I went to see Hans to get rid of my hag hair and to hear the gossip. Hans is a show in and of himself. He told me I need a staff.

Should I be offended by that?

He told me all kinds of juicy little tidbits about his ex-wife and about opening day at the Del Mar Race Track. He told me about all the different hats the women wore and the linen suits the men wore. He described what a mint julep tastes like.

I told him about the baby barf and described what it's like to eat your lunch while you water the plants and scoop the dog poop in the yard before the baby wakes up and the barfing starts anew.

That's when he said I need a staff.

People- my staff has arrived.

Rosie recently graduated with a degree in Human Performance and she fled the state of Utah for the balmy San Diego climate. She moved in with us until she finds a job and her own place. She is personal trainer, cook, childcare and girlfriend all wrapped into one.

She is my staff.

Do you think she would be offended if I introduced her as such?

a couture cubical

A team of researchers explored the link between flowers and life satisfaction in a 10-month study of participants' behavioral and emotional responses to receiving flowers. The results show that flowers are a natural and healthful moderator of moods.

"What's most exciting about this study is that it challenges established scientific beliefs about how people can manage their day-to-day moods in a healthy and natural way," said Jeannette Haviland-Jones, Ph.D., Professor of Psychology at Rutgers and lead researcher on the study.

I have been told, by a few choice and dear people, that I can be a teensy bit moody. Bless their soles. I don't know if any of the tens of people that read this blog noticed, but last week, I was a little down. This morning when I arrived at my work space (a.k.a. the kitchen) the first thing I noticed was the flowers I had bought myself yesterday. This is a little present I give myself every week. A $10 bouquet from the market. I didn't buy any flowers last week. I think that seeing the flowers helped boost my spirits and set the tone for the rest of the day.

Here I am, at my work space (the tidy one) in my uniform. Photography credits must go to one five year old boy who, after many tries didn't get me actually looking at the camera, but who, nevertheless gave a valiant effort. I am happy to claim the kitchen island as my personal work space, if only I could get people to take a number when they want something.

I'd just like to put in a little plug for beautifying you life. If you can't buy flowers, grow them. If you can't grow them, steal the neighbors. I think it is vital to surround yourself with things that inspire you. If you're not a flower girl, get some fruit or art, or gosh, I don't know, a great cupcake or a fabulous pair of shoes, and put them on your desk. I would go so far as to tack up damask wall paper in my cubical. Do whatever you can get away with, your moods will thank me.

the oprah moment

This summer, I am really grappling with trying to find a balance between work and play. The problem I'm having is that sometimes I know I should be playing when I'm working. Case in point- today I really wanted to get my Etsy shop updated with new jewelry and work on a presentation that I am giving to a possible client tomorrow. I wanted to get my work bench organized, but I knew what I should do is take the boy to spend the afternoon in the pool with his cousins who he adores. I knew that I needed to sit in a lawn chair, drink a soda and clap whenever the kids did a trick. And this is what we did, and I totally enjoyed myself. However, I have so many projects I want to do that summertime play has become somewhat of a chore in and of itself.

But I really believe in letting children play creatively. I want Thom to look forward to his Summer break. What I really want is my child's life to be full of enriching activities that help him grow into an interesting, well-rounded individual.

And then there's the work I know I should be doing instead of the work I want to do. Namely, laundry, heinous beast that it is.

I was thinking yesterday as I cleaned out the lint trap to the dryer, that I really live a very mundane life. I make the beds, I do the dishes, I clean out the lint trap. Where's the creativity in that? It didn't help that five minutes earlier, I had rushed the dog to the toilet bowl so he could throw up the grass he ate. (Most of you are probably thinking- ew gross! But the rest of you, who have kids and pets are thinking, damn she's good!) I was really feeling the monotonous life that is the stay-at-home mom's existence.

And then I remembered something. Years ago, I'm talking like maybe fifteen years ago, I saw a story on T.V. about a woman who creates art from dryer lint. That's right, dryer lint. I looked it up on the internet, and I found her right off the bat. Her name is Saira Lloyd and she lives in England. Her whole philosophy is finding beauty in everyday life.

And so, I had a bit of a (forgive the phrase) Oprah moment. I realized that it is high time I started seeing the creativity and beauty in my everyday tasks, after all, this is the life I choose and many people would love to live the life I have.

So tonight, as I cut out biscuits for dinner, I tried to be creative about it. I thought about how I always love to see gleaming crimson jars of strawberry jam stacked on the counter when the canning is done. I thought about a girl I know that makes her living making beds for photo shoots. I can probably do a little better job making the beds look inviting. Living a creative life doesnt just happen. It is going to take work. Work that hopefully won't get put aside while I try to get my other tasks done. Now, please excuse me, I must go change out the laundry and clean up a gorgeous smear of macaroni and cheese.

repose

Today is overcast and sprinkling a little. It is a good day to play quiet games and work on jewelry.

friends & enemies

Elizabeth II

When I was little, my great-grandmother, (her name was Mabel, we called her Grandma-Great) would walk me around her yard and tell me all about her plants. As an eight-year-old, this made me want to gouge my eyes out, I found it so boring. She was very passionate about the flora she had collected over many years. I once saw her smash a slug with her bare hand. She ground it into the cement and let out a humph. I think for her, it was a personal attack for a slug to eat her plants.

She had two huge oak trees with my grandfather's navy hammock slung between them. A natural spring well bubbled up near the base of one tree and the water was ice cold even in August. A lilac bush climbed the rain pipe on the back of the house and smelled so sweet and strong that as you lay in the hammock with dappled light on your face, you felt you might become intoxicated. As I've said before, I grew up in Mayberry. I think my grandmother, with her magical garden, "planted" the proverbial seed in me to love plants.

I can't remember what this plant is called. It's little blooms are super fragrant.

Okay, so on to the friends and enemies. I HATE, really really hate grasshoppers. I'd rather have a cockroach crawl across my foot than one of these nasty, crunchy bugs. We went to the nursery last weekend and Thom was begging for a treat. He choose a bag of ladybugs. Ben and I were more than happy to have them. The aphids are out in full force!

This little SOB was eating my "Voluptuous" rose, but I was too afraid to kill him.

Here is my newly planted garden. Look at the row of radishes. We planted the seeds only a week ago!

My Don Juan rose grows on a trellis on the front of the house.

"I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it.... People think pleasing God is all God care about. But any fool living in the world can see it always trying to please us back." ~Alice Walker





This Chris Everett rose has been shaped into a tree and is potted on the back patio.

This one's called Henry Fonda.

And last, but not least, my foxgloves and birdhouse.

So now you have had the Mabel Campbell tour of my garden. I hope you don't want to gouge your eyes out.

special delivery

Meet Lola.

I have been meaning to mention my "relationship" with the UPS man. Don't get the wrong idea, he's shorter than me and not my type at all. Besides, I find after almost 16 years together, I am still hopelessly in love with Sugar Daddy.

So the UPS man. Well, I think his name is Rick. All I know about him is that he is short, I already said that, laughs when he is nervous and shaves his legs, which leads me to believe that he is a: a road biker, b: a swimmer, c: a cross-dresser. Guessing from is perpetually peeling nose, I'm going to go with either swimmer or biker. That's it. That's all I know.

"Rick", however knows a plethora of things about me. He knows that I work from the studio in my garage making jewelry. He knows that I have a son and a dog. He has seen me in pajamas, work-out clothes, dressed up and in sweats. He has even seen me with a towel on my head. He knows I holler at the dog and drink redbull. On one occasion he watched me trying to shake my bootie like a MTV queen to Gloria Gaynor's "I will survive" before I realized he was trying to get my attention at the garage door.

I wonder, what does "Rick" think of me? Am I just one of the many colorful characters on his route? Does he go back to the station and swap stories with the other carriers? I hope, in the very least, I add a little variety to his day.

wednesday

All I really wanted to do today was knit.

Instead, I made these earrings, did the wash, went to the post office, cleaned up several messes made by boy/dog, hooked up a new modem, had a new washer/dryer delivered, cleaned up the yard and started sewing new valances for my kitchen. What can I say? Life forces me to be somewhat productive. Maybe when I become a great-grandmother I can spend my days knitting. For now I must go get a crying boy to go to sleep.