November 29, 2011
I noticed something blue and beautiful and dark about the intersection. Oh, the streetlight is out, that’s so nice… Oh, the electricity is out on my block, that is so awesome! It looked like it had snowed. Without the yellow warmth of the street and window lights the landscape took on an icy hue. Bell and I stood in the front yard and pretended we lived high on a mountain where everyone goes to bed when the sun goes down.
I lit candles, I drew a bath, I made a fire. I made popcorn on the stove in the low light and fucked up and had to look up a recipe (for popcorn!) and do it again. But it is yummy now.
This week I have desired ,and I think feared, intimacy with my house. And now, for the grace of the weather, I am left with little else to do. But sit by the fire and sip my tea. With her.
November 28, 2011
I’m listening to AU while I work, surprised that Luke’s songs still make me feel comforted and joyful. I miss him.
AU has a new album coming out. It is amazing. It is a highrise of sound, stacked and digestive and dizzying. It is rich and hairy and ricocheted. It is caramel colored with burnt pieces. It is a mouth, pulled open, propelling sound, consuming ears. It is Luke’s spirit, at a time of great transformation. It is a book that did not want to be cracked.
Luke drew this music from the deepest corners of his being. And bravely looked at what he had found.
November 27, 2011
My biggest indulgence this Thanksgiving wasn’t turkey and pie. It was simply being out of the house and around people. I have been on a strict diet of designing with no outside stimulation. No shows, no dinners, movies or drinks with friends. No dancing, apple gathering or bookstore browsing. No hot chocolate. Just me in the studio focusing exclusively on this project. For months. It is an exercise in self will and discipline, similar in many ways to a mediation. If I continue to stay in it, if I continue to hold still, my resistance weakens and the sitting becomes easier. If I move, I’m back at the beginning again.
On Thanksgiving I went to Sarah Coderre’s and thoroughly savored the talk and touch of others. The next day I wanted more. Not less. Not back into the studio. Out to the movies! Not by myself, with everyone! And I clawed around looking for stimulation but knew, in my shortness of breath, in the tugging at my heart, that I had made prior plans. And so last night I texted Penelope and explained that I could not come to her house with a bottle of wine and a face mask. I had a date with a dress and needed to stay home. And with that decision I turned back toward the thing I was resisting and went toward it. And immediately felt my resistance slacken.
Settle down. And just sit with it.
November 27, 2011
It has been three years since I moved into 5335 Mallory Street. That first night said it all.
Oh my fucking god I bought this house!!!!
November 26, 2011
I moved to Portland because of Kenya. “Why don’t you just live in my airstream for three months…?” It was a directive phrased as a question. That’s how she works. She helps you give her what she wants. And so she is the first person you want to tell when you follow through on her advice. I have this big news… I have this big house… and where is she? And where has she taken her gorgeous boyfriend? Away. Until the winter passes. Lets find them.
I’m going to blatantly mimic The Sartorialist and post a themed photo every Monday at 8pm. But instead of sexy photographers, I’ll show you a vacation snapshot of two sexy tourists, alone together for the non-winter. The first person to guess their whereabouts will get a free Filly tank.
Let the games begin!
November 26, 2011
My landlord came over, I explained at Thanksgiving Dinner. That’s why I’m a bit late. She came by to give me a book by Louise Hay called You Can Heal Your Life. It contains a very useful reference list of illness and the mental patterns that cause them. My top three ailments – abdominal cramps, anxiety and asphyxiating attacks all indicated fear. The curing mantra she suggests is “I trust the process of life. I am safe. It is safe to grow-up.” Yesterday I truly embraced that sentiment. I trusted. The process of my life has been sound, my decisions solid, my intuition reliable, my heart full, my mind calm. It was safe to grow up. And so I accepted the gift that sat alongside the book. I signed the papers and bought this house. While Van Morrison wailed on the turntable, my pen glided easily above the black line. Purchaser.
Laura and I negotiated the sale over five emails. We did not include realtors or lawyers but we did include each other. I would write, “Ok, so I’m hung up on two things….” and she would give a little and explain why she couldn’t give more. And I bent a little to meet her, and she tipped a little more toward me and then we touched! And hugged and squealed and I was late for Thanksgiving Dinner.
I have struggled with this decision. Where, when and which house? And what would I have to leave behind to move forward?
Now I know. I don’t need to leave anything at all. I was home all along.
November 22, 2011
When I graduated from high school I suddenly felt very grown up. I remember sitting in a particularly challenging college history class and saying under my breath, swiftly, with steam, I want to get the fuck out of here and marry Jose. I just want to be a wife and a mom! And I can! I can do whatever I want now. That was a surge. Biology was pushing me forward to the next stage. And even though I didn”t marry Jose, I didn’t have his child, I did find myself at the next level. I could do whatever I wanted… I was out of childhood, but where was I? Surge, readjust, surge, readjust.
We see kids growing in spurts. They experience rapid and sudden changes in height, weight and shape, like a cartoon character. I see myself aging in the same way. I surge forward…led by biology and followed by shifts in identity. And then I spend the next number of years readjusting to my new place in time. Slowly making my way forward.
I have recently felt a surge. Forward I go. Toward a house that I already love. Toward a town that has given so much. I even suddenly look different. More and more like a woman. Like Debra Winger. Unapologetically so. This is the difference. I am here, on this plane, at this age, in these circumstances, this body, this face. I wasn’t here before. I’m here now.
November 15, 2011
One more FOF! This Friday, November 18th, from 2-4pm at Peoples Yoga! Go to the vinyasa 2 class and stay to treat your body to a new dress. That’s my plan.
November 15, 2011
Winter 2011 styles now available at Shop.Filly. They will not ship until December 1st but you can pre-order your Winter dress tonight. They’re pretty.
November 15, 2011
I got home very late last night. The FOF tour took me to many homes full of their own distinct colors, smells, food and friends. More than once I marveled at my wild life. Not that it was actually so wild. I mean it was just Bello and me on a road trip that took us no more than 6 hours from home. But it was wild to find myself navigating little neighborhoods, back country roads and rainy Capital streets… looking for a warm house full of eager bodies. A home full of people I don’t actually know. This is not like me! I am shy! Really. But apparently I am also bold. I knock, I enter all smiles, I chat and make myself at home. I bring in five HUGE boxes of clothes and kick back for the next three hours while women dig in. Before long we are close confidants. It is amazing what nudity and wine will do.
In Olympia I was hosted by Kaytlin, the beauty on the far left. I met her at the Helsing Junction Sleepover last summer. We were on cooking duty together and talked while chopping carrots. Connections are made where you least expect it. When she got home she ordered a dress and I asked her if she would like to host a FOF one of these days. She is a natural! She made a little flier and a table of decadent treats. She is wonderful and so, of course, are her friends. That’s how it goes.
Thank you to all of the hosts and houses that graciously allowed me to share an afternoon or an evening with you.
November 5, 2011
I fall in love with my exes.
I remember the first time it happened. In high school I was dating a boy named Jose. A boy who had pursued and won me. But being his girlfriend wasn’t nearly as fun as being his desired. And so I “broke up with him”, but not really, just as a thing, a new experience for us, a different phase of our relationship. But he didn’t see it that way, the new phase way, he just saw it as over. I pined for him for three years.
I prefer my break-ups to be break-free. I’ll bend but I don’t want to hear a snap. I like to keep hanging out in a vague and flirtatious way that suggests a reconciliation at any moment. Even if ending it was my idea and is better for both of us.
November 5, 2011
Thank you for calling. For sending your voice into my heart. You were right, and kind, to guess that it was heartbreaking for me as well.
And afterward, as I lay on the bed, all I could think to do was call you back. Just to interact again, even if what we are saying is dreadful. But of course the message is clear. And so I will grieve on my own.
Break to begin again.