already another wednesday...

i have been writing blog posts in my head for several days now. i want to tell you all about the wonderful weekend jon and i had. how we celebrated his birthday. how i made him this pretty cool blanket. how we were able to eat outside because it is so nice here. how we went to folklife (an art and music festival) and i was dancing with glee there. how we spent time with my friends who are moving out here next month who were here looking for a house (i can't believe i haven't told you about them. they are moving here. it.is.the.best.thing.ever.). i want to tell you everything and even share some photos.

but. last night i had my first migraine. ugh. jon said it best, that it is like having a mindquake. yes. indeed. the worst. so today my brain and body are still trying to readjust and stuff, and i am conserving mental power for work (whatever that means...i hope you know what i mean), but i do want to leave you with something.

yesterday, my friend heather called to read me this article from newsweek. you might have read it; it is from the "my turn" page and is called "'I'm Sorry' Shouldn't Be the Hardest Words." i think everyone should read it. everyone. please go read it now and then share it with everyone you know.

a poem {poetry thursday}

today i am sharing a poem i wrote in susan wooldridge's poemcrazy workshop i took at artfest. we were given several prompts, one being to give voice to something. we had also spent time sharing words from different books we each had; susan wrote the words up on the board. they were so good! that we were all furiously writing them down. she also wrote several words she had written in her journal from a dictionary page that all began with s. i grabbed onto the word seed and this was the result.

*****

The seed says

I used to believe I was
a practitioner of balance
perched inside a canopy
but here i am,
pirouetted to the ground
my eyes see nothing in
this cocoon of windswept dirt

i am scattered

come back to me
home
come back to me
quiet mind

*****

visit poetry thursday for more poetry

letting go {self-portrait challenge}

This evening, I choose to (try to) let go…

Of the need to feel guilty. I think I must be a bit addicted to feeling guilty as I choose to feel it so often. Can guilt be like a drug? Oh how I have gotten better over the last few years, but I hope to keep saying, "thanks, but no thanks" to the invitation of guilt.

Of the need to please. I will not please everyone. I cannot. And the truth is, I will not.

Of the need to dwell. A few months ago a wise friend said to me, "when your friend thinks she could have cancer and her doctor is saying things like, 'we don't really know what it is' and 'we haven't seen this before really' and you don't stand by her or you choose to stay mad about things, well, I think you lose all your friend points then." Yes. This is true. I need to let go of my need to dwell on things like this. Move on.

Of the need to be understood. The truth is, sometimes people just aren't gonna get it. They aren't gonna "get you." And that is okay. It. Is. Okay.

Of the need to look a certain way. I do this more and more as I own that I can just be me.

Of the need to put myself down. It is such an easy record to play in my head.

Of the need to think I am protecting others. Because this is often at the risk of harming myself. The opposite of this is inviting in honesty and boundaries.

Of the need to be liked by people who might be a lot cooler than me.

Of the need to focus on and fear the judgment of others. This goes hand in hand with that need to please. But, this one is really about that word: fear. It is a fear in the pit of my stomach. The fear that I will have to admit I cannot do it all. The fear that I will have to admit my pain, my truth.

Of the need to judge.

Of the need to stuff it in.

Of the need to ask for advice when I already know the answers.

Of the need to call someone.

Of the need to get wrapped up in emotion when I think someone does not understand me. I just keep trying to peel back the layers and let go of this. Knowing my reaction and words and thoughts belong to me. Theirs belong to them.

Of the need to fear what speaking my truth might do.

Of the need to be worried about a post full of pieces of my story (like this one).

Of the need to "have to."

What need do you need to let go of today? Do it now my friends. Let it go.
(maybe even leave an anonymous comment. free yourself…)


(for more "street" photography, visit self-portrait challenge)

the little room (open for business)

The Little Room is open for business.

Just click here to come on over and visit.

(A big thank you to Heather for creating the banner and avatar for my shop.)

tomorrow

A made a few more little things over the weekend for the shop...smaller prayer flag sets that are from the "story" series.



My hope is that someone out there reads the words on these flag sets and says, "Yes...that is my story."



Because really, for me, connections like that are why I wanted to begin to share my creations in the first place. To be on the other side of the connection I have felt so often with artists, writers, and others...



Tomorrow morning, I will post the link to my shop here...hope you will stop by!

(thank you)

ten things plus one

1. my shop is going to open on tuesday! here is another preview:







2. i watched roman holiday last night for, i think, the fourth time. i love that movie.

3. watching roman holiday made me want to get my hair cut ala audrey in the movie or like amelie. (i am going to keep it long though.)

4. jon and i keep our healing candle glowing almost all the time nowadays as we know (and know of) several people who are ill or are waiting for test results. i know it isn't much, but i hope it helps in some way.

5. gram is still in the hospital and needs some sort of procedure/surgery. it is scary.

6. when gram comes home, i am probably going to go and stay with my in-laws and help out. i am selfishly hoping that is soon! as i am excited because their town has so many antique stores. (okay, you know, all i really want is for her to be okay, but that is the spin i am putting on all of it to try to be a little silly.)

7. i have been working a lot lately and when i am not working, i am creating and organizing for my shop...i kind of want to go and see spiderman tomorrow just to do something that won't allow me to multitask. because even while watching tv or talking on the phone or eating or talking to jon, i am multitasking with photoshop or email or cutting or pasting or...how the list goes on and on.

8. i am so excited to have a banner fairy (she is rescuing me from this equation: photoshop + liz = tears).

9. i am trying to figure out what kind of ink might be "waterproof" enough to be used on flags that would go outside. anybody have any ideas?

10. after gorgeous days filled with sunshine, we are doing the nothwest grey thing now. i have to admit, i kind of like it. a day for sweaters. but i do hope the sun will come out...ahem...tomorrow.

+1. several people have signed up for the tea towel swap! if you want to join in, check out this post for details.

{updated: thanks for letting me know about the comments everyone. not sure why they were disabled...ahhh...blogger}

when worlds collide

A funny thing happens when worlds collide. You stop and notice yourself and wonder how others see you. Do you know what I mean?

Like when blog world meets real world
College world meets high school world
Work world meets…
I think you get it.

Last week, I noticed something interesting in my sitemeter. I began to see a couple of similar incoming links that I didn't recognize that were repeated quite a few times from various different locations. Locations of colleges that kind of rang a bell from this time three years ago. Through some detective work, I deduced that I have been discovered. At least that is what it feels like. Because the truth is: discover my blog, discover me.

Before Jon and I moved to Tacoma, we both worked at a boarding school back in Indiana. It is the boarding high school I attended actually. I was a counselor for one of the girls' dorms there. I don't think I have ever talked about that job here. To be honest, I have needed a long break away from it. I needed to remember why I loved going to school there and how it felt like home to me when I was a teenager and why that was. Working there was not quite that same feeling, not quite home.

A few months after we moved out here and I was in the midst of my two-year yoga teaching training program, we spent a weekend on the chakras. I had two pretty significant experiences that weekend. One had to do with my second chakra, the other with my fifth. After I described what had happened to me internally during the group exercise we did around the fifth chakra, the woman leading the weekend asked me what I did for a living. At the time, I hadn't really started editing much, so I said, "well, I used to be a high school dorm counselor who was kind of in charge of all the emotional, academic, and other needs of 50 teenage girls." She paused. Looked straight at me and said, "I never want you to do that again."

Now, here is the part where I tell you how much I did love parts of my job. Specifically, I enjoyed working with the girls. I loved hearing their laughter in the hallways and the moments when they would come and sit in my office and tell me how their day went. I loved seeing them grow from frightened freshmen to incredibly confident seniors.

But, what this woman meant was that I didn't have the boundaries in place to keep myself emotionally safe while trying to help others. I took it all on. I wanted to be better at a job that had set up a no-win situation for us as counselors in that we had to discipline yet we hoped to be the students' safe person. Pretty hard to be a "safe" person for kids when they are afraid to tell you anything because you have to "turn them in." I beat myself up constantly for not being able to balance who I was inside with who I was expected to be. There were students who had been through a lot in their lives and needed a level of attention that was difficult to give when trying to help 49 other students. There were challenges that I cannot go into here, but they were the kind that the students wouldn't have known about. The kind that forever change a person. Being a part of those challenges forever changed me.

And, I needed to take a big break from that world. To remember the reasons why that place had been like home to me at one time.

So back to being discovered. Yes. It seems that a group of girls I had the honor of watching grow from those overwhelmed freshmen to amazing self-assured seniors have discovered my blog.

And, this has caused me to think about how they might see me. I wrote my blog for several months before I shared the link with my family and close friends. That was pretty weird, but I got used to it. I have come to a place where a few people do know about my blog, but mostly, I think that my blog readers are other bloggers. Though, I discovered recently that if you google my full name you are led right here. But, I mean really, who knows me? Who googles me?

I thought about how I looked at my high school teachers and how it would feel to discover a blog by one of them. I think about how some of them are frozen in time for me and how I never really thought about what books they might read and what kind of hobbies they have.

It is interesting when worlds collide isn't it? When you get a glimpse into another side of someone, and in that way, you get a glimpse into yourself as well.

Girls, I imagine it might be hard to believe that this woman who wears her hair in pigtails and dances to Tina Turner and writes poetry and paints and sews and laughs and writes the truth of her life is me.

Welcome to my world.

(Hope you will say hi sometime.)

tea towel swap

things to know to join in on the fun:

sign-up deadline: friday, may 25 (so tell all your friends!)

swap partner: you will be partnered randomly with someone else from the swap, and notification of your partner will be by thursday, june 1.

what you will swap: two tea towels to be sent by monday, june 25 (other goodies are up to you and not required).

to join the swap, send an email to littleroomswaps @ gmail dot com that includes:
your name
mailing address
email address
blog/website address (if you have one)
anything your swap partner should know (maybe your favorite color or how you aren't a fan of roosters on your kitchen towels or…heck, whatever you want to tell them…I will pass it along)
if you are willing to ship internationally

let the fun begin!

did you wear your apron today?

i recently discovered a delightful new blog called apronista. there i learned that today is national wear your apron day! i sported one from my growing collection throughout the day. jon snapped this photo as i ironed some interfacing into a couple more selma totes tonight.

apronista is all about wearing aprons as fashion, which i totally support. i keep having all these ideas for ones to make...anything to wear all this gorgeous fabric i keep finding (and...ahem...buying).

and yes, i am totally serious about the tea towel swap. more details to come!

jon's grandmother continues to hang in there. it is hard to know how things are going, as i guess today was a tough day. but she is fighting and that is a good thing. she is having side effects from the blood thinner she is on and that is complicating things. i think jon's mom is "cautiously optimistic" as they say...thank you for keeping Gram in your thoughts.

we had the most gorgeous weather today. tomorrow it is supposed to be in the high 70s. i am looking forward to another day with all the windows open...

(on a sidenote: i think it is completely wacky that i post pictures of myself sans make-up and just think that is normal)

a little charred...but open to joy

I was going to post this delightful "senses" post about how I spent my day yesterday…but life kicked in at some point and things shifted to some other things…like the following:

1) Jon's grandmother, Gram, is in the hospital. She fell and broke several ribs. She is in a lot of pain. They are concerned about pneumonia (she is 91) and it hurts her so much to cough. As of our last phone call, they were not moving her to intensive care, and she had been sitting up in a chair for a while. So that is good news. Please keep her in your thoughts. She is a dear lady full of life and light and laughter. A hippie and an artist; several of her pieces hang in our home. I feel blessed that she came into my life and we both adore her.

2) I hoped to get my etsy shop open this week…but I think I will need to wait until next week like I thought all along. Need to finish a few prayer flag sets, but then, I have to take pictures of everything. The weather is not cooperating (well, and then there is the part that you have to be finished with everything before you can take pictures). The other reason is…

3) Several urgent files came in for my "day job" this weekend. Files that need to be done asap. Which means working on Mother's Day. Not that I am a mother or anything…but… And, of course, it isn't my boss that is insisting I work. No. But, our clients need these things turned around and since it isn't sunny enough to take pictures of things I haven't yet finished…I am editing today. Well, and you can't finish things that need to be sewn when you have to spend the afternoon at a café because….

4) I tried to burn the house down today. Okay, I, of course, did not try to burn the house down, but, I did start a darn nice fire. By accident. Who wants to start a fire in their kitchen? On an electric stove? When the person is just trying to make tea? The story: I filled up the tea kettle and turned on the burner and went back to my little room to edit. And just when I thought, "oh it is probably boiling by now," I started to smell something burning. And thought, "oh there must have been some rice from dinner the other night on the stove or something." And then edited two more sentences before heading to the kitchen. My brain was starting to compute, "hmm…something smells like it is actually on fire" and my eyes started to burn from smoke and I turned the corner to the kitchen/family room. In no particular order of absent-minded horrors: a) I had turned on the wrong burner. b) There was kitchen towel on the stove. c) I had turned on the stove when a kitchen towel was on it. d) The kitchen towel was on the "wrong" burner. e) There were pretty huge, high flames that had engulfed that kitchen towel. f) There was that scary "flames are around" sound as the towel burned. The good parts, in no particular order of importance: There was a section of the towel that was not burning. That section was enough for me to pick up the towel and throw it in the sink, without burning myself (or starting a second fire). We have one of those water hose things in our kitchen sink so I was able to quickly douse the entire towel in water. The flames had not reached the towels that hang from our oven handle. Our smoke alarm went off (remember when it didn't?). Oh and no one was hurt and our house did not burn down.

Of course, being a blogger and all, after I had opened all the windows and assured my husband (who had been in the shower) that all was okay ("but would you please turn off the smoke alarm as Millie's ears are hurting from it?"), I decided to take a picture. And share it here...



(As I write this, someone has started playing a cello here in the café. Oh, it brings tears to my eyes, the sound is so beautiful. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon writing a blog post and doing a little work as someone plays the cello.)

As I looked at my charred, W-S wedding-present towel, I had the thought that maybe some of you might have had days lately that have left you feeling a bit "charred" around the edges…

So do you want to do something fun? Like maybe a kitchen/tea towel swap to invite some joy in?

one of the reasons i know my husband loves me

even though he had a lot of work to do and was behind in grading and stuff, he spent an evening sitting on the porch with me sorting and counting these...

and i am sure some of you are thinking "sorting i get, but counting?" yes, we were counting. for reasons i will explain here soon...

(and thanks for all the kind words about my Selma totes! i hope to have my shop up and running next week!)

meet selma

Selma was my mother’s grandmother on her father’s side. She was the one who taught my mother how to knit (it is her voice my mother is remembering in the poem I wrote back in February). She was also the quilt maker in the family, and I believe she taught my mother how to sew patches together to make quilts (as my mother has made a couple, too).

Selma was married three times, which some might say was a bit scandalous during her day. Once while visiting my grandparents, my grandfather showed me pictures from an album his mother had kept of a trip to, I am guessing, “the Cities” in Minnesota. It would have been sometimes before 1920. In those photos she looks happy and more than a bit mischievous. The two couples on the trip are giggling and posing like kids escaping to the big city for the first time ever.

It is so unfortunate that so many of us never really get to know our great-grandparents. There are so many questions I want to ask her now that I am old enough to understand that I have questions. I was lucky enough to know her for the first 10 years of my life though.

I remember that she was still a bit mischievous in that she enjoyed teaching me how to make odd noises from the back of my throat while we waited in the car for my mother. I actually think Selma’s sister, my Great-Great Aunt Dora, was with us and was saying things like, “Stop that Selma! Her mother is going to be upset.” Making odd noises was, to say the least, something I was expected not to do as a child.

I remember going to the fabric store with her to pick out material for a quilt we were going to make for me. Though, we never did make it, the blue fabric for trim and the backing and the leaves cut out from coordinating fabric sits somewhere in a box in my mother’s house.

I remember being bribed by the purchase of “Queen Elizabear” so that I would not complain about staying home with her while my parents went to work while she was visiting. I must have been about 8 or so. At the time, I didn’t really have much in common with an 86 year old who was more than a little crotchety.

I also remember watching my mother with her grandmother. I guess even though I wasn’t conscious of it, I understood that she loved her as much as I loved my grandmother. And, the funny thing is, even though those two (Selma and my grandmother, who was her daughter in law) never really got along, they were a lot alike. Private, grumpy at times, particular, impatient. Yet, women who could laugh and loved, even if those around them didn’t get to see this side too often.

A pink quilt rests atop our guest bed in our current home. My great-grandma made it for me in 1977, maybe a present for my first birthday. I think about the sense of wonder she might have had that her granddaughter had a daughter. I think about her sewing that love for my mother and by default for me into that quilt. I think about all the quilts she made for people and the rag rugs she sold. I think about her being a divorced single parent at a time when people did not divorce. I think about her healing with each stitch and with each aha moment as she put fabric together to create pieces of art left behind for us. The ones who are here because she loved my great-grandfather enough to have a son.

So it is in her memory that I felt moved to tackle patchwork this month. And these totes are a few I have created in the midst of my own aha moments, stitch by stitch…

Meet the Selma Totes…

(soon to be found in my shop, the little room, later this month)

a poem {poetry thursday}

Past

one foot propped on the faucet
the other flips the drain

water
swirls
gurgles
drops

millimeter by millimeter

please take the shit with you

bracing her hands on either side
she rises
reaches for the towel
and rubs the

folds
curves
creases
lines
dry

seeking eradication

*****

visit poetry thursday to read more poems and posts about poetry

two words {self-portrait challenge}

In this month’s issue of Domino, there is an article about two women in BC who are image consultants who will ask you a series of questions (on the phone), then converse with one another, then call back, and tell you two words that are your style statement. They have created a creative science of sorts and have some sort of system that they use. The author writes about how these two words became guidelines for people who had paid for this service. Phrases like “Sophisticated Era” and “Classic Genuine” seemed to change the lives of these people. They went through their closets and homes and decluttered based on these words. They began to choose their clothes and sofas based on this style statements.

Separate from how one might feel about spending $500 for two people who don’t know you even a little to tell you your style statement, I am intrigued by this idea of two words that would symbolize who I am, who my heart hopes and longs to be. Two words to remind me to recognize who I am.

I have been thinking about this article quite a bit since I read it over the weekend. Not really feeling drawn to set up an appointment with these women (though knowing my style statement might be interesting), but rather just intrigued by the idea of thinking about two words that would be a personal mantra for myself. I even had a moment when I kind of put out into the universe that I was open to recognizing my two words.

Yesterday, I received an email from a blog reader who had read yesterday’s post. She explained how she could relate to parts of my story. In her note she said, “I know you are strong, a spiritual warrior.”

My two words.
Spiritual warrior.

I know there might be other words out there, other phrases that represent me…that speak to who I am. But, right now these two words vibrate within me. (Thank you for them.)

As I sift through the past and make choices about how to react to the life behind me so that I can live in this life right now, I am indeed a spiritual warrior. I fight my way through the feelings to find what is underneath. I sit in the quiet and notice. I practice so that I can be ready for the unexpected. I breathe. I breathe. I breathe. So that I can recognize. So that I will see myself. So that I will know myself.

As I chose an outfit for today, I felt like I wanted to wear a dress. It was a beautiful summer-like day here in the Puget Sound area. As I chose a sundress from my closet, I also grabbed a pair of pants to wear underneath the dress. Just in case. After all, a warrior has to be ready for battle, even in a dress.

*****

Thank you for your comments and emails about my post yesterday. It means so much. To know I am not alone. To know you are out there reading. My heart is full with your support and kind, kind words. Thank you.

*****

Visit self-portrait challenge to see more responses to "street photos."

talking about it

Jon and I were listening to a "This American Life" podcast the other night and during one of the segments, a woman was reading letters from openletters.net. The letters were from a woman writing to her teenage son's father who she had not been in touch with for many years. The letters were published on the web and he might or might not have been reading them at the time. One of the lines in one of the letters was "you take up a lot of room for a guy who's not here."

I murmured an "ummhmm" when I head this.

And I knew, this is where I could begin to talk about "it" here.

My parents separated 12 years ago and shortly after that divorced. Then, and for many years after, it was a time period known as "when my dad left." That was what it felt like and that was how the picture was painted by all involved.

The scars from that experience are the "thing" that takes up so much room even though it isn't here. The stuff from the past; the stuff one might sometimes talk about on a blog and sometimes just leave out. That is the "thing" that takes up space. Being "extra mature" and playing a role in my family that involved being "extra mature" is what takes up that room for me. Wanting to talk about it with people who do not want to talk about it, that is what takes up so much room.

I was a freshman in college at the time, going to school in my home town, so there was no "escaping" it; my parents' divorce was the center of my college years. The pain and confusion experienced by us all. And my role, as was always the case from my perspective, was to be the peacemaker, the strongest person, the people pleaser. I tried for years to balance it all. The pain balanced with my relationships with my mom, dad, and brother.

And, as usually happens, over the years you find a rhythm of how to deal with things. As any child of divorced parents knows, you lie here and there to protect the feelings of others (while desperately trying to protect yourself even though you don't realize it at the time), while trying to make sure everyone knows you love them. You panic. You try to balance the roles you play. You "wear many hats." You become the most adult person in your family. I was my mother's support person. I was also attempting to have a relationship with my father where I could let go of the past and the hope of a deeper relationship with him. And, it was working. In the last six years or so, my dad and I had come to a place where I enjoyed spending time with him. And with the addition of Jon coming into my life and my dad's girlfriend Anne, it became even easier for me. But, one of the reasons it became easier was because I had let go of something really big: I had let go of thinking I could help him with his drinking problem.

So, when he called in late January to say he was going to do something about his drinking problem, I was in complete shock. He had never admitted to having a drinking problem, let alone, talked about getting help for one. But, it was my own reaction that shocked me even more.

I was angry.

Anger is not an emotion I have spent a lot of time in. I am more likely to simply feel sad or lonely. Anger is a different beast. I know people say anger is masking something else, and I agree with this, but to be so in touch with anger about something like this was a true surprise for me.

I share this here because I think that others in similar situations might have a reaction like mine and wonder if anyone else has felt this way. I want even one person out there who might be reading this to know that he or she is not alone.

The anger was not at all directed at my father's wish to get help. No. Those were words I had been waiting and wanting to hear for almost 20 years. The emotion that flared up for me was instead really about pain from my childhood, from the role I played in my family during my parents' divorce. I didn’t want to think about that stuff or talk about it or spend time in it. At all. But, I knew that it was all gonna come up. For all of us. For me.

And it did.

I balance writing this with the reality that my parents are going to read "pain from my childhood" and potentially get a bit defensive. But,the pain from childhood thing, that is how it works for most of us. And, here is the thing: I know my parents did the best they could. They did better than their parents. I had a safe childhood. I was given an incredible education. I knew I was (and am) loved. There are many more positives than negatives in my past.

But, I think anyone reading this can agree that we all have our shit. This is how it works. We are born. We are loved. There is shit. Hopefully there is more love than shit. But, there is gonna be shit all the same. This is how it works.

As my dad decided to take part in a treatment program, one that was going to involve time when "loved ones" would come to "talk about stuff," my feelings of being proud of my dad for seeking support were in sharp contrast to the rage that was also brewing inside me.

I had thoughts like: Once again, my father's alcoholism was dictating my life. I moved across the country from this stuff but it was still trying to control my life. How were my mom and my brother going to react to this and how can I make sure I protect them? Who was going to protect me? Who was going to think of me and my feelings? Why do we have to talk about this stuff now?

The thought of sitting in a room with people and talking about all this, talking about it with my father, was not something I wanted to do. Not even a little bit. I was afraid of how I might react. All the while, I was only supportive of him when he called, never letting on that I was so overwhelmed by it. At first, I talked to my mother about it all because I knew if there was one person in the world who was going to understand how shocked I was, it was her. But then I realized that I was putting her in an unfair position by expecting her to support me when she would, of course, have her own feelings about this.

The thing is, my parents do not talk. At all. They live in the same town but it is as though they exist in different worlds. I won't go into more details, because really, it is not my story. It is theirs. My story is how it affects me though. And even though I am now almost 31, having parents who do not speak is…well, I think you can probably imagine without me going into it. It fractures you a bit. When your parents don't speak and seem to hate one another; it fractures you. No matter your age. And it is a fracture that never really heals.

I was not able to attend the family time due to ArtFest, but my dad asked me if I would still come in April to attend the next three-day family session. My brother and Anne had attended the first family session and encouraged me to go. Hearing my brother say, "Liz, I think you have to do it" was what prompted me to agree to it. And, even though I tried not to let on to my dad too much, I so didn't want to go. But, I also realized that this was probably going to be the only time I would be able to sit in a room with my father and a counselor and say what I wanted and needed to say to at least one of my parents.

But for weeks, I balanced the thought of flying back to the midwest and all that was coming up for me with a need to get lost in pink buttons and fabric and other stuff.

I want to share some of my experience last month when I did get to talk with my dad, but I am going to save that for another post. I think I have shared enough for now (big deep breath). Thinking about all this is exhausting. I have had insomnia for several nights now and I think that has more to do with my mind being excited about my upcoming etsy shop and all that I am creating and hope to create. But, how this all has shifted things is taking up a lot of mental space too.

Thank you for being out there and for stopping by to spend this time with me and reading my words.

three things: a street photo, a swap, a thank you

first, i am finally participating in self-portrait challenge after not taking part for weeks. jon took this photo of me at the fremont market this sunday. i am smiling at some awesome t-shirts (so many great handmade clothes for sale this time), not at the camera. he "got me" with this one so to speak. i love thinking about what all the people in this photo were doing with their day. what caught their eye, what brought them to the market, what they did for the rest of the day. this month's challenge is a hard one, but so interesting...



second, i am so excited to finally share with you what i received in the vintage button swap (hosted by sally). you all know me and my love of buttons...especially pink ones. my swap partner zenzhey was so great and, in her words, "pinked up" my package. it just made me so happy! thanks zen!







i already have some ideas for a few of the buttons. i love the pincushion and put it to use right away. i find i need one next to the sewing machine, on the ironing board (or bathroom counter as the case may be as i seem to iron there lately), and wherever i am cutting/pinning.

third, i want to say thank you to all of your for your kind comments about my prayer flags. some of you emailed and commented asking when they will be for sale. i hope to have my etsy shop open this month. if you are interested in anything i post prior to then or would like to discuss a special order, please just send me an email at waywardtulip at gmail dot com.

happy may to all of you!