merry christmas

a prayer that your Christmas be filled with peace, love, joy and happiness

I'll see you back here in 2011!

beauty berries, spotted on a walk

my new favorite word

self-possessed, adj.  showing control of one's feelings, behavior, etc; composed; poised.

chalkboard paint

Finally! Chalkboard paint in beautiful colors. I discovered this web site and have been quietly painting furniture and walls in my imagination. Now you can too. I love deep ocean and oil spill. (Though, in real life, I like to keep those two things separate!)

Which color is your favorite?

frank lloyd is haunting me

Last year I read two novels about FLW, “Loving Frank” by Nancy Horan and “The Women” by T.C. Boyle.  (The former was my favorite, by far.) And you know these things go, once you put your awareness on something, it seems to be everywhere. So here’s the web that FLW is weaving around me. Are you ready?

Shortly after I put those two books down the local arts community in Tucson hosted a studio open house. I found the most amazing art, my favorite being this. It made my stomach flip. I went back multiple times to the artist’s studio and home. Ultimately, I bought a piece.

The artist’s wife gave my family a tour of his studio and home. And the home was lovely, the most perfect house I have ever been in. No grand entrances, no granite countertops, no artificial trappings of what these modern times call “success.” What was evident was a safe, welcoming, inviting floor plan and the type of décor that suggests a life well lived: art, textiles, photographs. Things were functional and beautiful, nothing obnoxious or ostentatious. Everything was honest.

So how does this connect to FLW? One of his apprentices was the architect. (I’m not sure which one. I must find this out.) And once the artist’s gracious wife told me this, and I stood in that powerful house, I understood how relevant and radical FLW’s work is still today.

Fast forward a few months and I’m taking a watercolor class and decide to research my favorite watercolor artist, Carl Larsson. I picked up “Carl and Karin Larsson: creators of the Swedish Style” by Snodin and Hidemark at the library. It’s the kind of book that reveals itself over time. I could imagine discovering something each time I read it, never really understanding all of its implications. The Larssons were about a lot of things, the relevant one here is that they believed that home and family life should be beautiful.

The book mentions Ellen Key, a Swedish feminist writer who wrote on ethics, education and family life – just like the Larssons – and many other fields. It is this similar interest of the importance of family life, as well as their shared nationality, and the simple fact that they lived during the same times. I’m not sure if they ever met or collaborated though it’s interesting to see how closely connected many important people are. (By important I am referring to those people who think and contribute to the advancement of the world. This is in direct opposition to what our society deems important now: reality TV show stars, the latest antics of celebrities and buying, buying, buying.)

The FLW connection? Several of Key’s writings were translated into English by FLW’s mistress Mamah Borthwick.

The next week I’m at the library and I pick up a book, “The Red Rose Crew: A True Story of Women, Winning and the Water” by Daniel J. Boyne

because though I had high hopes of rowing when I moved out here, it seems that I should have moved to Alexandria, VA – an hour north – if I wanted to give it a go. So it seems that this book will have to satisfy my desire to row. (I did not seek out this book; it was just in a display of books about boats. I casually picked it up.) I begin reading the book and first learn about Carie Graves, who eventually becomes the lead rower of the first international women’s crew team.

The FLW connection? Graves was raised in Spring Green, Wisconsin which also happens to be FLW’s home base. Graves’ childhood was filled with a conflicting mish-mash of reserved, conservative farmers and the bohemian, creative, free-wheeling element that FLW brought to that part of the world.

Do you believe me yet that FLW is haunting me?

Finally, driving to my book binding class I pass a sign for the Pope-Leighey House. I discover that this house was designed by FLW and is a “modestly-scaled family dwelling that was (relatively) affordable, designed for family life, and responded to the surrounding environment.”

Of course, I need to visit it and soon. Not just because I’m here but because I am curious how similar it is to the house in Tucson that is a “modestly-scaled family dwelling” that was designed by one of his many apprentices.

Also, I really don’t think FLW will leave me alone until I do.

gollie, that was good

Inspired. Uncategorizable. Different. Welcome.

Bink & Gollie by Kate DiCamillo and Alison McGhee

language arts

This excerpt is from an interview with J. Patrick Lewis:
(the entire interview is here.)

If you were in charge of language arts, particularly poetry, instruction in the elementary grades, what changes would you make, if any, to the way language arts and poetry are taught in schools today?

Pat: At the risk of sounding imperious, I would…

• Ban all “poetry units.” Poetry should be a daily event in every class, not just in Language Arts.
• Encourage poetry cafes where students, teachers, custodians, clerical staff, even parents are invited to share their work.
• Work closely with school librarians to figure out ways of making the library as much of a magnet as the playground.
• Encourage students to write every day.
• Emphasize the supreme importance of strong action verbs, personified verbs.
• Emphasize the unimportance of adjectives and adverbs.
• Share poetry books of all schools, not just the ones you, the teacher, favors.
• Introduce a daily “Metaphor Minute,” wherein students are given a single word and asked to define it metaphorically.
• Applaud students’ failures, embrace them—failure is the only road to success.

you're the boss

Remember when I linked to this list of Keri Smith’s rules to be an amazing [fill in the blank]?  An inspiring list, right?

Well, in all my vanity, I’ve got something to add to it. Just tack it on the bottom: #15. “You’re the Boss.”

When I was largely pregnant, I took a writing class with the amazing Marge Pellegrino. She’d give us an in-class writing assignment and we’d have 20 minutes to complete it. It never failed that before we could even start writing, somebody would ask, “Is it OK if I…?” And Marge would say, “You’re the boss.” And then someone else would chime in, “But what about…”” And Marge would say “You’re the boss.”

Hearing those words repeated, it didn’t take long for me to find a new feeling of ownership with my words (and my life). That doesn’t mean that I don’t look to others for authority to apply in my life. It just means I do it a bit less than I used to.

Recently, I’ve seen how harmful this feeling of not having authority can be to creativity. In my watercolor class many students are interested in having specific rules to follow. I understand this, especially when it comes to learning a new skill. However, this need to be coddled can be harmful when it comes to that really sacred time when we begin something new – whatever it may be.

That first week as I sat painting at my kitchen table I’d think about what a disaster of a painter I am and I’d feel so unsure about what I was doing. But, I wasn’t afraid: of messing up, of making a mistake, of doing something wrong. I knew there was no way I could fail if I just kept painting. The only failure on my part would be to stop painting.

There was a distinct moment when I thought, “Am I following my instructor’s guidelines?” And in the next instant I realized that I am holding the paintbrush, I am making the choices, I am the boss.

At our next class session, it was clear that some students wanted the teacher to be present while they were painting and lean over their shoulder and tell them yes, that’s allowed. No, that’s not allowed! And the problem with that is then the painting isn’t yours. My instructor may as well just paint it. You should just put down your paintbrush (or pen or sewing machine…)  

I must be my own authority. You must be your own authority. It is the only way a person can ever do anything original or creative. Dive into the depths of your soul and make something out of it.

And if you are impatient and don’t want to make mistakes, you may as well not even paint or write or sew or really live. Because we all make mistakes. That is how we grow and learn and become more compassionate and loving. So, I say, get started. Make as many mistakes as possible as soon as possible because time is flying. And don’t you want to become real? Become authentic? After all, you are the boss.

a circle of quiet

This book changed my life.

Maybe it will change yours, too.

5 people I'd like to meet

1. Madeleine L'Engle
2. Mary Oliver
3. Natalie Merchant
4. Melissa Sweet
5. Mark Rothko

a permanent case of whiplash

Wave something in front of my nose and I’m ready to plunge down a rabbit hole in an attempt to figure it out.

Let me give you a simple, recent example from my life: I’m interested in bookbinding, so I sign up for a case binding class. The teacher at this class mentions that she will be teaching a coptic binding class in the New Year. I find out where and discover the Smithsonian Resident Associate Program: a dangerous, dangerous place for a girl like me. (A girl with a serious case of sign-me-up-for-that-class-itis.) Consequently, I sign up for a watercolor class. A couple of the other students at the case binding class mention that they repair torn, beat up books for their local libraries. My mind instantly starts thinking about researching book conservation classes (why limit myself to just case and coptic binding?!) because I, too, would like to do this kind of work. It sounds so interesting.

Later that week, I stop at the brand new library and am so excited by the beauty of this new space (I wish more libraries were so welcoming and functional), by the neatly lined books on the shelves, the environmentally friendly countertops, the soaring windows, the gloriousness of ideas and thinking that I think to myself, “I should be a librarian.” I leave the library trembling; the space has gotten me so giddy. I spend an entire week trying to find a certificate program that I can complete at a pace that would still allow me to care for my family the way I want to. In the midst of all this research I also decide that I should perhaps volunteer at the library so that I can be sure this is the work I really want to do and, you know, have some relevant experience on my resume when I apply to the library certificate program of my dreams. And so I make many calls to figure out where they repair the books for the library system because isn’t that the whole reason I started down this path?

All this time I am soooo excited I have finally figured out what I want to do with my life. I’ve been searching forever and, my gosh, it’s been right in front of my nose. It’s perfect. I LOVE books and everything about them and I can’t wait to be a librarian! I can’t wait to buy some neat little librarian glasses to wear to work.

(At the same time I’m cooking up a storm with mesquite flour, whole wheat flour, etc. after discovering a new cookbook during that same trip.)

And then I revisit a few essays that I’ve been working on and I remember, oh yes, I am a writer. And I will always be a writer. I’ve got multiple degrees in writing. And even when I get irritated with writing, or actually not the writing, but the BUSINESS of writing, I always come back to it. It’s a perfect outlet for my inquisitiveness. I don’t know if I’ll ever publish enough to support my family because so far it’s just been an article here and an article there. And I guess that’s fine for now, but it’s not really what I had in mind.

And then I think, “I really don’t want to go back to school to be a librarian. I’ve had enough of being told what and when to read and what and when to write.”  It’s the ultimate freedom to read and write and think as your mind pleases. Plus, I’d rather take the money I’d spend on tuition and either buy loads of books or just move to Sweden for months.

And then I stumble across an interview of author/illustrator Melissa Sweet and she says, “…I take classes every year in anything that seems remotely interesting. From making a telescope, bookbinding, blacksmithing, tin toys from old cans — I’ll try anything. It helps me think differently and be facile with divergent materials…I like working three-dimensionally, which is really what a book is.” And it sets me free. It gives me permission to take as many classes as I want without having to become a professional [fill in the blank]. I’m curious and I love to learn and taking classes and reading books is the best way I know to do this. And besides, I can’t help it.

Then my watercolor class begins and I fall in love with the medium. It’s wonderful and it makes me so happy. Of course, I have little thoughts of doing this professionally and putting together a show, then teaching and writing books about watercolor. But I reign myself in and remember that it’s OK to just do this, just try this, just learn this, without expectations or thought for the future.

And somewhere under the layers I wonder, “Where is all this leading me? What am I doing?”

And then I’m reading a book, “The Paris Review Interviews: Women Writers at Work” and in the interview with Katherine Anne Porter she says, “It is my firm belief that all our lives we are preparing to be somebody or do something even if we don’t do it consciously. And the time comes one morning when you wake up and find that you have become irrevocably what you were preparing all this time to be. Lord, that could be a sticky moment, if you had been doing the wrong things, something against your grain.” and it is like a balm for my fevered mind, my fevered soul. And I am so grateful for people, for women, who have been where I am and who have left clues to help me figure out my way: Madeleine L’ Engle, Katherine Anne Porter, Natalie Merchant, Melissa Sweet. Thank you.

And then I hear that a dear, old friend has opened a successful, innovative photography studio and is thriving. The last I saw this boy, now man, he was deep in the dreaming stage. But I could see, even back then, that he had something important and beautiful to do in this life. And it gives me such a shot of hope to see that it is possible to be a successful, creative, kind, productive person.

At my second to last watercolor class I ask my instructor how he knew watercolor was his thing. He doesn’t really give a satisfactory answer, but he opens up more when I tell him I’m trying to find my thing. Another student, who I am sure is in her 60s, overhears our conversation and together she and my instructor proceed to tell me to just keep trying and keep testing and reading and exploring. They say, “Who knows, maybe you’ll combine all these things some way. Just keep on doing what you’re doing. You’re still a spring chick.” And it strikes me that each person in that basement room has searched or is searching for their thing. And this makes me not feel so lonely or stupid.

And it feels good to hear these words, but it’s also hard because I can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t want to do, create something wonderful and I don’t feel any closer to it now than I did 10, 20 years ago.

dancing trees

from Prince Caspian, book #4 in The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis:

"Pale birch-girls were tossing their heads, willow-women pushed back their hair from their brooding face to gaze on Aslan, the queenly beeches stood still and adored him, shaggy oak-men, lean and melancholy elms, shock-headed hollies (dark themselves, but their wives all bright with berries) and gay rowans, all bowed and rose again, shouting, "Aslan, Aslan!" in their various husky or creaking or wave-like voices."

ten things about me

1. I love books: reading them, making them, writing them
2. I don’t own a television
3. I am addicted to learning. My most recent classes include watercolor painting, guitar playing, bookbinding, penmanship improvement, personal essay creation and archery.
4. I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up
5. I love being outside
6. I love to create via sewing, knitting, painting, baking, cooking, writing
7. I love to move my body: running, walking, lifting, yoga-ing, hiking
8. I am energized by ideas, conversation, books because these things help me find new connections between disparate topics
9. I love the uniqueness of each season
10. I love lists

cookie connection

My family has lived in Fredericksburg, VA for two months now and our transition has been a very smooth one largely because our dearest friends live here. Their presence here was one of the driving factors that made it seem like taking this 18-month assignment like not such a loony idea. I highly recommend having a best friend in place in your new home the next time you move. See if the powers that be can add that to your relocation package!

A small, negligible side effect of having dear friends already in place is that we really haven’t made an effort to get to know others in our neighborhood. We did make the rounds at Halloween specifically to meet people and this effort has netted us a lot of people to wave to when we walk or drive through the neighborhood. But, it has not moved beyond the friendly wave.

I am not overly concerned about this for two reasons: 1. We already have great friends in the area and 2. We are only going to be here for 16 more months. How much effort do I want to put into friendships that may be short-lived? The thought that trumps these two factors is the plain and simple idea that I WANT to try and befriend my neighbors. Some deep down desire is urging me to reach out. And obviously, I could use the practice making friends.

Our neighborhood is like most others: people leave for work early and after a busy day they drive into their garage and close the door behind them and then they stay inside for the rest of the night. That scenario doesn’t present many opportunities to connect. However, it also doesn’t mean that people don’t need friends.

But how does one make friends? A great question for a psychologist or perhaps a doctoral student to answer. I’m not sure. And as I reflect on how I connected with my dearest friends it seems that the best answer I can give is fate, luck, circumstance or something along that line brought us together. I don’t want to leave my friendships, my connections to chance here.

Yesterday, I was at my friend’s house and she had plates of cookies on her counter to take to her neighbors. I asked her about the cookies and this launched a lengthy discussion about how much work it is to be a friend and why every moment spent trying to befriend someone is well spent time.

In the midst of that conversation, I decided that I’d make cookies and take them to the three families whose waves and smiles have regularly brightened my day.

At the moment, the cookie dough is in the fridge and I have an afternoon cleared to bake.

I’ll report back with the results when I get them.

How do you make friends?

be happy

Have a sense of wonder.
Stay inspired.
Help others.
Do things you're good at.
Read books.
Limit television.
Love your work.
Exercise.
Face your fears.
Believe in yourself.
Stay close to friends and family.
Let your heart be your guide.
                       ~ by Monica Sheehan

splurge

I have probably checked this book out from the library upward of 12 times. I've lost track. But as of early this week, I am a proud owner of my very own copy. It is a perfect marriage of word and art.

The pleasures of being surrounded by things that you love and that inspire you.

foggy river bottom

good idea

This list is brilliant.

Everything this woman does inspires me.

seasons bleatings

Yesterday I caught myself thinking, “Halloween and Thanksgiving? Check! Only Christmas remains to conquer.”

Terrible, I know.

I love fall and winter. I love the holidays that are an inseparable part of them. What I don’t like is the way my mind goes into checklist-mode and how preparing for Christmas turns into an unfeeling, eternally long obligatory to-do list all topped off with a shiny layer of hurry.

I’m wondering how to enjoy this season more. Any ideas?

#31

Me and watercolor. It is so on.

I am two classes into a four-class course and up to my eyeballs in ideas, books, paints and love for this medium.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Here's wishing everybody a happy and relaxed Thanksgiving.

We've got a fun-filled day planned: running in the local Turkey Trot, enjoying a delicious (chicken!) dinner at home (just the three of us) and then meeting up with a large group of friends for dessert and goodness in the early evening.

wild geese ~ by mary oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

rush

I was in a rush today - equal parts frenzy, exhaustion, necessity and, um, Thanksgiving.

There was a torn portfolio to exchange, books to schlep to and from the library, a fresh chicken to retrieve from the butcher and an almost 4-mile run to complete. All this to do before nap at 1 p.m. And really I just wanted to take a hot shower, put on something comfy and lounge with a pile of books.

When it came time to run, I was reluctant. I love running but I've been running long enough to know that there are seasons in my running just as there are seasons in life. I am in a slow, reluctant season. At these times, I know that just starting is enough to get me to the finish.

So, I started running. Slowly. Pushing the stroller along the path that borders water and trees.


And that was when I noticed the family of six turtles sunning themselves. Another turtle was swimming steadily, head just peaked above the water's surface. We stopped to watch. We counted 14 turtles.

A half mile down the path my eye discerned something smooth and elegant amidst the sharpness of newly nude autumn trees: a heron stalking its prey.

Again, we stopped. The heron moved slowly, placing its legs with purpose, stealthily tilting its head. Until, finally, it snatched a fish from the water. We watched the fish protest, arch from side to side. And then the heron tossed the small fish down its throat. And we sat watching the fish pulse down the heron's throat. The heron continued its search for lunch out of our view. And we continued our run.

There was more, of course: a mosaic of leaves on the trail, too many squirrels to count, calls of "Happy Thanksgiving" from passersby, the smell of the air, the arch of the bridges over the canal, more.

I wonder... what if I had been eager to run on this day? Too busy getting my miles in to notice the beauty surrounding me. I love how sometimes my body automatically slows amidst the rush.

#19

I can cross #19 off The List.

Saturday, after conquering an obstacle course of metro stations, taking three wrong turns, ascending and descending eternally long escalators (the longest ones in the metro system), dealing with a "stripped" fare card, avoiding drunken football revelers and a swarm of people on the Mall for a march and navigating the diagonal roads of D.C., while lugging a 20-pound messenger bag and my over-sized watercolor portfolio, I spent 30 precious minutes in the Rothko Room at the Phillips Collection.

The Rothko Room is a small room with four walls with a large color field painting by Rothko on each wall. A small (uncomfortable) bench is in the middle of the room.

Rothko's idea in creating this room was to give viewers a chance to view his paintings in a more familiar setting, that is, in a room that is more family-like, literally. The scale of the room was not unlike an average living room. It was far from the spacious, soaring space of most art galleries. The effect is immediate intimacy.

And, it was lovely. I had to move around a lot for my eyes to really see. And sometimes I'd walk out of the room to refresh my eyes before diving back in to see more.

When I was finished looking, my eyes were saturated.

I didn't even try to look at the rest of the collection: my eyes were already full.

my name is memory

I just finished devouring "My Name is Memory" by Ann Brashares and I am urging you to read it. Now.

Reserve it at your library or order it online. Whatever it takes, this is a book that must be read.

Yes, it's fiction. Yes, it's a love story. Usually these two facts would be enough to deter me from reading a book. However, a large theme in this book is about souls, how they develop, how they grow, how they change. And while I don't believe in reincarnation, I do love the ideas and thoughts that this book has ushered into my life.

I am all about new ideas.

apple days

We've been on an applesauce kick over here: eating and making it. Here's our favorite recipe.

20 apples - we're using a mix made mostly of courtland with a few granny smith and macoun (I think?) thrown in - we take what the farmer's market provides
2 T. cinnamon
1/4 c. turbinado sugar
1/4 c. brown sugar
2 T. vanilla extract
1 c. water

Peel and dice apples. Combine apples with remaining ingredients. Simmer until soft. Use immersion blender to smooth until you achieve the desired consistency.

We keep about 4 cups in the fridge and then freeze the rest in quart-size ziplocs after the applesauce has cooled.

you just need guts

"And I intend to live completely all of the fabric that exists inside me. I want to use it up because I want to be finished... People die and take with them their internal buried treasure... It is the most cursed treasure of all because you never reap its reward. You can never spend it. But I'm beginning to really enjoy spending the treasure inside me. I'm going to blow every penny before I'm finished because all I want in this life is to get rid of everything. All my accumulated love and knowledge is going out and continues to go out. I want to be empty. I want to give everything back. And you can do this, too. You just need guts!" ~ Rudranada

rothko redux

I almost didn't go to see the "In the Tower: Mark Rothko" display at the National Gallery of Art (east building). I am an ardent lover of his work; particularly his color block pieces. I love the rich, layered colors and the emotions that they elicit. Particularly, he captures emotions that I have no words for. And that is why I love his work.

So when I discovered that I'd be able to catch a special display of his work, I was ecstatic. Until I discovered that the featured works on display were the series of black (depressing black!) paintings originally created for a Catholic chapel in Houston.

I teetered back and forth about taking the time and making the effort to visit the exhibit until I read that these paintings are seldom displayed.

I went.

And I just sat on the various benches and let myself soak in, or more accurately, be soaked in. Because these paintings, they draw you in. You look at them and forget where you are and what you were thinking about 10 seconds ago. They open up and they swallow you in.


It was remarkable, worth the effort, the energy, the time. I shiver a bit when I think how close I came to blowing off this opportunity.

I didn't take any pictures because there was no point. With his color paintings a photograph is enough to recall the feeling of standing in front of one of his behemoth paintings. At this exhibit, the subtle variations of black, ebony black, midnight black, deep brown, charcoal gray - there would be no way to capture those subtleties. I knew better.

The program asks viewers to "question the simple equation of darkness and despair and to re-imagine blackness as a medium of light - nuanced, expansive, and even hopeful." Go ahead. You have until January 2011.

(P.S. They have some of his swoony color block paintings on the concourse level!)

before i turn 33

I am a girl who loves a list. And since my birthday was last week it's high time to post this year's "before I turn XY" list. This is my fourth list and each time I make one I get better at fine-tuning and completing it. It's a gift to myself - planning what I want to focus my time and energy on in the coming year.


1. read the Old Testament
2. attend art camp with my girl
3. tour Washington National Cathedral
4. read "Grammatical Choices, Rhetorical Effects"
5. explore paper cut (words, scenes, collages)
6. submit quilt essay to 5 markets
7. visit Monticello
8. learn some basic French words and phrases
9. create and sell mixed paper journals
10. make the Ann & Andy dolls for NS
11. practice italic writing
12. sample 12 different types of olives from the olive bar
13. blog regularly
14. attend Pony Penning Days
15. explore bookbinding: spiral, text block
16. knit poncho for NS
17. visit Pope-Leighey house
18. organize my recipe collection in white binder
19. visit the Phillips Collection
20. read the Nikon D70 camera manual - finally!
21. take a trip to Maine!
22. bind NS's polaroids into a book
23. read six works of Shakespeare (with annotations)
24. purchase UI alumni license plate frame
25. make NS a tipi
26. attend National Book Festival (in September)
27. attend Virginia Festival of the Book (in March)
28. take a private tour of Gettysburg
29. take NS to the National Zoo
30. tour the Library of Congress
31. take a watercolor class
32. visit the National Gallery of Art to view Rothko
33. work through "Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain" or
take a drawing class

I've already completed #18 and #32. #18 was not so remarkable, it just took some serious chair time. #32 was remarkable and worth sharing. I promise more details soonish.

What's on your list?

view from my deck

so every day ~ by mary oliver

So every day
I was surrounded by the
beautiful crying forth
of the ideas of God,

one of which was you.

a proper thank you

So. When I went to check my mail today I noticed this fabulous box from Amazon. And my first thought was (honestly) about those people who take sleeping pills and then do really weird things in the wee hours of the night. Like eating a gallon of ice cream (sign me up) or walking across town or doing the laundry or shopping online. Well, I've been really tired lately, though I HAVE NOT been taking any sleeping pills. But the thought that maybe, just maybe I was shopping online in the middle of the night, buying really cool things instead of worrying about the budget (barf) got me really excited. I started wondering what other long-coveted items would appear on my doorstep, what other goodies I was ordering at 3 am. I got so excited. I was really thrilled that I was just letting loose a bit. This whole thought took about .5 seconds.

And then I just felt the heft of that glorious package in my hand, admired that pleasing shade of cardboard brown and thought to myself, "Houser."

Thank you. It was totally unnecessary to purchase music for my family, but we are totally appreciative that you did. Thank you.

obsession

Have you heard of this before? No? Well I hadn't either until just a bit ago.

Some women are all about shoes, purses and spa weekends. I am about learning. And the Smithsonian Resident Associate Program may be my version of a Manolo Blahnik heel, a Birkin bag and a weekend at Miraval.

I am obsessesed with their offerings and am very busy trying to find a way to bend time, money and baby-sitter so that I can take every class they offer. Truly, there hasn't been a single class that's left me thinking, "Meh, not so much."

Do you think I could get away with camping on the National Mall?