Geography

Un buon week-end

When you start your weekend by finding on your doorstep a J.Crew box that contains a dress in the most adorable pattern, made from the most delectable silk-wool blend, which you have eyed longingly since last summer and have recently purchased because it was on clearance *AND* THEY HAD YOUR SIZE, you know it's destined to be fairly good.

I spent most of Saturday and some of Sunday getting all the Christmas decorations packed up and put away into the attic. It's always a little sad to do, and so much work to put them up and take them down that twice a year, when I am doing just that, I wonder Why? ... Still, one year I think it would be fun to take all that crap and mix it with more crap and make a crazy still life like one of those I Spy books. I spy... three snowflakes, a pinecone, two birds and twenty-two photographers.

Sunday morning I opened up one of my two new crochet project books, and made a dishcloth. It's not a spectacular project, I know, and I didn't really need a pattern per se, but it was excellent practice on maintaining even tension throughout an entire project. And I've realized making dishcloths will be a most useful way of using up the yarn given to Keith when he took up knitting for a few months, that I will most certainly never use for anything else. It is also a good fast project for when crochet ADD strikes: I busted that shit out in an hour.

I also tried one of the flower patterns, and though it was very easy, I think it's kind of ugly. Maybe because of the color; I liked the yellow one in the book...

And it *never* would have occured to me to crochet with fabric. Holy cow! I have yards of celadon fabric that's just dying to become pillows, which really is a troubling thought considering my sewing skills are less than ideal. But *instead* I can cut it into strips and *crochet* the fabric into a pillow! Oh, what WILL they think of next?!

Accepting the fact that the shelves in the laundry closet are never going to be ripped out and replaced with a nice, new, adjustable shelving system with those little wire basket drawers--which would be a wiser use of space *and* a most efficient means of streamlining the functionality of the utility area (as well as improving the view from the dryer)--I emptied the miscellaneous contents of the closet and painted the ugly, dark-stained wood shelves a crisp white. The shelves still don't work for me, but at least they look better, and hopefully I'll be able to keep up with the laundry if I'm not dreading to stand in an ugly closet.

And I wrapped it all up by making a fresh batch of Chex Mix. Yummm.

Chromalectable

I think we artists have a tendency to sort of "latch on" to a particular design element--line, shape, texture, color, et cetera--and spend our lives obsessing over it. It's the first thing we notice in nature, in other's artwork, in the cereal aisle at the grocery store. And it isn't that it's the only element we see, but it's the only one we care about, the only one that really matters.

My element is color. It is my passion, my raison d'être. I do not see how one could not think about color. Now don't get me wrong, I really dig line and shape and even texture a little bit. But I *ADORE* color from the most remote depths of my soul.

I can stand for tens of minutes on end in the paint swatches section of the hardware store. It makes me feel good, ogling all that color. And I can take my favorites, like collectors' cards for color enthusiasts--FOR FREE. I bring them home and put them in a book so that I can go back later when I'm feeling a little neutral and savor all that chromatic deliciousness.

Color me tenacious

Thanks to Jen A and her magnificent blog for hooking me up with the ColorGenics test, which was FAR easier to do than the stupid Myers-Briggs. Unfortunately it didn't tell me anything I didn't already know, but still, it's nice to have my gut feelings confirmed by the Internet every once in a while.

* * *

You are always alert and keenly observant (well said) . You are not truly satisfied with your everyday status and you are seeking fresh avenues which can give you the opportunity to prove your worth. You feel that there are still many barriers that stand between you and recognition - but one by one you will overcome them. Your tenacity is your one good point (only one?!!) - like an English Bulldog, once you take the bite, you will seldom let go.

Enough is enough. Nothing seems to be working out as you would like it to and it has got to the stage where you feel as if you can't be bothered anymore. The way you feel is that it would be great if you could be cut off from everything and take it easy - be it only for a short time (or a very looooooong time...in the French Riviera).

You are feeling under considerable pressure and you are being forced to make concessions. You are not particularly happy with this state of affairs but you feel that you have no alternative. If you were to force issues you would be left out or completely ignored by one and all.

All of your stress arises from lack of mutual understanding. The existing situation is unsatisfactory and you feel that you are unable to improve it without the help and co-operation of others. The need for understanding and for affectionate 'give and take' remains unsatisfied. You are experiencing the feeling of being 'handcuffed' - 'tied down' - 'hindered' - 'restrained' and this untenable situation is giving rise to impatience, irritability and the desire to escape from it all (to the French Riviera. Or Scotland.).

Matters are not all that they would appear to be and you are critical of the existing conditions which you feel are confused and disorganised (I hate disorganised conditions. I hate disorganized conditions, too). You are therefore looking for a modus operandi (YES! Modus operandi! YEEEESSSSSS!) which will simplify the situation so that you will be able to see the 'trees in the woods'.

Memory & Murphy

Not 10 minutes ago, I had an idea of something to write for a post. Because I think it's been a while since I've put in a really good one. But now I've forgotten my idea. And so I will go take a shower and go to bed, so that I can remember it at 3:17 in the morning only to have forgotten that I remembered it when I wake up tomorrow morning only to have it come back to me, half written in my head, when I am least able to write it down. Because anything otherwise would defy the laws of the universe.

Drip drip splash brrrrrr

The only thing that might be worse than August is rain in winter. The only thing worse than rain in winter is having to walk under a large tree to get to your car in the rain in winter and getting dripped on in big, fat, wet, icy drips on the way. The only true cure for either is a large serving of delicious hot chocolate.

Alohomora!

I would like to be magical. For real. As in Harry Potter magical. Because right now I would really like to use the Confundus charm on a few people.

CONFUNDO! ... No, I stopped working on that project. Don't you remember? We agreed it was a waste of effort and that my work time would be better spent sipping mojitos on a beach in Jamaica.

I would also like to have Stupefy! at my disposal. And it's been quite tempting to jump out from behind corners and point my finger at whoever happens to be nearby, while screaming EXPELLIARMUS (biotch)!*

Most of all, I would like to be able to send messages using my patronus. After careful consideration, I believe said patronus would probably take the form of some sort of bird. A cute bird--not like an albatross or eagle or--good heavens--a gull. More like a goldfinch.

EXPECTO PATRONUM! ...*tweet tweet* Jen! Pack quickly! They've renegotiated our contract and we've been indefinitely been reassigned to the French Riviera! *tweet tweet*

*This is, of course, the American version.

I WANT IT

Happiness is a bridesmaid's dress worth dieting for:

Modern with vintage flair. The crisp silhouette. The delicately detailed neckline. The amazing color (thank you Photoshop!). The flounciness. And it comes from the "Belle" line...wedding in Savannah..."Southern Belle"...this is not an accident. This is an act of God.

Words alone cannot express how much I am lusting after this dress. And that *is* saying something.

Spelling bee

Sarah: "How do you spell 'genius'?"

Keith: "K-E-I-T-H."

Dear Jen (A)

I want to say THANK YOU! for asking me what was wrong last Friday, when you noticed that I was going berserk in my own head and I thought I would suffocate from the burden of my own impending insanity. It was as a pin prick relieves a blood blister: a bit painful, kind of icky, but DAMN if I didn't feel instantly better!

Gestures like this serve as a periodic smack in the face to bring me to my senses and force me to realize that whatever I know, or think, or think I know, or know I think, my workaholic imagination is no match for an act of friendship, however simple.

Love, Sarah

And they still let me walk around free

Is it possible that there is a point at which you can be so addicted to creativity, let your imagination so free that you can no longer distinguish emotionally between reality and imaginality? And at that point, you feel that to choose reality would leave you feeling grounded, but hollow, while on the other hand to allow imagination to take over and let your creative genius flourish unhindered will make you happy but incapable of close, quality relationships with other people (especially when coupled with your perfectionist tendencies).

I mean, being a creative genius is nice, but at times it can feel like an infection. I look at the most brilliantly creative people in history and realize that more often than not they eventually went some kind of insane. I suppose it's bound to happen when you let all that un-reality flood your mind and slosh around wildly. At some point it has to spill over, and you have a random blinding moment of inspiration or insight, where your eyes are forced wide open and your hands fly up to your head as if to hold it in one piece and you make a little gasp or go "OH!" Then you run off in mid-conversation to lock yourself in the attic--for days at a time even--leaving others baffled in your wake. And then when you've worked it all out and have perfected this wonderful idea, you burst forth in the middle of the night and shout "Eureka!" while running naked down the street. And this is all fine, except that you are now running around naked.

I've been thinking about it, and have resolved that I may be on a steep downhill slope into imaginative insanity and that it's really only a matter of time before I reach the bottom. Just remember to tell your grandchildren with a sigh and a knowing look in your eyes, "Yep--I knew her when she still possessed a smattering of normal."

Happy New Year!