Weekending :: Beach, Art Show + Symphony

We had a bit of a heatwave last week and when that happens we head to the beach in Bodega Bay (just 7 miles west of our home).  

This boy of mine is now 11, but he still enjoys hanging out with me.  I'll take it as long as I can get it.  He dug holes in the sand and chatted with a few locals.  I'm so glad we got our beach fix because it was like hitting a reset button for all of us.

 

Over the weekend we attended Grady's alma mater, Pastures Preschool.  They were having their bi-annual art show and open house and it is an event not to be missed.  We bid on a painting and took in all of the beauty and comfort that this little red schoolhouse had to offer.  I love that Grady never passes up an opportunity to go back here, play with the little kids and climb his favorite trees.

gsh = my little unicorn

Grady woke up with some crazy hair that morning.  He commented that he looked like a unicorn that had run into a wall.  I encouraged him to write a haiku about it.  He wanted to illustrate it out in his art studio and asked me to type up the words.  He gifted this poem and a basket of strawberries to his first (and favorite) teacher, Stacy.

Fake Godfather Posing

Our friends gifted us with their season tickets for the Santa Rosa Symphony.  Grady was less than thrilled at the prospect of wearing a suit jacket AND sitting still listening to old people's music.  He survived and we enjoyed the final symphony of the season, Spring Rhapsody, in the world-renowned Weill Hall at Sonoma State University's Green Music Center.  

It was incredible and Grady even stayed awake.

Recalibrate

Line drawing
Micron pens + watercolor paper

I've been swimming in words and art lately.  I've completely immersed myself in poetry and library books - gaining knowledge and confidence from the written word.  I'm gathering up visual inspiration from artists I admire.  I'm having a creative surge right now and riding it out.

I've been typing and drawing; painting and scanning my work.  Making lists, doodling in my line-a-day journal, memorizing lines from poems I don't want to forget.  Photocopying bookmarked pages from books to hand out to friends who I feel must read this.

Organizing my workspace and editing paper and stray bits of this and that from my line of view.  I've been curating my home, doing the laundry and purging the refrigerator. All of this makes me feel so good and eager to create.

I haven't been inclined to cook this week and quickly surmise that my attention to meal planning is an art form, too.  I feel incapable of doing more than one creative thing at a time these past few string of days and the guys have been good sports with my last minute vegetarian meal options.

I feel intensely motivated about finishing the illustration project I accepted.  I'm fueled by the assignment and go to bed only to dream about lines and shapes and wonky circles taking shape as a bizarre species of flowers or a tight grouping of anemones [above].  I wake up and try to get it all on paper before I forget my ideas.

I gave myself permission to purchase a piece of art from one of my favorite illustrators and can't wait for it to arrive and hang it above my desk.

I'm riding the wave of this feeling.  I'm also sharing what I'm doing with others.  This is a huge shift for me.  Normally, I keep it all locked up inside where it's safe and mine alone to tinker with.  Saying what I'm working on out loud feels new and defiant and, ultimately, freeing.

I'm giving myself permission to do less stuff lately and purposely carving out blocks of time in my day to just work on art or read books.  I'm currently reading a book by Greg McKeown titled Essentialism :: The Disciplined Pursuit of Less.  It's a bit of a dry read, but the principles in the book are pretty simple.  Being busy is not necessary being productive.  You can spend a lot of energy in a lot of places and say yes to everything or…

You can carefully consider where you want to spend your time and consciously choose to spend your time and energy in one or two focused areas that have greater meaning for you.  This is a revelation for this gal.  I don't know about you, but I tend to say yes to a lot of different things and have long lived with the idea that I had to try and do it all.  I have a hard time saying no, especially to community volunteer requests.  However, I think I've hit volunteer burnout-mode.  Actually, I think I hit it last year but I'm only willing to admit it now.

It feels like flexing a different muscle when I'm consciously considering social invitations and volunteer gigs.  My years of saying yes have conditioned me to taking on more than I should, as an individual and even for our family, and that has left me depleted.  Exerting my voice and power of politely saying no will be a daily exercise for me, but I'm up to the challenge.  I feel like I need to be.

The upshot of all of this is that I feel more in control of my life.  I'm excited to wake up, jot down some words on paper or on my laptop, doodle in my journal and enjoy a cup of coffee.   Big changes are coming our way as a family and I want to slough off a few obligations and commitments to make room for this new phase of our lives.

The pace of my life is recalibrating.

I'll say yes to that.

My Gifts by Annie Flavin

My new friend and poet, Annie Flavin, read these words aloud during the writing workshop I attended last month.  This poem was also recently published here on the parenting magazine website  mamalode.

She completely nails motherhood for me with this poem.

In her words.  

In her demeanor.

She walks the walk.

Using the IBM Wheelwriter 5 typewriter from my office, I typed up the text and made about 20 originals.  After that, I set out to create some original artwork to embellish the empty space in the right hand margin.  I tossed out the idea of using her children's fingerprints, but she wanted something else.  We decided on a few designs that I'll just call a circular flower garden.  They are sweet and simple and don't detract from her words.

Circular Flower Garden Samples

Carving stamps is one of my favorite mediums.  Spurred on by my carving this weekend, I went ahead and signed up for a block printing class at the Makeshift Society later this month.  Our teacher will be the oh-so talented artist, Jen Hewett.  I can't wait to learn her tricks of the trade.

I'm shipping the originals of My Gifts off in the mail today to Annie, along with originals of god's voice.  It delights me to know she will spread them around her world to friends and family.

It feels like I'm sending a little part of me, too.

god's voice by annie flavin

I finally finished the artwork for Annie's poem.  There is purposely no title for this poem, but we have been referring to it as god's voice.

I used Reeves' lemon yellow watercolour on vintage Grumbacher Society Watercolor Sketchbook paper that I thrifted a while back.  It's thick and sturdy and absorbed the paint beautifully.

I ran into a few hiccups along the way with the typewriter I was using, but was able to improvise and play around with old catalog pages from Toast UK to test out my margins.  Their paper and images are dreamy.

I'm not sure which one I like more.

You decide.

Process.

Page from my journal [stamped letters + hand-carved stamp]

I woke up early this morning, eager to get out of bed and start work on a new project that will combine my love of letters and art.  This little project has been percolating all week long with this lady.

I feel like I'm floating this morning, barely awake and forcing myself to make coffee and get caffeinated for the hours of creating that lay ahead of me.  I quickly grab my trusty container of sharpies, hand-carved stamps and ink pads.  I turn on my typewriter and surround myself with rich card stock, original watercolors I've painted earlier in the week and beautiful, loose pages from a magazine I've been saving (just so that I could type on them!).

I futz around with the settings on the old IBM resting on my kitchen table and familiarize myself with the storage and margin settings.  I almost can't start because I have so many questions and concepts funneling through my brain.

UPPERCASE? or lowercase?

Capitalize? or all lower case?

Hard left margin? 

or centered?

Bold?  Underlined?  Italicized?

[Brackets]? or (parenthesis)?

Typesetting (and letterpress printing for that matter) are an art form all on their own.  After checking out and perusing dozens of poetry books this week, I realize that the words and the art most definitely go hand-in-hand and I have an important job of getting it right.

Kitchen table turned temporary art studio

I finish a few mock-ups and ask my guys for their opinion.  I shouldn't have done that.  Now?  I'm second-guessing myself.  Back to the drawing board, paint some new pieces, send a few samples to the poet for her feedback.  

And now I wait.

It's funny because I know what I like, but I'm not sure I'm ready to hear the opinions of others.  Good, bad or indifferent - I'm not sure how that is going to land over here with me.  On one hand, it's exciting to collaborate.  On the other, I kind of like the safety of just making things that I like.  

Digital + Analog

One thing I've figured out for sure is that process is just as important as the end result for me.  I have to like the making I'm doing.  For example, my husband thought the typewriter font was too small for the poem I was typing and suggested I just use my computer and play with the fonts.

Hold. Up. Mister.

Whoa.

Um, no.  No. No. No.

Letters + Concept

You see, I wanted to hand-type all of the poems.  I wanted to carve the stamps or paint the artwork myself.  That part makes me really satisfied, really content.  Somehow that feels more authentic to me than cranking out mock-ups of different fonts from my laptop.  It's not only the fonts, but I would have trouble pushing my art through the printer and getting the line spacing and margins just right.  That part would drive me absolutely and totally insane.  If I'm being honest, I have to tell you that I have a love-hate relationship with my printer.  This dysfunctional relationship has been going on for years.

Even though my husband politely pointed out that I was, in fact, "storing" the words in the typewriter memory and wasn't that the same thing?  I kind of hate when he makes a good point.

Well, I just don't see it that way and feel it's different than using a computer.  We agreed to disagree and I kind of stomped off.  Yes, I stomp for effect sometimes.

I'm settled now.  

I've painted some new watercolors and now I'm about to carve a few new designs on my brand new slab of Speedball Speedy Cut.  Carving stamps is meditative and soothing.  I really like the process of creating stamps and then embellishing paper with them.

It's 2:31 p.m.

This has taken me most of the day.  I've loved the process of making and creating.  Even my castoffs are beautiful and unique.  I love the marriage between the printed word and the bursts of colorful designs planted right on top of them.

Works in progress

My need for approval is quietly hovering above my work, but my work satisfies me and fills me up.  It's a new feeling.

It feels good.

It feels like just enough to keep me going.

Analog vs. Digital

It's so easy for me to waste a day on the computer.  I'll log onto Facebook, check a few of my favorite blogs, read the headlines in our local paper and then shuffle into the kitchen to make breakfast for the boy.  My phone rests on the butcher block and I'll check instagram and perhaps snap a few photos - like a dozen times in the span of 15 minutes.  It's embarrassing.  It's the truth.  It's a problem.  And it's usually only 6:30 am when all this starts.

Line drawings from class with Lisa Congdon

In an effort to find my inner-artist, I committed to doing a drawing-a-day in a dedicated art journal for this purpose.  Okay, I just typed that and realized how freaking rigid that sounds - but exactly like me.  See, I want to be loosey-goosey and just create art, but that's not really me.  You see, it's hard for a Virgo to just wing it.  I need a plan, a list, a mission.  I'm going to try to own this and bend my own rules from time to time.  We'll see how it goes.

I picked up the book Steal Like an Artist by Austin Kleon after reading about it here.  What a treasure trove of good advice!  It's a quick, fun read and really inspiring.  It's almost like this book gives you permission to just give it a go with writing, drawing, painting or anything else that strikes your fancy.

Watercolors at my dining room table

After reading Austin Kleon's book, I decided to paint or draw what I love and what brings me peace.  And as silly as it sounds, circles are my thang.  I am immensely pleased when I use this little sphere as inspiration and I'm never disappointed with the results.  I just needed the permission to keep at it.

Grady's words + Eye screen print from class at ohhappyday!

Children are natural artists.  They are free and have no edit button.  They just go for it.  I need a little bit of that going on in my head.  I'm trying to embrace the act of just trying.  It doesn't have to be good or perfect or sellable.  It just has to please me.

Art Studio (aka - The Catch All)

A few years ago we turned our former well house into an art studio for Grady and myself.  Grady likes to hole up out there and listen to books on tape, play Legos, make origami and draw or paint when the mood strikes.  The studio holds my art printer and an embarrassing amount of art supplies.

One the first day of G's spring break, I asked him to read Steal Like an Artist.  I'd been asking him for weeks, but he sloughed it off and had little interest.  I knew he would appreciate this book, so I nudged him again.  I'm so glad I did.

Grady's analog desk and a few of his favorite pieces of art on the wall

He devoured the book in a sitting.  Walking straight to my desk, he asked for some sticky notes to mark the pages that were his favorite.  Marking 16 out of the 140 little 5" x 5" pages that he wanted to discuss with me.  His words, not mine.  

His favorite idea in the book was the concept to create an analog and digital desk/workspace.

Our little pink studio was a hot mess of supplies and it lacked order.  He asked me if we could go out to the studio and clean it up and work on an analog and digital desk for him.  Be still my mama heart.

Tackling the studio has long been on my to-do list, but always seems to fall down to the bottom and never quite gets done.  Well, I was motivated because he was motivated.  We spent two hours sorting through Legos, Pokemon cards, mountains of paper airplanes & Star Wars-inspired origami.  We purged dead pens, crumpled up papers, broken telescopes, dead flies and toys from inside those four little walls.

In the end, we labeled drawers, created shelves with easy access to cardboard, watercolor paper and empty journals.  The Legos found a home (all one billion of them, ahem).  The desktops were cleared, pencils sharpened, scissors, hole-punches & rulers corralled into a handy, within reach container.

His analog desk held his log book, watercolors, pencil case and a few other things.

Grady's Analog Desktop

His digital desk held his iPad.

When we were done he said it just feels so good in here.  It did.

I love the chance to clean up and reimagine a space.  I'm addicted to rearranging furniture and art because it does make me feel good.  The space gets refreshed and, usually, so do I.

G enjoying his new, clean studio

I'm going to work on an analog and digital desk for myself.  I like the separation and my mind seems to settle down when I'm away from my computer.

And while I love all the conveniences and information I have access to on a daily basis on my devices, I feel like I really need to disconnect a bit more and dive into making and reading the printed word.  Both give me an incredible amount of peace.

This is my digital entry for the day.

Now I'm off to go make something with my hands.

Happy Friday, friends.

Work in Progress

I've neglected this little blog space since the beginning of the year, but I think I'm finally ready to sit back down and write here on a more consistent basis.

So much has happened and I think that's what keeps me from posting.  I get overwhelmed and feel like I need to document everything and, well, that's just not possible.  And, so, I end up documenting nothing.  The jig is up and I'm attempting to sit down every morning before the guys wake up and get a little of it out of my head and into this space.  Here goes.

This year (to date) has been a lot about self-discovery and trying new things for me.

I kind of lost my identity after the sale of my business almost six years ago and retreated to the comfort and safety of my home and family.  That's mainly when I started writing in this space.  I wanted a way to document my simple life and to help me stay on course.  It was hard at first to be home alone with all of the quiet around me.  I was used to being the life of the party and the gal you came to if you wanted a recommendation on a good bottle of pinot noir.  I felt needed and at the center of things.

On one hand, I loved it.

On the other, I loathed it.

Once home full-time, I pored myself into cooking for my family.  I scoured cookbooks, blogs and swapped recipes with friends.  I started making bread and pizza dough.  I read My Life in France by Julia Child and Alex Prud'Homme and set about the task of perfecting her boeuf bourguignon.  Batches of granola, attempts at yogurt-making and getting schooled in the art of canning by my 83-year old neighbor all brought me tangible joy.

Grady had just started kindergarten and I felt like I had missed so much of his first five years.  I threw myself into his world, too, and volunteered at his school, joined the PTA and immersed myself in the things that he loved - books, nature and making art.  Kids are the greatest teachers.  He was fearless and funny.  His dress code of hot pink socks with Scottie dogs on them reminded me not to take life too seriously.  I like to think he got his keen sense for accessorizing from me.

After about six months of being home full-time, I was approached about doing some part-time office work a couple days a week.  At the time, I felt like this would ground me and keep me out of trouble.  I felt guilty for being home full-time while my husband was bringing home the bacon, so to speak.  The work I do is not my passion, but it has filled my weeks with structure.  I most definitely needed it after all of the years running a retail store and wine bar and all of the uncertainty that brought with it.

Here's where I'm going with all this.

I feel like it's taken me all of this time to figure out what it is I want to do.  All of the trips to the library, all of the museums and art shows I've attended, all of the blogs I've religiously read, all of the cooking experiments, all of the book club discussions I've attended, all of the trips to the beach at low tide, all of the movies & documentaries I've watched, all of the traveling I've done, all of it - has lead me to right now.

And what have I learned about myself?

Well, nothing very profound except that I'm a work in progress.

There is no definitive answer to what I want to do.  All I know for sure?  I want to make a little art.  I say that quietly because it scares me a bit, but it's true.

Earlier this year, I signed up for an online line drawing class with artist and illustrator, Lisa Congdon.  Instead of thinking about being an artist and being inhibited by it, I decided to do something about it and take the first step.  A class.  Yes, back to good old structure for me.  We were in Costa Rica when the first online class was up and it was a challenge to find trusty internet.  That class unlocked something in me and I haven't stopped drawing since.

I recognize that I have a love of graphic design, simple shapes and clean lines.  I made a list of what inspired me and began to pay attention to other things I was attracted to.

I started sharing my little doodles on Instagram and you know what?  It felt good.  It felt silly at first, but then it felt good.  There's something to be said about being seen.  The small community of Instagrammers that saw my feed and said nice things made me perk up.  They are helping me to see the beauty in my own world and I'm feeling braver and more open to share.

This little doodle above was one of my first entries in my drawing journal from last May.  This is where I started and the words seem so fitting.

grow.
reach.
seek.

More to come, my friends.

Full Circle :: Write Doe Bay

Write Doe Bay :: micron pens on kraft paper

Circles are omnipresent in my life.  I seek them out, create them and wear their symbol around my neck or wrist as often as I can.  They are beautiful, unique and calming.  There have no hard edges and feel complete to me.  Looking around my home I notice circular windows and mirrors line my living room walls, fabrics with little round oblong discs cover my desk chair, area rugs with giant dot motifs selectively cover my douglas fir floors and my drawings of anemone-like shapes are temporarily pasted on the walls above my desk.  Lately, drawing circles feels like quiet meditation and I can't seem to stop.

I've been reading a book by Leonard Koren about the Japanese aesthetic of wabi-sabi.  He states that wabi-sabi is a beauty of things imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete.   It is a beauty of things modest and humble.  It is a beauty of things unconventional.  Once I started thinking about it, I figured out that circles (like the kind I've been drawing) and people are not all that different.  There is so much beauty in the perfectly imperfect.

This weekend I met a lot of circles at Write Doe Bay and slowly over the course of days, we gathered up with all of our differences, expectations, fears and stories and slowly came together like this drawing.  Some had quiet voices, some hardy and loud.  Others were funny, gregarious and self-deprecating.  Some were really good dancers (you know who you are).  The circles I gravitated towards were respectful, honest and made me feel safe enough to share the unedited version of my true story for the very first time.

All were brave.

This workshop dug up one of my earliest childhood memories of writing.  It was in Mrs. Burke's 5th grade classroom back in 1980.  I can still see little 10 year old me making small careful tiny loops across the page, wanting my cursive writing to be neat and readable.  The little Virgo in me wanted it just so, as well as getting the Super! note from the teacher it would receive.  I set about to carefully illustrate the words that sprang from my young mind and settled on a pale blue surround using a half broken crayon plucked from the stash in my desk.  There was bare white space in the middle of the page shaped like an ice-skating rink where my words would rest.  I'd like to share it with you here:

ICE SKATING

I'm learning to skate on the ice,

It really is quite nice

I can skate very well,

Though it is hard to dwell

I glide on the ice like a seal,

Though it is not very real

It's only a dream,

A great big dream

I'm learning to skate on the ice

This weekend felt like my first ice skating lesson.   I ended up performing circuitous figure eights with 37 other human beings on a pristine, far-flung piece of land in the San Juan Islands off of the coast of Washington at Doe Bay Resort.  It was exhilarating, hilarious, emotional and a bit like summer camp all rolled into one.

Going into the weekend, I didn't really know what to expect.  It started off a bit bumpy, but leveled off once we started to get to know one another and hear the storytellers in the room.  My heart cracked open at the truth spilling from people's mouths, listening to lyrics written by introspective and talented songwriters and succinct, heartfelt words spoken clearly and softly from poets.

What I went to Doe Bay to do was learn how to write a little better and/or learn about people's discipline and their writing process, but what I actually learned was how to have a little more empathy for humanity.  Everyone has a story.  The next time someone cuts me off on the highway or says something rude to me, I'm going to pause and try and remember that they, too, have a story.  The difference?  I just haven't heard it yet.

Thirty-three years later and I'm attempting to write a little poetry as my new daily practice.  That's what inspired me most this weekend.  And here is my offering today:

FULL CIRCLE

a raw bundle of emotions 
lay dormant in the pit of me
quite often left alone 
buried deep and dark

jumbled like a ball of yarn
messy and tangled
eager for order

the trigger to release them is fickle
country music 
an unexpected kiss good night
a locked gaze with a new friend
too many cocktails
the truth

they dart through my body looking for an exit
and climb out of my mouth 
and leak from my eye sockets
and reach for a warm body to hold

once busted out of their prison cell
they are wild and frenetic
unpredictable in their path

out in the open they swirl through the air
and land on people and objects around me
quietly, silently absorbed 

my heart open
softly pounding
head down
shoulders shuddering

received
...or not 
finally free

the ones too scared to be outside of me

quickly float back 

softer, lighter

to be collected 

savored

cherished

accepted

i tuck them away carefully 

back into the dark pit

with sweet acknowledgement 

in knowing they have traveled

full circle.

Published!

My first ever accepted essay, Snap, has been published today over at mamalode.com.  I originally wrote this story here on my blog last September on my 43rd birthday.  It's raw and revealing about my family.  I've been a bundle of nerves waiting for it to go live.

Please check it out here at and let me know what you think.

And, yes, my headshot is a blurry iPhone photo of me in cop glasses.  It's the best I could do.

Happy Friday, friends.

Disconnected :: Connected

Arriving in San Jose, Costa Rica (Sunrise)

As we drove away from our home and down the dirt road that leads us to Highway One, sheets of rain came down in earnest.  Up ahead, the road was flooded and we had to detour to Petaluma.  

We shed our coats and hastily threw them back in our car and made a break for the shuttle bus pointed towards San Francisco.  We just made it.  

At San Francisco Airport the Delta employee moved us to an earlier flight to insure we would make our next connection.  LAX airport had been grounded due to weather.  We waited, along with a hundred or so other people and quietly ticked off the minutes in our minds, calculating how long we had to make our connecting flight.

We had 13 minutes to disembark from our plane, run through the terminal O.J. Simpson-style and hop on the Boeing 757 with five minutes to spare.  This was the red-eye flight from LAX to San Jose, Costa Rica and relief washed over us as we settled into our stiff, upright seats.  

We arrived into San Jose groggy and our clothes wrinkled.  After clearing customs and shuffling towards baggage claim, the warm air enveloped us as we exited the airport and we slowly slid into our waiting taxi and immediately dozed off to sleep.

Best last minute thrifting decision.  A carry-on/beach bag that holds EVERYTHING!

As we pulled into Quepos, our eyes adjusted to the small city that we would call home for nine days.  There were dozens of pedestrians risking their lives to cross the street, bicycles rolling towards to the grocery store and colorful signage decorating the buildings as we whirred past.

Our friend built the house we would be staying at in Quepos and he was kind enough to let us stay here to mark Steve’s 50th birthday.  As we pulled up to our friend’s home, we were a bit weathered from traveling.  We walked up the tiled steps and were greeted by a bright yellow facade and a backyard full of roughly landscaped jungle.

I've been trying to read this book for years.  I finally settled in and can't put it down.

There is a cacophony of insects and birds singing and talking to the wind just outside the window screens.  We quickly set about unpacking, changing our stale clothes.  Our only priority was hanging the hammocks and settling in for an afternoon of napping.

The art of an ice cold beverage here is really important.  Fresca, rum over ice, bottled water.  We imbibed to stay cool, we imbibed to feel refreshed.

There is an unhurried vibe in the home (very much unlike our home).  The air is thick with laziness and moisture.

As we were lulled to dreamland in our rocking hammocks, music quietly oozed out of the screen windows…

Bob Marley.
Mermen.
Clem Snide.

We were languid and relaxed.  The days, weeks and months of responsibilities quickly were shed from our overloaded minds.  Our only jobs were to read, lay about and listen to music.  This pattern was quick to develop and surprisingly easy to adapt to.

The hammocks are a revelation.  Why do we not currently own a hammock (or two)?  How is it that we’ve been together all these years and no hammock has been hung from the fruit trees in our small orchard?  Oh, we will definitely be getting a hammock when we get home.  The boy is smitten and his daily afternoon siestas are becoming a thing of beauty.  He retreats to the back deck, kicks off his shoes, bundles himself up in the fetal position and then sleep rapidly takes over his little body.  I slowly rock the hammock and softly brush the short thicket of hair across his forehead.  His breathing is easy, rhythmic and steady.  He is in a deep, deep sleep.  I can’t stop watching him from where I lie.  I love him so much at this moment and want to burn this memory on my brain forever, so that I can come back and visit it whenever I want.  

Grady's hammock of choice on the shady back deck

My heart is so full for both of the guys in my life.  We needed this trip.  All of us really, really needed it.

The afternoon heat is sweltering.  Clothing of any kind becomes like a noose around our entire bodies.  We have taken to shedding all clothing and wearing the lightweight comfort of a colorful rectangle of fabric, a sarong.

My husband’s quick transformation into a sarong-wearing slacker delights and surprises me.  Grady has taken to calling our sarong-wearing ways to an exaggerated “soooooo wrong”, but I quite like the change.  We slipped out of our city clothes and easily slid into our off-mode.  We picked up our unread books, colored the blank pages of our journals and busted out our vintage set of dominoes.  

In our day-to-day lives we are busy, focused, driven and task-oriented.  I like that about us.  And…I sometimes don’t like that about us.

Manuel San Antonio National Park Beach

Today we disconnected.

And we connected.

Apartment Therapy's January Cure :: 2014

Last year I participated in Apartment Therapy's January Cure.  It's a month-long project where you focus on improving and tidying up your home spaces.  Lots of purging, rearranging and donating unused items found in the home.  As a rule, I'm super motivated to get the holiday stuff out of my home…like the day after Xmas.  That's just how we did it growing up and by the time the day after Xmas hits, well, I'm more than ready.

Living Room Accent Wall Project - BEFORE

This year I inventoried my home, as they suggested, and ended up with a three page list that didn't even include my son's bedroom (which looks like a mini-version of Joseph Cornell's studio with childhood detritus topping all surfaces).

My goal project for this year's January Cure was to remove all art from our home walls, patch, paint and re-hang only the art pieces that truly meant something to us (and not just another framed piece of art that goes or matches the room that it's in).

In tackling this goal project, we found out we ran out of our living room paint and that it had been discontinued.  So, the job of finding a new color was next on the list.  We settled on Valspar's Milk Chocolate 2007-9B and my husband taped off the wall and applied two coats in one evening.

Living Room Accent Wall Project - AFTER
January Cure To-Do List 2014
My vintage chair with new upholstery!

When we put the room back together and finally hung a few pieces of meaningful art, it felt really good in that space.

I also had a vintage chair reupholstered in some leftover fabric that my employer had from one of the hotel lobby design jobs we worked on a few years ago.  A Sunbrella Sunflower pattern in Chocolate Kiss that feels perfect in our little space.

Kitchen (aka - Command Central)

I did a lot of work on the kitchen last year for the January Cure and so I wasn't as gung-ho this year.  I did ask my husband to sand and oil our butcher block countertops and it makes the space feel so clean and fresh.  He also oiled my wood cutting boards and wooden utensils.  He is a good, good man.

Art Wall in Living Room

Here's the other art wall in the living room nearest the bar.

Top left - Grady's self-proclaimed "best painting I've ever done" entitled Forest, 2013.

Middle left - Distorted photo by Larry Grace entitled Magical Kingdom, 2009.

Lower left - Distorted photo by friend-neighbor-photographer, Scott Van Cleemput entitled Rust-ic, 2013.

Upper right - Portrait of Steve, 2012 by resident artist Grady Salas Hecht.

Lower right - Portrait of Grady, age nine months, 2004.  This photo used to make me sad, but now it makes me smile.  This was taken after his first taste of cereal.  The boy did not like it…at all.

Our accent wall would showcase some of our most favorite pieces of art.

On the coffee table - Grady's first finger painting Untitled, 17 months, 2004.

Top:  Tree drawing on recycled grocery bag by Hannah Day, Untitled, 2013.

Middle left:  Undress by the oh-so talented, local artist (and friend!), Clare Elsaesser.

Bottom left:  Family photo by photographer, Noella Vigeant.

Bottom right:  Portrait of Grady, 2011 by Kai Samuels-Davis.

I didn't do anything in Grady's room this time around, as that would require a month-long assignment on its own.  I did walk in the other day and catch this scene going on at the end of his bed.  A messy stack of Calvin &  Hobbes books, his tattered and worn baby blanket and the stuffed bear my mom sent him years ago.  It made me smile.

The last corner of my living room is still in need of some artwork fine-tuning, but for now this is how it looks.  I'm hunting for a mid-century modern desk and have plans to reconfigure some of our art on the left wall.

It's a work in progress.

Kind of like me.

I heart Valentine's Day

There is so much to love about Valentine's Day when you have a little one.  This holiday resonates with me because it's all about correspondence and a little something sweet.  I know there is a lot of Valentine's Day angst if you're single, but I really love making cards with Grady and sending some snail mail to our closest friends and loved ones.

Spring fever has arrived a little early in G's fifth grade classroom.  Cootie catchers, folded up (and unsigned!) love notes stashed at the bottom of his backpack and reports of girls chasing him and throwing erasers at him during class.  Also, his hair gel/hairspray/blowdryer morning ritual has been sweet to witness.  Someone wants to look nice for…someone?

Grady has definitely cared more about his appearance the last few months.  Hair, clothing, shoes, accessories and the ever-present, but rotating, hat choices.  He has an ever-evolving style and this year has definitely been about the shoes and the color purple.

I think he has a little crush on a pretty little 4th grader, but he's been tight-lipped about all things that involve girls.  Mom, they're just my FRIENDS and they happen to be GIRLS.  That's it.

I'm still enjoying the time we share together at home making art, reading books, as well as visiting museums and libraries.

We've been heading over to Middle Road after school and I'll walk/jog about two miles and he'll ride his bike alongside me.  He really opens up to me during this time and it frees us both from the confines of our after school routines.  Homework and dinner prep is put on hold for just 45 minutes while we work out the day and release some stress.  We both come home invigorated and ready to dig into our chores.  I'm love, love, loving this new routine and the one-on-one time with my boy.

And while I don't require a dozen red roses or a box of chocolates on Valentine's Day, there is nothing that makes me happier than a homemade Valentine and a few handwritten words.  Always.

This year's Valentine inspiration was an origami heart.  I found a short tutorial on pinterest and showed it to Grady.  He had it mastered in a few minutes and set about using every single piece of small origami paper he had in his studio.  He particularly loved the new patterned paper that my friend's girls sent him for xmas and spent hours in his studio listening to Harry Potter CD's and folding.

Class parties for Grady + some love notes.

Underwood for lunch with my man and my first ever Negroni.

Iron Horse Winery for sparkling wine in their outdoor tasting room.  We just became members!

A leisurely drive over to Bodega Bay for fresh crab for Steve's delicious crab cakes tonight.

A game of Chinese Checkers with the boy.

The Big Lebowski DVD + white russians on the couch with my Valentine.

I love this sweet day.