Christmas and Thankfulness

by fashion illustration goddess, Katie Rodgers, via PaperFashion

Thinking of my friends and family, near and far today. I am happy happy happy today, and hoping that everyone is enjoying their Christmas mornings.

It's still the early hours of Christmas, but we all know that the height of the season comes just before the presents are ripped open and the tree's base becomes barren. Mugs are full of hot coffee, breakfast is cooking, and we're slowly making our way towards opening gifts.

The best time of the holiday for me, always.

I've been pretty absent during this last quarter of 2012, but I had to let everyone know...

I love you. I wish we could celebrate today and enjoy the last days before the new year together.

Kiss your loved ones today. Cherish your gifts, and relish if the generosity of others.

Be thankful.

I thank you.

x

Pure Imagination

by Gregory Colbert, via

My cousin, Eli, told me a story once about a pet elephant he kept in his jacket pocket. The elephant was no taller than his thumb. He tried taking this elephant onto an airplane, which was fine until he got onto the plane and at 32,000 feet, the elephant stealthily climbed out of his jacket pocket and started exploring the plane, right over everyone's bags and wadded-up coats. It was an hour before my cousin realized his pet elephant was gone, and had to figure out a way to find him without alerting the entire plane. He didn't want his elephant to get crushed or scared and run off and hide, he'd told me. He got up from his seat by the airplane window and walked to the front of the plane towards the cockpit, turned around and dropped a quarter down the long aisle. He fell to his knees, apologized, and started looking for his quarter -- actually, his pet elephant. I never found out if my cousin had found his elephant, because my mom said dinner was ready.

Eli was five when he told me this story. Not with the same, advanced vocabulary, but the plot went just like that. I was 17, in the middle of writing the play for a high school choir performance, and I remember thinking:

I've never in my conscious life come up with anything remotely as mesmerizing as this.

This wasn't because what he'd said was overly imaginative, but rather it was the ease with which he told the story. It was all about delivery. It wasn't a story to him; it had actually happened, yet I could see the cogs working behind his eyes -- never faltering, stopping only for a moment to think when I'd ask him what happened next. I stared at him like he was an amoeba growing legs. I looked at his mother, my Aunt Julie, and silently pleaded with her to give me some explanation. Was this a story he'd read? Had he seen a miniature elephant on TV? She shook her head, simply. No idea, she said with her eyes.

I'm not very good with kids, and I find myself bored with them easily. I don't like playing or pretending, and I certainly don't like to stop what I'm doing and go out of my way to entertain them...

On the other hand, I love listening to them. Their imaginations fascinate me, and the way they see the world is exquisite. I love asking questions and finding out more. Their lack of filters and their self-assuredness means there is no cap on what they can come up with. They don't concern themselves with what other people will think, or whether their stories and ideas will stand up to someone else's.

It's sad that most kids lose that freedom. I certainly did, that is, assuming I ever had it. I'd like to think I did, and that it's still inside me somewhere, locked away. I'm in such awe of adults to seem to have maintained that level of imagination and confidence. That's the key, I think.

My cousin is 14 now, and I told him this story over Thanksgiving dinner. He, of course, doesn't remember it, and is at that age now where rolling your eyes at everything is the jammiest of jams. He thought it was silly.

Jump Up and Touch the Sky

I know shit-all about music. Really, I know nothing, except what I like when I hear it. I couldn't tell you, from a technical or musical perspective, why I like it. All I know is that if a song is catchy / the lyrics are beautiful / a person's singing voice is top-notch / it makes me wanna dance / makes me wanna jump up and down like a monster, I'm probably going to enjoy it and play it to death.

Sometimes, I just want to play the same three songs on repeat, all day for a few weeks, because they infuse me with energy and fuel my imagination. Sometimes, I just want to imagine that I'm a rock star and smash up furniture.

What's playing now?

I'm glad you asked. (And if you didn't, let's pretend you did.)

The holidays make me tired, and it's the time of year when I'm usually listening to Rufus Wainwright and Norah Jones. Rainy days, gray skies... they lead to lazy day music. The kind where you turn off the lights, pour some red wine, lay on the floor surrounded by pillows and blankets, and play Rufus' "Poses" album over and over again.

It's not very conducive to getting work done.

How about you? Do you have any get-off-your-butt-and-start-moving-you-fat-pig music? Any particular songs that are just too infectious to stay still?

Send 'em my way. I'm itching to break something.

I Missed November

Illustration by Harry Clarke for Edgar Allen Poe, via

I've made a conscious effort to avoid this blog during the last almost-two months, and I've felt only the tiniest twinge of guilt about it. Basically, I needed a hiatus from thinking about the "blog-worthy," and instead focus on some important things going on around here right now. Sometimes "important" has meant cleaning the toilet, finally folding that pile of clothes on the guest bed, cuddling with Ennis, or having long talks with my manlier-half over white wine and tacos. Every time I thought about writing or posting, it seemed forced; instead of forging ahead, I let myself walk away.

I don't know what this blog is, exactly, but whatever it is means—at minimum—it needs to be about the things most important to me in that particular moment. I've worked pretty diligently to not categorize myself, mainly because I am so prone to change my mind, or lose interest. Being a bit of an over-sharer has dictated much of my adult life in relation to the internet, and has proven that I refuse to let there be any subject that I'm forced to avoid for fear of being "off topic." If I eat a delicious bagel, go to Hawai'i, build a daybed, buy a kitten, or covet craft goods, I want to tell you. Because I love you, and that's what friends do.

That being said, I'm learning a bit more about restraint with my honesty. Not everything is worth sharing. I don't mean the hard/intense things, or the small/sometimes boring things. Just things. The stuff that is personal and private, but also insignificant in the long term. It's not about being interesting, but having true interest and passion in what you write and do.

Look 'ma, I'm growing up!

Simply put, I'm interested in finding my true home in this HTML-corner of internet-paradise that I've built, with its crooked windows and slant-y floors. It will take some time and some reflection on my part to make it a haven of comfort—a place that I enjoy and relish in—rather than something I constantly avoid... much like my actual living room, which is in desperate need of a thorough vacuuming.

The holidays are in our midst, and I'm thinking of my friends scattered across the map, all of whom I miss dearly. Let's get together and have some mulled wine or margaritas or whatever else the weather is permitting that day.