute physical need to sculpt in paperclay, and: viola!  Here is my direction, my focus.

My point is this: your love of certain textures, patterns, shapes and colors will give you clues as to what you will be good at making.  Your passion is what makes it beautiful, what makes you do it well, because you're too busy enjoying the making of it to worry if it's 'art' or not.

Cheers.  :~)