Sugar Skulls...

Calaveras Skulls,
fabric by Alexander Henry

I ♥ this Sugar Skull fabric, which celebrates the Mexican tradition of the Day of the Dead (Dia de los Muertos) on November 1st. I've been holding onto it as inspiration for something...
-
I found these cool sterling silver skull beads and since I had some orange Swarovski crystals on hand, I whipped up some Sugar Skull earrings. I like them, and have worn them to a couple Halloween parties this month. But I think they look very Halloween-ish, not Day of the Dead-ish. I think they need a rhinestone (maybe two in the eye sockets?) and I think I'll replace the small orange crystal with one in turquoise or hot pink.
-
What would you do with this fabric? I think next year I'd like to make a funky handbag made out it, or at the very least, a cool dog bandana for Zoë.

Giving thanks...

Traditional Home, Nov 2007

Yeah, I know Thanksgiving is a month away. But I'm enjoying Deborah Norville's latest book, Thank You Power, in which she takes a journalist's approach to the topic of positive thinking. Unlike a lot of books in this genre, this is a fast, fun read. Perfect for the airplane, the doctor's office, or even at bedtime. Deborah discusses the lastest scientific research on the subject, which is pretty compelling for those folks who consider Zen ideals "new agey". Ironically, I think one of the subjects in her book may be a classmate of mine from Indiana. I'm still fact-checking to see if the Dan Engel she talks about in the book who pulled a woman from a burning car near Terre Haute is the same Dan Engel with whom I studied high school French in Indiana. Isn't it funny how things fall in your lap that way?
-

Deborah practices what she preaches. A few years ago, she was launching a new prime time talk show on MSNBC. I was happy for her...I have always liked her and thought she got a raw deal on the Today Show years ago. Her book Back on Track, which details how she pulled herself out of depression following that fiasco, was a good resource for me about a decade ago. Along with books like The Long-Awaited Stork by Ellen Glazer, it was useful in my efforts for final healing after my infertility battle, addressing emotional wounds that didn't instantly resolve themselves after achieving motherhood. So anyway, I was up late one night, and I zipped her an e-mail telling her to break a leg on her new show. Turns out she was up late, too, and she zipped one right back at me, telling me she appreciated my words and she was excited about her new venture. This wasn't a form letter...We were two moms, two professional communicators, burning the midnight oil, high-fiving each other. She's the real deal.
-
Deborah's new house in Upstate New York is featured in the November issue of Traditional Home. One of the things I love about Deborah is she's an authentic woman who hasn't lost sight of her true sense of self, her source of happiness, even though life has thrown her both major highs and some major curve balls. Her new home is much grander than mine, but Deborah decorated it herself. She sews her own drapes! And y'all know I can relate to someone who shares her life with a couple of slobbery, hairy Retrievers. Lord knows, if I had more space, I'd have a passel of big dogs.
-
So it's my turn to show some Thank You Power once again. Thank you, Deborah, for being an inspiration!

There and back again

We are back from our whirlwind weekend getaway.
-
First stop was Hoover Dam, one of the greatest engineering feats in history, spanning the Colorado River and the Arizona/Nevada border.
-
Since 9/11, security at the dam has tightened considerably, but they offer a watered down version of the old hard hat tour, called the Discovery Tour. We were able to go down inside the dam and visit the power plant and intake system.
-
It is amazing to see how human ingenuity harnassed a major river and put it to good use. Also impressive was the new dam bypass bridge that is under construction. The bridge will be named after Arizona veteran Pat Tillman and Nevada governor/veteran Mike O'Callaghan. When complete, it will offer a thrilling ride over the gorge.
-
Icing on the cake for the kids: They loved the fact that they could say things like "This is a great dam tour" or "Are we at that dam place yet?" with impunity!

Next stop...the Den of Sin, Las Vegas. Let me preface this by saying that I've been to Las Vegas six times over the years, including three trips for Air Force Flag exercises at Nellis AFB. That probably isn't that often compared to a lot of Phoenix residents, but it's about four times too many in my book. If I never go there again, it'd be fine by me. It doesn't take long for the incessant noise/crowds/over-commercialism to drive me batty. By the way, I feel the same way about Disneyland!
-
But we are Monty Python fans, and the allure of the grail--seeing Spamalot on stage--drew us back into the Painted Lady's tawdry claws.
-
Once we adjusted to the pervasive smoke (in the casinos and in the air from the California fires) we had a nice time: saw the (fantastic) show; gorged at a couple all-you-can-eat buffets; Mike enjoyed his first hot stone massage at the hotel spa; the kids experienced FAO Schwarz for the first time; and I indulged in some retail therapy at the Jo Malone boutique.
-
But after 36 hours in the thick of it, we were all ready to get the heck out of town.

It seemed only fitting after the vulgarities of Vegas, to round out our weekend with a Sunday spiritual cleansing. We spent a few hours at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, soaking in its natural majesty and enjoying the quiet.
-
This was the best part of the weekend for me. What happens in Vegas can stay in Vegas, as far as I'm concerned. The elaborate casinos and city lights of The Strip don't begin to compare to the wonderous royal flush of sunlight on the red rocks of this natural masterpiece. That's a sight that you can carry home with you. Jackpot, baby!

Oops, I did it again!

Straight up: I am a klutz.

My clumsiness reached its apex this summer when, the day before we were scheduled to depart on vacation, I stepped off the sidewalk the wrong way and sprained my ankle. We had to rework most of our travel plans.

To make up for some of the lost fun, we booked reservations for a 3-day family mini-vacation for the last weekend in October.

.

Today I was finalizing all our arrangements and everything was running smoothly...until the UPS man arrived w/ a delivery. I was opening the package w/ a pair of sharp scissors when they slipped through the tape and sliced into one of my fingers. This was not a paper cut. It took me nearly 15 minutes to stop the bleeding enough so I could drive.

My son accompanied me to the Urgent Care Clinic, where I was triaged to the head of the line and escorted to the suture room. He called my husband, who actually thought it was a prank! The call went something like this:

Aaron: Dad, I'm at Urgent Care with Mom. She cut her finger pretty badly and is getting stitches.

Mike: Ha-Ha, Aaron, very funny.

Aaron: No, really.

Mike: C'mon, I know this isn't happening again right before our vacation.

Aaron: No, Dad, REALLY! The doctor's right here! But don't worry! Mom says we're still going on vacation!

Mike: Alright, tell her to call me when she can. Man, your mother will do ANYTHING to keep from cooking dinner!

.

Yes, I am married to a smartass.

He shouldn't have been surprised. He's known I'm a klutz since I was a skinny college coed tripping over dorm furniture. I distinctly remember him drawing comparisons of me to Jenilee Harrison's character on Three's Company back then. Remember her? She was Chrissy's cousin who was always bumping into things in the apartment. I'm not so sure that was a compliment, but bless his heart, he tells me he finds my klutzy nature endearing. Of course, he could mean "entertaining"!

.

I'm home now, bearing stitches and splint; popping Extra Strength Tylenol since the anesthetic wore off. But I can walk and dammit, I'm going on vacation!

Catch ya on the backside!

While My Guitar Gently Weeps....

Peter Frampton erupts in a vortex of light

(read: my cell phone camera sucks)

October 2007

There are few things I enjoy more than good live music. Last night Mike & I escaped à deux to see Peter Frampton in concert.
-
It's so cool to see aging rockers still kicking it after all these years. It's proof that there's no time limit on doing what you love. Stripped of the big hair and spandex and the need to prove themselves to the world, these artists can now fully focus on the music and the human connection that comes with it.

Lots of fantastic music, old and new, but my favorite song was his closing number, a cover of the George Harrison classic "While My Guitar Gently Weeps". You can catch him performing the song at You Tube. No one sings Beatles music like Frampton. Not even The Beatles. And this song is one of the best. Harrison wrote it after reading the I Ching, embracing the concept that we are all interconnected.

Isn't that the mark of all great art? In its beauty, we transcend our narrow experience and become more aware. Peter's soulful delivery of those exquisite lyrics sent the message home last night.

Trembling happiness

Love is trembling happiness.

-- Khalil Gibran

We had a very windy night and it's still very breezy this morning. A great day to open the windows and bring in the smell of fresh air and the sound of wind in the trees.

The movement in the air today made me think about a moment in my life when the air was totally still and quiet. I was at a Japanese garden and koi pond in Texas. The serene surface of the pond was covered in floating waterlilies. The pastel blooms were fully open to the sun, as if in gentle meditation, ready to receive enlightenment. It was murky below the still surface, but I could see the tangled masses of their stems and roots, drifting back and forth in the undercurrent. Orange and white koi flashed through this jungle, in continuous search. Above the water, electric-hued dragonflies sliced through the thick, humid air in silent yet furtive flight. A spectacular red dragonfly hovered on a stalk in front of me, wings trembling, and I was able to capture the moment with my lens.

I keep a framed print of this photograph hanging in my bedroom as a reminder to be still and recognize life's fleeting gifts.

Friday Turntable: Frampton Comes Alive...

Mike and I have tickets to see Peter Frampton next Tuesday at our favorite music venue in Phoenix, Celebrity Theatre. The theater seats approximately 2,000 people in the round. We've seen several concerts there and it's like having the artist in your living room.
-
I've liked Frampton since I was 9 years old and saw him with the Bee Gees in "Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" at the cinema in 1978. I rushed out and bought the double album with my newspaper route money. His version of "The Long and Winding Road" is one of my all-time favorite songs.
-
So as you get your weekend started, in homage to the man who created one of the best-selling live albums of all time, check out this killer cover of Soundgarden's "Black Hole Sun" with Pearl Jam. This song is on his latest album "Fingerprints", which won a Grammy and is entirely instrumental. Great stuff!

The restorative power of Golden dogs and deserts

Path to the school

Sonoran Desert, Arizona, USA

My dog and the desert are what I initially intended to blog about today, before I got sidetracked this morning.
-
I've been writing a large environmental communications plan for a client. The project has involved much demographic and historical research as well as face-to-face interviews with citizens and community leaders. It's been fun and interesting work, but I'm up against a deadline now and need to deliver a draft for layout and design very soon. I've been hitting it hard lately, but as I was staring at the last few pages on Wednesday, I could only see fog.
-
That's when the desert and a Golden dog came to the rescue!
-
Speak of the devil, here's a photo of Her Cuteness yesterday, sporting her new dog collar from Lucky Fiona.
-

Zoë

October, 2007

-
It's a true joy to take Zoë for her walks, especially in the cool months. (Though not in my PJs...see below!) When I'm with Zoë, she shows me things I might never notice on my own...every lizard, every rabbit, every quail. It's impossible to be totally absorbed in my own head when I'm with a 67-pound dog whose exuberance in the great outdoors is larger than she is!
-
So yesterday I pushed back from the desk and took an hour to walk with Zoë and meet the kids at school dismissal. In silent companionship, we walked through a desert path, listening only to the sounds of nature. A Gila woodpecker was busy in a tree; a ground squirrel scurried across our path.
-
When we returned home, and the kids were settled in snacks and homework, I returned to the laptop. Amazingly, the cloudy veil of my writer's block had lifted in the desert sunshine and I was able to refocus with renewed vigor on the task at hand. I started a streak, and I wrapped the draft last night.
-
I'd love to hear about how you regain mental clarity when your creativity goes cloudy!

Crap happens...and then you eat a big salad.

As soon as I left the house to take my kids to school this morning, the crap started hitting the van. Yes, I said van--not fan!
-
I love my Honda Odyssey. Mike and I buy reliable cars, take care of them and drive 'em 'til they die. No, a minivan is not some chi-chi status symbol, but my ego has never been attached to my car keys or my hood ornament. I feel like the Queen of Sheba in my van, sitting up where I can see through traffic, dog riding shotgun, tunes on the stereo, my hot pink travel coffee mug in the nifty little holder, and the ability to ingress and egress children with the mere touch of an electronic door control. Oh, and did I mention that it is my favorite color, Havasu Blue?
-
The van is 5 years old, paid for, and I plan on driving it another 4 years (at least). So lately we've been putting some money into preventive maintenance on the van...new belts, filters, battery, tires, shocks, struts and an alignment. I've felt like Miss Responsible Car Owner.
-
This morning I hopped into the van in my PJ pants and flip-flops, sans cell phone. The dog jumped in, sans leash and collar. The kids were fully loaded with their gear. Imagine my dismay as I approached the school and felt my front left tire go flat. I peered out the window... Yep...pancake! Keeping my cool, I eased into the drop zone, the kids jumped out, and I calculated my options.
-
As I saw it, I had three choices:
-
1) Park the car in the middle of the drop zone, walk the mile home in my PJ pants, call my husband, change clothes, grab the leash and then trek back to the car to retrieve the Retriever. That would entail leaving my dog alone in the car for the 45 minutes it would take me to make the round trip. My husband was also tied up in an important meeting all morning and it would be difficult for him to get from the city to the house quickly.
-
2) Get out and change the tire myself.
-
3) Start driving toward home on the rim, hoping to see someone I knew who could help me out.
-
My husband has shown me how to change a tire, but it's been years and I'm ashamed to say, that option was too intimidating. In the end, I chose risking the rim over risking my dog. I started driving slowly, flashers on, making that horrendous sound. Thankfully, a few blocks out, I saw our friend Gary and flagged him down. Gary is a Long Island transplant who traded the trek into the NYC financial district for a corporate transfer to Phoenix and says he's found paradise in the desert. This guy ALWAYS has a smile on his face! Thankfully, he's still on vacation after a dirt biking getaway in Yuma and was taking his son to school. Gary pulled out my jack and spare tire and changed it for me right on the street. (I owe him beer big time!)
-
Two hours later, I'm home from the tire store and all is well. The tire was fairly new and covered under warranty. I do have a slightly bent rim, but the bigger kink was in the ego. The Type-A, first-born, responsible part of my nature was ticked at myself because I hadn't been fully prepared for the situation. My husband told me not to worry about it...crap happens. He's right...and I've quit beating myself up. But still, I have made note of some "lessons learned":
-
1) Never leave the cell phone at home, even for a 10-minute errand...I'm paying for it, so I might as well have it available!
-
2) Keep a spare dog leash in the van
-
3) Quit relying on Prince Charming and learn how to change a damn tire!
-
Oh...and I did do something else. I picked up a big grilled chicken salad and a supersize Diet Coke from the drive-thru, came home to eat it, and then I counted my blessings. Let's face it...crap does happen and it happens to everyone. You can try your best and still not be prepared for every contingency. So you fix it, you learn from it...and then you eat a big salad!

Namaste!

Original art by Jennifer Brinley

I started a new yoga class Monday evening. I like to run, but I still haven't fully recovered from my sprained ankle last summer, so I've been a bit of a slug lately and I'm feeling it. I needed to get back into my exercise routine.

-

I've taken a yoga class here and there over the years and have a couple DVDs that I enjoy, but never seriously pursued instruction. I've always wanted to incorporate it with my running routine, though, and I believed yoga would also dovetail perfectly with some of my spiritual practices. It was time to strike a warrior pose and go for it!

-

I figured I'd start with a beginner's class at a local yoga studio. When I arrived Monday evening, I placed my sandals by the door and entered a room lit with candles and low overhead pendant lighting. Soothing music played on the stereo. There were only three students in the class, which meant we got a lot of individual attention, which was great. Of course, that also meant there was no cheating! We were held accountable for holding the asanas in proper form and I'm sure that's one reason I was so sore yesterday! I'll be frank...it kicked my arse!

-

It also validated my long-held belief that you get your best workouts when you're not at home. I've always preferred a health club or outdoors workout to one in my own home. There's a psychological effect about being out of the house that encourages a better workout. Monday night was no different....I found a studio experience much more focused and rewarding.

-

Perhaps it's because I am in an environment where I'm fully focused on exercising with no distractions. Perhaps the change of scenery combined with the athletic movement has a synergistic effect on the psyche. I don't know the "why"...I just know that as much as I enjoy my yoga DVDs and like being able to cart them with me when I travel, and as convenient as it may be to use athletic equipment at home...it just isn't the same for me, mentally or physically. My husband agrees and we sold most of our home gym equipment several years ago.

-

Tonight my daughter starts a pre-teen yoga class. I am excited to share this journey with her. Tell me about your yogic experiences!

-

Namaste, y'all!

Morning rituals

Monday morning coffee

October 2007

Isn't it interesting how people are creatures of habit? I think this is perhaps most noticeable in our morning rituals. Even if a person tends to be spontaneous most of the time, or works in a profession with little daily predictability, often he or she still has a very established morning routine.

-

I enjoy summer mornings most, only because the sun rises so early here in the desert. Since we don't follow daylight savings time, sometimes the sun is up by 4:45 am. That makes it much easier to rise early and capture personal time before the heat sets in.

-

On those days, I enjoy waking gently with the sun and going for a run or a walk. In the winter, I prefer putting my exercise off until midday. Sometimes I enjoy some quiet meditation. Either way, my husband and I have a cup of coffee together before our children wake up for school. That morning coffee is our chance to talk without the interruption of phones or kids, without being tired as we are by the time the house is quiet at night. I treasure those morning moments as a touchstone of family, home and spirit .

-

What are your special morning rituals?

Productive Saturdays

-
I like to enjoy my weekends, and usually that means leisure. But there's something very gratifying about a productive Saturday.
-

That's me suiting up to enter my daughter's room this morning. Note the signature aqua rubber gloves. ;-) Four hours, two trash bags, two donation boxes and a stubbed toe later, the two of us have emerged, and her room is clean. Sweet victory!

-
Now I've got slipcovers in the wash, the smell of clean floors in the air.... ahhh! My man and I are attending a Halloween party tonight and hosting a dinner guest tomorrow...but there's no rest for the wicked: the toilets and windows await!

-

Hope you're having a fun and/or productive weekend!

Friday Turntable

Let's get the weekend started! Nelly Furtado performing "Maneater" at the Concert for Diana at Wembley Arena in London, July 2007. This is a fun performance. I love how Nelly is singing one of her recent hits but is dressed in a totally classy 80s tribute to Lady Di.

Through the lens of a child

My 9-year-old daughter, Annie, is a budding photographer. She took these photos at our local park Tuesday after school. As luck would have it, there are a lot of ducks and geese migrating through the area right now. She really enjoyed watching their antics and photographing them. I got a kick out of seeing her persepctive!

French Impressions

For 7 years I've been corresponding with an e-mail pen pal from Brisbane. Pat lives with her architect husband, plays in a samba band and loves to travel. (This lady has performed in Carnival in Rio!) She's also an excellent writer and I keep telling her she needs to start a travel/lifestyle blog. Perhaps y'all can join in and encourage her!
-
Meantime, thought I'd share the latest round of photos from Pat's recent trip to France. These would make a gorgeous calendar, don't you think? It's been a long time since I've been to France, but these photos make me feel like I'm right there. You'll note our intrepid traveler in Monet's garden in Giverny in the last photo.

-

Salut!

Of blogs and men...

I had a realization while surfing around the Internet late Sunday night:

Blogs and men are a lot alike.
-
Think about it.
-
Sometimes you stumble on a blog and its social ineptness is obvious. You're afraid to get too close to the screen for fear of the smell of cheap cologne. Yet amazingly, it seems to think it's the coolest thing to hit the planet. The face on the profile appears to be leering at your bosom. OMG, did it just wink? You click away as fast as possible.

-
Another time, a friend tells you about a nice blog she knows and sends you the link. You check it out and realize it is the most boring piece of work you've ever encountered. You keep looking at your watch. At one point you realize you've dozed off...head on your keyboard, drooling...and not in a good way. Time to scroll on by. You'll seek revenge on your friend later.
-
Then there are the ones that are incredibly slick and sexy or maybe uber-intellectual or poetically deep. You are instantly smitten. You create a shortcut and daily trysts ensue. Your girlfriends complain you're ignoring them. But then something happens. Maybe there's a callous comment that puts you in a snit. Maybe you begin to feel like you're just a number on a counter that's ticking incredibly high. You decide the blog is too immature, narrow-minded, self-centered. The fling is over. Occasionally you drop in on the blog, half-hoping the profile will show a receding hairline or growing gut. Or maybe you're there to see whether any other new readers are cuter or wittier than you were. Bitches.
-
Perhaps by now you've sworn off blogs and vowed to spend your time on more productive things. Your girlfriends and even your dog are happier with you. But then, without even looking, a blog finds you. It's very cute, but not so slick ...in fact, it might be a little shy. You find its flaws charming. So what if it harbors the occasional typo? In time you realize this blog is the coolest one you've ever experienced. You can't stop thinking about it. Frankly, you can't understand why every other gal in the universe isn't clamoring to this blog. It quickly becomes part of your daily life. It's honest, good, dependable. You can count on it to be there, and to explain when it's late. It thinks you are brilliant, but teaches you things you'd never considered. It may even occasionally make you laugh until coffee comes out your nose.
-
You've found home.

Columbus Day Weekend photo essay

A weekend walk on the desert trails behind our home.

The new statement bag....

I've never been one to view my handbag as a status symbol. Yes, I can appreciate designer touches and I'm willing to pay for good quality. But I've never purchased a high-end designer bag. I'm not opposed to them, I just always tend to gravitate toward more budget-conscious bags or something that makes a bit more of a fun personal statement.

Until my latest handbag purchase. I think I may have stumbled upon the new status symbol.

The boutique is a place called Global Girlfriend.com. I ordered their Asian silk tote in turquoise last month and I couldn't believe how quickly it shipped and arrived on my doorstep. I love the bag and receive compliments wherever I carry it.

The best part? All of the merchandise at Global Girlfriend--handbags, apparel, jewelry, etc.--is women-made, eco-friendly and ensures a fair trade wage for its artisans. Isn't that a real status symbol, something you can feel great wearing and sensible for supporting?

So hook me up with some of the cool shopping spots you've discovered!

Friday turntable

Just a note to point out that I've updated my blog radio link on the sidebar with a great inspirational song. If you've been living under a rock the past several years and aren't familiar with singer/songwriter/poet Jill Scott, take a listen. Jill's has a new CD, The Real Thing, released last week, and the debut single is "Hate On Me". ("Golden" is from a previous album.)
-
The bello Chris Botti released his new album Italia last week and it's another score for this incredibly sensual trumpet player. I first learned of Chris Botti when I saw this golden man step under the spotlight at a Sting concert in Austin, Texas, in 2000, and I've been a huge fan ever since.
-
Also new this week is Annie Lennox's Songs of Mass Destruction . The debut single is "Dark Road" . Also check out her new AIDS in Africa awareness anthem called "Sing" featuring a choir of 23 top female artists. Sister's doing it for us again! Even my 9-year-old daughter loves this song. I heard her singing it this morning while she was getting ready for school: Sing, my sisters, sing, let your voice be heard!
-
One of my Friday evening rituals after a long week is to put on a kickin' concert DVD or CD on my home theater system and pour a glass of dry red wine while I prepare dinner. As we head into the weekend, I'll be spinning Annie, Jill and Chris in my casa. However you choose to spend your weekend, live your life like it's golden! Enjoy!

Misplaced mojo

I have a confession to make. I think I may have lost my mojo. My deco-mojo. Or maybe I just misplaced it.

-

I started this blog thinking it would be a nexus for the various facets of "me"... My spiritual side, my professional side, my wife-mother-girlfriend side. And my creative side, which heretofore always included working on my house.

-

But as soon as I launched the blog, something amazing happened. Something I never even thought possible. I lost all interest in home decorating and to a lesser extent, gardening. Maybe all my creative energy was going into my new jewelry hobby and my business. Maybe I was just satisfied--or saturated--by all the work that I've put into this casa and others over the years.

-

Whatever the reason, that was the end of the deco mojo. In toto.

-

This is so not me. Even back in grade school, while some girls were fixated with Barbie's fashions and flirtations, I was hellbent on her house. I received the Barbie townhouse one Christmas, the one with the elevator. But its generic "model home" aesthetic quickly bored me (as do most model homes to this day) and it quickly lost its appeal. I could have cared less about the status symbol of the 3-story townhouse. I needed a more creative--and personal--expression. So my ever-resourceful mother, who'd mastered the ability to transform drab military quarters on a budget, went to a local flooring center and returned home with a stack of free discontinued carpet samples--the perfect size for a Barbie interior.

-

I placed the carpet samples into a mid-70s modern floorplan, and then used hardback books and cardboard pieces as room dividers. When Mom handed me a roll of Contac paper, Barbie had wall coverings. I placed her Rataan and inflatable furnishings throughout. Ken or G.I. Joe or that pesky Skipper be damned...Barbie finally had the pied-a-terre of her dreams.

-

The McMansion I rejected for a fixer-upper, ca. 1977

-

By my senior year in high school, I'd long outgrown Barbie, but not the creative urge. The Duran Duran and Rick Springfield posters that had graced my pubescent walls were swapped for art prints of the French Impressionists. I repainted the bookcase my father built for me a classic teal, which coordinated perfectly with my new Gloria Vanderbilt comforter set and the brass magazine holder I'd carefully purchased with my babysitting money.

-

Just as she had 10 years earlier, Mom turned to carpet. We drove down to a carpet remnant store in Kokomo, Indiana, and selected a rose-colored area rug for my room. Then she handed me another roll of Contac paper and I covered cardboard to create a designer desk blotter.

-

True, I never aspired toward professional interior design. And frankly, while I enjoy the dabble, even back then I knew I don't have the decorating talent to quit my day job. Still, imagine my thrill the following fall when I arrived at Emerson Hall at Miami University to discover that my suitemate had arrived, unprompted, with a teal and pink comforter that worked perfectly with the new twin-sized bedspread I'd purchased that summer with my lifeguarding money. This time it was her mother, not mine, who went to a carpet center in Oxford and bought the area rug for our small space. For my part, I supplied the mini-fridge, stereo system and popcorn popper.

-

My bed in Emerson Hall, 1987

(Note the half-dead African violet on the stereo speaker. I still can never keep one alive!)

-

The desire to carve a creative space continued when I moved into my first place, and although occasionally hindered by time or financial constraint, has remained fairly constant...until this summer. Then as if on some kind of inverse cue from the mercury, it stopped cold, smack in the midst of the Arizona heat.

-

At first I wondered what was wrong. Was this some Gestalt shift, the precursor to some greater sense of personal malaise? In Zen spirit, I decided not to fight it...to ride this current to its natural end.

-

Now the breezes are a tad cooler, and change is in the desert air . This week I walked out into my back garden with my dog and got the urge to play in the dirt. The neglected flowers in a couple pots tugged at my heartstrings. And I did spy a console table the other day that actually made my heart skip a beat. Could this be mojo rising?

-

I'll keep you posted!

Veni, vidi, vici

Ang, Amb, Kel
Broad Ripple, Indianapolis
September 2007

-

We came. We saw. We conquered.

-

I'm back from the reunion and I'm glad I went. It was wonderful spending a girls' weekend with two of my best buds. From dinner in Broad Ripple Friday night, all through the weekend to Pa Arnold's homemade Sunday breakfast, it was a wonderful getaway as well as a sentimental journey.

-

Duke (Ang's pup)
My seatmate from Indy to Peru

"Like prom night without the boys!"
--Ang, on posing for Kel's parents and grandma
before the reunion.
-

In some ways, it's hard to believe that twenty years had passed since the Class of 1987 held its senior prom in the very same ballroom where our reunion was held Saturday night. In other ways, it feels like a lifetime. In the years since, our lives have taken many different directions.

-

We are a diverse slice of America. Among our ranks we have several teachers, bankers, a plumber, software developers, homemakers, sales reps, religious leaders, a college professor, an editor for the Washington Times, a professional rock musician, military NCOs and officers, medical professionals, farmers, a bar owner, an antiques dealer...you name it. I have to say that generally speaking, "We done good." .... Not too shabby for a group of kids whose graduation song was "Don't Forget Me When I'm Gone" by Glass Tiger.

-

Despite being the same age, many of us are at different points in life's journey. Some are still single, some married, some divorced; some have been married more than once. Our children range in age from 7 months to sophomores in college. A more somber measure: six of us have already died.

-

Yet Saturday night formed a brief nexus of our diverse paths; a touchstone to reconnect with the past, to be reminded of our youth, our hopes and dreams, to chart our progress. It was great fun to catch up with old friends, to tease each other about our many antics and transgressions. Your roots keep you grounded and they certainly keep you humble.

-

Twenty years ago, we hugged goodbye as we left Mac High, filling the new leather-bound address books we'd received as graduation gifts, vowing to stay in touch. This weekend, we made the same promises, forgoing the books for business cards and Blackberries.

-
As we drove past the fall fields of corn on our way back to Indianapolis on Sunday, I felt grateful for old friends and proud of their accomplishments. It felt good to be back in the Midwest and I felt a wave of nostalgia for a time when life beyond Mac High still held unlimited potential and promise.

-

But most of all, I felt anxious to get to the airport, ready to return home to my husband and kids.

-

For a girl without a true hometown, you cannot underestimate the power of these connections. I felt the same emotions when I revisited Guam two years ago. It is fantastic to see through my jaded older eyes that despite the march of time, these places--the cradles of my youthful idealism--still exist.

-

But as important as it is for me to make those connections to my past, it's even more exhilirating to know that what I was coming home to at the end of the weekend was better still.

-

My dreams, my hopes, my future, are no longer found glistening in the sands of Guam or taking root in the cornfields of Indiana. Rather, they are now inexorably tied to a man and two children far more than any place or time could ever hope to constrain.

Indiana cornfields

September 2007