Urban Comfort

Taking a Sabbatical

On Friday morning, I sat down to write a post about strawberry buttercream. Then I realized I didn't want to write about strawberry buttercream. Not that there's anything wrong with it; it's wonderful, you should try it. But it's completely irrelevant to where my head is at these days.

As I mentioned before, I've been immersed in purging my life. I've been caught off guard by how intensely emotional and cathartic this process has been.  (I'm normally a moderate, not a zealot.) I'm not quite done, but by now I've handled just about every single possession I own, and it feels like I've handled not my belongings, but every chapter, every detail of my life, current and past.  It's ten years of therapy rolled into several months. It's been unexpected and very, very weird. It feels just like a breakup. You know, the impossible relationship that's clearly doomed but causes grief, nonetheless. 

Underneath this emotional roil, I have felt the stirrings of excitement and joy. There's work to be done; I'm anxious to get started. I've come full circle, arriving at the very beginning once again. Other than the discovery of an awesome lip pencil I'd forgotten about, my greatest (re)discovery in handling all the scraps of my life has been that the fundamental me hasn't gone anywhere.  It just needs to be reshaped.

But past the place of dreams lies the journey of many steps, the bits and pieces of hard work that have to be cobbled together into something solid. It requires attention, fewer distractions, the ability to get past my limitations, those walls erected by choice or circumstance. The only way through is focused learning. It seemed so impossible before, not enough time or resources to do and learn everything I wanted, but here, now, my brain has opened up.  I want less, but I want more. I'm ready to go deep.  

Which brings me to Urban Comfort. There are maybe a handful of people who care about my psychological or creative journey, and this blog doesn't feel like the right forum for that. This is not a new realization. I've written earlier drafts of this post going back more than a year. I kept feeling like I could revamp the old, but sometimes it's better to say goodbye to the old and start again. It's a painful decision to make, but Urban Comfort has become the stretched out, shapeless sweater still hanging in my closet. 

I suspect I'll be back to the Interwebs eventually, but more likely in a different format, one that more accurately reflects the pathways I want to take. But I need some time and distance to figure that out.

Thank you to everyone who's passed this way, who's made my life better and richer. Whether you were a commenter or a silent lurker, I appreciate that you shared in this space. I started Urban Comfort as a personal outlet, a way to connect with a community. I was lonely, as a new mother with a new life in post-Katrina New Orleans, a city that was struggling just as I was. My city is different now. Different than it was in my childhood, more bustling and booming than it was when I moved back. I'm different, too, stretched beyond my old skin. 

I will keep this site up, since a large number of readers come here through Pinterest. If you wish to be alerted when I have new plans, you can subscribe by email or through a reader, such as Feedly. In the meantime, I'll still be on Instagram and Pinterest, sharing in one way or another. 

I'll see you around! 

 

 

Excuse Me While I Have an Identity Crisis

You know that feeling of being caught between lives, when you've outgrown one way of life but haven't comfortably shifted into another? That's been my life for awhile now. It's difficult, sometimes. I'm a person who sees possibilities, all of the many, varied roads that stretch ahead of me. But I'm also old enough to quickly curb some of those possibilities, to instinctively know what won't work for the long haul. That seesawing of possibility and pruning can be exhausting. But as I know from all the other times I've been caught between lives, there's no way out but through. 

This feeling of "messiness" in my life has probably contributed to my wanting less, as I mentioned in my last post. I feel nearly obsessed, lately, with stripping away the layers so I can determine what I want to keep or add on for the future. And truthfully, for me, all that psychological clarity has to begin in the physical world.

To that end, I've taken an entirely different approach to purging my workspace and home over the last couple of months. You might wonder how that's any different from the usual spring cleaning one does, but this feels more urgent to me, an absolute need to rid myself of whatever might be holding me back - anything that's taking up too much valuable space in my brain, takes too much effort to deal with on a daily basis, anything that doesn't enrich my life.

I've always given things away; purging my workspace is an ongoing necessity. But I no longer ask if something is too valuable or too good to toss, which implies a level of irresponsibility or wastefulness if I do let it go.  Now, I ask, simply, if I've outgrown it, implying growth and movement, generally a more positive perspective.  

Remarkably, that mindset has allowed me to jettison possessions almost without thinking. Think too much and I'll find a distant, far-flung reason for keeping it. Move with my instincts and the separation is so quick it's painless. Honestly, I barely even know what I've gotten rid of, but I'm feeling lighter and lighter. The good news is that once you get rolling, it gets easier and easier to say goodbye. 

My creativity is on hold during this time. I'm focusing every ounce of energy I have into paring down, streamlining, clearing the clutter of my inbox, my laptop, my office, my home, my life. There will be clarity when I reach the bottom, that's what keeps me going. It may not be true, but at the very least, there will be a lightness of being. And when I'm all stripped down to a comfortable leanness, I look forward to creating again, from the bottom up.

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Does this resonate with you?  If you need to lighten your load or move into another chapter of your life, you might find the following book helpful, The Life-changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing by Marie Kondo. 

Publishers send me lots of new books, most of which end up at my local thrift store immediately. But The Life-changing Magic of Tidying Up came just at the time I was beginning to purge my belongings, so I took the time to read it before handing it off to someone else.  While I ask myself whether I've outgrown something, Kondo asks you to question whether any particular item "sparks joy" for you.  If it doesn't, out it goes.  

At first glance, that seems simplistic. After all, there are plenty of tools in my house that don't "spark joy," but that I still find useful or necessary.  But I had a moment of realization, standing in my kitchen, admiring a container of hand carved wooden spoons in my baking area. They're out, exposed, but it brings me joy just to look at them. So I've resolved to take that approach even with utilitarian items.  If it's simple, beautiful, and well made, it will bring me joy.

My cake tester with the blue plastic top that didn't look good on display, but always got lost in a drawer when it was put away, replaced with this. Next on my list, this pan brush, vegetable brush, and bench scraper.  More expensive than what's readily available in local stores, but strangely calming. (I feel almost insane writing that, but somehow it's true.)

Other interesting tidbits - Instead of folding your clothes and storing them in stacks, Kondo shares a folding approach that allows your clothing to be stored vertically in a drawer (I tried this in my son's dresser and I can report that it's less messy in there since he can see exactly which shirts and pants he wants to wear, at a glance.) Another idea is to remove excess packaging and labels from bottles and toiletries, even those things stored in cupboards, more to reduce the visual chatter and calm the mind than anything else. 

There's more, but I'll let you read for yourself. And if you're not as obsessed as I am at the moment, or more comfortable with 1-minute tips to get you started, there's another book that just came out, Clear the Clutter, Find Happiness: One-Minute Tips for Decluttering and Refreshing Your Home and Your Life by Donna Smallin.

 

Wanting Less

 

I've made the mistake of perusing my blog list over the last couple of days; I'm already exhausted. So many resolutions and detoxes and ways to have more, be more, do more, more, more, more...and I suddenly realize exactly what I want for 2015.  I want less.  It feels strange to write that, anti-American almost, but as the old adage goes, less is more, sometimes. 

I could fill pages and pages with resolutions - things to quit, things to do, things to do better, new things to learn, ways and ways to fill up a day and a life. But this year, I have just one thing on my list.  Breathe, deeply. It's the one thing we forget to do when we're rushing headlong into life, scurrying here and there, juggling too many responsibilities, possibilities, and dreams at one time. But shallow breaths deplete us, one breath at a time.

If I breathe, deeply, I'll be more creative. I'll pause long enough to see the beauty that surrounds me. I'll take in the details that others miss. I'll have the chance to connect with the many projects born out of my fingertips over the course of a year.

If I breathe, deeply, I'll be healthier. My nervous system will be calmer, my head clearer, my chest more open, my muscles looser. 

If I breathe, deeply, I'll listen better, love better, be more patient and kind. 

Any one of those goals would be worthy on its own. All are available to me if I remember to breathe. Deeply.  

Happy New Year!  I hope you receive what you're most hoping for in this new year. 

xo

 

Before the Harvest

A freelancer's life is often feast or famine and these last couple of months have been a blur of overlapping deadlines and assignments, leaving me on the unbalanced side of life. Still, I am grateful, a squirrel gathering the bounty before the bleakness of winter sets in. 

I ended the week with a Halloween photo shoot for next year, and as I packed up the last of our set on location, I rushed out the door to go trick or treating only to return home and pack up for yet another photo shoot, one of a personal nature that I'd waited a year to bring to fruition, relying on the cycle of nature, its maturation, then harvest. 

Sunday morning I awoke to a brilliant sunrise in sugarcane country, the smoke from the raw sugar mill billowing out over the horizon. The air smelled of fire and cane syrup, the road humming and electric as the big trucks moved back and forth, carrying loads of cut sugarcane. It was exhilarating, a new experience for me, but somehow deeply embedded in my DNA. 

My family tree and relationships are complicated and I grew up knowing very little of my father's history until later in life. But when an elderly gentleman in a small cafe in Cajun country asked me if I was a Louisiana Stirling, one of the sugar people, I had a shock of recognition. I may not have known the details, but I have been fascinated with sugar and cane since I was a child. 

Looking back through photos of road trips, there are recurring themes of cane fields, the tall stalks blowing in the wind beneath hovering storm clouds, an endless sea of green. I can see the color, even when I photographed them in black and white. I remember, too, as a child begging my stepfather to stop by the side of the road to cut the cane for me. I loved to chew on the thick stalks, extracting the juice. Later, I moved on to a love of rum. I enjoy the taste, but more than that, I love the smell. 

There is nothing romantic about the growing and harvesting of cane. It is difficult, back-breaking work that I know nothing of, other than what I've read about.  But standing on the edge of a cane field, peering into that sea of green, the air swelling with humidity, it's one of the most peaceful things I know. It's the other side of my conflict between city and country, the New Orleans that was my mother's family, the country that was my father's. It exists in me, that blurring, that longing for the other, the strands of DNA running in opposite directions. I will never fully satisfy that itch, but I've come to love the ache of the unresolved.  

 

Remembering

Time is a funny thing, it plays tricks on your mind sometimes. Thirteen years ago I was waking up on this morning, having just moved to New York a week before, a mixture of hope and nervous excitement that quickly merged into horror and helplessness, watching the world collapse from afar. And yet, it seems like such a very short time ago, certainly not the thirteen years that my calendar tells me has passed. 

There's very little that I want to say about that day publicly, but in remembering my heart catches in my throat even now. It's a day that belongs to all of us, not just New Yorkers, because it was a day that changed a world, not just a city.

Remembering.

See How My Garden Grows

We're in the height of summer now. I can tell because it gets more and more difficult to fully close doors, our home swelling with the humidity as I imagine it has done for the last 150 years. I saw the sunrise this morning, in my quest to restore my body and mind to some semblance of its better, prior state. The idea that I would see the sunrise for such a purpose seems laughable, belonging to an entirely more responsible individual. In my heart, I am a night owl and I struggle daily to fight against my primal nature. Generally, I succeed and I return to the start of my day, sweaty and flushed with victory, even if it means I will be a bit weary later on.

There's both movement and stillness to my summer, but not as much fun as I had planned. This focus on health feels so boring and yet, I know I will reap the benefits later on. It seems so simple in the beginning, pop a pill, move on with your life. But then it's weeks of getting the right dosage, teasing apart the symptoms that belong to something else. Then I'm waiting for test results, waiting to find out if I have thyroid cancer. I don't, but it's a strange, suspended state, that waiting. I've been here before. I'm always lucky. I feel relieved, then immediately guilty for all those who aren't, who weren't. I move on, one foot in front of the other. 

I don't cook much at the moment. I keep it simple. I've even learned to skim the most pleasurable of experiences, dipping just a toe into that pleasure instead of diving in. That part is not as hard as I'd thought. But I've had to shut off that creative part of my brain, the part that thinks about pairings of flavors and trying something new.  I will be able to return to that one day. But for now, I let it recede. 

I continue to make paper flowers. It is the most soothing thing I do. When it's been a few days without a new creation, I begin to feel a little anxious, wound up. I sit in quiet, I make, and balance is restored. My garden is growing. One day I will train it, allow the creations to take forms, but I don't need it yet. The tangled growth is fine. Let it be. 

On occasion I wander at night, my camera in hand. I am a voyeur, always after that glimpse of life through windows and in doorways. I love the shadows, the unexpected hits of light, the empty places after the fun dies down. Those moments, they are a gift to my primal nature. Then I go home, wake with the sun, and move on, one foot in front of the other.  Soon, it will be fall.

 

In Pursuit of Beauty (Part IV)

It's my birthday today, which is pretty much the only day I address beauty issues here (you can see previous years here, here, and here), but this year is a bit different for me -

Last month I took my son out to dinner. As the waitress brought our check, she said that my skin looked amazing and asked what I used. I gave her a brief rundown (Retin-A and a new CC cream) and encouraged her to try it out for herself. As she left, my son looked at me from across the table and said, "Your skin may look amazing because of that stuff you're putting on it, but you're still going to die one day."  (He can't help himself - He lives in New Orleans, surrounded by cemeteries.) After making a mental note to work on his conversational skills before he's old enough to date, I made a decision to finally see my doctor for a much overdue checkup.

I hate going to the doctor. I don't know why I hate it so much, but I do. Because I don't get sick that often, I find it's easy to let checkups slip by. But I knew that I needed help, had known it for at least a year. There was the sudden onset of anxiety, the lack of mental acuity and the inability to focus, the general exhaustion and fatigue, the irritability, the constant feeling of being overwhelmed, a creeping sense of depression, the needle on the scale that didn't move backwards no matter how little I ate, the pain I was starting to feel in my bones and joints...I thought that I was experiencing perimenopausal symptoms, something a girlfriend's doctor had said could start as early as your mid-thirties. That thought was depressing, too. My skin might be in good shape, but it didn't feel like anything else was. 

I finally went, and after a battery of tests I got an early birthday present - a prescription of Synthroid and Vitamin D. A low thyroid and a Vitamin D deficiency (clearly I've been too good about using sunscreen) could be responsible for my entire litany of complaints. The rest of me was just fine, with menopause out in the distant future. 

It will take a little while for me to start feeling better, but I feel hopeful, something I haven't felt in awhile. I've also started taking my health more seriously, partnering with a friend for regular exercise and taking advantage of the umpteen green smoothie recipes on the web to get more fruits and vegetables into my diet. Because really, what good is younger looking skin if you feel like crap?

 

PRODUCT NOTES FOR THE YEAR:

SKIN:  Overall, I find I'm using less makeup than ever before and I've stopped using foundation altogether, a big money saver.  

I've been an ardent fan of Smashbox BB Cream (in the new shade, Light/Neutral, which is perfect for me).  But it was sold out when I needed it and the saleswoman suggested It Cosmetics' CC+ Cream, a full coverage CC Cream that I can wear without moisturizer underneath (impossible for me with the BB Cream). I apply it with a damp BeautyBlender sponge for sheer coverage, but it's buildable to almost a full coverage foundation. With a light hand, I think it's absolutely gorgeous on skin.  To set it, I use a dusting of Smashbox Halo Powder. 

BROWS:  Thinning brows are definitely an issue, but I'd rather have thinning brows than see any sort of pencil line. I think the Smartbrow set is absolutely worth the money if the color match is good. I found the Brunette to be slightly too light for my natural brow color and Brown/Black to be slightly too dark. But the effect of it is really nice and natural looking. A better color fit for me (and less expensive) is Gimme Brow from Benefit Cosmetics.

 

 

A Season of Women

I've never been one to hang out with the girls, instinctively preferring the company of boys. The boys, they liked me, I liked them, and it was pretty easy to crack their code. Girls on the other hand, they were nuanced and mercurial; they felt like trouble, high seas at high tide. 

As I get older though, it's my relationships with women that see me through the days and months and years. These relationships come in all shapes and sizes, the women in all ages, personalities, and locales. They take up huge chunks of real estate in my heart, gracing and inspiring me, rounding out my sharper edges, bringing the details into focus. It is different than what I share with my husband, but finally, just as necessary.

The pettiness of youth falls away under the weight of a life fully lived. All of us are both less and more than what we were. Sorrows have been endured, disappointments shouldered. There is a certain heaviness that bestows a lightness of being.  My generation of women, we are older now.

There is less competition for the joy in life, an understanding that there's enough to go around, indeed that it's better when shared. We support and hold each other aloft, finally having learned that jealousy eats holes into the very fabric of our being, leaving us less than whole. 

There is more laughter now, more weariness, too. We speak in truth not code, our time too precious for anything less. The fears and weaknesses so carefully shrouded in our youth have become more exposed. There is less judgment now, more compassion for ourselves, leading to more for others. It is often those very flaws that expose the beauty. 

It is a new season for me, this season of women. The timing is right now. So to all of the women who grace my life with their friendship, whether peripherally or in the trenches, I give you my whole heart in this season of love.

Happy Valentine's Day!

 

Thoughts for a New Year

I finally got it right this holiday season, finding that fine line between enjoyment and overload, slowing down just enough to feel hopeful in the new year rather than drained. In the quiet spaces, I found myself thinking about the new year, perhaps not any differently than I do the rest of the year, but finally, with some sense of clarity.

I spent most of last year feeling exhausted, lots of ideas and intangibles floating around in my brain with no useful outlet or direction. Not only exhausted, but a little stuck, too. I sometimes tell friends who are going through transitions without a road map that it helps to just get comfortable with being uncomfortable. I had to take a lot of my own advice.  But suddenly and yet slowly, I've found myself with moments of clarity. It always surprises me how straightforward the answers seem when they show up. I never understand the tortured path they take to get to me.

I finally realized that one of the most important things I can do for myself this year is separate my work from my home. I need space, space to thrive and grow, a place where color and creative abandon can reign, where piles of projects in process aren't guilt inducing. I need a home, a (relatively) serene space where I can unwind, not constantly distracted by the work on the dining room table calling my name. It seems so simple - and so complicated.

As quickly as I identified my needs, I was acutely aware of my fears. It struck me how often I operate from fear now, something I didn't have in my twenties. But I've been a freelancer for a long time, security isn't a byproduct of such career choices. As a result I've accepted less for myself, making do instead of thriving. It's funny how often we'll accept less than we need, all the while encouraging others to maximize their potential.

What will happen if I take a leap?  My fear is that I will make a move to expand and the Universe will contract. But I also know that if I don't expand, the Universe will contract anyway. Catch-22. I may as well move toward the light.

Happy 2014!

 

 

The Christmas That Almost Got Away

This is what my house looked like last year, the day before Thanksgiving, after several days of Halloween photo shoots (which, ironically, you won't see until next year.)  What you don't see are the living room walls painted several different shades of gray, from the palest to the deepest charcoal, used as backdrops for one of the shoots. Not something you can just tidy up in a hurry, and a move I was willing to make because I'd decided I needed to repaint my living room anyway.

 

In case you're wondering why I took this photo, it's because I saw my son's feet peeking out of all the mess as he carved out a little niche for himself to watch television. I had a vision of a future session on a therapist's couch, lamenting how his mother had ruined holidays for him, how his house was just a whole lot of crazy growing up. I snapped the shot so he'd have proof. No revisionist history here. I'll just own up to it and we can move on.  It was bad enough that the one developmental marker that he didn't achieve on his Kindergarten report card was being able to "identify the customs attached to each holiday."  Yes, my fault!  I know that not everybody makes Christmas ornaments when it's 4th of July or dyes Easter eggs on New Years Day. But I digress.

Through some crazy delusion that could only have been brought on by lack of sleep, I truly thought that I'd quickly put everything away, paint my living room the perfect shade of gray, and decorate for Christmas, my favorite holiday of the year. Maybe I'd be a few days off schedule, but no sweat. Yeah, anyway.

No one told me that the "perfect shade of gray" is hard to come by, that it changes from morning to night (drastically) and that it really takes about a week for it to cure, before you can see what the final color will be. Cut to the week after Thanksgiving, possibly a dozen different paint swatches covering the walls in patchwork fashion, and the holidays felt waaay out of reach. I was a little panicked. I have a child. We couldn't just cancel Christmas!

By December 21, we finally had a freshly painted living room and no trace of Halloween or Thanksgiving were to be found (but no trace of Christmas, either). We bought a tree, strung some lights on it, and then kind of gave up. My son asked if anyone was going to help him decorate the tree, but when he realized he could decorate without even a smidgen of input from his very particular mother, well, he was ecstatic. So our tree had its little row of ornaments, all just about eye level of a 6-year-old. I didn't move a thing. In fact, we never quite got around to pushing the tree against the wall. It sort of hung out between the pocket doors in the living room. I just couldn't get there. 

Santa came, my son was happy, oblivous to his parents' exhaustion, and we breathed a sigh of relief that we'd made it through. Then a few days after Christmas, Ann, the editor-in-chief at Christmas Ideas asked if she could photograph my house for the 2013 Christmas issue...and I said yes, because that's what (crazy) professionals do. She scheduled the shoot for the end of January. 

My husband picked up a towering 9-foot tree at the airport, along with 45 lbs. of greenery and 75 feet of garland, fresh off of a farm in Oregon. In a normal city, someone might have questioned why my husband was carrying a fresh tree on the car in the middle of January. But this is New Orleans. We see weird stuff all the time. 

I played the carols, made dozens of white ornaments, wrapped the (mostly) fake gifts, and somewhere in that month, I found the Christmas spirit that I hadn't been able to find the entire holiday season. Though I admit, it was awkward when I caught one of my neighbors eyeing me through the window as I decorated the tree the last week of January. I knew instantly I had become the crazy cat lady of the neighborhood. It wasn't like I'd kept my tree up too long, no, I was just getting started with Christmas - a true freak. I started closing the shutters after that. Christmas in private, please. 

And this is what my house looked like for the Christmas that almost got away in 2012. You can't tell how crazy it was getting there, and while you may be inclined to believe it was all make believe, it wasn't. It was as real as real can be. Because if there's on thing I've learned in my business - it's Christmas whenever you want it to be.

 

 

 

 

Photographs by Brie Williams

You can see more of this story, along with lots of other homes and projects in Christmas Ideas, on newsstands now, or available as a digital edition here.

Sources:
I've been getting lots of emails regarding various items shown in this story. So here they are. (For all of the natural elements, I'll be doing a post on sources for winter items shortly.)

Papier-Mache Stags Head from West Elm
Tiered Display Stand from Matthew Mead Vintage
Reindeer Cookies from PfConfections on Etsy
Milk glass tumblers can usually be found on Etsy or Ebay
Preserved natural moss is available in mat and roll form. You can find it here at Save-On-Crafts 
Realistic artificial snow also available at Save-On-Crafts 
Wall color in living room is Nimbus #1465 from Benjamin Moore 

 

Creativity by Collaboration

 

Most of my creative life has taken place in solitude, a solitude that has seemed necessary but at odds with my personality. It gets a little lonely sometimes. That loneliness has been more pronounced over the last year or two. The more creative I felt, the more I felt the loneliness. I knew I needed to start a new chapter.

One thing I've always known instinctively is that the first step to attaining your desires is articulating your desires. Out loud, to yourself, to other people. I had my aha! moment after a weekend spent with some passionate and talented girlfriends. I realized what I really needed was a partner of some sort. Not every day, but regularly. I needed hands-on collaboration. Lots of it.

Since that shout out to the Universe, members of my tribe have started filtering into my life, slowly but steadily, as if they've heard my call. Some are much younger, some older, and several don't live here at all, but show up often enough that it feels like they do. The energy they generate is palpable. I am filled up when they leave, satisfied to sit and work in solitude again. They are gifts to my spirit. They teach me, they make me more creative.

One of those people is my friend, Alison. She's a professional photographer and a New Orleanian who lives in Brooklyn. But she's been coming home pretty regularly, and after a few years of friendship, we've started getting together on a creative level, shooting interiors (she shoots the interiors, I tag along and socialize and photograph details for myself).

But this last visit she had something else in mind, a photo shoot in an empty French Quarter apartment that hadn't seen a renovation or a fresh coat of paint in 60 years. Just the two of us, my styling, her eye, no agenda other than to try to capture a moment in time before it became a renovation.I didn't need any convincing. Alison and I work for some of the same clients, so we share a common editorial language, but we share another language common to New Orleanians - we love decay, seeing nothing but beauty there. 

We settled on natural elements, nature and decay a pairing intrinsic to New Orleans, and we lugged what felt like a million bits and pieces up and down stairs, sweating buckets in the heat and humidity of an unairconditioned apartment (but as Alison pointed out, with our own live jazz performance just outside). I had had a difficult night, with 4 hours of sleep and mountains of anxiety, but for those hours I felt zero fatigue. I felt alive.

That good feeling stayed with me for several weeks after Alison left, making me grateful that I'd been able to hone in on what was missing in my life. I need these collaborations and I look forward to more of them, with all kinds of creative people. It doesn't matter in what area their creative expertise lies, there is something wonderful and magical to learn and explore and share. They remind me of what's important, and more importantly, what is not.  

 

 

 

All photographs by Alison Gootee.
 

**I heard an interesting story on NPR a few weeks ago that involved creative collaboration. Singer/songwriter Jim Bianco posted a questionnaire on his website with 69 questions for fans to answer. As a result, each of the 17 songs on his new album Cookie Cutter is inspired by a fan. It's a great story - you can find it here.

 

Child's Play

Last night, under the sliver of a crescent moon, the night air holding the promise of fall, my son scored his first touchdown. 

I didn't want him to play football. Too dangerous, too much worry. But he's been waiting for this time, waiting since the first moment he touched a ball. Indeed it was the first word from his mouth. All the other sports he's patiently participated in, all were but a dress rehearsal for this. I am learning to manage my fear, to breathe through it, to let go. Sometimes I almost get there. 

But as much as I didn't want him to play, I worried the first few practices that he would quit. His coach is tough, old school, a military man interested in discipline and winning. I could see my son's lip tremble during water breaks, afraid to meet my eyes, afraid that he would start crying. But he toughed it out week after week, even though this game of football wasn't meeting his expectations, even though he longed to to catch and run instead of block and tackle, even though he couldn't get anywhere near the ball. I'm a mom. I worry about his safety, but I worry about his heart, too, and I could feel the disappointment building even as he continued to show up.

Then last night he got his chance to touch the ball. It was the last quarter, we were winning anyway, and I think the coach felt it was safe enough to let a rookie have a go at the ball. I realized what was happening, my chest tight, my breath caught in my throat, and he was off. Fast, caught up in traffic, zigzagging his way loose across the field, keeping his legs moving, right into the end zone. Of course, I got a little weepy.

My son wasn't nearly as proud as I was. He just looked at me after the game, relaxed, confident, said he knew he could run the ball, he was just waiting for someone to give it to him. He was a lot prouder of the fact that he'd recovered a fumble, something he hadn't expected of himself.  I miss that confidence of childhood, the absolute belief that the world is open to you, that you cannot fail. Where does that go?

I've been thinking a lot about being a child, trying to remember what it was like, what I created, how I felt. I remember being incredibly prolific, staying up til the wee hours of the night to create. I sold my creations for pocket money. I feel like I did some ambitious things, things I can no longer do, but maybe they were actually simplistic. I don't know; there aren't any photos, no evidence of my youthful endeavors. My son asked me a question from the backseat the other day. He asked me if I could remember the first photograph I ever took. It kills me; I wish I knew. I wish I could remember all of those "firsts."

Do you think about your own childhood, the risks you may or may not have taken at that time in your life? Do you think it's possible to get back to that liberated, unfettered state? It reminds me of a quote from The Little Prince, one of my favorite books - "All grown-ups were once children...but only few of them remember it."

 

After a Moment of Silence

Yesterday was a day of blog silence for many, a way to pay tribute to the victims of the Newtown shooting. It was an act I took part in, though I decided to forego the special badge that announced my participation. But today, my moment of silence has ended. 

I've heard the perspective that bloggers can provide uplifting content for others, give them something to focus on other than the news. But personally, I don't think we can afford to ignore what's in front of us, to be uplifted in a time of senseless tragedy. I think we need to speak often and vigorously. Now, while this moment is fresh and still so raw. We, all of us, need to be the catalyst for change.

I remember Columbine so clearly. I was on my honeymoon, full of hope for the future, shattered by what I saw on television. That was almost fourteen years ago and at the time felt like a crazy, isolated tragedy. Since that time, crazy has turned into commonplace.  It breaks my heart over and over again.

We need to talk. We need to examine ourselves. We need to determine whether we need so many guns - and if so, whether we need assault weapons in the hands of our citizens. We need to look hard at the issues of mental illness and emotional problems, be prepared to recognize them in people we love dearly.  We need a solid system in place to support those individuals and their families. 

I wish I lived in a world where love conquers all, where I don't have to worry that a similar fate could befall my six year-old. I don't. But I hope I live in a world where reason and compassion can overtake political divide. I hope I have a future where these types of mass killings begin to abate.

There's a lot of work to do. I hope we'll do it - all of us, together. That's the best way I can think of to support the community of Newtown.

A Week in Review

I've been in a bit of a funk all week, thinking about the East Coast. I'm tired and pushing against deadlines, so I don't have the emotional fortitude I might normally have, but it's been a weird week. On Wednesday, I was telling my 6 year-old that his grandparents were okay after the hurricane. I started to say that their power would be out for awhile when my son suddenly yelled from the backseat, "No fair! Their hurricane was way shorter than mine!" 

I was startled by his response, but he experienced his first hurricane, Isaac, over the summer. It was brutally hot, with temperatures in the 90s and unbearable humidity. There was nowhere to go, as all of our friends and family were without power as well. It took more than a week before it was restored and on the fifth day my son woke at 7 am, asked if we had power yet, then broke down in tears when I told him we didn't. It was a difficult experience for him, despite our efforts to keep it light and fun, and I realize that the memory will likely be with him forever.

On Thursday I had much the same experience, in a conversation with a man, one of the only people here who'd even mentioned the storm to me. With the direction that the conversation was going, I thought he was going to say that New Orleanians could really empathize with how the victims were feeling, could lend emotional support. But what he said was, "Now, they finally know how we feel." Present tense, not past. Some wounds are slow to heal.

The same day, my closest friend in New York sent me photos of the beach house that's been in her husband's family for over fifty years. She didn't say anything in her email, just the photos, and it was enough. I immediately had tears in my eyes the second I saw the house, appearing to have shifted off its foundation, the retaining wall gone, the sand piled up almost to the basement ceiling.

I'm not much of a beach person, my skin is too sensitive to enjoy it during the day. But it's the first place where my son experienced the ocean, the site of my best night's sleep ever, with the waves slapping against the shoreline and a balmy breeze breaking the sweltering heat of the day. 

It's where my friend spends her entire summer with her family. When we speak on the phone, I can see her in all of its rooms. I know what it smells and looks like, what it sounds like. It feels as familiar to me as her Manhattan apartment. It is a second home, but for the summer it is always her primary home, and I cannot imagine what the loss will feel like if there's nothing salvageable there. Not the loss of a structure, but the loss of a lifestyle, the memories of your children's experiences left there in the sand.

It's that overwhelming sense of loss, the fear of returning to that loss, I think, that has made many of my fellow New Orleanians mute. It's all too tangible still, lives that are forever divided into "before" and "after." The word "Katrina" still peppers everyday conversation in a way that would suggest it happened last year instead of more than seven years ago. That's how long it takes to recover from an experience like Katrina or Sandy. Some people never really recover at all, they just endure. And events like this week just remind us that it could easily happen again. 

At the same time, people are generally resilient and it is within individual communities that hurricane victims will find solace. Shoulder to shoulder, day by day. It's a long journey, one that millions of people will still be on long after it's been replaced in the news cycle. And while I will eventually move on as well, today my heart is more than a thousand miles away, in the city that's my second home. 

Creativity on the Fly

If you walked into my house right now you'd think it was the home of a deranged person, hearts mingling with jack-o-lanterns and corn husks. I'm working on next year's magazine stories, Valentine's, Halloween, and Thanksgiving - all at the same time. When my schedule overlaps like this I'm in creative mode 24/7, fueled by deadlines, adrenaline, and a whole lot of coffee. But I also find that it's times like these when I tap into other creative outlets for myself, personally. Those outlets can't take up much time - they have to be nearly instantaneous. Which is one of the reasons I turn to my camera. It's quick and effortless, perfect for an overly stimulated brain.

I took these photos on the fly, all with my iPhone, quickly edited in iPhoto. The jellyfish were taken while chaperoning a first grade field trip to the Aquarium, the water cabbage were taken in our courtyard as part of a decoupage project for my son's class, and the nighttime view of City Park came while leaving a concert with my husband. I tell you this because it's a simple reminder (which I need all the time) that creativity doesn't require huge investments of time, just a willingness to see, and capture in some way, what's around you. It's an easy way to recharge, regardless of your occupation.

 

 

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Thinking of my many friends, family, colleagues, and readers on the East Coast today. May Mother Nature be kinder than anticipated. 

 

Checking In

My son is six today. It's amazing how quickly we've arrived at this place and unbelievable that six years later, the night before my son's birthday was a repeat of the night before I gave birth. I was at my table, working late into the night on a Christmas assignment (thankfully this go round I won't be returning from the hospital as a first time mother with my assignment still laid out waiting to be completed). 

At any rate, I thought I should check in and assure you that I've not given up blogging. There's just something about summer and blogging that doesn't quite work for me. I'm lazy through the first half of summer, recovering from the school year, figuring out the new routine, eager for more social activity, and then slammed through the second half of the summer with fall and winter holiday assignments.

But Christmas is almost over in my house and school starts this week and I've got a million ideas and projects running around in my head that I want to share here. So please bear with me - I'll get back to some type of rhythm soon. And I really can't wait to share all of the holiday projects I've been working on. I'm tired, but I've been having a lot of fun and I'm really happy with the results of my labor, which feels good. 

So on a Monday morning, I don't have much, but I thought I'd share a quote with you from E.B. White, which feels appropriate since my son and I are currently reading Charlotte's Web. I've been collecting quotes for years, but so many of them are scribbled in notebooks and I realized recently that I'd never enjoy them unless I got them out of the notebooks. So I've started typing them up on the vintage typewriter I received for Christmas and I leave them on display. That way, when I pass it throughout the day I end up reading it over and over (and remembering it). The following week brings another. So here it is - the quote for this week.

Have a happy Monday!

In Pursuit of Beauty (Part II)

It's my birthday this weekend, and with the gain of another year I thought I'd take my annual dip into the topic of beauty. Yes, inner beauty is of utmost importance, but there's no reason you can't look pretty on the road to enlightment.

Beyond the tips I had last year for turning back time and an economical approach to makeup experimentation, I thought I'd share the makeup tips and products I've been using that have been working for me.

I'm like every busy mother, and because I work from home, there are plenty of days that I roam around without makeup. But that makes the days when I am wearing it a lot more fun. And while I still enjoy experimenting, I also need to get out of the house in a timely fashion, so here's my tried and true.

Lay the Foundation:

I was always a liquid foundation lover, but you can't beat the ease of mineral makeup. I tried a number of brands before settling on my favorite, Raw Natural Minerals Active Mineral Foundation. I've been using it for the last couple of years and it's hands down my favorite of all the mineral makeups I've tried. It stays in place for a good twelve hours, holds up to heat and humidity, supplies coverage from sheer to full, and doesn't look shiny or shimmery. I do have to mix two shades to get the exact color I need, but it's easy to combine the powders in the lid. I love it!

 

Highlight the Eyes:

When you're tired it shows up in your eyes. And as you get older, it shows up more and more. If you use a product like Eye Beam from Smashbox, you can highlight the inner corners of your eye and the brow bone. It's an instant brightener that makes you look younger and more alert.

 

Lale Beauty

Tightlining:

This is a little trick I picked up from Pinterest. If you lift your lid and apply liner at the lash line, from the inside of your eye, it gives you subtle definition that still looks natural. It's great for everyday wear, when you don't want to go all out. I still use the technique at night and apply liner on the top of my lids as well.

Beautylish

 

Enhance the Lips:

I'm lucky in that I have naturally full lips. But I do notice a certain deflation that's taking place over time. It's subtle, but I endured a lot of teasing as a child over my lips. I've earned them and I'd like to flaunt them as long as possible, not to mention that fuller lips automatically make you look younger (unless you've gone the extreme surgical route, which we've seen the unfortunate results of on celebrities who should know better).

So here's the trick - highlight the upper ridge of the lip. This could be a highlighter pencil or even a lighter concealer  (I use an inexpensive highlighter from Maybelline - DreamLumi Touch Highlighting Concealer). The other product I use on top of my lipstick is Sally Hansen Full & Radiant Lip Definer. I like the texture and it adds just enough luminescence to enhance my lips without looking fake and overly shimmery.

The Beauty Department

 

Go Nude:

In my twenties I was all about red lipstick and much deeper shades. The older I get, the better I look with lip shades that are more natural (it also makes your lips look fuller than deeper shades do). This year I went even more natural with Kevyn Aucoin's Flesh Tone pencil in Medium (I use it on my entire lip). I can't tell you how many women stop me and ask what lip color I'm wearing. It's natural, but somehow dramatic. 

 

So there they are, my beauty tips for the year (along with self-confidence, a perennial favorite). And I may be a year older, but you know what - I'm getting better and better with age. I bet you are, too.

Spring at Afton Villa

 
Ask people who or what inspired their aesthetic and they'll cite any number of influences. But it's taken me a long time to recognize that most of my personal aesthetic is inspired by the unparalleled beauty of trees in the South. Perhaps it's the birthright of a Southerner to have a strong sense of place, but the trees...It's one of the primary reasons I needed to come back home.

At any rate, I was looking through these photos I took a few weeks ago at Afton Villa, where only the gardens remain, and I realized that nearly everything I surround myself with or live with somehow looks good under those trees. Whether it's the colors I choose, the contrast of clean lines played against graceful abundance, or the well loved aspect of my favorite possessions, when you get right down to it, they are intertwined with those trees. 

Now I know. And now that I've gotten that glimpse into my decorating psyche, I hope you'll enjoy these photos. I can never quite capture how spectacular these trees are in person, but that never stops me from trying!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gratitude

I keep a list of things I want to share on this blog. The list is always much longer than my life will allow. But occasionally, I run across something that reminds me of what I really want to share, what I've been thinking about all along.

For months now, I've been thinking about gratitude, about how absolutely grateful I am for my life, for all the ups and downs, triumphs and despair. I've thought a lot about being a kid, being someone who's been able to chase dreams, who's had the satisfaction of seeing some of those cherished wishes come true. Part and parcel of those dreams are the unexpected joys, the quiet moments that turned my life upside down, the experiences that shattered me into a million pieces and then put me back together again.

I'm grateful. I love that I'm here, that I get to take part in this life. I am grateful for all of the dreams that have come true, especially the ones I couldn't articulate or even hope to realize on my own. I'm grateful for the amazing people I've met on this journey, the kaleidoscope of perspectives that have transformed my life. I am so grateful for this unparalleled gift - all of it.

Have a happy weekend!

(This quote is from The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold. The typography comes via Pretty Zoo.) 

 

My Favorite Valentine

My son and I have started making Valentines for his classmates and it's been a lot of fun watching his creative mind at work. (None of the girls are getting red sparkly hearts - these go to the boys because they are "too much" for the girls. Can't wait until he gets his first glimpse of a girl wearing red lipstick.) 

But it reminded me of my favorite Valentine card, possibly the best card I will ever receive. It was during a strange and unsettled time, a time when my husband and I were redefining ourselves as individuals and midway into our journey to start a family. I think the only thing that kept us tethered to the day-to-day during that time was having each other.

At any rate, my husband, who's most gifted with the pen or a shaker, raided my craft closet and made a card for me. It may not sound like much, but I knew just how much he'd stepped outside of his comfort zone, picking up a pair of scissors, creating the color combinations, gluing on teeny, tiny rickrack, breaking out the glitter (!!)...

I love this card, still, just as much as I did the day I received it. Sometimes it's the small stuff that ends up feeling the most profound. But this year, it's my turn. He's getting a 3-dimensional card and let me tell you, it's pretty big - and right up his alley.  I can't wait!  (I'll post it after Valentine's Day.)