Warning: Coloring Club Brings Out Inner Child

Coloring and coloring books designed for adults is an ongoing new trend. It's a way to unwind and let go of the day. The difficulty in relaxation via coloring is you let your guard down to being yourself. The self that I am, I discovered, is a competitive take-no-prisoners coloring champion.

I know this because when someone jokingly asked me if I was feeling competitive I said,
"Yes. But I'm competing against myself and clearly I'm winning." 
Then as proof I held up my artwork. I was not joking; something had come over me.

I'd been looking forward to City in a Jar's first Coloring Club Night for a full month--RSVPed, blacked out the evening on my calendar, etc. Even though every correspondence stated Blick Art Supplies had generously donated coloring pencils and crayons (and they sure did!), I wasn't leaving the evening to chance. I carried in my own 48 crayons conspicuously bulging out of my purse.

I can say it was a little intimidating walking into Urban Chestnut knowing no one. High school cafeterias sprang to mind. I credit the communal tables. The 48 crayons, at at that point of the evening, made me feel a little too overeager and sheepish as I scanned the crowd. I saw no other 20/30 somethings toting personal boxes of crayons.

After checking myself in and locating the gorgeous artwork by Julie Hill Drawings, I had to find a spot.

*Gulp*

I'd sniffed out between checking in and getting the art, this was not a roll in stag sort of event. People came in alone and united with friends. They were in tight clusters of 3 to 7, which made it necessary to utter the dreaded words,

"Can I sit here?"

Thankfully, I got a "yes," as an answer, and got to tuck into some great coloring.

Later, when someone walked up to my table and asked if she could use some of our crayons, I felt a little too good. I immediately gave myself a pat on the back for being prepared. I'd scooted down and told myself I would share, if she sat next to me, but in between back pats the other table members said "No."

She was forced to either 1.) steal the crayons** or 2.) walk away. She moved on, and I realized our true selves, our inner children (as promised) were coming out, and apparently, they don't like sharing.

So, what did I learn at coloring club? 

1.) Go it alone (if you can't locate friends to come with),
2.) Come prepared; it can't hurt. 
3.) Reign in your inner child: share and scoot over
3.) Soak in as much as possible. 

Really, I haven't changed very much from childhood to now.


Want to share my crayons with me next time? Let's be friends and go together. RSVP here, and don't wait too long. Tickets are limited.


**I may need to write a short story about an adult who steals the crayons at coloring book night and the fallout that occurs because of it. Spoiler alert: it will escalate quickly.

Bright Spot(light) on Central Public Library

You can smell the copper before you touch it. Then, there's the feelings of betrayal and stupidity when the door labeled "PULL" is locked.

I made it to Central Public Library on Olive Street downtown for the first time. When left to plan my ideal day off, it made the top of the list. (It's second only to the SLAM, which is always closed on Mondays--a fact I always forget.) Now I'll remember Central is open!

The inside of the building is gorgeous. My 1:08 minutes ticking away on the meter out front wasn't enough time to see all of the rooms. I went quickly from floor to floor, neglecting the books entirely. There was no time to drink in the surroundings AND to touch spines and eye-judge covers (as I love to do.) 

The design woven into each floor to help direct you from where you are and where you want to be caught my attention and admiration

as did the creative work space and the unique details. 

This is the ceiling!

Unfortunately the Children's library won't let in child-less adults. But they do have nice androgynous gummy people standing guard. 

Oh and if you feel like you've died and gone to heaven, you haven't. That's just the bookshelves glowing. At first I thought it was just the books radiating renewable energy. Exactly how took a bit for me to figure out. I did run my hands over it to figure out the trick--built in bulbs. 

Quickly, my time was up but well spent.

Chain of Hearts

"I know you're sad. I'm so so sorry."
These were the words my mother said to me the moment stepped into her home after I'd finished my drive from St. Louis city to Illinois the morning of Tuesday, November 26th.

After a night of unrest and protesting in my neighborhood, I decided to leave early for Thanksgiving. "Leaving early for Thanksgiving" was the rationale I applied, but it did not help me lessen the feeling I'd relinquished something dearly loved without any opposition. It didn't undo the label I earned and given myself, coward.

The words would not come then; they barely come now.

If my heart were to break, I would not be surprised to find a rusted box of tangled chains within. I can feel them: heavy, tarnished and cold chafing together inside me. I can taste the bitter metal in my mouth, I can feel the corrosion on my fingers. These are the chains, twisted into a grotesque Gordian knot, that I wish I could undo. Let me name them:

This one is fear.

This one is anger.

This one is shame.

This one is helplessness.

This one is love.

This one is hope.


This chain is fear.
This is the fear that drove me to Illinois. Not the fear of white. Not the fear of black. Not the fear of law, enforced or broken. I feared the fear of what one fear-filled person can do. Then another. Then another. For fear grows like a disease and anyone can catch it.


This chain is anger.
Searching #Ferguson on Twitter to see if I was safe or not in my home, I saw cold, bald, distilled hatred. Hatred I had never seen before. My stomach lurched. Like a reflex, I suppose it tried to purge the poison I'd read. But it was too late. No retching can unsee the wretched hatred I beheld there.

This chain is shame.
How can a man or woman hate another? How can any one race hate another? How was I so blind? How could I so naively trust that others see what I do--the image of the Almighty? How can I ask someone to trust my fair skin if there's is different? How can I ask that now?

This chain is helplessness.
Lord just--
Lord, just--
Just--
My prayers, so charred and brittle, they break off and fall silent for the Spirit to interpret.

This chain is love.
I cannot fix what I do not feel. I cannot find what I do not see. I love. Help me to love more. Help me to love honestly and boldly. Help me to learn of Your perfect love and teach it and learn it again when I forget. I am so forgetful.

This chain is hope.
These are the magic words my dearly loved student taught me to say.

Her: I'm sorry Miss Martin.
Me: It's ok.
Her: I'm sorry Miss Martin.
Me: I heard you sweetie. It's ok.
Her: (Starting to weep) I said I'm sorry Miss Martin.
Me: Hey...shhhh. It's okay...I'm not angry...I...I forgive you.
Her: Okay. 

It took me far too long to learn to extend this forever forgiveness.

Me: I'm sorry.
Her: It's okay Miss Martin. I still forgive you.

I still forgive you.
I still forgive you.
I still forgive you.

The words of our children. The words of our Savior. The words that He will speak to un-knot the
chains of my heart and then beat them into crown.

Come Lord Jesus and heal our world. Heal my city. It groans for you.

Where Do You Go with Your Artist's Heart?

Tonight I got the very wonderful experience of going to an enchanting studio space in Shaw neighborhood.
First of all, if you are not from St. Louis, you likely now have heard about Shaw neighborhood, the recent violence, protests, vigils and Ferguson October. This story, this coverage, this light shone on our prejudices and hate of my beloved city is heart rending.
And when my heart is rent, I need to condition it and coax it back into being whole.

This need for nurturing led me back to the Shaw neighborhood. [Isn't this how so many things go? You go to the painful place to help heal?] I lived on Shaw, worked at the corner of Tower Grove and McCree, dog sat near the corner of Klemm. For four wonderful years, this was home.

Here I was, at the place I had scouted out months ago not knowing what would be inside. I loved the outside sign, font, and name. If there is a such thing, I had shop window love at first sight, I had it. The only other time that has happened was when I saw Winslow's Home going in. And boy was I ever right about that place. And I was right again.

As it happens this window and once empty space I became smitten with while commuting to work turns out to be an artists studio. Union Studio has several artists' work and wares on display, while also providing them with place a to work. I happened to be there after learning about an open studio night. Show up and make things in this gorgeous space? Yes, please.

I met two of the artists, Mary Beth and Leah and after a little chatting was put to work--exactly what I needed. There was a cooked fiber(I don't recall the name, but it's not indigenous of North America) in a pot that one of the artists, Leah, showed me how to pull apart, reform, and flatten into a shape. She seemed concerned and apologetic for using me in this way. How do you tell a virtual stranger, "I can't control or shape anything else in life, let me have this thing?" Slow, methodical, tactile, this helps free my mind and spirit.

I kept at it for 2 hours. And we talked the sort of talk that you have when you're making, about St. Louis, the art scene here versus Kansas City, our backgrounds, the history of paper making, the art in the room and the stories behind the pieces. I'm not exaggerating when I say everything in Union Studio is art: soap, scarves, paper, the table, etc. Even the wet fibers  the ugly semi sticky masses I was mashing together, flattening into discs will turn into something translucent and beautiful.

It was a relief. To come out of the dark into a bright and inviting space to talk and to learn and to try. I recommend, if not here, that you try this "making" with your friends or find an artists guild and meet them.

Oh and guess what? I'm back to writing again. Surprise.

Finders Keepers Part 1

To help inject a little levity into my days I've been capturing photos around town.
It's as if I've created my own scavenger hunt for myself.


If you keep your eyes peeled there's humor everywhere.
Here's my top 3 of the week.

Best Yard Sale Sign.  Perhaps, ever:

For further Cage humor check out season 5 episode 2 of Community.  Short video, here. 



Best Sticker Placement:

Well done St. Louis professionals ironically playing kickball.  Well done. 

Most Confusing (or disturbing) Call to Action:

Are we saving landfills now?  Or are we officially calling the earth a landfill?

The Fourth Flirt: last six month update

#4
This interaction is actually semi-successful and the most recent of my co-ed experiences.
Let me start at the ending, because that was the high point.

The ending was, a man who I met at the library, carried my books for me all the way to my car. And he carried them all the way to my car, which was parked at the grocery store.
This counts as going above and beyond my girlhood dreams.

Both meeting a man at the library and getting my books carried by a man are each on my bucket list.  Or were each on my girlhood dream list when I was ages 11-19.  I gave up on these sometime after college when I realized men, if they are going to get a book, do so  online or in a bookstore.
If a man is at the library during the day it is possible that he doesn't have a job or possibly a home*, so around 2008 these dreams ended.

Those were the high points; now for the setup.

I was at the St. Louis Public library minding my own business, busily ordering book after book for my summer reading list and my personal betterment when an a normal looking guy walked in the front door and started typing on the computer that was adjacent to mine.

Twenty-five seconds revealed:
no wedding ring, 
glasses, 
graphic t-shirt, 
ability to have Saturday face stubble, 
25-28 years of age (too young),
reads books, with 
search engine and typing skills.

I took all this in at a glance and continued searching for David Foster Wallace books that I could possibly complete in a month or two and came up empty. Meanwhile, the guy was locating and printing out book titles from his computer instead of writing one long list with the freakishly mini golf pencils.

(Dear library, can you not afford a whole pencil?  Or do you get real pencils and saw them into thirds somewhere in the back? Let me buy you real pencils. I love you that much.)

After the time it took to jot down a huge number of book call numbers with my teeny tiny pencil, I decided to lean over into the 3 foot bubble between computers.

Yeah.  I leaned, and spoke.  Ordinarily, you know, I would be proud of this, but this is where the pride stops, because in 5 more seconds I did something I regret.

I did something that is more effective than the Bend and Snap .

I leaned over and said,

"Oh! How do you do that? Can you show me?" 

Readers, he was printing tiny pieces of paper.  I could figure out how to do this, certainly, but instead of trying I treated it as if it were special knowledge.  Note the italics; they imply flattery.

Now, I know asking a man for help works, and I know it's flirting, but really I expect better of me.
Granted, it's not appealing to be a know-it-all or aloof.  Nor is it sexy to know how to learn how to do most things without ever requesting assistance.  But to make myself appear less capable than I am?
That's slippery slope.

He showed me how to click on the button that looks just like a printer and...
 poof!
It printed paper.

To help myself feel better, I asked what books he was looking up.

Cookbooks about Paleo.

I then choke/ laugh/ snorted and tried to tell a Paleo joke that I just remembered.

Explaining cartoon drawings you heard someone tell you about, which was based on something they saw on Pinterest, doesn't translate well.  I tried a few times but every time, I did a poor job.
I clarified I was not laughing at him, just laughing about how Paleo is the new way to upset your friends who invite you to dinner and I got out of there.

To sum up, I had:
1.) lowered myself to ask for "help," as well as (unfortunately),
2.) been insulting to him by snorting at his book inquiries, and
3.) botched a pretty good Pinterest cartoon
all in 4 minutes.

I felt it was all for nothing.

But I guess the man just liked being snorted at because there he was again all dimples, in the cookbook section, which was near my book section, concerned about my upper body strength versus the number of books book I had raked from the shelves.

The conversation that followed is how I came to be my real-self, the girl who is quasi-knowledgeable and does not ask for help without fighting stubbornness.

It is also how, after getting to my car, I let him pile all of the books in the front seat, thanked him, and then forgot to offer him a ride back to the library. (He had walked about 2.5 blocks.)
The moment I realized all of this, was while passing him on the street.  I slowed down to be parallel with him as he walked and apologized, then abashedly drove off.

I waved a wave that I hope expressed more than it ever could: gratitude, sheepishness, and whimsy.
It certainly didn't manage a flair of flirtatiousness.

That's right everyone. These have been the true accounts of my flirtatious attempts of the past 6 months.


Disclaimer:
(*Let it also be of said that around 2008 a lot of other people's dreams ended as well, due to the recession. I am not at all making a joke about the men I saw frequently at the library during that time.  They were being resourceful and frugal and that is commendable.)

Shushing the Summer "Shouldn't you....?"

I have bouts with doubt.  Doubt bouts about myself.
Recently I wrote about the void that comes between school ending and summer beginning.  I developed a list of things I'm looking forward to doing to help cope.  I even explained to some people that it's a period of grieving.
"Yeah right" one said.
It's possible she thinks Summers for a teacher are like this Buzzfeed article.
Hilarious, open it in a different tab and enjoy, but don't forget to come back here.
And no, it's not like that.

And though prepared for it this time, the jolt of summer that is like stepping off of one of those flat escalators at the airport came.  You know the thing I'm talking about.  The one you nearly fall off with all your bags those first few steps.

Then came this new feeling, one I didn't make a list for, and I don't think I could have anyway.
This is the "You are Being Lazy" feeling.  The "Shouldn't you be  __________ today?"
Don't be fooled.  That blank looks innocent enough, but a whole lot can fit into it.  See?

Shouldn't you be....
getting married/ 
running in a marathon/
investing in the Stock Market/
backpacking through the Amazon/
cooking a turducken 
today?

It's an oppressive blank.


Here are 2 books that delve into it.

1.)

2.)


The latter book, I started reading but it really bummed me out.  Because I am an empath through and through and even when I wasn't feeling or thinking thoughts of acedia or it's impact spiritually, well there it was.  Thanks Kathleen Norris, you made me cry.

The former, I haven't read, but doesn't the title just say it all?  I'm getting it from the library perhaps it can resonate in a non-buzz-kill sort of way.  Some thoughts need laughter to dispel.

Yet again though, bookless (which is a form of vulnerability for me) I decided the only way to tell myself I'm not lazy (besides saying it in a mirror in a creepy way or piling more into my days) was to...you guessed it:

Write 

A

List

If you haven't figured it out already, I write lists.  What's more I'm quite prolific.  If someone would ever pop into my apartment they would see half cooked scraps of lists strewn about.  This is just my mind's way of showing itself scattered as it is and how very easily I lose the thread.
Nevertheless I write because I am a writer.


This reflective act of typing it all out however, really worked well.  It would totally blow if I found, "Oh yeah, I am really lazy.  I've done nothing all month," but that wasn't the case.

Here's what my June has looked like.

June 2: Last day of school with co-workers.  Co-worker happy hour.  Acquired 5 new Llewelyn's cups.  
They are red this season.  Grab them up, St. Louis!
June 3: Clean apartment and "pack" suitcase (quotation marks intended to show procrastination)
Finish book. Paint furniture
June 4: "Clean" apartment. Take Captain to parents' house.  "Pack" suitcase. Paint furniture.
June 5: PACK SUITCASE!  Fly to Denver. Finish book. Reunite with college roommate.  Mountains.
June 6: Denver exploring. Hiking.
June 7: Denver exploring.
June 8: Denver exploring. Hiking.
June 9: Fly to St. Louis.  Attempt flirting on plane. Unsuccessful. Pick up Captain from parents'.
June 10: Start internship at MediaCross (happening Tuesday-Fridays, so assume on each day hereafter)
June 11: Host book club (hosting includes: cleaning and baking and being nice).
June 12: Accepted into University of Missouri St. Louis.  Finished Firefly series. (Only 1 season!?!?!?!)
June 13: Take Kelly to Train station (6:00am) Welcome lunch at MediaCross.
June 14: Nothing (except internship) oh and watching Serenity, the movie that ends the Firefly series.
June 15: Hike with family at Hawn State Park. Celebrate Father's Day.
June 16: Take Captain to vet. Oil Change. Speak to UMSL Advisor.
June 17: Host book club (yes, a different one). Enroll in UMSL course.
June 18: Start grad.class. Get student ID and parking pass.
June 19: Dinner with Kate at Vin de Set.
June 20: A.M. coffee with Natalie. Wedding coordinator training @ rehearsal.
June 21: Wedding coordinator training @ wedding. Homework.
June 22: Attend church with Annie.  Lunch.
June 23: Pick up Kelsey from airport. Homework. See Grand Budapest Hotel. Fall in love with Wes Anderson.  Again. 
June 24: Meet with Kate to discuss Communications Team volunteering. Finish book.
June 25: Dinner at Martha's house.
June 26: Nothing????
June 27: A.M. coffee with friends. Cookout.
June 28: Unknown.

Verdict= Not Lazy
Alternate verdict= Potentially Crazy



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Shop Till You Drop #forHer and The Covering House

What would you do if you never met Her?

What would you do if you'd never see Her face?

What would you do if you never knew Her name?

What would you do if you only knew part of Her story?

What would you do for Her?

Would you:

donate #forHer

give #forHer

promote #forHer

like #forHer

follow #forHer

volunteer #forHer

serve #forHer

stand up #forHer

shop #forHer?

Help support The Covering House, a non-profit in St. Louis that provides refuge and restoration for girls who have experienced sexual exploitation or sexual trafficking.  

The third annual Shop 'Till You Drop event is Saturday,

April 26.

Ladies come shop from 8:00 am -1:00 pm

4900 Reber Place St. Louis, MO 63138

Early bird tickets $30 at 8am

General admission $20 at 9am

Accepting women's clothing donations Thursday and Friday 6-9pm at Reber Place. 

It's fun for you, but really it's all...

Please contact me if you have questions about this event.

A Soapy Sliver of Gratitude (with implied Nudity)

"Hi mom, I wanted you to know I'm okay."

Freeze.

Moms, future moms, and really friends of any gender, when you answer a phone call and these words just tumble out, it is code for:

Be worried.

Or

You should have been worried, but I spared you the worst parts.  And also, continue to be concerned because I'm not quite out of the woods yet.

A week and a half ago, I picked up the phone and told my mom I was okay.  Or I was closer to okay than I had been.

Overwhelmed, too busy, unable to say no to activities, and trying to fit in friends because relationships can't be cryogenically frozen in time I was at my limit.

After a few moments talking, I saw mine was a veiled call for help.  The revelation came when my mom said, "Oh.  I wasn't worried about you."

Isn't it funny when your script falls apart?  It's so unearths my desires and upends my plans.
Rather than say, "Oh but you should have been very concerned, in fact you should be actively fretting right now about me.  I want to hear your hands wringing."
I stuck to my original, now revealed, bold faced lie:

I am fine.

As we continued chatting, I started drawing a bath.  I was boiling water in the electric kettle and running the water to fill it.  Because of it's size and age, I can never fill my porcelain tub without running out of hot water when it's 1/4th full.  I was determined this time.  I was in need.
The stress that I was "okay" with managing was in fact pulling my vertebrae into pinchy places that resulted in finger tingling.  (Yes.  Not good, I know.  Seriously, don't worry about me, okay?)

About the time I had boiled 2 kettles of water and filled the tub 1/4 full my plan hit a hitch.  Still on the phone I discovered, "I don't have soap.  How do I not have soap?"  I was quick to add I do have the expensive bath bar with exfoliants and oatmeal my mom got me, but I needed something strong.  Something that kills microbes.

After hanging up, because how can a mother help you find soap? I recalled seeing a sliver of soap somewhere in an unlikely spot, likely batted there by my cat.  I found it in the kitchen.  2 inches long a few millimeters thick, better than nothing, and really was what I needed; I was grateful for this fragment.

I was able to get in the tub.  Mom recommended I stretch out in it, but that reveals the difference in our height.  I can never fit well in a tub.  So while I recognize it is conventionally seen as relaxing, I reject it.  If one body part is always jutting out of the water, how relaxing is that?

Furthermore, I am not good at soaking.  I am a 5 minutes in the shower and that's plenty kind of woman.  Lingering while bathing is not my thing.   Maybe if I still had my My Little Pony Seahorses set this would go better.

But that day I decided a bath was what I needed.  I was soaking.  I tried to clear my head.  I would for a few seconds and then have to clear it again.  It was like playing thought whack-a-mole.
I just wanted to get out, but I also wanted full feeling in my fingers and toes at all times, which meant soaking some more.

Then, when I thought I couldn't be in the tub any longer, the light went out.
The light in my bathroom has a secret timer or a wiring problem.  At any rate, it goes out when it is left on for about 13 minutes.
This darkness felt creepy.  I was juggling which part of me was out of the water, trying to soak and free myself of thoughts and now, on top of it all, ghosts were about to attack.  That would teach me to take a bath.  I bet they would electrocute me.

But after about a minute of unrealistic paranormal fear, I challenged myself.  Or ordered myself.

"You will not get out of this tub until you are pruney."

If you have ever read Once Upon a Potty (it's one of my childhood favorites), my tub time was similar.
I sat and sat and sat and sat and sat and sat and sat and sat and sat and sat and sat and sat and sat and sat and...you get the idea.  [Or maybe you don't.  For clarity's sake I didn't go to the bathroom in the tub. How could you think such a thing?]

It was not enjoyable.  And I could not see my fingers to assess if I was or wasn't done pruning up.

I kept thinking very solid thoughts.

This is life now.
You have just enough soap.
I wonder if I have enough soap for another bath.
The lights are out.
I don't like this.
Do not get out of the tub.
Be still.
You have to stop moving.
It's really dark.
My knee caps are cold.
Why do people like this?
They probably think to light candles.
Candles prevent creepiness.
I should get candles.
Ah!  Stop thinking about what you should do right now.
You do need soap.  Don't forget that.

This continued for what I thought was a long time.  Finally I decided I had to have gotten wrinkles on my digits.  I climbed out, turned on my more reliable light and discovered no raisins.

But my back felt significantly better, and I had, to the degree that I could, not written out a long to do list, save one thing:

Buy soap.


I now I have soap.  And don't worry, I'm okay.

An Adopted Family that Stays Together

I would like to preface this post by saying, I love my family.  My mom, my dad, my brother and I are very close in all senses of that word.  I turn to them in times of trouble and times of joy,
but this post is not about them.

Not everyone has the benefit and blessing that is a close biological family,
and that is a shame.

But I have another family that I'd like to tell you about today.

I have friends that I consider to be family.  We have been there for each other over the years and have survived a lot of joys, sorrows and have remained intact.

When we are all together, I often sit back and pull out of the moment and start trying to figure out how this came to be.  I have no idea how my face looks in these moments, quizzical no doubt.
Especially lately I wonder, even aloud, how did I get these people?

And I mean this not as a criticism to myself or to them.  It's a compliment.
This is an astounding bunch of people.

Such a wide span of knowledge and interests.
So many dreams, aspirations, talents, adventures, and accomplishments.
So many different employers and specialties:
The St. Louis Zoo, Boeing, The Covering House, NISA, the VA Hospital, Wash U, Juniper, etc.

One way that this particular branch of my family tree came to be was at one point in time we all were part of the same Community Group, which is similar to a Bible Study.  A lot of us have gone our different ways, but to keep in touch we've started having Family Dinner every 2 weeks.

It doesn't matter if I am sweaty with no makeup, had a horrible or great day, or am running early or late.  By the time I get to dinner, it doesn't disappear, but I am in a safe place.  It's like declaring sanctuary against the world, which feels so good.  Don't we all long to do that?

This week at the table we discussed All the Things as usual.
From Indian food, to Zoo stories (one of my favorite parts of any dinner), to travel, to the Old Testament linking it to the gospel, the St. Louis Beard and Mustache Club, fermentation, raising chickens, where to get nutritional yeast, and the highlight of our friend's year, since it was her birthday.  It's deeply inspiring to hear how they spend their days and live life.

And as I said before, not everyone is blessed with a wonderful biological family.  And not everyone has the benefit of a vibrant support of an adopted geographic family.
But you can get one.

It took work though, and it takes time.  Now it takes planning, because as much as I love my friends, our interests and schedules are so diverse that we don't bump into each other without mapping it out.  (Or maybe it would intersect for me if I would start indoor rock climbing...but, NO.)

I do know that the first step to getting friends is to have the courage to say, "Hey, we should be friends."
I have had the best relationships sprout from this simple sentence.

And the another tip is to have the presence of mind to notice when you miss them and to reject that.  It seems so simple to say and mean, "Hey, I miss you.  Let's fix that," and then make a time right then to see each other; it takes watchfulness to identify and rectify.

I can share more about how to cultivate and be open to friendships, because it has taken so much time and tries and failures and successes over years and years to better get a handle on what it is to have and be a friend, but I won't do that here now.

Instead, for today, in the middle of Spring Break, I am glad to say:
I have a family of friends in the city I love, and I am ever so grateful.



*It is also extremely important to mention that there are even more family members to speak of outside of this branch that shares meals together.  It's just easier to speak of one group rather than the many individuals I love.

Loving My "Ride" on the Rack and Clutch Fashion Truck

This weekend I got to try something new to me: hop on a fashion truck.

Now food trucks you know about, but a fashion truck?   

There is only one fashion truck in St. Louis, Rack + Clutch.  

I had heard about it from a friend.  We were attending a clothing swap together and she floated the idea of setting up a Rack + Clutch event.  If we had enough people, perhaps it would drive to us.  I was intrigued. 

Buying food from Food Truck Friday is one of my favorite things, provided I beat the crowd, so it would stand to reason that I would like a mobile clothing store as well.

And I did.  I loved everything about it.  From the concept to the execution to my purchases, I was impressed.  The truck drives to different locations in the city, including outside large businesses and parks to get lunch hour customers.  (As I said, impressive and helpful idea!)

The truck is owned and operated by Emily Ponath.  She started Rack + Clutch in April of 2013.    Clearly, she is a smart business woman, and she couldn't have been more friendly. 

Friendliness is likely one of her survival skills.  You'd have to be friendly in such a small space.  

When the truck had more than 5 shoppers on board (This was a party after all!) it took a little negotiating and movement planning to not bump into people or wares.  But if you came in mentally prepared, that's not a problem; it's a logistical reality.

 

The amount of items and the layout was ingenious.  

There was a check out area, dressing room with enough space to not run into anything, racks of clothes, and 2 display cases of jewelry.  

As it happens, that day the truck's back rack was on sale.  Everything on it was 5 dollars.  The prices are generally fair (no single item over 100 dollars) but this was rock bottom low.  

I snapped up several dresses (I had a wedding to go to in a few hours and nothing planned to wear) and tried them on.

True to form, I had a difficult time choosing which frock to get, so I purchased all of them for about 16 dollars. 

This isn't completely representative of the pricing you'll experience on the truck when you go, so don't be misled.  Mine was a right time and right place experience.  I got to grab up some Winter items to make room for Spring's collection.

I would absolutely recommend following the Rack + Clutch truck on the website's calendar, Twitter, or Facebook.

Or, if you're looking for a fun get-together with girlfriends, get 15 buddies to commit and do what we did: schedule a private event. 

It's fun to see such a bright truck parked in your driveway! 

Forgot Valentine's Day? Don't panic; read.

It is entirely possible to forget Valentine's Day.

Difficult, but possible.

Put the stuffed gorilla holding a heart DOWN.  It's not fooling anyone.

These ideas take little time and are good the night before or morning of.

1.) 

Send a dozen donuts. 

If you're local try: World's Fair Donuts or kick it up a notch with a dozen Strange Donuts.

Who needs cut flowers?  If he or she works in an office, it would be smart for you to be kind to everyone and let your significant other pay it forward.  Sharing only creates a better bond. 

2.) 

Get out and listen to live music.

If you're local: Burnin' Love on Art Hill is happening from 4:30-10:30 on Valentine's Day.

If you're looking for a way to start the night or to keep things going, bundle up and head out.

3.) 

Play Cupid. 

Buy a box of blank cards and stamps.  Get glitter and other materials.

And write in them.  Write to people you each love and tell them what you think and feel.  Talk about who you love and why.  

If it's possible, deliver them together.  

If it's not, mail them.

4.) 

Go to a public place and watch

Watch as people in convenient stores, supermarkets, and mall grab anything red, pink, or with a heart on it in wild desperation.

5.) 

Procrastinate

Why not have a nice breakfast or brunch on Saturday together?  

Try:
The London Tea Room (new location!)
SqWires
1/2 & 1/2
Winslow's Home

    

I've Got a Gas (Bill) Problem, St Louis: Friendly Money Tips

St. Louis weather, if you haven't noticed, is a little mercurial.  Which means, when it's Winter, my bills are inflated.  I can stand heat, but Dante got it right.  Being cold is a form of pain.  And doubly so when you have to pay for it.

I hate being cold and my body seems to have an inability to stay warm, but does that mean I really crank up the  heat?

No. 

I turn the heat down when I am out and sleeping, dress in layers, have a portable space heater, and drink warm beverages.

Even with all of this, my past gas bill from Laclede had a hefty price in the "Amount Due" column.  

So hefty that I sprung to action (read: googled), because between us I can't pay that amount again this year. 

There are a few challenges though. 

1.) I have an apartment, and while it is as homey as a house with a paid off mortgage, it is not mine.  

Which means whatever I do to outsmart the cold, I can't make lasting structural changes.  

2.) And I have to keep the ROI in mind, because someday I will be leaving and can't necessarily take my improvements along. 

3.) Googling. Websites galore tell you how to save money, but they assume a certain level of...let's call it naive thinking.  Additionally advice is geared towards home owners.  Basically I found the tips to be relatively unhelpful.  

Big challenges.

After tackling these and having a little success, I thought, why not help prevent bill shock for you?

I want you to be able to save (hopefully) many dollars.

I will post a few of the things I had not considered and have now employed.

Your Water Heater and You 

That's right, it's in your creepy basement, the water heater.

I was scared to approach mine and dial back the temperature of the heat. 

I envisioned slipping with my screw driver and getting scalded.  

Also I envisioned a scary person lurking down there, but both of these fears were needless.

(The person lurking down there was actually quite nice.)

I read that you need to remove a plate on your water heater with a flat head screwdriver to reveal the temperature knob. 

As it happens, I did not even need a screwdriver. 

This is what I found:

It was as if the water heater wanted to be condescending.  Hot, Warm, Vacation.
(Really water heater?  You think I go on Vacation? More like Stay-cation.)
I turned the knob and hope that next week my new bill will show an improvement.

Am I taking cold showers?  How is the water temperature now?
Not terrible.  Some days the water is hotter than others. It is not scalding hot but not cold and in the long run my skin is probably better off.

How have your bills this season been?  Have you stumbled across any great tips you'd like to share?

Check out this site if you want to learn more.

Flirt, Write, and Talk Boldly: Listed Resolutions and a Revelation

Here is my short list of New Year's Resolutions.

I will at any point expand or annotate it, because I love a good list.

(Yes, this is written on a Christmas card envelope.

I love writing on envelopes.)

Typically I don't commit to a list before the new year.  Nor do I kick it off right away or broadcast it.  I try (if I do have some resolutions) to adopt new habits, not abolish them.  They are born out of necessity, not convention. 

Can you see the pattern in my list this year?

It took awhile for me to spot.  

Think on it a moment.

Actually, the pattern, was revealed in a quiet moment of prayer.  It came during one of those liturgical moments of silence, during a prayer of confession, while praying for sins to be revealed. 

The thought without lead-in came fully formed: 

"You're hiding."

And so I am.  And so I have been.  Daily pulling a metaphorical huge hoodie over myself.  The soft folds swallow and comfort all of me and conceal me as well.  We all are at times, hiding, and need to be to heal or grow, but my time and need for hiding is over.  It has become a protected, easy, and admittedly lazy place.  

I know it's high time that I am seen again.  Full on. 

Not quite metaphorical spandex unitard with visible panty-lines "seen," but...this metaphor is unraveling fast. I hope you understand.  

Not to say that this list came out of those revealing two words.  

It came before.  

I'm so glad that they align.  

But of course with a listening heart, they always would. 

Dear Jon (Letter), The Breakup Part II

Returning home with my new phone was problematic.  I left the store glad and sure of my purchase.  I did not get far.

I remained in the parking lot for 20 minutes and became exponentially less certain each minute that I was unable to use said device.  In attempting to send a celebratory text to  my mom, dad, and brother, I found that I could not.
No, I am not that daunted by technology as to not know how to text.  My contacts list had not transferred, or at least the contacts that had are not in my "inner circle." Try as I might, I could only call my mom, because outside of my childhood home phone number this is the only other phone number I know by heart.

Calling mom was not the celebration I had hoped for.  It only made us keenly aware of the expense of adding a third phone to the plan and made me question my resolve to  not go with the confusing Mobile Share + Next program.  Was I only being resistant and stubborn because I like to be resistant and stubborn, I wondered.  Possibly...
The price and the lack of ability to use said expensive thing was upsetting.
I hate buying things.  And probably like every other human on the planet, I hate being made to feel small, especially when it is an object that you own.  It's insulting and I felt it as such.

By the time I got out of the car at my home, I decided that I'd made a terrible mistake.

I wanted out.

This is familiar territory for me: the sheer panic that comes after a commitment.  I have a rather large internal eject button.  I can't explain why. People like to tell me, when it applies to a relationship, that it is a sign that things "aren't right or meant to be," a comforting thought, but seeings how it also comes just as easily with major and minor purchases, I think it's more to do with realizing that I have misgivings and not deciding felt better than making a choice and entering the world of "what if."

Let's just say when I got inside my home I was in tears and crestfallen.  I called Jon alert him of the problem (read: call it off) but he didn't pick up.  I ate lunch (to get my blood sugar up) and then headed back to the store.
The manager checked me in, said "oh you're back" (yes I really was there that long) and Jon came over.

"My contacts aren't in my phone.  I can't text anyone and I think I want an iPhone" I blurted out.
Jon hung his head and sighed.
"I'm sorry.  I just can't do it."
And we went back to the ridiculously tall table and non chairs.

Jon calmed me down and counseled me to keep the phone for another day, because if we changed them out then the manager was going to charge a 35 dollar fee.

I do not know the ending of this yet.  I returned to the store again today, the different manager also wanted the restocking payment, and the iPhones were sold out.

Now I guess the question is, how many trips to the store does it take to get a Smart Phone?
More than three.
But I have survived and thrived this long without one, so what does it really matter?
And for kicks and grins, here's a peek at how I am keeping this phone safe before I switch it out.

Introducing the Smart Sock!

(The store was sold out of protectors.)

How to Buy a SmartPhone at a Brick and Mortar Part 1

This is a series of events that really happened. It is a 2 part tale...at least.
Today I went to a cell phone store.  It has been my 3rd visit between December 18th to present.
My phone has been due for an upgrade since November and because my current phone's back has been missing for 3 months; it was time.
In November of 2011, I got a phone with texting capabilities, and it changed (perhaps forever) the way I communicate.  My 2014 upgrade I wanted more of the same.  Not faster speed. Not the Internet.

(As a side note I am opposed on at least 2 fronts for having a Smart Phone.  One is the philosophical opposition about society and our lack of connection which is enabled/ worsened by technology.  The second is one of fear.  I wonder how I will react to having instant gratification and knowledge at my fingertips, and if I have enough of whatever it takes to let myself wonder, think, remember, and forget.)

These qualms I hold up next to the knowledge that this technology is what the world has embraced, businesses and people alike.  I wonder if resistance is futile and if I should instead learn to take the technology and mold it to my terms and values.)

Reconciling my feelings over several months, I decided to take the next step.  After gathering recommendations from friends I went to the AT&T store prepared.  Preparedness being a relative term, because how can a person be prepared and enter into an environment that's layout, delivery of information, seating is designed with confusion in mind?

Would you like to know what was in my survival kit?   Hint: the opposite of technology.

A hardback of David Sedaris' Let's Explore Diabetes with Owls
Several pens
My composition notebook
An old school calculator
Lipstick and gum (They don't hurt when you need to get good service.)

I shook Jon's hand, introduce myself while hearing piped in dance mix music that's a little too loud for conversational speech.  I let him lead me to a high top table with seats that are not quite stools and not really chairs.  If you sit down incorrectly, you can swivel right off. Believe me.

I was direct and asked many specific price point driven questions, took notes, made a grid and after what seemed like hours had Jon very flummoxed himself.  He was doing a whole-handed face rub.  I always interpret this as someone holding back what they want to say and massaging it out and off until they have to do it again to remain composed.

Poor Jon.  I wasn't cooperating with the script.
But this was going better than the second to last time I had gone in, when I told the sales rep that he had made me very confused.  That I was going home.  And I was going to do research on my own.

But dear reader, this is not a complaining piece, because my time in the store took a positive turn.
While Jon was crunching numbers, and I was asking about the final bill and resisting the "value plan" he started to talk about not phone things.

I am not saying that at any point I was treating this man shabbily, I wasn't.  In fact I was apologetic for having him run so many numbers and for my asking so many questions.  I even told him a time or two, "I am not asking this because I don't trust you, I just don't know that I trust this plan is what it seems like."

I am fairly certain changing our dialogue helped him as well, from a non-verbal standpoint it did, but it absolutely helped me put in perspective that this was a person doing his job, was doing it well, and doing it as he'd been trained.

I don't recall which of these things happened first.
One was, "I don't think of myself as a retail person."
The other was, "Oh that was awkward.  That's my ex's brother who just walked by."
But both of his statements were completely humanizing.
I was able to respond with, "I was horrible in retail.  I only lasted 2 days."
And, "Oh him? He felt awkward too.  I saw his face.  Don't worry, there's glass between you."

Had this been a team building exercise these exchanges would have gotten us back on track.  Because we were working towards a common goal.  And we've had common experiences.

By the end of my time buying said phone I was solidly on team Jon.  We were laughing.  I got to see pictures of his dogs.  I had ditched trying to use the chair and was standing to help me feel more grounded and stable.
I felt comfortable with my phone decisions and I left.
All because he let me realize that yes, he was working in a huge retail store, but he is a person.
Isn't it interesting that in the midst of my internal dilemma about technology and in the center of a phone store, I had a pure example of what it means to put down phones, learn, and relate to each other?
This is what I crave.  This is what I want to protect.  This is what I want to remember.  People are everywhere.  And we can connect.