I’d like to see the dessert tray…

[written by me circa 1996]

I wish it didn’t have to be this way

I wish I didn’t cry this way

I don’t always mope around this way

I hate it when I think this way

You know I don’t have much to say

Sometimes I don’t know what to say

Do you hear what my heart has to say

I just can’t bring myself to say

What specials do you have today

My smile came up slowly today

I didn’t get to see you today

I feel a little empty today

Late at night it helps to pray

I wonder if God hears me pray

Now I lay me down I pray

Make this go away I pray

I’d like to see you if I may

I’d like to be happy if I may

Flowers are nice in early May

I’d like to hold you if I may

I wish my poems didn’t suck this way

I have so much really nothing to say

I painted a picture for you today

In your mercy hear me pray

I’d like to dance in the puddles after a storm and race homemade boats in the gutters while we chase rainbows and dreams if I may

...or I’ll just have the peach cobbler

Welcome to the No Dads Club

I consider myself to be a lifetime member of the No Dads Club. It's not something I ever wanted to be a part of at such a young age. Losing a parent as a child rewires you a bit. I remember talking to friends, meeting new kids in school…sinking into myself when someone would ask about my “parents” (plural); or mention “mom and dad”. Childhood activities took a dark and twisty turn….  quietly making Father’s day cards in school with no one to give them to, creating a family tree for a school project… and then as an adult, filling out forms at the doctor’s office that ask about your family medical history. Parents: Living or dead. Check the boxes. Mother - Living. Father - Deceased. It’s the only normal I have known.

This past year has brought an incredible amount of loss for my family. Three of my uncles have died, each of them battling very ugly diseases and illnesses that often took their minds before their bodies. Three men with servants hearts, strong in faith and family. Men that were there after my Dad died, each in their own way. 

So, here I sit today with a heavy heart, as I welcome most of my cousins to the No Dads Club. 

We are all adults with families now, some have kids that are well and grown, starting families of their own. None are without the experience of losing a loved one, that in itself is not new. Losing a parent though, that hits different. Down to your core. 

My relationship with death is admittedly on the apathetic side.  After a lifetime of mourning, I forget the rawness and newness of it all. I forget to reach out and pass on condolences (p.s. this is me doing that now in my own way).  Being in the No Dads Club this long has afforded me some lessons I’ve learned along the way that I'll pass on though. Grief does not have an expiration date. It is never ending. It ebbs and flows; often hiding out for a while, until a little grief bubble pops up when you least expect it. Finding an old picture, hearing a certain song, a strangely familiar scent, a date on the calendar, a favorite recipe, a forgotten t-shirt found in the back of a closet… that’s all it takes sometimes to trigger the waterworks. 

My Dad died on Maundy Thursday. Being raised in the church, of course in my innocence I thought he might rise from the grave a few days later on Easter Sunday like Jesus did (you’ll likely never catch me at an Easter church service, needless to say). Here we are now at the start of the Lenten season, the timing is not lost on me. 

As a child I would look to the clouds in the sky, searching for a patch of sun poking out; windows to heaven my Dad could look down through. Now I’ll look for bigger windows knowing it’s getting pretty crowded up there, and they are all in very good company. 

Remembering Elliott Pancoast, Gene Brown, David Doerfler and Byron Hanna, today and every day. 

Cousins, I love you. 

“Hold on to the memories,

they will hold on to you”

-TS

Writers Gonna Write (my version)

My writing endeavors over the past few years have mostly been focused on children’s books. I consider these books to be poems with pretty pictures more or less, and I’m super proud of how they have turned out. Most of all, I enjoy the process of experimenting with my illustrative style and developing characters along the way. Every once in a while though, the thinky thoughts start thinking about more than sing-songy poems and pretty pictures. As much as I try to push those thoughts aside, the 2am jabs from my brain to my fingers eventually win out. The thinky thoughts need out. 

So here I am on my back porch in my pajamas, laptop open, coffee in hand, dogs nestled around me while I have a little writing session to get those thoughts out (that’s all lies… my dogs have zero chill and are chasing lizards and yelling at the wind; but the view is nice). My dogs have been the main characters in my books so far. There is no shortage of inspiration with their antics, and I love telling stories from what I envision to be their point of view. Plus, most everyone loves dogs, so that works too. 

Artists, writers, creative types…. we all get our inspiration from what’s around us. We are observers. Constantly cataloging sights, sounds, feelings, tucking them into a virtual file to go back and search through when we need something to describe those pesky thinky thoughts. Or at least that’s how it works for me. It’s a messy unorganized Pinterest board between my ears. It borderline looks like the thumbtack stringline wall of a true crime investigation. Sidebar: stay sexy and listen to true crime podcasts. 

The writing process for me is a pretty private thing. It marinates, ebbs and flows, and eventually I release it to the world. Regardless of how my writing has oozed out into the world so far, I have yet to hear someone say “oh great, another book about her dogs…. Doesn’t she have anything else to write about?” Or, “she hasn’t written anything for a while, bet she’ll go get another dog and write a story about it”  [side eye from my 3 dogs]

Taylor Swift has entered the chat. …..Look what you made me do…. 

I bet you didn’t think that’s where this was going, and honestly, same. The thinky thoughts have their own flow chart, I’m just along for the ride. I rarely write or post about current events, politics, famous people… unless it somehow itches me. And this…ooof. It’s itchy. Let’s have a chat about Tay Tay. Swerve your eye rolls elsewhere and hang with me for a sec. 

Taylor Swift is internationally known (she’s known to rock the microphone…. y’all someone come get me).  Anyway, she’s a writer at heart. An incredibly talented writer, and that’s just skimming the surface of her arsenal of artistry. To be honest I haven't  followed her career consistently. I was mostly familiar with her music during what I now know was her “Debut” era. She wasn’t on my radar again until this past year. I found myself watching her Eras Tour concert in one minute increments, live on TikTok at 3am when I couldn’t sleep…all those thinky thoughts. I quickly caught up on things, by observing, thanks to all the Swifites, who are probably the kindest, most accepting, wholesome people collectively. Friendship bracelets, heart hands, toss in some glitter bound by music and relatable life experiences… I dare you to be mad about it. 

[at this point in my morning writing session, my dogs have officially revolted against relaxing on the back patio and corralled me back to the living room sofa with the lights off to binge watch Grey’s Anatomy as I write. Apparently they much prefer my Dark and Twisty Era]. 

Aside from the positivity swirling around blondie, there of course is no shortage of meanies out there trying to dull her sparkle and hate on all of the happiness she’s bringing to multiple generations. I die dead watching sweet wholesome videos of moms and their kids at the concerts, singing their hearts out, knowing all the lyrics to her songs as if they were straight out of their own journals (don’t get me started on the adorable Swiftie dads, I see you). Her songs are our songs. They are relatable, even though they are inspired by her own life experiences and relationships. Almost like there is an invisible string….

Travis Kelce has entered the chat. 

Y’all. Y’ALL. The haters gonna hate, and boy are they hating. Oh look another guy for her to write a about…  She’s just using him to write another break up song … Here’s another guy to add to her long list of ex-lovers… 

Sadly, I know this isn’t the first time this has happened. It’s just the first time I’ve paid attention to it, and well…  it’s making me itchy, so here I am writing about it. Let me see your hands if you’ve ever gone through a breakup. Had your heart broken. Daydreamed about a fairy tale romance. Cried on the bathroom floor, the cold tile feeling like your most cherished life source. Let me see your hands if you have thought thinky thoughts at midnight. Been betrayed by someone you love….I reckon that’s all of us at some point in our lives. But. are we all out there writing record breaking songs about it? Are we all willing to be that vulnerable and raw? Not to mention possessing the sheer talent required to do such a thing. 

What pushes someone to the point of needing to belittle someone else’s talent to make them feel better about themself ? Why must we break someone down to build ourselves up? Oh, wait she’s in the entertainment industry so she brought this on herself you say… stop. Just stop. 

Angsty rant brought to you by an empty coffee cup, 2 dogs on my lap, a full bladder and my foot is asleep. 

Alright alright, before I build myself up by slamming these keyboard warriors, I will acknowledge that I’ve been there. Perhaps you have been there too.  Lack of self worth and low self esteem can be so loud that no one hears what you’re saying. Been there. Done that. Reflected on it. You know what? I probably listened to some music that related to what I was going through and moved on. It’s me, hi…

I have several books in the works that I hope to release to the world at some point (also can we normalize chaos in the Notes app?). Thankfully I don’t have any haters that I know of, and I am by no means globally known - what’s up Australia friends though, hey?!. 

The fear of failure is real. As is the fear of not being good enough. The fear of offending someone. The fear of doing it wrong. The fear of doing it right. The fear of not being able to ‘shake it off’. As I write this, I am not sure if it’ll ever leave my computer. Sometimes the thinky thoughts land on post-its in my couch cushions or a blog I’ve completely forgotten about (facts). 

We look to the arts for an escape. We turn on the TV to drown out the world for a bit. We listen to a podcast to make the drive go by faster…we rage clean while listening to Lizzo or Beastie Boys (p.s.  my iTunes on shuffle is a whole mood). 

T-Swizzle is building castles out of those hate filled bricks. And until you’ve felt how heavy those bricks can be, MYOB. Don’t dull someone’s sparkle to make yourself shine. Be careful of that mirrorball, you might not like the version of yourself that’s looking back. 

Thanks for reading. Writers need readers. Thoughts need thinkers. Music needs open ears. Open minds never hurt anyone either. Keep shining, the world could use a little more shimmer right about now. And, of course, GO SPORTS
💕

P.S. Some of my inspo for all these thinky thoughts:

2 AM and I'm still awake, writing a song

If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me

Threatening the life it belongs to

And I feel like I'm naked in front of the crowd

'Cause these words are my diary screaming out loud

And I know that you'll use them however you want to

-Anna Nalick, Breathe 

It's Me, Hi..... 👋

Looking back at my last blog entry, March 2020, in which I mentioned just having moved….. *sigh*. There have been 3 moves since but who’s counting right? 

The past year was sponsored by controlled chaos. Being apart from my husband for almost half the year, as he moved to Florida ahead of me, then me road tripping solo with the 3 dogs from St. Louis to Florida, via San Antonio, apartment living with aforementioned 3 dogs for a few months, and then finally moving into our home. Whew y’all that was a big mood. 3 addresses in one year is definitely a record even for us. Oh… let’s throw in two hurricanes for good measure. 

I quickly found my happy place for work, a paint and sip studio, go figure amiright? It’s a lovely familiarity to have.. being able to just jump right in and do something that’s totally in your wheelhouse; setting the easels up, brushes/water cups all have their place, new paintings to learn… I’ve been pretty dang blessed to find a paint studio to call home just about everywhere we’ve lived over the past ten years or so. 

At an event recently, I overheard someone quietly translating to Spanish for their family member while I was teaching. It’s been awhile but my brain fired back up and I was able to converse with her a bit and give some basic instructions in Spanish. It caught them off guard in a good way, and the rest of the class was enjoying it too. It was a lovely shared experience of being vulnerable and willing to not get it all right; me bumbling my way through remembering conversational Spanish, and most of them who were painting for the first time, sorting out how to mix colors, hold a brush. There was also someone who mentioned he was color blind - no prob, I just wrote the names of the colors on the palette for him and he was super appreciative of that. Art truly is a universal language.

Little lessons present themself all the time, and this was a reminder to tune in a bit and be open to them. The world is experiencing you, just as you are experiencing the world. Your interactions, presence, words… they mean something, and that something is not always confined to you. It’s hard to not live between your ears, especially over the past few years of minimized social interaction, remote work, less travel etc. Ask the questions. Be open to the answers. 

I was reminded of this recently, when meeting a mutual friend for the first time. We had friended one another online and started messaging and such before meeting in person. It was a no-brainer that we would get along, and I was excited to meet a new friend, having just moved to the area. After a while she mentioned she stumbled on my blog, through some links on my social media/website. I had honestly forgotten about my blog and felt a little sheepish having been reminded that my heart and soul are just out there for people to stumble upon and read. But. I also reminded myself that was sort of the point of me doing it in the first place. So, there we were….two kindred spirits chatting about life, and for the first time, I had someone throw some of my own writing back at me. In the best of ways. And it was exactly what I needed to hear at the time. Who knew that what I needed to hear was actually…. Me?!? 

New experiences and old, intertwined, weaving in and out, tangled together in a beautiful mess. Looking towards this next year, I’ve never been one to make resolutions or set goals for that matter - not for a lack of motivation, fear of failure, maybe even fear of success… (ok real talk it’s pretty much all that. It’s me. Hi…👋).  

I’ll marinate on this though: Here’s to sharing more experiences. With strangers, family, friends, and mostly yourself. They don’t have to be grand or lavish though… simple gestures, words, thoughts, it’s all good. Living between your ears is safe and there are days I don’t want to get out of that zone. I get it. These words live in my head until the keyboard finds them, so venturing out is pretty great too. 

We are all just stumbling around this rock together, being part of a shared experience whether we like it or not. Wear the glitter. Eat the cake. Take the nap. Pay it forward. Learn the thing. Talk less (smile more 😉). Write the book. Read the book. Go out. Stay home. Or don’t? You do you. Insert whatever fortune cookie knowledge you’re feeling, cause I love you and we are gonna be ok. Happy 2023 y’all!

p.s. If you didn't know, I've had a few other writing projects the past year or so! I've written/illustrated 3 kids books, and recently a hardcover version with all 3. Print on demand through Amazon - if you have time to leave a review I appreciate it so much! Thanks for your support! xoxo

Someday is Here!

What’s a ‘someday’? When is ‘someday’? What’s this all about anyway?

Gather round and get cozy.  It’s a story of how the little things lead to big things. No grand gestures here, just seemingly small (and surprisingly easy) decisions. One lily pad at a time.

I revisited my writing a few months ago. It used to be a thing I did, going all the way back to high school. My energy towards my writing waxed and waned over the years. Those tricksy muses. They don’t operate on much of a schedule. I like to think of “waiting for inspiration” as the creative person’s version of watching the toaster in anticipation; staring at it and willing it to pop up faster.

My rekindled love affair with writing came about after a therapy session not too long ago. The focus of these sessions was a bit of re-centering, building my confidence, and helping me find my way back to myself. I needed to hear myself talk (outside of my head). A neutral sounding board was necessary. After a long decompression from a few years overseas, I had lost my muchness. So down the rabbit hole I went….

Hearing yourself speak about such things is powerful. Writing about them is much more confrontational for me. Once words are spoken, I imagine them floating into the air in a million little pieces. Fading away. Written words stare right back at you. It’s nearly impossible to erase them. We’ve all cringed at one time or another when looking at texts from last night. Or the accidental "reply all".  Yeah. That.

This brought me back to this blog, which I had started around ten years ago (more on that story here). We are always waiting for something. What are we waiting for? In most cases, we are waiting for "some-thing" to happen… I wait for someday to happen, realizing that it will always be at arm’s length. I'll never catch up to it. It's not contained in a capsule that will magically turn into a dinosaur shaped sponge when I add water. It will always be a few steps ahead of me. Unless I make it happen.

And there it was. My ‘someday’ had sparked. All those years ago. Opening the door for one muse always leads to an open window for another. Creativity appreciates a nice cross breeze to get things flowing.

  

I was in dire need of some motivation. This all led to me to a temporary seasonal job, back in the retail scene. Not much has changed since 20 years ago when it comes to retail. Online shopping aside, turns out people still like touching things. They really like touching things. At the end of it all, I learned a few things. 1) Being on my feet for 6 hours was a lot more tolerable 20 years and 20 pounds ago (Y’all. I was D-E-A-D. DEAD at the end of shift). 2) Retail workers bust their butts and still manage to forcefully smile their way through the day. This is a learned skill. Customers can always see your face and you can only hide in the stockroom for so long. 3) Did I mention people really like to touch stuff?  I needed something more fulfilling. Color me inspired!

It was time to make another “someday” happen: my own painting business. People close to me have often said I should start my own studio and do my own thing. I could never see it though. It was just a blurry idea of a thing and it terrified me. My someday was in arms reach though, as it always had been. I cleared the fog that had built up in front of me. The skies cleared and I had finally conquered my biggest obstacle: myself.

So here we are. I am happy to introduce you to Someday Studios, LLC. For now, I will be offering mobile paint parties in our local area, but the next someday is within reach…perhaps a studio space? I’ll settle in and get cozy on this lily pad for now though. It feels right.

No grand gestures, just a series of seemingly small (and surprisingly easy) decisions. 

Every night I lie in bed
The brightest colors fill my head
A million dreams are keeping me awake
A million dreams, a million dreams
I think of what the world could be
A vision of the one I see
A million dreams is all it's gonna take
A million dreams for the world we're gonna make

-A Million Dreams, The Greatest Showman