Absinthe

Darkness around
In fits and bounds
You hold still--
Tightly you hold,
Still.
Grasped my hand,
Held it with ferocity
To not let go;
Never let go
Without a
Fight--
It's a right,
You always told me,
(A child in your hand)
To fight for
Whats right.

To Me, Four Years Ago

Four years ago, you lived in a protective cocoon, working hard--learning, reading, and struggling--to write your thesis.  Had just learned what Etsy was, and felt a creative spark go off in your always-going mind; made a personal connection between yourself and the handmade movement that went beyond sheer consumerism.  However, you have never referred to yourself as an artist, although you have been persistently artistic and imaginative since the painfully shy childhood years when your companion of choice was either a book to read or a blank sheet of paper on which to write or draw out a story.  When most everyone else around you was lost in gab, you preferred instead to delve inward into the wild recesses of your mind; to find and explore every nook and cranny of the spark that lit you from the inside out.  And you shared this wild creativity with a select few who saw beyond the quiet exterior into the richness within.

In 2010, you began channeling that lifelong creativity into jewelry making; into teaching yourself, without formal training, the ins and outs of making jewelry from materials like stone and wire.  Learned during the rough spots--through sore wire-poked fingers and hours spent figuring out how to create the sturdiest-as-can-be wire-wrapped pendant--when to move forward and when to stay still and master a technique.  Learned when to step back a few steps in order to gain clarity and perspective.  Developed patience and a knack for writing ebullient listing descriptions.  Got through the tough transition period of quitting a long-term job a few months after finding Etsy and making your first few sales through the site.  You experienced some amazing non-work-related transitions in that four-year span too, such as finally marrying your (now) husband and making it through grad school.

But still you wonder how this all came to be, these innumerable transitions that, at the time they occurred, were seemingly unconnected and offered no condolences for the familiarity lost--life changes that left no parting excuses in their wake (I'm referring to the work-related transitions here).  In the time since, you've finally earned your Master's degree, and with the academic training directly gained from this invaluable experience, began offering professional writing services.  Surprisingly, these new services have been well received: you have worked with wonderful clients who understand that quality writing and hard work go hand-in-hand, and who also patiently understand that the physical act of writing is itself a creative process that can take longer than expected to complete.  What is far less surprising is that you have found this work to be deeply fulfilling on many levels, which satisfies both your personality and love of a writing challenge.

So to the uncertain, transition-fearing woman of four years ago, the me that I once was: toiling and teeth pulling over earning your Master's degree was worth it.  Quitting your then long-term job was worth it.  With uncertainty over the future comes the (scary!) chance to explore new avenues, to learn and grow with your husband by your side.  You may stumble a little, actually far more than you are comfortable with, but will get up again.  And again, and yet again.

Actually, you are more ingenious than you give yourself credit for.

Pinafore Love

DandyStitch

Pinafore, jumper, tunic, smock, roomy dress...whatever you want to call it, they're absolutely cozy and comfortable with just enough femininity to last you through the rest of winter without feeling frumpy from bundling up.  My favorite thing about the pinafore is that you can layer it over a thin sweater, comfy tee, or tank depending on the weather.  A pinafore can also be layered over your favorite pair of jeans or worn-in chinos, which makes its versatility even more appealing.  If you're more into tights or leggings, the pinafore matches those, too.  Add a pair of boots and you are good to go.  The pinafore reminds me of artsy days spent working with clay and glaze, getting up to your elbows in it all; creativity at its finest.

wildthingsdresses

pamelatang

consciousclothing

melisamu

bymamma190

His Books

Recently, I was given many of my grandfather's books...

He was what you would call an organic intellectual--for not having the means to achieve a higher education, he made up for with his accumulation of books, none of which (it appears) he threw away.  You see, he was an immigrant to the United States, arrived in 1939, and paid his way through life with odd-and-end jobs, finally owning a grocery store in the Latin part of the city.  Books, I believe, represented a yearning for another life.

Quiet, he was; introversion was his cup of tea.  And he drank lots of it.  Dignified and occasionally stoic, he was more than the sum of his parts.  When raucous family gatherings ensued, he quietly slipped away to the back of the house.  A daydreamer, he would stare out the window for hours on end with a book in hand, watching the birds bathe in the dirt, watching the moon hold brightly in the night sky.

Truly, my grandfather loved his books, for they are all worse for wear.  The covers are taped up to stay together; the pages are strongly discolored, some mildewed and torn, stained and crumbling.  But their personal significance runs so deeply into me.

October

The pendulum swings.  Life goes onward and forward, occasionally vacillating between neither here nor there, lost in the in-betweeness of it all.  The years blur, while the memories made burn an indelible imprint in your mind.  But the unforgiving thing about time is that even the memories that you prefer not to forget begin to get fuzzy along the edges after awhile--their imprints become hallowed-out outlines of a conversation had or of a scene seen...

Of everlasting memories ripped up at the seams.

Yet, you move on, forward you go--because you have to.  It is a necessity.  You blink and wonder where all the time has gone: two days meld into four weeks into six months.  Or is it seven?  And we still remember.  The memories that we hold onto so fiercely define us, cradle us in their depths.

Breadth of Life

Have you ever spent some time looking at the world from a perspective not your own?  Last week, I did just that.  Took my trusty camera outdoors, and without seeing the image preview--with my arms at awkward angles--took a photo of a yellow daisy from the bottom up.

From a different perspective, I obtain an entirely new vantage point, one that would have remained obscured had it not been for a change in thought, a reworking of a life's narrative.  A minute detail noticed brings with it a sweet significance and a calming sense of peace.  I won't use the ocean analogy here--but I will say this: Images jog memories and foster a semi-fleeting sense of clarity when it all seems so murky, allowing the present to carry on.  And carry on, we do.

Indoor Decor: Memories

Left to right:
Creamer with spout: stayarthomemom
Organic white bud vase: honeyandheat
Tall brown vase: StoneworksPottery

(In the white bud vase is a portion of the dried thyme bouquet from our yard, which I blogged about here.  The doily is from a local brick-and-mortar teashop/antiques shop.)

I've never been much of an interior decorator in any sense of the word, so when I saw that these pottery pieces fit well together--in an eclectic sort of way, it genuinely made my day.  It's kind of like life in that respect...a mish-mash of occurrences and daily routines that are not outwardly connected in any meaningful or tangible way.  That is, until something interesting happens, and you see that each step taken has gradually lead you to your current situation, your current frame of reference.

I realize that it's probably not a good idea to compare life to the accumulation of things, since life is immeasurable and priceless, and commodities, well, always have a price on their heads.  However, in this life, we accumulate things that we place value on, whether it be intrinsic or overt, so commodities are, in a way, a somewhat accurate measurement of our lives, revealing what we hold dear.  In an instant here; in an instant gone--but always an insight into the lives left behind.

The Reminder

 It's finally rained.

The continuous drip drop

Makes up for my lack of verboseness;

Fills in the silent in-between spaces.

Spring:
Flowers bloom,

Birds tweet and flutter.
Sunrise and sunset rise and fall like clockwork-- 

Not today nor tomorrow

Will life stand still.