Inspiration on Her Arm

It was my cousin's daughter's first birthday and I wanted to make something special. When you're skilled at so many crafting areas, it makes it rather difficult to decide what to do. Christine joined me and my girls roaming the craft store isles. After more than half an hour of searching I'd gotten as far as picking out an unpainted rocking horse. With the horse tucked under my arm, the rest of my party might've felt a pang of relief, thinking that at last, they might make it out of the store. To their dismay, I hunkered down on the paint isle.

I knew if I waited long enough, inspiration would come to me, though I had no idea it was going to be tattooed on a pregnant woman's arm. "That's it! I think I should do it Ed Hardy style. Colors, what colors?" I asked, Christine and I both eying the pregnant woman's Ed Hardy shoes. The excitement must've been palpible. The woman's husband smiled and held up his phone, "Wanna search the web for pictures so you know what colors you want to use?"

I love unexpected projects, especially when they are so much fun.

Toilet Trouble

Though my husband has no trouble dissecting laptops, computers, or printers, he has trouble working up any enthusiasm for plumbing repairs. After a visit to urgent care this morning, he was diagnosed with a monster sinus infection. I don’t doubt that he’s ill, but you have to admit that with the broken toilet downstairs, the timing is a little suspicious.

“I think I’ll do some work in the yard,” I said after returning from the pharmacy with all three of his prescriptions.
“I think you should fix the toilet,” he said.
I gave him the ‘you’ve-got-to-be kidding’ look, but the truth of the matter was…if my family was going to have a working toilet, it was up to me. I tried to muster up some pioneer spirit, which was rather difficult being that my ancestors were California Indians and had the good sense do their “business” behind a tree. After watching an 8-minute how-to video on You Tube, I announced that I didn’t have the right tools.
“Well you have the bucket anyway,” he said, then fell asleep, leaving me to figure what to do.

After two trips to Home Depot, a lot of swearing, and a huge wet mess, I managed to turn the water off, get the toilet off the ground, remove the tube of medication that had caused the blockage that the snake couldn’t get to, and then scrape off the old wax seal. In the back of my head I remembered the plumber from the video warning me about the dangers of methane gas but I had bigger worries. After crawling on my hands and knees through dirty flood water, I had the sneaky suspicion I had fecal matter in my hair. BTW those aren't tears, I'm just a little unhappy about the connector coming loose and spraying me in the face.

The floor is ruined and the toilet now has a rocking chair quality that I don’t remember it having before. Tomorrow is another day though. Another You Tube video, another trip to Home Depot, another attempt to attach the wax seal.

You've got to be kidding!

It takes a lot to make me run. I usually pick up some speed on the way to the bathroom after drinking a large soda and getting stuck in traffic. I also move incredibly fast when confronted with a snake, the dessert buffet, or one of my kids crying.

Despite my sprinter status, it looks like I'm in for a good run...or walk at least. My sister-at-heart, Christine, emailed me to see if I wanted to come join her for camping and a 10k. Once upon a time Christine and I actually had time to hang out and eat, watch movies, and check out yard sales. With those days behind us I'm willing to do almost anything for some sista time, even if it means running.

So what if I just found out I have a "slight" case of Scoliosis, or that my whooping cough is expected to last until ten days before the run. I'm not the least bit worried about going the distance. Just like my debut into physical therapy I find myself wondering, "What the hell am I going to wear?!" A little tank top and those flimsy shorts? You've got to be kidding!

Gloria De Guzman - The Jump Rope Queen

The air in Our Lady of Perpetual Hope was so thick it stuck to my lungs like syrup. Even with all the flowers, sweat, and perfume, all I could smell was sorrow. The tiny little church was packed with pubescent boys and girls, each of us perspiring in our best clothes as we prepared to say good-bye to one of our own.

The pews had long disappeared under a sea of mourners crowding together to fill any available space. Cranky babies and toddlers were passed from lap to lap like small ships unable to find a comfortable harbor. The endless chain of mourners was even more uneasy. Wet faced girls cried openly and even the toughest of the Cholo boys wiped at swollen eyes. We stood with bodies pressed so tight, we practically moved as one, slowly pushing our way down the isle. We crept toward the terrible mountain of flowers, stuffed animals, and balloons, each of us searching for the coffin, afraid to see what was left of the mutilated girl inside.

Gloria De Guzman looked like a bride on a bed of white satin, strangely prettier and more perfect than she had been in life. Someone whispered that the elaborate gown, trimmed with flowers and pearls, was the same dress she'd worn to her first communion just months before. "Ay Dios mio. Ay Dios mio." I knew if I turned my head I'd find Gloria's mom seated in the front row. She'd been our lunch lady for so many years I recognized her voice as it rose above the others. "Ay Dios mio. Ay Dios mio."

Gloria's death was so sharp and clear that the memory of the living girl was now just a shadow. The pictures across the alter told the story of a girl with shiny black braids and a gap toothed grin, but what I wanted to see were her knees. Scraped and scabby with knee socks that never stayed in place, Gloria De Guzman had been the Jump Rope Queen all through elementary school. It didn't matter that she was thirteen now, thirteen for always. I pulled the jump rope out of my pocket, making sure the note was still attached.

It'd been three years since Gloria De Guzman, the Jump Rope Queen, had been taken by the streets, the same streets separating me from June. Pistol was right. It was a crappy plan. The sun was down and the gangs were out, but June was in trouble. What else could I do?

His World in a Tee

Last week the physical therapist looked at my shoes with distress. My lovely lime green sneakers matched my top, but they were slip-ons. Committed to fixing my back, for this week at least, I took the plunge and bought a pair of boring sneakers complete with backs. Now I just need to work on the wardrobe. All the baggy shirts I own have been gifts from my brother Travis. Being in the Army, he's brought us shirts from bases from Germany, to Iraq, and now Afghanistan. He actually gets them for my husband, but as soon as my brother's leave is over I always steal them away, in some weird way to keep my baby brother near me.

"My" t-shirt collection is very pro-ARMY, pro-GUNs, and pro-freedom, ideas that until Travis enlisted, really didn't have much meaning. Still, I find myself reluctant to wear such angry, kick-ass shirts in public unless I'm in the mood to keep people away or even make them mad...which does happen. But then there's the occasional vet that has to come and check me out., or worse, ask about my loved one and make me all weepy. I have to guess that Travis would find the Twilight Zone worthy conversations I have with these guys are very entertaining. Thanks to him, despite my anti-NRA affiliations, I like to shoot and I'm pretty impressive behind a gun. "I like the 45," I tell the veteran, "But there's definitely something satisfying at hitting the target 10 for 10 at 300 yards with a sniper rifle."

If you know anything about my brother, you know that he has a sense of humor and he likes to piss people off. He has no idea how his shirts help me stay in touch, a little amused, a touch angry, and always with the keen appreciation for the young man I rarely see enough of.

Cigar Box Season

Cigar Box season is officially on its way. The first box was spotted just yesterday, a most auspicious day, being Emma's high school graduation and all. It's a wonderful El Dia De Los Muertos specimen, sporting a jaunty calavera on one side and a sacred heart on the other. It's been rumored that another pair of boxes has been spotted. Whether they are too shy or perhaps too clever to be captured...remains to be seen. With today being the last day of school, I expect the seaon will be in full swing very soon!

Gathering Moss

My house is rather on the smallish size. Petite. If only my waistline could be so trim. I made the discovery that my dinning room is roughly the same size as my jewelry booth and we haven't had a meal in there since. On the plus side, guests have to wander through my dinning room to get to my bathroom and I've managed to snag a few extra sales that way.

Spring has sprung and I have flowers and wedding on the brain. The bridal expo a couple weeks back didn't help matters. Now I expect to be finding a way to incorporate more flowers into my designs, and *gasp* might even try my hand at tiaras. In the mean time I'm shopping for live moss, as I want to create some living terrarium style jewelry that's ultra organic.

Too many ideas and simply not enough time....or room.

Chainmail

This idea is right up there with the crowns, but I'm thinking I might be onto something. Maybe it's the Dr. Pepper talking, or the fact that I just got the new (used) car. At any rate, I think I can do this chainmail thing. I figure there have to be patterns, right? If I can crochet, cut sheet metal, and make tamales, I think I can handle the chainmail. I can don my Renaissance gown and pull out the tongs and pliers.

Hat Head

I overheard a couple of women the other day discussing the virtues of hats. "No more bad hair days."

I gave this some serious thought and have crocheted three hats since. I like this one, as it comes complete with braids.

They were right. No bad hair days. But they didn't say anything about the hat hair.

The Seconds, like Snowflakes, Hang in the Air

I have many good excuses for falling off the writer's wagon and one big fat, not so good excuse. Mid December I found myself merrily writing away for my next writer's group. As fate would have it, I missed the meeting and was in the head-on collision instead. The first paragraph of the work I was sharing went something like this...

"The seconds, like snowflakes hang in the air. Three...two...one seconds until impact. Not enough time. Never enough time, but still I hang on as long as I can. In a moment my world will be twisted metal and broken bones. In a moment I'll no longer be me, the me that existed before I met the Window. Slivers, sharp and bright, will cut through the night. Born again. I'll be born through the glass."

It hit a little too close to home. Now I'm thinking my heroine needs to win the lotto, find a cache of jewels buried in her yard, or at least get a new car. Today I'm writing about snow globes though. And fickle artist that I am...now I'd rather go build a snow globe than write about it!

Mornings, Murals, Minrarets

I'd like to say I'm one of those healthy green moms that walks her kids to school every day. I'm not. I'm not a greet the dawn with a cup of coffee in hand sort of person. I don't like to read the paper in the morning, don't like to watch the morning news. The less I know the better...at least until I'm fully awake, cognizant, and have downed my first glass of orange juice, not from concentrate.

So here I am without a car still and walking my son to school. The sky is gorgeous but I'm distracted by the shopping bags trapped in the trees after the heavy winds. I notice the houses with holiday lights still up and do a little cheer that my house is light free. Then I see the solar panel roof tops and lament my awesome electric bill. I see a car with a broken window and think how frustrating with them with the rain coming and all. But then I think of my crumpled car. Grumble. Grumble. Grumble. But then my nose caught a whiff of fresh paint.

In my past life I was a muralist. Actually it was five years ago. See that beautiful sunset there? In a fit of boredom I painted over it. But the fresh smell of paint is calling to me, like a fresh start, blank canvas, and all that jazz. I'm thinking something exotic. Onion-like minarets...palanquins...pUrPLe, OrAnGe, blUe, rED, goLd..."OOPS" paint was designed for crazy people like me.

By the Teeth

I'm the creative guru type and once I get my teeth in a project I don't like to let go, no matter how frustrated I get. My current project is coordinating all my websites. I started it last week, but my plans were trashed when I got the stomach flu and ended up in the hospital getting a spinal tap. Now I have this weird association between hypertext links and lumbar puncture. Go figure. It's rather getting in the way of progress. I'm down to this one little link, and all will be well. I'll be able to reopen my online store and get back to business.

Ironically the link is to this site. This blog that chronicles nothing much. Someone said that I really needed an RSS feed, something that would bump me up in search engines. "Do a blog." I'm still not sure how a blog figures into the whole RSS feed or search engine thing, but at this point I don't care. I know professional bloggers. People who actaully get paid to do this. Something tells me they don't mess around with hypertext links. Maybe that's why they actaully get work done. But I've got this link by the teeth now, and I'm not giving it up.

...I think I'll get the Tylenol

Head On Resolutions

It's funny how a little thing like a head on collision with a drunk driver traveling 60mph can disrupt your productivity, not to mention creative flow. The first several weeks I was so thankful my little boy and I were alive that I was willing to overlook the aches, pains, and calender full of dates with various doctors and therapists. I'm a little more irritable now, tired of not having a car, and so ready to be back to work.


Given the crazy end to 2009, I kept my resolutions simple this year. 1. drink more water 2. set better boundaries 3. coordinate my online business tools

Here's how those resolutions are shaping up so far.

1. It's after 1pm, I haven't had anything to eat or drink today, and when I head to the kitchen I'll probably open a Pepsi.

2. A mere two hours into the New Year broke this goal, as I agreed to ride with my mom at 2am to the Los Angeles airport despite my overwhelming fear of dying in a flaming 5-car pile up due to some intoxicated part goer.

3. The whole online thing will likely take the most amount of work but be the easiest to pull off. If I can't say no to that ice cold Pepsi calling me from the fridge, how am I ever going to set boundaries for all those friends and relatives in need?

I wish everyone else the best of luck with their resolutions.

Paper Mache

Forget the beads. For now anyway. My new impetuous love is paper mache. It's always nice to rediscover an art from that's free. Junk mail, flour, and water. Though I've added some cloves to the mix to give off a little scrumptious scent as I work. The homemade glue works much better than the store bought. It's super easy to make too. Just boil 4 parts water. Mix 1 part cold water with 1 part flour and add to the boiling water. Boil and stir for 3 minutes. It will get thicker and clumpy as it dries, but it stores well in an air tight container in the fridge. Mine lasts for days.

Laughter is the Best Medicine

Last night was my "niece" Theresa's going away to college dinner. It was one of those wonderful nights where you laugh so hard you cry. When it was time to actually say goodbye, our hearts were too full of merriment to be overwhelmed by any sadness.

A New Idea hits me in the head already...

It looks as though I'll never make it out of this chair. The gumbo calls from 10 miles off at my mother-in-laws were it bubbles on her stove. "Eat me. Eat me. Eat me." But I can't get up. Not now. Not now that this idea has come and smacked me in the head....

Crowns. I want to make crowns. I think I thought of that two months ago when I was digging through a pile of junk at an estate sale, but then I saw these awful clown doll heads that I thought would look very spooky on a purse, so I forgot all about the lovely crowns. Not much of a market for crowns in Southern California. I don't know any professional crown makers. I better get started soon. Back to school night is this Tuesday. When someone asks, "What do you do?" I can say, "I'm the leading crown crafter in the Inland Empire." I won't bother to mention that I'm likely the ONLY crown crafter. If there are any professional crowners out there. I do apologize.

So many ideas. So little time.

Getting Down to Business

I should be resining charms, doing laundry, or helping my husband cook his famous gumbo to welcome our nephew back from a month long adventure in England. Instead I'm starting a blog. Though I'm a jewelry artist by trade, I'm a writer at heart. A blog sounds like the perfect sort of black hole that will keep me from accomplishing too much or becoming overly successful. Mustn't have that.