Hazelnut Cottage

Spastic

Okay. One more thing.

I just have to say, being on Etsy is well, horrible!!! In the best way. I mean, drooling over all of these images really do fill the artist’s well full up with ideas, inspiration, passion. But then, I find myself running smack dab into all kinds of limitations with the babies running around here; no unsafe chemicals, fumes or tinkering with things that just might burn down the place, no to mention the added cost of bringing new yummies into the shop. And I am getting frustrated!!!!!! And I can’t find those thingy’s I’m searchin' for!!!!! AGGGHHHhhhhh!

Okay. Done now.

Kind of Obsessive Compulsive

Okay. So I might be just a little. Obsessive. Compulsive.

Have you ever gotten an IDEA for a new design or project into your head and then just cannot let it go? Yah. Me. Right now. I'm driving myself nuts trying to plan and implement this *NEW* idea I have for the shop this year, and am trying to get my act together in time for Mother's Day!

Oh. I've been so off kilter (even for me!) lately. I wonder what’s going on...hoping you are doing well...stay tuned!

Hives

The body KNOWS.

To top off my latest internal dramas, I now have a full blown outbreak of hives. E-V-E-R-Y-W-H-E-R-E. This is the second day and it is much worse than it was yesterday. It is now 3:10 am and I just had to get out of bed and DO something, because lying awake for 4 hours scratching was driving me absolutely insane. I finally gave in and took half a dose of benadryl around 1:30 am, but it did not seem to work. So I took the other half about 30 minutes ago...and I'm still waiting.

OH, and no day job for me, not yet. My childcare plans fell through, so, as Parker Palmer would say, that is “way closing”. Relieved on one hand, yet slightly, uh, panicked. Anyhoo, onto Plan B—work even harder? The hives are saying “noooooooooooooo”...maybe, pray more, trust more, sleep more.

So. It is the coldest day ever here in Honolulu (like, 65 degrees or something--that is super cold for us--trust me!) and here I am taking cold showers at 3:00 am to try and give myself some relief.

Searching the internet for compassionate advice and instant cures does not work, so do not try this at home yourself. No. The only thing you will find as you search for some kind of comfort (that you know in your once sane mind does not exist on the internet) are horrible, whacked out stories of people who suffer inconsolably from hives regularly, from unknown causes for weeks, months and yes, sometimes years.

Discovering this information is like being pregnant with your first child, only to hear seasoned mothers recount their horrid labor and delivery experiences.

Okay, feeling a little drowsy now...where was I?

Oh. Yah. Hives. So, the body KNOWS. I am almost sure it is stress induced. (Used to suffer from ulcer type pains, but that's a whole other story.) Stress. S-T-R-E-S-S. Yah. Okay God, you have my full and concentrated attention.

Gotta let go. Gotta do something to deal with the stress in my life. Acknowledge the stress. Acknowledge the crazy life I am living. Do something about making life less stressful and learn to deal healthily with the residual stress; exercise, etc. Do something about making my life less crazy. Set better work boundaries, for one. Hire help, either for my business or for the house (oh, how I WISH). Girl days? Therapy? Yes.

Okay, getting a little incoherent now. Maybe the Benadryl is finally kicking in? (Oh man, am I gonna feel it tomorrow!)

Panic Attacks and the Artist’s Life

 

“In his pursuit of the dream, he was being constantly subjected to tests of his persistence and courage. So he could not be hasty, nor impatient. If he pushed forward impulsively, he would fail to see the signs and omens left by God along his path.” ~The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho

Alright. I admit it. I have been in the midst of a 4 day, tax-induced (oh, okay, okay, self-induced) panic attack. It all began with Taxman. He came by to help fill out some financial aid paperwork and as part of that torturous process, he educated me on some of my own financial numbers. I have no words, as verbose as I am, for the amount of nausea and shock I felt as he was talking about my self-employment tax, my (late) general excise tax as well as a number of other minutae that he apparently trusts me to supply him with, oh, before April 15th. Of this year.

And so, this “event”, which I had anxiously anticipated would come, occurred on Friday night, and put me into a state of anxiety known to none.

The result? An immediate need for a normal person's day J-O-B.

Now, of course, this would leaving my baby in the care of another. It would mean going back to teaching. And it would mean severely cutting back or perhaps, cutting out work on my art, my business, my jewelry.

The root of all of this is that "S" word again...security. Choosing that safe, predictable, paycheck. That is a large part of my neurosis.

Soul seeking, re-assessing my life right now and somehow feeling that going back to that day job feels like I am giving up...giving up my ideals, my dreams, my babies...it feels—without trying to be melodramatic—like the death of a dream. I always thought the dream was to work with every ounce of my being to make this work full-time one day, but now, I’m not so sure. The dream is now very fuzzy.

Is this indie life worth it? Is it possible (with the help of a knowlegeable and kind accountant) to thrive as an indie artist, without having to agree to a hand-to-mouth type of existence, or is a profitable indie life only known to a precious few? I mean, do I really NEED to do all of this art that I talk about? Maybe it is only coloring with my crayons, and I should go get a job.

So full of self-doubt right now. So in agony over the choices I see thrust before me.

It all smacks of a time of testing, and I feel that I am already failing, utterly. Just so ya' know.

Dear Babies of Mine

Dear Babies of Mine,
Your mama is so tired. Can’t see straight, and failing miserably at this self-care thing I write so boldly about. The house is still, except for the rhythmic whorrring of the fan at my side and the faint purring of Sarai nuzzled under my desk.

I hear everyone's heavy breathing, a few snores and snorts emanating from various parts of the house and I admit to feeling sorry for myself tonight. Wishing I could be lost in my slumber too.

Instead I am here, in my makeshift art studio, which I both passionately love and despise at the same time, lately. I am feverishly trying to finish a painting before the inspiration leaves me. I am finding that I cannot leave a piece undone. Once I begin, I must sit with it until it is finished. And then I feel tired, but good, like an athlete after a hard workout.

And while I create, I dream about all of the good things I want for you both. A happy, healthy home. A mama and daddy that are patient and gentle with you, tender and loving. An education that will nurture and challenge you, while providing you with a safe learning environment...that somehow, we could afford.

And dirt to dig around in. Boys need dirt. I wish I could send you off to search for rocks and crawly things when you get bored inside. But one day.

And I'm sorry if I dream aloud too much. Maybe you hear my wishes as promises and feel disappointed that what I say isn't real (yet). I will try to be careful. (I just get carried away sometimes, talking and hoping out loud).

But I am working on being content. I really am. I think I've come a long way. And I hope you are learning contentment too. To rest in God with out expecting or demanding more, but being truly grateful for what is. Period.

And I’m sorry for those times (oh, too many) that I am too tired from working at night to properly fill your days with rich memories. For laying on the couch when I should take you to the park. For dozing off when I should be taking you to go get a Slurpee. But I’ll try to do better.

And forgive me for being grouchy and impatient with you sometimes. It isn't you. It's all the worries I carry around in my head and it's the not taking care of myself like I should that gets to me sometimes.

I hope one day you see how much of my work is driven by my deep love for you. How it was worth it to stay up these late nights so that I could be home with you during the day, these early years. I hope one day you feel it was worth it too.

Love,
Your Mama

**Thanks to you all, for your recent comments, especially about the film...you help make this little blog a richer experience, so thank you!**

“Be willing to paint or write badly while your ego yelps resistance...Your lousy painting may be pointing you in a new direction. Art needs time to incubate, to sprawl a little, to be ungainly and misshapen and finally emerge as itself. The ego hates this fact. The ego wants instant gratification and the additive hit of an acknowledged win.” ~Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way

So I am in the process of learning to paint, learning to draw (again), learning to risk. I have so much to say, and nothing to say through my art, all at the same time which may not make sense to anyone else, but which I feel, nevertheless. There are images swirling inside my head and color combinations aplenty, but somehow, between the concept in my head, the images and colors change once they hit the paper. Somehow.

And it has been a little bit frustrating, as it seems my hand has a mind of it's own (and not a very skillful mind at that). And in the end, what is it that I really want to say? What is it that I am trying to express? Is there anything of substance there?

I am finding myself very uncomfortable in this new arena. Like a rookie. Like everything I am making SUCKS ROCKS (does anyone even say that anymore?). And I am skinning my knees and wondering if I am going down the right path...or not... ...and trying to remember to have FUN at the same time (remember that? fun?) And yet, there is something about the paints, the colors, the buttery texture that offers me all sorts of possibilities. Possibilities that my silver jewelry work doesn't satisfy in quite the same way.

Growing pains.

“Who Does She Think She Is?”

I literally gasped when I saw this trailer...and am in tears as I sit here now, writing this, trying to find words for the emotions that this little movie trailer has stirred up...I am so feeling it. I’ve been failing miserably at taking better care of myself (for all my talk of living boldy, I’ve been setting new records at my going to bed hours...4am one night!) but I feel such a strong urge to do some kind of art that will help me express whatever it is that needs to get out. Something wants to come out and I find myself feeling very frustrated, very constipated in an art sort of way (of course). I find that a large part of my frustration is based in the fact that I have so little time during the day—okay, none—to create. So much of me has been feeling lately, like, “Leave me alone.” And then I feel utterly terrible, guilty...but lately all I want to do is my art. And the frustration is there becuase so much of my true self wants to have days on end where I can just focus on losing myself in the different creative venues I feel drawn to...an art class would be a dream...and yet, the reality is, that I cannot, at least, not until my orders are done and I have the house all nice and quiet to myself. By then, it is quite late and once I get into my stuff, I don’t want to stop. And before I know it, it is 3am.

Another reason I am feeling out of sorts, is because I have all of these ideas but I am at the point where I lack the artistic skill to convey and express my ideas, my thoughts, my feelings. The way it feels inside, or looks in my head and the way it comes out on paper are two completely different images.

And my babies. My babies. It is just so difficult. Life has been getting so much more hectic, so much busier now, with sports, with kindergarten applications, with interviews (!), with 2 of my guys (one big, one little) STILL sick with whatever it was that was going around during CHRISTMAS.

Sometimes I think it would be easier, better to just stop. Put it all away, for say, the next 18 years, instead of having to feel yanked in two directions all of the time...

Anyhoo. Just struggling right now. And tired to the bone.

Living Boldly: An Adventure

Surprise! Livin’ boldy baby! Wooohooo!

I took a huge leap and did it. I DID IT! I opened up a new Etsy shop to feature my original mixed media collage art and illustrations. Woooohooooo!

Scared. Embarrassed (what if no one likes it?! worse, what if people HATE it?!). Excited. Exhiliarted! Joyful! Happy! At peace...

This new (insane) venture is called “A Twilight Sky”. Yay! Twilight you see, is my very, very favorite time of day. A small space in time—everyday—when things seem golden and peaceful and right. And that is how I feel sometimes when I’m happily creating a mess.

It is where I am giving myself permission to play, to create, to try and satisfy new artistic urgings. After hemming and hawing and talking myself out of it (you've no time, you've no talent, you've nothing to say, how does this fit in business wise?! blah, blah, blah), I just decided to go for it. So it doesn't sell, or get liked, so what?! It was sure fun to do!

Here’s a peek!

Birdhouses $175

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She Flew Away $150

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Flight of the Dandelion $150

Notes to Self

1. DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT save all of my accounting for the end of the year.
2. DO NOT smash all of my receipts in an envelope like a slob. Do Not.
3. OMG, Do not eat out so often.
4. Set a budget and stick to it for 2009.
5. Don’t go to McDonalds so often.
6. DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT leave your ge taxes for the end of the year.

OH hallo to anyone out there!!! I am in sheer and utter PAIN as I go through each and every single penny I spent last year, trying to get my finances in order for tax time. I HATE TAX TIME. I HATE TAXES. OHhhhh A-G-O-N-Y.

I cannot imagine that there are people out there (hi bartt!) who decided one day that "HEY! I want to be an accountant!" Can. Not. Imagine.

I need a vacation. Wait, I just came back from vacation. Well, I need another one as soon as I’m finished with all this tax stuff. Ugh.

Live Boldly

This is my “word” for the new year.

It is with quiet assurance that I sense God impressing this word upon me. He is encouraging me not to wait, but to live right now, today, in this moment. To be real. To be transparent. To connect with others deeply.

Living boldly means using the “good” bath gel and not saving it for a special occasion. It means being fully present to my little ones, to my husband, my family and friends. It means stopping to look my babies in the eyes and really listen when they talk to me rather than hurrying them up so I can get back to whatever it was I was doing.

It also means taking those risks, trying out those (crazy) new ideas, trying, trying, sometimes “failing” by whatever definition of success I have tagged my efforts with, and always rising to try yet again. And though many of these risks and ideas need their proper time to germinate and grow without bother, there also comes a time for doing.

And not doing. Living boldly means trusting God to provide even though I make the choice to step back from my work a bit so that I can take better care of myself and my family.

Living boldly means wearing dangly earrings and pretty dresses and perhaps chopping off most of my hair or going red or blonde (haven’t decided yet...kidding! *chuckle*) It means not being so danged timid about my choices, but instead having a quiet confidence that God and His grace are so much more than adequate to cover all of me, and to do the best I can with what I have.

It means driving. Places. Alone. (Hey, who the heck is writing this stuff?!)

I think it also means not being so careful to conserve my time, my efforts, my finances, but rather to invest these generously, fearlessly as a legacy.

It also means surrendering my future, my hopes, my dreams that I have somehow become afraid to dream about lately and somehow resting in what is already here before me; yesterday’s prayerful-wish-dream that I had forgotten about and am now living.

Living boldly means living as if I really, really, really believed that God not only loves me, but is very fond of me.

Woohoo! What a challenge! (I am grateful at least that my word isn’t “patience”!!!)

How about you?