The Wednesday "to do" list is long. The tasks are big. Will I accomplish much? What do you do when you are overwhelmed?
I have to be careful not to waste valuable time fretting about "how am I ever going to get this all finished?" Unproductive. So I remind myself to start, move forward, just do; soon I will see progress and that will inspire me to do more.
Ahh, I'm off to start doing. This is not a day for nothingness. And I'm thinking of you, my readers, with your own "to do" lists. Good Wednesday!!! We're all in this together and will get through it together.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
"Senseless"
That is the title of today's poem from Kelly Letke, my favorite poet. Her post is so perfect I can't say anything that would add to the feelings of helplessness and despair all are feeling after the news of the Boston Marathon bombings.
Please follow the link to read her words.
"I, [too] am hungry for a rainbow."
(picture courtesy of Kelly Letky)
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Why You Haven't Been Hearing from Me
Busy days. There are 3 projects that are converging. I'm as busy as a one-armed paper hanger.
Then 2 weeks later, May 9th - 11th I'll be at the Wilmington Flower Market. I had to skip it last year, but I'm back!!! Great show which benefits lots of worthy children's charities. Come out buy a plant, famous flower market mustard and a colorful sundress!!!
All this has kept my fingers flying at the sewing machine and attending more meetings than I'd like. Here are a few new creations for my booth at Red Poppy and the Flower Market. Spread the word. Mark your calendar. Annarella Girl is coming.
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Thursday, April 4, 2013
The Power of Quiet
The world is a noisy place. The TV blares with discordant views and hyperbole from commentators, politicians, "reality" shows, infomercials. Everyone is trying to get our attention by turning up the volume of their speech. I find myself yearning for some quiet. I think it is time for a quiet movement.
If only we could put a govenor on everyone's speech. You know like a govenor on a car that can cap the speed its going. All the views, opinions, pontificating, explaining, arguing,nitpicking, pointing fingers would be limited in their decibel range and exaggeration scale. Everyone would be forced into a quiet zone.
This is an old teacher trick. When the classroom gets too chaotic and no one is paying attention, a teacher has a choice. He/she can throw their voice into the cachophony, or they can turn their back, get very silent while writing on the board or otherwise occupied. If the teacher screams and yells he becomes a part of the chaos. If he chooses the quiet option, he/she raises above the bedlam. Soon the students become intriqued that the teacher is doing something different. Soon they realize that noone is paying attention to them. One by one they still and alert waiting for the teacher to clue them in. It really works.
So I would like to see more of us try the quiet option. It doesn't mean silence but a lessening of the noise. You don't think it will work? It doesn't mean we won't use persistence, but we won't be screamers. And if we turn our back on the hysterical yellers, they may stop without an audience. I'm a bit tired of reading about town meetings that have been hijacked by a vocal few with a singular agenda. What would take place if the audiences and politicians spoke back quietly and persistently that they would not respond to yelling or screaming? If this kind of quiet reaction is repeated over and over perhaps the verbal bullying would stop.
So think quietly about the possibilities of a, shhhh, quiet world. Take deep breaths and enjoy the tranquility. We could start a "quiet" revolution.
I'm ranting, but with my muting governor on.
If only we could put a govenor on everyone's speech. You know like a govenor on a car that can cap the speed its going. All the views, opinions, pontificating, explaining, arguing,nitpicking, pointing fingers would be limited in their decibel range and exaggeration scale. Everyone would be forced into a quiet zone.
This is an old teacher trick. When the classroom gets too chaotic and no one is paying attention, a teacher has a choice. He/she can throw their voice into the cachophony, or they can turn their back, get very silent while writing on the board or otherwise occupied. If the teacher screams and yells he becomes a part of the chaos. If he chooses the quiet option, he/she raises above the bedlam. Soon the students become intriqued that the teacher is doing something different. Soon they realize that noone is paying attention to them. One by one they still and alert waiting for the teacher to clue them in. It really works.
So I would like to see more of us try the quiet option. It doesn't mean silence but a lessening of the noise. You don't think it will work? It doesn't mean we won't use persistence, but we won't be screamers. And if we turn our back on the hysterical yellers, they may stop without an audience. I'm a bit tired of reading about town meetings that have been hijacked by a vocal few with a singular agenda. What would take place if the audiences and politicians spoke back quietly and persistently that they would not respond to yelling or screaming? If this kind of quiet reaction is repeated over and over perhaps the verbal bullying would stop.
So think quietly about the possibilities of a, shhhh, quiet world. Take deep breaths and enjoy the tranquility. We could start a "quiet" revolution.
I'm ranting, but with my muting governor on.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Personal Assistant Needed
I used to think I would like a wife. You know for all those picky detail chores that fill our lives. But I'm updating my attitude and daydreaming about a personal assistant. What has pushed this latest fantasy?
Last night talking with the poet sister who was outlining all the many steps ahead of her to self-publish a chap book, I was totally stricken by the load of work ahead for her. Having written her poems and chosen which ones to include, I thought she had maybe 3/4 of the work done. No! Her list of the remaining steps and decisions before the book is a hold-in-your-hand reality leaves me exhausted, so I can't even imagine how she feels.
She needs a personal assistant. Someone you can look at and say, "Macy, after you answer all the emails, research and present me with types of paper, find out pricing for cover - color versus black & white, take this to the printer. Oh, and pick up my dry cleaning on your way back." In my fantasy for my sister and then, of course, me, I see that perky, energetic, tireless assistant who can take care of the endless organizational tasks leaving us to create and make the creative decisions.
Don't all of you creative artists, writers, artisans who are trying to run a business need a Macy?
In my case, if I didn't have to be on the phone or email shepharding my business through shows, etsy and stores, I can be awash in fabrics, piecing together the dresses and watching them emerge, creating new designs. Ahhh, bliss! Instead I'm up to my neck in paper - email and microsoft office. I need to create a time line for the Georgetown Art Center, email artists and artisans for the gift shop portion, talk budget for the art center booth at the Red Poppy Fest, plus a few more necessary and urgent tasks. Oh, if only I could swivel my chair around and say, "Macy, take care of this." Then I could work on the next onesie.
Well, a girl (truth in advertising, an old lady) can dream.
Here are 2 dresses that are making their debut at the Red Poppy Fest in the Annarella Girl booth. I'm in love with the vivid colors.
Last night talking with the poet sister who was outlining all the many steps ahead of her to self-publish a chap book, I was totally stricken by the load of work ahead for her. Having written her poems and chosen which ones to include, I thought she had maybe 3/4 of the work done. No! Her list of the remaining steps and decisions before the book is a hold-in-your-hand reality leaves me exhausted, so I can't even imagine how she feels.
She needs a personal assistant. Someone you can look at and say, "Macy, after you answer all the emails, research and present me with types of paper, find out pricing for cover - color versus black & white, take this to the printer. Oh, and pick up my dry cleaning on your way back." In my fantasy for my sister and then, of course, me, I see that perky, energetic, tireless assistant who can take care of the endless organizational tasks leaving us to create and make the creative decisions.
Don't all of you creative artists, writers, artisans who are trying to run a business need a Macy?
In my case, if I didn't have to be on the phone or email shepharding my business through shows, etsy and stores, I can be awash in fabrics, piecing together the dresses and watching them emerge, creating new designs. Ahhh, bliss! Instead I'm up to my neck in paper - email and microsoft office. I need to create a time line for the Georgetown Art Center, email artists and artisans for the gift shop portion, talk budget for the art center booth at the Red Poppy Fest, plus a few more necessary and urgent tasks. Oh, if only I could swivel my chair around and say, "Macy, take care of this." Then I could work on the next onesie.
Well, a girl (truth in advertising, an old lady) can dream.
Here are 2 dresses that are making their debut at the Red Poppy Fest in the Annarella Girl booth. I'm in love with the vivid colors.
Notice one fabric is common to both, but the pallette of each is totally different. That's part of the fun in what I do. I hope you are smiling as you look at them. The joy I take in looking at their vivid colors and the pride I take in a job well done, give me a push forward to the to do list. I'm going to corral some of that paper work!!!
Monday, April 1, 2013
Ordinary Heroes
Who are the heroes in your life? Are they sports stars? Or film stars? Tv stars? Reality stars? Politicians? Leaders?
My heroes are from the ordinary. Those who live their lives with an eye to helping others. People who raise the next generations with hope and optimism. Men and women who work daily at living their best lives while constantly learning and improving. I draw from my family, friends, acquaintances and neighbors for my heroes list.
My parents - how lucky I have been to have them as examples of how to be caring, thinking, curious humans. From them I learned to appreciate the sunrise and sunset; books are a window into different cultures, countries and worlds; you should never stop learning, asking questions, discovering; everyone deserves to be respected; music, art, poetry are the foods for our souls, our humanity. Although they would laugh at being called heroes, to me they are superman and woman; Zeus and Hera. They lived life, raised 5 children, moved at least 10 times while maintaining a zest for the new and an appreciation for the old. Now that is a hero!
Mom and Dad, thank you for the gifts of respect and wonder. I'm doing my best to pass them on to my children and grandchildren.
My heroes are from the ordinary. Those who live their lives with an eye to helping others. People who raise the next generations with hope and optimism. Men and women who work daily at living their best lives while constantly learning and improving. I draw from my family, friends, acquaintances and neighbors for my heroes list.
My parents - how lucky I have been to have them as examples of how to be caring, thinking, curious humans. From them I learned to appreciate the sunrise and sunset; books are a window into different cultures, countries and worlds; you should never stop learning, asking questions, discovering; everyone deserves to be respected; music, art, poetry are the foods for our souls, our humanity. Although they would laugh at being called heroes, to me they are superman and woman; Zeus and Hera. They lived life, raised 5 children, moved at least 10 times while maintaining a zest for the new and an appreciation for the old. Now that is a hero!
Mom and Dad, thank you for the gifts of respect and wonder. I'm doing my best to pass them on to my children and grandchildren.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Easter Memories
Sixty-nine years of memories weigh heavy sometimes. So many where to begin.
When I was little.... It was all about the Easter Bunny, basket and eggs. I was excited to don my new clothes and endure church, but my focus was on what happened after - the hunt. Magically the bunny visited while we were at services. How did he know when that was? To a 4 year old the impossible logistics of magic surrounding Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny were not a worry. How they got to everyone in a timely fashion wasn't something I really thought about. No, I was content to buy the impossibilities and concentrate on the fun, chocolate and jelly beans.
Finding and gathering the brightly colored eggs was a joy filled activity. Okay, maybe a little competitive, we always counted our bounty, who had the most? It was amazing how many hiding places there were where the eggs could hide - inside the bend of a gutter, tucked in the tufts of tall grass, balanced in a bush, nestled in the tree roots. We had to look high and low with an occasional clue from our parents. Then there was a short period after we had found all we could the said parents tromped around looking for the one missing egg that was hidden too well. Rarely was that one found until days later when our noses followed the rotten smell to the secret place.
In my teens Easter was less about the hunt, eggs and baskets; more about the clothes. What care was taken to get the right dress, shoes, hat and gloves. We preened and critiqued what the congregation was sporting. Always certain that we were among the best-dressed. Ah, the olden days. A hat was mandatory as well as gloves. Easter bonnets had flowers, ribbons and straw. Gloves were pristine white, at least starting out. The bane of every mother and little girl was keeping track of both gloves and then keeping them white. I was never good at either of those two activities.
Sometime in my teens my mother decided that we were too old for Easter baskets. What an outcry we raised. No chocolate bunnies, no foil covered chocolate eggs, no gumdrops, no jelly beans? So a compromise was offered. She, the resident Easter bunny, would create a communal basket centerpiece for our dining room table. Not a perfect solution since there ws always a little squabbling about the center big bunny. We would break off pieces to eat, but (what follows has no logic to it but familys often operate without rational.) there were some of us who wanted to start with the tail, others who wanted the ears, and still others who wanted to keep it intact for a s long as possible. I was a tail person. I liked the illusion of an full-eared front, and I hated it when my brother would just race through lopping off the tip of an ear recklessly creating a very lop-sided rabbit. But what did work well were the jelly beans. I loved (and still do) black licorice jelly beans. And the family was happy to let me have them all. Bliss in our family of 5 children was not having to fight for your treat.
What happy memories. What are yours?
When I was little.... It was all about the Easter Bunny, basket and eggs. I was excited to don my new clothes and endure church, but my focus was on what happened after - the hunt. Magically the bunny visited while we were at services. How did he know when that was? To a 4 year old the impossible logistics of magic surrounding Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny were not a worry. How they got to everyone in a timely fashion wasn't something I really thought about. No, I was content to buy the impossibilities and concentrate on the fun, chocolate and jelly beans.
Finding and gathering the brightly colored eggs was a joy filled activity. Okay, maybe a little competitive, we always counted our bounty, who had the most? It was amazing how many hiding places there were where the eggs could hide - inside the bend of a gutter, tucked in the tufts of tall grass, balanced in a bush, nestled in the tree roots. We had to look high and low with an occasional clue from our parents. Then there was a short period after we had found all we could the said parents tromped around looking for the one missing egg that was hidden too well. Rarely was that one found until days later when our noses followed the rotten smell to the secret place.
In my teens Easter was less about the hunt, eggs and baskets; more about the clothes. What care was taken to get the right dress, shoes, hat and gloves. We preened and critiqued what the congregation was sporting. Always certain that we were among the best-dressed. Ah, the olden days. A hat was mandatory as well as gloves. Easter bonnets had flowers, ribbons and straw. Gloves were pristine white, at least starting out. The bane of every mother and little girl was keeping track of both gloves and then keeping them white. I was never good at either of those two activities.
Sometime in my teens my mother decided that we were too old for Easter baskets. What an outcry we raised. No chocolate bunnies, no foil covered chocolate eggs, no gumdrops, no jelly beans? So a compromise was offered. She, the resident Easter bunny, would create a communal basket centerpiece for our dining room table. Not a perfect solution since there ws always a little squabbling about the center big bunny. We would break off pieces to eat, but (what follows has no logic to it but familys often operate without rational.) there were some of us who wanted to start with the tail, others who wanted the ears, and still others who wanted to keep it intact for a s long as possible. I was a tail person. I liked the illusion of an full-eared front, and I hated it when my brother would just race through lopping off the tip of an ear recklessly creating a very lop-sided rabbit. But what did work well were the jelly beans. I loved (and still do) black licorice jelly beans. And the family was happy to let me have them all. Bliss in our family of 5 children was not having to fight for your treat.
What happy memories. What are yours?
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