There are things simmering away around here... I have been diligently working on my paintings for the new Etsy store I am opening. The whimsical collection will be made into prints and I will sell them online. It has been so fun to come back to my artist self. I forgot I was an artist for the last ten years. Since remembering, not only has my appetite for inspiration and creativity expanded, but I am finding inspiration everywhere. I have to keep a small notebook on me at all times for sketching ideas, writing phrases of inspiration and setting goals. The shop is part of my grand master plan to work independently and abundantly for myself. I would like to leave my great job to do work that makes my heart sing and my head buzz with passionate satisfaction. The Grand Master Plan is roughly outlined as follows:
1.)Open Etsy shop, have it up and running by fall/ winter 2009. It will be successful as it's own entity that does well; serving as extra income and an outlet for my creative inspiration. I will also be open to custom orders (similar to custom paintings I have done for friends as gifts) 2.) study astrology under experienced local/global astrologer(s). Become more knowledgeable in astrology, so that my natal chart readings and counseling skills are greatly improved. 3.) Build website for my astrological & intuitive consulting practice. 4.)Continue event wedding planning- no more than 1-3 weddings per year. Content with this being a back burner aspect of my work. 5.)lighten my work load at my current job, to allow for astrological and/ or intuitive readings a couple of days a week, and time for painting/sewing/crafting for the shop. 6.) leave my current job to work for myself, while maintaining current level of health care/ insurance and making as much or more than I currently do. Consistently booking and keeping 18-35 readings per month. (panic sets in as I wonder where the clients will come from!!!) 7.) save nest egg for down payment on a home that has space for an office/studio, mud room, big kitchen (w/ a dishwasher lots of cabinets) and guest room(s). 8.) go on one big vacation a year outside of the US. 9.) be open to meeting a partner to share it all with and do.
I expect the Grand Master Plan to take some time to complete ( a couple of years?). Once I do, it will be time for another plan to be formed for some other chapter in my life. For now, this plan is cooking away, bubbling up with good things. And yes, it's hard work and I am tired- I also feel certain of my direction.
It's Tuesday which means its my Sunday. I have spent it doing very exciting things like: *washing dishes *folding laundry *paying bills *wedding client research *watching chick flicks one after the other (Ella Enchanted, Little Women, and Steel Magnolias at present) *making beef stew
Yes- beef stew in August. There is indeed something wrong with this picture. A few hours a go, I was sitting on my love seat, fully engrossed in "Little Women" and folding laundry, when suddenly a soft breeze brought the smell of an impending summer rain to my nose. Not a few seconds later, I heard the soft pitter patter of the rain on the leaves of the tree just outside my window. I sighed. It smells so good. And that means that yes, oh crap, yes, Fall is on it's way. Which led me to making beef stew. It's simmering away on the stove now, the tempting smells of beef, beaujolais, and onions cooking to sweet perfection. It saddens me to be making it and yet- it's somehow perfect for this evening. Using wine to cook with is an excuse to have a little. Beaujolais for one? Yes please. I can already feel the buzz....Glory to God that I am such a cheap date!
August Beef Stew (for one) 1 lb of chuck stew meat 1 onion, chopped 2 whole garlic cloves 1/2 c. gluten free flour 3 stalks of celery, chopped 2 red potatoes, cubed 2 c. beef broth 2 tbspn. dijon mustard 1 cup carrots, chopped 1 c. - ish red wine (make sure you have a little nip to help the cooking process along) salt & pepper to taste
Dredge the stew meat in the flour. Brown in a pan, in enough olive oil to coat the bottom. Add the onions, salt, pepper and garlic; saute until nicely browned. Add beef broth, wine, mustard, and the rest of the veggies. Simmer for 1 - 2 hours or until meat is tender. Polish off the bottle. Serve yourself up a bowl, toast up 1/2 of a sprouted english muffin with butter, and prepare to tuck into a nice Autumnal meal while watching another awesome episode of "Tori & Dean- Home Sweet Hollywood". Wow. My life is beyond superb.
On an unrelated note- I had a spontaneous afternoon with Athena yesterday. We met up for happy hour at the Cedar Hills McMenammins, a movie, and ice cream after. We saw "500 Days of Summer". It was really funny- which was unexpected, and very welcome. I hadn't laughed that hard in a long time. It's a great little indie flick that I highly recommend. Guys- I think you will find it equally amusing. It takes us to a place we have all been to at least once in our lives.
Oh- climax time in "Steel Magnolias"- Julia Robert's character is just about to bite it in the hospital. It's Sally Field's big scene. Where's the Kleenex???......
So I have started this thing called Seize the Summer. It was inspired by a few things- 1.) I have a big beautiful backyard 2.)I have great friends I love to hang out with, though there isn't always the time to do so 3.) It's summer and the livin' is easy
I decided to combine all of these things together in an inspired way, inviting any of my friends to come and seize the summer with me one night a week. The BBQ will be planned for a different night each week, so as to allow for everyone who wants to come, to be able to do so at least once or twice. Last week was week number one and it was quite successful though very, very hot. With temperatures in the triple digits, those in attendance took turns misting each other down with a spray bottle while indulging in grilled delights and soulful salad creations.
Speaking of soulful salad creations- this week I have endeavored to make potato salad. It has been at least 10 years since I have made this salad. We used to eat it a lot growing up. All of the women in my family make a delicious version. My Grandma Peggy started the tradition of incorporating black olives and I believe dill pickles and maybe fresh dill (or it could just be my imagination), my mother followed her mother's recipe closely sans fresh dill but with slightly more onion, cucumber and mayonnaise. My dad's mother also made a scrumptious version. Grandma Pauline's potato salad made rare appearances in my childhood because more times often than not, her macaroni salad was requested. Her Potato salad was sans olives and cucumbers, but I am sure there were definitely some of my Grandpa's dill pickles in there. Grandma Pauline's signature was hard-boiled egg slices sprinkled with paprika and artfully placed on the top of the salad. Very 1940's-1950's. And it was my favorite part. As I made the salad today, I had memories of all of these women present in my kitchen. Bits and pieces of afternoons spent eating BBQ and potato salad. Each of these women, whether they know it or not, as influenced me on many levels. And as tribute, I named this potato salad in honor of all of them, while adding my own flavor.
Three Geminis and a Sag Potato Salad
2 lbs. red potatoes, boiled and roughly cubed 1 whole onion- I used Walla Walla because it is in season, and also after reading my friend Tyson's blog, I felt inclined to partake. ) 4 dill pickles, chopped (I used 2 and in retrospect feel it needed more) 2 cans of Sliced black olives (I used one, two is better) 6 hard-boiled eggs, save two for garnish 4 stalks of celery, chopped 1 large cucumber, chopped 2-3 tbspns. fresh dill (save 1 tbspn. to sprinkle as garnish) 1 1/2 cups mayonnaise (I barely had a cup and it's fine. I added some pickle juice to stretch it out a bit.) 1-2 tbsp. of yellow mustard 1 tablespoon white vinegar 1 tsp.+ salt 1tsp.+pepper paprika for garnish
Add potatoes, onion, olives, pickles, cucumber, celery, dill and eggs in an extra large mixing bowl. In a small bowl, combine the mayo, mustard, vinegar, pickle juice, salt and pepper. Mix well. Pour over the rest of the ingredients; combine gently until dressing is thoroughly incorporated. Take the last 2 hard-boiled eggs and put them though an egg slicer, or slice them very thinly. Artfully arranged over the top of the salad. Sprinkle with paprika and dill. Cover and chill at least an hour. This salad is always better the next day, after the flavors have had a day or so to marry and live happily ever after.
*post-editing note* the potato salad turned out splendidily. IN attendance last night were Derrick, and our good friends/co-workers Belinda & Tyson. We enjoyed a warm summer evening of hot dogs, corn on the cob, watermelon, beer and of course the aformentioned salad. MAny laughs were had over a game of "Loaded Questions" and visions of hot pockets surely danced in all of our heads last night.....
My dad was obsessed with trains. The obsession began in his early years, and it lasted until the day he died. My dad's love of all things train-related led him to research the railroad business and all of it's nooks and crannies. Especially those of the Milwaukee railroad, with the height of it's popularity being the 1930's. His dream was to build a model railroad of the Milwaukee exactly to scale with absolute accuracy. This meant spending lots of time by the railroad tracks, taking pictures, audio recordings and notes. Of course, my brother and I were forced to participate. He dragged us along as he measured old train depots in the middle of nowhere or interviewed old train conductors in obscure places. The smell of the sun hitting the railroad ties is a comforting smell from my childhood. Derrick and I would spend hours combing through the rocks on the tracks and it was here that my love of rocks was born.
Years later, I understand that the reason I carried a shiny silver Norstrom box with all of my finds, was because these rocks had things to say to me. They would sing little songs encouraging me to take them home with me. The loss of my childhood rock collection still leaves me heavy hearted. I LOVED THOSE ROCKS. I would pass many hours just looking at them, lining them up and listening. I still can.
I have only one rock left from my childhood. It's a quartz crystal, actually. It was found on a sunny day at my maternal grandmother;s back yard. She had landscaped with bulk river rock, and it was my other favorite place to gather rocks. Grandma Peggy was actually the one who found the crystal. I remember her spotting it and then throwing it to break it into two pieces. She gave me one and she kept the other. I have it sitting on my bookshelf and I pick it up often to marvel at it's beauty and secrets. It is absolutely amazing to me that after all these years I still have it.
My good friend Bekah and I have recently discovered that we are both obsessed with rocks. We share similar childhood stories and philosophies about them. Bekah is so obsessed, she is actually in the process of changing her major to study geology. I can't hold onto the scientific info about most rocks- I glean to more spiritual properties. I do understand her inspiration and admire her for it.
Yesterday, after months of saying how we should go rock hunting- we did. We laughed about how nerdy we were and how exciting it was to be doing this. We stopped first at Ed's House of Gem's in NE Portland, off Sandy Blvd. I bought a lovely rose quartz, carnelian, and sodalite. But it was the lovely sparkly lavender lepidolite that sung to me from behind the glass case. " Take me home!" it sang. It made so incredibly happy and giddy. So I did. I slept with it under my pillow last night, and slept the best I have in weeks.
We continued on to Estacada, and landed at our desired destination of Fish Creek Road. It was gray and drizzly but we weren't letting that discourage us. We enjoyed a picnic in the Mini as the rain poured. It stopped after we had finished, just as I predicted. Then armed with windbreakers, back packs, and plastic baggies, we crossed the road to explore the area under the basalt cliff. This location boasted calcite and crystals, both of which I found plenty. We must have been out for an hour before it started to rain on us again. We took our "specimens" back to the car and decided to head back, stopping first at Mameloose Bridge to try our hand at finding Blue Holly agate. No such luck, but the Clackamas river was nice to see. It began to rain again, this time motivating us back towards Damascas. We stopped for dinner in Carver. The Carver Hanger to be precise. The food was forgettable. Our server was named Burt, and by the time I had returned back from the bathroom, Bekah was deep in conversation with Burt over rocks. Seems they had struck up conversation when he noticed Bekah's Oregon rock books. Turns out, Burt is an avid Rock Hound. He has just been out over the weekend, in his kayak, which allows access to the islands on the Clackmas- that is where the good stuff is. He gifted us both with lovely agates, (I later christened mine, Burt Carver) form one rock lover or another. We talked shop a bit, and learned about the rock and gem show that happens in July at the ClackamasFairgrounds in Canby. Oh yeah - you KNOW Bekah and I will be attending. Burt also invited us back to his place to "see his collection". Uh-huh. I silently scolded Bekah for instigating conversation in the first place and told her she better finish it, since she started it. She very politely declined and we said our good-byes. Poor Burt. Not just one lovely lady also a lover of rocks- but two! He must have felt like he hit the jackpot! lol!
We returned to my home and washed our findings. Scrubbing with brushes and soaking in sea salt water. The plans for our next rock adventure being discussed over the sounds of the scrubbing. We also rambled on about our gear wish list- ponchos, head lamps, picks, hammers and books. Oh aren't we nerds?
I am loving my rocks. I wanted to include pics in this post- but my camera is having issues and I am too tired to try and figure it out tonigth. Soon I will attach them to this entry. Now I just need to figure out a way to organize and store them. I will be working on that piece. Rock on!
This morning as I was cleaning up around my apartment, I had tuned into Pandora radio on the internet. The first song that played was "Our House" by Crosby Stills and Nash. Hearing the music flood into my cozy little living room, suddenly took me back 5 years ago to a memeory I have never shared with a soul. It was June of 2004. My cousin Cj and I had flown into San Jose to see Madonna in concert there. We had decided to stay in San Francisco, which was a short drive away, maybe 30 minutes. I had rented a car- a red Chrysler Sabring. We had spent a few days in San Francisco before and after the concert just hanging around. It was not our first trip together there, but it would be our last. We had fun- shopping, eating, seeing the city. Finally it was time to go- Cj was flying back home to Portland and I was flying out to North Carolina to visit my mom and youngest brother, who were living there at the time. So, I drove Cj the short distance back to San Jose's airport for his flight back. And on the way back to San Fran, there I was mid- day alone in one of my favorite cities, driving down the freeway. I was contemplating life, and the recent death of my father that February. I had the radio tuned to a local station and a listener had called in with a request. It was a woman, calling to request the above mentioned song, and dedicated it to her partner. She said her wife and her were home that Sunday morning enjoying a lazy day of working around the house. Maybe there were kids. Definately there were animals- cats &/or dogs. I remember thinking how lovely that sounded- to hear such a cozy little scene between two people who were enjoying their life together, and hoping for that kind of satisfaction one day in my own life. Five years later, I am living on my own in the tiny Boundary street apartment. So much has shifted since then. Missing my Dad no longer hurts like it did then. And while I am still very much looking forward to one day sharing my own cozy Sunday afternoon's with someone, I am content simply to recall those moments driving along the bay, blue sky, song on the radio and in my heart.
The sense of smell is a magical time machine. No other sense can take one back as quickly as smell can. In nano seconds, one is swiftly and magically transported to a time and place somewhere in the past. For me, there are many smells that conjur up pleasant memories of yester-year. The scent of the baby pink rosebuds that grow in my grandparent's yard takes me back to my childhood and warm spring afternoons of me playing dress-up and make-believe there. Wearing them in my hair and assembling little perfect nosegays, the smell wafting in the breeze as I played. I was absolutely delighted when I discovered last spring, that the very same rose bush, grows in my yard here on Boundary Street. It cheers me to no end that I can go back to that place so much easier now. If I close my eyes and inhale the smell of bread dough, I am again trasported to my grandparent's home, only this time I am in my grandmother's kitchen. She is making her famous rolls. I hear her bracelets bang together as her hands work the dough, expertly crafting perfect round little buns. On the radio, Johnny Mathis croons about chances as my grandmother hums to herself while I watch from the table. Today, I was at work, stocking the latest shipments of magazines. One minute I was caught up in the shocking details of Natasha Richardson's tragic and untimely death, the next I am nearly knocked over by a scent that I was sure I would never encounter again. It surprised me and in a flash I was moved to a time just 2 months ago when I dared myself to trek of to Egypt alone and a man I met there. Mostafa. I looked around- he couldn't possibly be here now, could he? By now, you have read the entries from my Egypt diary below, and know the effect meeting him had on me- quite unexpectedly. My nose tracked the scent to the older gentleman at the register to my left, loading his groceries onto the belt. The smell was soft and warm, spicy and in my mind, exotic. Mostafa. I inhaled again, deeply. My head buzzed.I sighed. Longing. While I did not fall in love with him, as amazing as I am sure he is, I did fall in love with his scent. And I miss being around him, talking with him, and laughing as allowed myself to become drunk off his intoxicating scent. On our last night together in Cairo, somewhere in the heart of the city, we sat across from one another at smoky little night club, while some friends cheerfully chattered on, I at long last inquired what the name was of fragrance he was wearing. He answered, but his words were drowned out by the music and the noise in the club, and I in my drunken state, failed to grasp it. Between the beer, his scent, and my saddness at my time in Egypt ending the next day, I was overcome by something that even now, I am at loss to describe in words. It was there that I openly confessed that I found his smell extremely enchanting. We flirted. We danced. It was lovely
Perhaps I was a little in love with myself in those moments. There I was, half way around the world without the company of anyone who really knew me. I was independent, selfish, strong, and in awe of the fact that I was even there. Brave girl was I, to traipse off to Egypt! And now I was flirting and dancing with a man I hardly knew, who's smell and smile were the loveliest things I had not even expected to encounter. Who was this woman? It seems I discovered and developed a little crush on the woman I never knew existed in me. Now, it was odd to be standing there, in my navy blue apron, clutching a stack of People magazine to my chest, smelling. I didn't want to move, truthfully- I wanted to stay there and drink it in until I couldn't anymore. My head buzzed and I felt warm. A smile took up residence on my face. I must have looked like a grinning fool. I wanted to ask the older gentleman, what the name of his fragarence was called -I was too embarrassed to do so. It was funny also, because just last night I had dreamed Mostafa. In the dream, his back was turned to me, and we were watching each other, each thinking that the other was unaware of that fact. I could hear his thoughts, and feel his emotions, as I am often able to do in real life. I know I left a mark on him that he won't soon forget, even if he is trying to show otherwise. He doesn't write back anymore, and I knew that would happen. I would be lying if I said it didn't bother me. It does- my ego doesn't like to think that he would choose to forget me. But somethings in life are not meant to be more than they are. And our time together, was everything it was meant to be. By now, he has undoubtedly, met another strong, lovely, independent woman who is also drowning in his exotic scent. I wouldn't have it any other way- as someone as yummy as I find him to be- he should be appreciated.
Right now, I am having the realization after having been sober off Mostafa's scent for almost 2 months, I find that it still rocks my world.It's mysterious, surprising, and unexpected. I don't know if after today, I will ever come upon it again. I do know that scent will haunt me for the rest of my days, taking me back to those moments where I was learning things about myself and the world, while wrapped up in the trail of his scent. That scent of him, wherever I am in the world, will always take me back to those moments in our lives when the light of our eyes was a refelction of the chemistry sparked.
Since being back, and being in the middle of editing my Egypt trip pics and diary, I have found myself feeling a bit lonely. Or rather aware of my aloneness. No worries- it's cool. I am not terribly down about this feeling. But this song came into my head yesterday and has been on loop. So this for All the Lonely People. A special shout out to Kelly Turner and her Dad Greg. We love America.
