Petnames and Heirlooms

Can I just take a moment to chat about the fabulousness of petnames? More than ever I've been noticing the nicknames floating around me. For example, Nat the Fat Rat (check out her blog, btw--link is on right side of webpage) has nicknamed her husband "The Holbs." My cousin has nicknamed A's and my future offspring "Ware babies." Somehow I've managed to nickname nearly every one of my friends Paul Rudd style in "I Love you, Man." There's "B-by" and "Greerby" and "cANNEd"...and those are just their most recent namesakes. My brother's been "Camouflage" and "Camshaft" and "Cammy-coo Culkin." What is it about petnames that's so great? It's easy as 1, 2, 3... 1) They imply a familiarity, a closeness, in that only a select few know or understand or feel comfortable calling someone by a nickname. They're connective. 2) They carry more weight than one's "public name" in that there are layers of meaning underlying a nickname--inside jokes, particular memories and/or reasons for that nickname's creation. 3) They can be humorous, doting, impulsive, private--they include tones and emotions a "public name" does not. And last but not least, 4) They're happy-makers. Being called by a nickname or calling someone else by a nickname is fun. It makes us feel like we're fun-loving, word-loving people. Lightens the mood, if you will. With that being said, go out, my nicknameable people, and call each other freely, creatively, and wittily! I believe there's a Paul Rudd in all of us...I love you, Bro Montana. Totally...Totes McGoats.

Also, I'm introducing a new addition to my blog: "Daily Dose of Dillies," which are one-a-day noticings/ponderings... Today's: Heirlooms.

A lot has happened this year, not the least which was my Poppy's death this past July. After his funeral, my Nanny took me into his closet and told me to pick out some of his favorite western shirts. I picked out three that I'd seen him wear--a purple plaid, a white with gold stitching, and a tan with a wheat stalk pattern. They're in my closet now.

After A and I got engaged, all sorts of family heirlooms came out of the woodwork. A's grandparents' porcelain couple statue/wedding cake topper. My parents' wedding cake knife and their ring-bearer pillow...It was actually in search of said pillow that my mom found the peridot rings she wore all through college--peridots the color of shallow water set in 14K gold. She gave them to me, and I'm wearing them right now, in fact :)

And moving into our first house, A's mom gifted us a million heirlooms--A's great-grandpa's childhood rocking chair, her own breadbox from the late 1970s, various old soda pop bottles, vintage Samsonite luggage sets, A's grandma's hand-painted porcelain jewelry tray and some doilies she crocheted herself...to name a few.

The more I see these objects and touch them, the more I understand their worth. It's as A's mom told me (she mostly shops at thrift stores and so brings home and/or gifts other people's stuff a lot)...used objects house their previous owners' presences, their energies (sounds hokey, I know, but I think she's on to something here). And because these objects house energies, she makes sure to welcome them to her home and offers her blessings upon them..."To clear the air," as she says. I think she put into words exactly how I see heirlooms--as relics of people. Getting dressed in the morning, I see Poppy's shirts and smile, nod hello to them. Taking off my jewelry, I finger the paint on A's grandma's porcelain tray and suddenly feel connected to her, like I'm part of that family's lineage now. By placing these objects around my house, I'm inviting their owners' presences into my life. And I like to think that I'm helping keep their energies alive by looking at them, touching them, using them. There's something wonderful about walking into my empty house and feeling like it's full.

Do YOU have any objects that are alive?

*image from britannica.com

An Old-Timey Art Form

I had a phone conversation with a cashier the other day. In the midst of her telling me a story about her daughter and her grandkids, she asked me if I had any kids, myself. I told her no, but that I was getting married this December. The minute I uttered the phrase "getting married," she hoopla-ed and cheered and giggled and congratulated! I've never felt so proud! As if I accomplished something by getting engaged! And I don't even know this woman! Well, not exactly...See, I've been talking to E for months now, calling her multiple times a work week to pay off claims. Sure, sometimes when we both have time, we share bite-sized family-related anecdotes, pasting them into a collage-esque picture of each other's lives, but we've never met face-to-face! She's a 50 something year-old grandma in Washington and I'm a 25 year old fiance in Colorado! And yet, the minute she was done cooing over my "love-life succcess," she asked for my home address. At first I was a little weirded out, wondering why an old lady (don't tell my mom I said 50-something is old), though friendly and though she actually reminds me of my mother, would want my home address. She sensed my tension and proceeded to explain herself...

She said that she has a few good friends whom she's handwritten letters to for years. 3 or 4 penpals she sends a couple letters to each a month. That's nearly 100 handwritten letters a year! She said that she keeps various papers/stationery and pens the colors of the rainbow on hand for just this reason. And that she'd LOVE to send me a wedding letter. A WEDDING LETTER, PEOPLE! I'd never heard of such a thing, which explains why I yelped over the prospect of receiving one in the mail! "Heavens yes you can send me a letter!" I cried. "My home address is..."

Obviously, I have yet to receive E's letter in the mail, but I'm beside myself with anticipation! A WHOLE LETTER! JUST FOR ME! The more I think about it, the more I think it's the handwritten part that's got me excited. Though it's been awhile since I've read something handwritten (besides a thank you card or other such courtesy note), I'm remembering how intimate handwriting seemed. Gives you a glimpse into a person, no? A muddied glimpse, sure, but a knowing and telling one nonetheless.

In high school my best friends and I would write each other 1-2 page notes on looseleaf nearly every other day. We'd draw pictures on them, fold them into fancy shapes...The best thing about those notes was the fact that you could see the emotion in the handwriting (the messy and scribbled meant "I'm rushed and the bell's about to ring;" the big and bold signaled excitement; the perfectly printed meant "I've got all the time in the world to make this as pretty as possible;" etc). I could've guessed where they were when they'd written them, when they'd written them, and how they were feeling when they wrote them, just by their handwriting! Reading into all that "in between the lines" crap got to be second nature. I could've looked at a sample handwriting and told you whose it was. Those handwritten notes were gifts, I tell you! My friends gave up a lot to write them--time, energy, attention. They're a perfect symbol of giving. And up until about a year ago (when I moved for the umpteenth time), I'd kept them all in a box. I couldn't part with them! They were like pieces of my friends! Inside jokes and long-forgotten gossip preserved in our pubsecent handwriting! Just thinking about those notes again makes me nostalgic. Now tell me, can an e-mail do that? (Well, maybe :) a few of my bestest friends e-mail me every week and it's Christmas morning when I see their messages in my inbox. But that messes with my point...). Handwritten notes reveal a deeper giving--a giving of oneself to the task at hand (literally). And being on the receiving end of a handwritten note is something entirely different than simply receiving an e-mail. Holding the note in your hands, turning over the paper, fingering the bite of the inked words in the paper...that person is there with you. And it's beautiful.

Just last week I finished writing a bajillion thank you notes (more like 20, but still) to family members, thanking them for the bridal shower gifts they bought me (I've never gotten so many spatulas in my life!). Though my hand cramped up every 5 minutes, I really enjoyed handwriting them. I'm trying to think of a reason why...or rather the right words to explain why. I think I was SO grateful for my family's generosity, SO enveloped in the love that they showed me, that I couldn't imagine another way of thanking them. Which I think says it all. How does one express the truest and most heartfelt emotions? By writing them out! It's as if handwriting carries a weight with it, a credence. Our handwriting is our stand-in self, the one we entrust with relaying our most private conversations and feelings. So it's no wonder we have an entirely different experience receiving/undertaking a handwritten note! Why are we not exploiting the fantastic-ness of handwriting?! Friends, I'm going to write you letters soon! Handwritten letters! (I know, I know, I'm so good to you). And I might even try folding them into pretty little shapes :) A heart? Comin' at ya! (If I can remember....)

P.S. For those of you who've read every one of my 11 or so blog entries (I know, I know, I'm so prolific ;) ), you'll remember the one about my friend C. Guess who called me last night? Looks like a second chance at friendship, don't it? Maybe I'll write him a handwritten note, too, eh? Keep your fingers crossed...

* image from http://southpaw99.wordpress.com/

In the Vault

Recently, I was out to dinner with a friend of mine and her dad. Catching up on each other, her dad asked me what I was busy writing these days. Simple question, but I felt myself swallowing hard, pursing my lips and tonguing the roof of my mouth in search of an answer...

See, a little more than 3 months ago, I lost my last remaining grandpa. Were my friend's dad to ask me about him, about his passing, I would've been able to answer immediately, "I'm taking it as well as I could...I'm in a good place these days--just going along with the flow, one day at a time...." But the writing question...

What have I been writing lately??? Well, for months I've been trying to write about Poppy and his funeral. For months! And yet I couldn't bring myself to answer the man's question? That's when I realized that I'm not okay. Not actually. Sure I'm capable of being fully-functional in my day-to-day life. I'm happy even. But ask me how writing about the details of my grandpa's funeral is going? Different story.

One of my professors at Naropa said that some stories need "ripening." Some need to be laid in a cardboard box and stored in a dark corner, forgotten about for a few seasons, until they're heavy and juicy with possibilities. Only then will we be able to look at them with new insights and have renewed energy and inspiration with which to write them. Simply, some stories require waiting.

And Poppy's story is one such story. Not just because I'm having difficulty putting my warm, raw, ultrasensitive memories onto cold, standard-cut sheets of blank paper, but because I, too, have to ripen! I'm not ready to write this story--it's too soon, too fresh, and the story's still working its way through me, let alone OUT of me. So it'll have to wait. WE will have to wait. And that's okay. Because when the story does come out, it will be stormy with waiting and so will open up and rain down its sadness on me. And by then, I'll be ready for it. The story that'll leak out of me and onto the paper will have been worth waiting for; experiencing Poppy again will have been worth waiting for...

*image from http://thusbakeszarathustra.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/09/pears.jpg

Quickie

Short and sweet--

I was recently out to dinner with my mom where I decided to practice a little OCD, rearranging the sugar packets on the table so that each brand was grouped together, when I had an idea (though not an original idea, mind you...)! What if I wrote nice messages on a couple of sugar packets for some diner/waiter/waitress down the road to find? While the messages weren't mind-blowing or life-altering (I wrote "You are beautiful" on one and my mom wrote "Love yourself" on another), my mom and I felt good about leaving little bits of anonymous kindness behind. I think I'm gonna make this practice a habit in the future. Maybe sometimes I'll just doodle a picture? Or perhaps throw in a napkin note now and again? The possibilities are fun to imagine, aren't they?

*image from http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/roadshow/tg/images/warholnapkin_01.jpg

UNcreative Rock Bottom

Here I am at work again, blogging away about my "desires to live creatively"...when really, it'd be more honest to say "alleged desires." I haven't felt the "creative spark," the "art bug," the "craft gene" in awhile. And while I want to wholly blame my job--the 9 to 5 that claims me five days a week--I don't necessarily believe it's THE problem. Yes, work HAS become a routine (And how could it not? I'm required to be there at 8 in the morning till 5 in the evening, 5 days a week)--I do the same work everyday for 8 hours. So, naturally, it's hard for me to get up in the morning and get excited for "the expected." But lately it's become a problem (though again, not THE problem. I can blame this winter weather we've been getting in the middle of Fall for my dullness too, right? "I [am] like every kid who [grew] up in the country, allowing the weather--good or bad--to describe life for me: its mocking, its magic, its contradictions, its mood grip. Why not? One [is] helpless before everything."--Lorrie Moore, "A Gate at the Stairs.") I've been so unmotivated that I can't even start an art project to re-enthuse me. For example, last night I thought about flipping through magazines and cutting out pictures and words to make a word collage. But instead, I went to bed at 9PM, too bored and tired to even stay up and watch TV! And it's gotten worse since then! I'm sitting here at work, surfing the Barnes & Noble website for self-improvement books--The Magic of Thinking Big, The War of Art, Wreck This Journal--to get me going again. Self-improvement books, people! I've hit UNcreative rock bottom. SOMETHING'S gotta change.


And I think it's my attitude. Yes, my corporate office surroundings and mundane job tasks are to blame for my lack of motivation...sort of. It's all how you look at it, I know, I know. As A's mom has told me time and again, "Don't see your job as 'work.' Consider it an 'activity.' Let anything and everything you do be an 'activity.' Because then everything you do is on the same plane and nothing is worse or better than anything else. Everything is 'activity.'" It's true, too. When I arrive at my job with the attitude that today is a new day full of opportunity and possibility and that all my actions are simply that--activity--I work differently. At the very least, I work neutrally, without dread, without boredom, without the desire to leave IMMEDIATELY, haha. And at the most, I work positively, with anticipation, with energy, with interest. Changing the flavor of the day is as simple as that, I think. And I haven't been thinking it...


So, as it stands, this is a 2-part operation. Part 1: Change my attitude. My job is an activity. Part 2: While everything is an activity, I still feel the need to incorporate some inspirational or creative activities to, you know, balance the neutral activities ;) Say I read some poetry every day or write a little 5-line creative diddy every day? Speaking of which...


While tonight I fully intend to start that word collage, I read about this OTHER idea in some book awhile back:
A woman took 4x4 square pieces of cardstock paper and each day, took one, wrote the date on it and journaled on it or colored on it or glued paper to it or sewed fabric to it...you get the idea. So each day she was making some kind of a creative record. Talk about an artist's journal! And I remember reading that she specifically picked 4x4 cards because they were just small enough to be a manageable daily art project and yet they were just big enough to feel like an accomplishment. I think I might cut up some cardstock tonight while I'm going at that word collage ;)


*image from laberintodeespejosrotos.blogspot.com