Thoughts of Spring

March 20th is the first day of Spring, and, my mother’s birthday.  This day always fills my heart with a bit of joy and celebration.

Spring brings a promise of a new start; the sun shines each day, peeking out between the clouds and dancing with Spring rains to offer up rainbows.  Trees bloom, and bees buzz about the blossoms, ensuring nuts and fruit and honey.  Throughout nature, babies* are born in this time of promised plenty.

Each year Spring delivers a message of hope and love.  No matter what the winter has thrown at us: floods, icy roads, blinding snow storms or wave breaking winds, Spring always comes, reassuring us that it will get better.  Snow may still be packing the mountains or the Jersey Shore but somehow the longer days of Spring whisper, “This will pass, I am here.” 

If you are still snowed in and expecting more precipitation, as my mother once told me about my complexion, “Things often get worse before they get better, but they do get better.”  Spring is here, listen to her whisper, “This will pass.”

Throughout my life, I recall my mother always quietly there. She was a woman of few words.  She would celebrate my childhood triumphs with a little smile and reassure me after failures of skinned knees or hurt feelings with a kiss and a smile.  She quietly supported me through the growing pains of my teens and young adulthood.  When I married and had children, she was steadfastly there, for teething, varicella, costume making or weekend escapes.  She was quietly there to rock a child, fix a meal, sew into the night or babysit.  (She once kept three children when I went to Hawaii and did not mention in our daily calls that my youngest had the chickenpox, not a word.)  Then there was my divorce.  She was there, quiet, empathetic, offering no judgement or critique.

In my mother’s last few years, she was less able bodied.  As I chased my career, my relationship, and my desire to care for her, she was still there for me, quietly appreciative and reassuring.  As with all things, this time did pass, and she died 3 days before Spring in 2013.

The unconditional love of a mother, be her name, Grace, Beatrice, Gaea or Terra, is a powerful gift.  How perfectly serendipitous that my mother was born on March 20th.  She, like Springtime, was always there to reassure, whatever my winter, she was there. No words were needed but the message was clear, “This will pass, I am here.”

Isabella

*The point where I resisted digressing into: Have you seen my newest card?  Oh, baby it’s the perfect card for an expectant mama.  Please check it out, click  Shop our Cards

Thoughts on March 8th

dToday is International Women’s Day.  I am struck by my good fortune to be a woman born into a middleclass, California family.  I grew up knowing that everything was possible, and I could have any career I chose.  In the eighth grade, I remember telling my father that I did not need to type because I was not going to be someone’s secretary.  I rejected any stereotypical role such as teaching or nursing (um… yeh, let’s not go there). 

I walked a path of education, marriage, parenting, divorce, career building, and most recently career changing.  At an early age, circa 1967, I rejected church and any organized religion; thankfully my parents did not protest, even though my father, and his before him, preached at the Methodist church.  I could walk my own path, form my opinions, and discover myself, as long as I didn’t date until college, “Okay, high school.” 

My life story is not that of all women.  Generations before me, women in this country and around the world were often considered the property of the men in their lives.   First their fathers then their husbands, and in some women’s lives, their brothers and uncles.  I am thankful to the women who have stood strong throughout time and fought for the rights of women everywhere. 

I cannot imagine a life where someone else controlled my belongings, my movements, my body, my rights.  I cannot imagine never having gone to school or voted or being able to represent myself in a court of law, or simply speak my thoughts.

As wonderfully independent as my life may be and as far as society has come, there is near endless work to be done.  There may be laws to protect women’s rights, but they are ignored, unenforced, rendered impotent by where one lives and the powers that are allowed to be.  If a woman does not know her rights how can she stand up for them and resist the violence, neglect, abuse and control?

The education of women on their human rights must be global and ongoing.  Centuries of being considered second class citizens, if citizens at all, has placed hurdles and road blocks just beyond each goal attained.  (My thoughts drift to our current government and the novels: It Can’t Happen Here by Sinclair Lewis and The Handmaids Tale by Margaret Atwood.)

 We each, in our own way, can be the educator, the example, the haven that empowers our daughters and theirs, that enlightens our partners and sons, that accepts, with the love of humankind, women, men, children, rich, poor, powerful, frail, young, old, black, white, bright, stolid, round and square. 

I am a feminist.  I am a humanist.  I am a sentientist.  I celebrate International Women’s Day, as it reminds us of how far we have come and provides us the sustenance to persist.

Isabella

It Beats the Alternative

            Shakespeare died at age 52, which was almost 20 years later than most in that century.  My father died at age 59, one month before his 60th birthday, and more than twenty years before most of his generation.  Having the Crumpton genetics most profound in me, I used to joke, “I am my father, he died at fifty-nine.”  When that birthday rolled around I was joy filled to still be kicking, working, and enjoying my family and friends.  I stopped myself from making that statement a few years prior to my 60th.  I didn’t want to die at 59, so why tempt the universe? (With years comes, at least, a bit of wisdom.)

            I recently read an article by Jason Farago in the New York Times: ’Aging Pride’ Challenges the Cult of Youth.  In it he writes about a current art exhibit in Vienna (oh, please do not digress…)  The exhibit explores aging: the good, the bad and the sagging.  Young or old, in what has been a strongly youth driven culture, this show must be wonderfully challenging to view.  Youth facing an inevitable future and the aging surrounded by all their glory. 

            At 62, I am considered a Baby Boomer.  There were a lot of us born between 1946 and 1964.  We were a generation to change the world, end a war, love freely and, as we aged, chase our youth.  Some of us never got over Twiggy and the Mod fashion revolution, others, the drugs. 

            In 1966, the oldest of the Boomers were on campus marching for peace, and I, at 9 and 10 years of age, was watching cartoons, idolizing my older brother with his long hair and guitar, and begging my parents for a copy of Seventeen magazine, “Pleeeeeze…”  I longed to be a marcher for peace while perfectly dressed in a flowered mini skirt.  We were pushing for social reform and freedom of expression, while the media was grooming us for consumerism and idolization of youth.  Those were the good old days.

Somewhere in the 1970’s and 80’s elective cosmetic surgeries became quite popular.  It may not have been the boomers getting face lifts and rhinoplasty, but as the years passed many have joined the ranks.  I myself, have been caught in front of the mirror contemplating my skin pulled taut above my ears and then returning to its unfettered natural form.

No matter how one chases youth, aging happens, or we die.  As Rick, Chief Executive of Love and Support, puts it when he hears my whining about the repercussions of aging, “It beats the alternative.”

I believe Baby Boomers, if for no other reason than sheer numbers, are still making social change by embracing our age and those before us, standing up for the rights of the elderly, the poor and the homeless, being politically active and saying, “be yourself.”  Be free to be yourself; facelift, boob job, dyed hair or not, sags, bags, lost hair and lost words.  Celebrate your life.  Baby Boomers may be fast becoming the old generation, but we are a strongly motivated, compassionate, active, political bunch with a lot of snappy dressers.

Isabella

What is it?

            What is it about February?  It is my favorite month.  How can that be?  It is smack dab in the middle of Winter, my least favorite season. 

            February is a quirky month.  A bit of a rebel, it marches to its own drummer with only 28 days, except every now and then when it decides to have 29.  No other month would dare do that.  (30 days has September…) What other month would invite you out to play in your shorts or sundress, knowing full well the rules of winter: short days, long nights, rain, snow, sleet, wind, brrr…  February loves to team up with Mother Nature and gift us a few sunny warm days; a week of Springtime in the dead of winter, hope in a moment of despair.  Each day is slightly longer than the last and I am assured of making it through another winter.  Oh, I know Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow on the 2nd, the rain and snow will return, and for that I am thankful.

            I so enjoy celebrations of love and February is full of them: weddings, baby showers, anniversaries and of course, Valentine’s Day.  (Please don’t tell me it’s a Hallmark holiday, you forget I make greeting cards.)  Valentine’s Day gives us the opportunity to take a moment out of our routines, schedules, and busy-ness, to focus on those we love or to risk reaching out to those we want to love us; be mine !  It’s oh so romantic!  And we get to wear red, eat chocolate and sip champagne.

            Then, there are the birthdays!  Lincoln, Washington, Harrison and Reagan, just to mention the chief execs.  There is my nephew, my grandson, Carla (Corinne’s little sister), a plethora of friends, celebrities, acquaintances and, had I mentioned, moi. Seven days separates Valentines Day and my birthday. My fellow Februarians no doubt, agree, the two must never be entangled.  Very separate celebrations… as I have, from time to time, explained to Rick (the provider of love and support and the asker of, “Is it still your birthday?”)

            So, what is it?  February is a month of celebrations, a sneak peek of springtime, a chance to say I love you, a quirky little bundle of joy and good tidings.  Though she be a little month she is fierce and full of love.

Guilty as Charged

            I recently had the pleasure of visiting with a woman working in a local shop.  I have always enjoyed her conversation.  She seems kind, funny, open and down to earth.   This last week the planets were aligned that we would meet.  The store was quiet, and we had a chance to visit about cards, business, family, phones and humanity.

            This young woman, though “not a Millennial,” was able to take my phone and in the blink of an eye work some social media magic that I was currently paying for a class to learn.  I don’t know how she did it, but it truly was magical to this technologically impaired Boomer.  After this amazing display of her skills, she shared that she had recently put her smart phone away and was using a flip phone for the next year.  In the short time that she had given up the smart phone, she had noticed a change in her life, she had so much more time.  Time for her children, time for her friends, time for her husband, time for her work, time for her chores, time to connect with others and time to change the world.

            I was so impressed and knew that I should follow her example, but listed my ever so pertinent reasons, starting with my new, one-woman-show of a business.  I need to be able to deal with my website wherever I might be.   That said, I could buy a lap top or pad but…  Oh, my list goes on.  Right or wrong, I will continue to use my smart phone to some degree.  But I digress, and you don’t yet know it.

            As we were parting ways, this young woman told me that she had a blog, that she was a woman of faith and that she cussed.  I paused and briefly contemplated the woman of faith before me.  That usually meant one went to a church of some kind.  It could mean she was spiritual, the box I choose for myself, or maybe she simply had faith that all would be right with the world.   And she cussed… such lovely juxtaposition.

            Upon reading her blog (yes, on my smart phone in an easy chair), I was touched by her mission to write, her honesty, sincerity and her ability to call a spade a spade (and I’m talking shovels).  This young woman is a Christian, in the way Christianity is in theory, but so often not in practice.  She explains her use of “a woman of faith” in place of “a Christian.”   She points out that people often cringe or recoil when she uses the word Christian.  She notes the perception of Christians as judgmental, hypocritical, racist, bigoted, anti-abortion, and ant-gay, a virtually unyielding barrier. It saddened me to realize that I was guilty, I was a cringer. 

The word Christian has been hi-jacked somewhere along the way for manipulation of the masses and political gain. Yet, that is a blog for another day or another site.

I am simply thankful for the gentle eye opening and opportunity for introspection.  We all have our paths to walk.  A path of kindness, honesty, love, laughter and joy is one to be admired.    Whatever the trail that takes one there, seems to me, a path worth traveling.

Isabella

The Brain is a Powerful Thing

      Opening a business in the month before Christmas is not a recipe for instant success, unless you have the hottest thing ever for under the tree. Greeting cards, I knew, would not sell like hotcakes at the holidays but I had a mission to be up and running, so I was.  Goal met.  (Thank you all who did purchase cards during the brief and busy season.)

      As I played through the holidays, I listed the goals for the coming year.  When the crowds had cleared, and we had rung in the new year, I was back at it.  Joyfully back in the studio, creating new cards and plotting a map of destination shops for marketing.

      It was on a day trip to Sacramento with my husband and biggest supporter, Rick, that I got the call.  Not recognizing the number, I let it go to voice mail.  Later that day, I realized that the caller had indeed left a message.  Curious.  I listened to the message, a nice sounding gentleman with an opportunity that I might like to talk about.  An opportunity to head and build a new business in health care here in my community.  That is when my brain kicked in with thoughts of maybe I should do this, I should at least talk to him, what if, what if, what if…

       We did speak, and I remained curious, complimented and torn, so we met, for over an hour of chatting at Starbucks.  He was personable, bright, well spoken and did have a very nice offer.  We parted with the agreement to speak in a week’s time.

      My head was full of shouldas, couldas, oughtas and fear.  My ego was running amuck.  My brain was busily weighing the pros and cons of the offer: “It will be a fun and challenging position, you’ll like that.” it said, “On the practical side, you will have a regular paycheck, and health insurance!  Just what would you be giving up?  You can paint on the weekend.”  It built a very good case.

      What was my hesitation?  To quote Jen Sincero, author of You are a Bad Ass… “Just because it’s your brain does not mean its on your side.”  Hmm…

       It was time to let go.  Let go the worry, the vanity, the pretense, the fear.  It was time to still the mind, open the heart and decide what I wanted to do.

       The next morning, I hit the mat, my yoga mat, where troubles are sent on their worrying way and the mind is calmed and the heart is filled.  What did I want in this life?  To be joyfully happy.  What had I been the last few months?  Just that.

      What had brought this opportunity knocking?  Some doubt or fear lodged in my subconscious, reminding me why I should stay on my known path?  The brain is powerful thing.  So, just as I was feeling comfortable in my skin with Joie de Vie Art & Word it came knocking:

                                “Knock, knock.”

                                “Who’s there?”

                                “Opportunity.”

                                “Opportunity who?”

                                “Opportunity for something new, something old, something secure, a detour to familiar passage.”

                                “Thanks Opportunity for dropping by, but I’m on this path now, and I am joyfully happy!”

Isabella

Tis the Season

          The holidays are upon us.  Gatherings with friends, coworkers, and families abound.  Crafting, stitching, molding (clay not bread), building, painting, writing warm greetings and shopping, we try to find the perfect gifts for those we love.

            I love the festive chaos!  It is the only time of the year that I embrace the cold.  Bundled in my warmest attire, wool coat, knit hat, gloves and scarf, I love walking through town with the brisk air about me.  I even love it in the rain, simply add galoshes.  The warmth of the shops is welcome as I pop in looking for a perfect gift, chatting with merchants and friends that I meet.  I love bundling for evenings out and snuggling on evenings in.  I would sing out with delight to awaken to my town covered in snow on Christmas morning.  (I would, of course, detest it should it not be gone the 26th.  I do truly hate being cold, fear driving on icy roads, and am quite certain that I could live my life happily on a tropical island in the sun.)

            Being the youngest of 5 children in a middleclass family, there was no Barbie Dream House under my tree.  But there were gifts for all and we were blessed.  My mother sewed into the night and headed to work in the morning.  My father was the chocolatier by evening and worked at the local newspaper by day.  My grandmother lived across the way and her house was filled with warmth and smells of cakes baking, almonds roasting or candies being made on the stove.  There were holiday parties, lists for Santa, carols being sung, and the cherished search for Santa in the sky on Christmas Eve.  (We, some how, always missed the jolly old fellow.   He would apparently come down our chimney while we were out searching the rooftops of town.)

            Our house was filled with family: aunts, uncles, cousins, oh my!  It was a joy filled chaos and I remember it warmly.   

            As I grew older, with a family of my own, I realized, as one does, that there were many in our community without: without family, without funds, without a roof over their heads or a warm bed for the night, not knowing where their next meal would be found.  So, I gave: a dollar or two to a man on the street, a warm smile of acceptance to a stranger passing, checks to charities that I knew helped those in need, gifts for those who could not afford them, a place to stay for a friend in need…  Each time I gave, it was a gift to myself, a thank you to the universe that I was able to help and to live my life with a good job, a warm home, food, family and friends.

            When we decided to create our little company, Joie de Vie Art & Word, we pledged to always give a percentage of our earnings to help the homeless.  This, and every year, we will give 5% of every purchase to help the homeless and the hungry.  Tis always the season to share the joy. 

            A special thank you to those who shared a little joy by buying, selling, and sending our Head in the Clouds cards, and to those who shared our blog and website with friends and family.  All are deeply appreciated.

            Merry Christmas, happy holidays and to all a good night.

Isabella

I Don't Speak French

            Welcome to Joie de Vie Art & Word.  I’m so happy that you dropped in.  We are a rather small group, composed of one artist, one writer, one critic, one cat and one very supportive husband.  So, that would be: my cat, business partner and toughest critic, Sam; my husband, provider of love, support and encouragement, Rick; and me, artist, writer and lover of life’s little joys, Isabella.

            It is funny how one’s life can change in a flash.  Just 5 months ago I was busily working at an 8-12 hour a day job, with great responsibilities, stresses, personal growth and wonderful people.  I had been there for years and planned to retire from there one day.  And so, I did…  retire… as such… and not exactly on my planned line of time.

            When handed such life changing moments, we are suddenly faced with new choices.  How do we react: shocked, angry, sad, relieved, hurt, confused…?  Trust me, I tried them all.  Then, one day I tried a new one, forgiveness.  It was, as they say, easier said than done.  I had been meditating and contemplating and searching for happiness and searching for a job.  I had spent hours in my studio painting, writing and doing yoga. (Maybe I should call it my healing room, but that’s another blog.)

When I chose the path of forgiveness, life offered me more choices.  Find a job in the field that had supported me so nicely for years, or work as an artist, or work as a writer.  To work for someone else, or to build my own business. To cling to security, or to follow my heart. 

After working through the hurt, anger, fear and sadness, and finding forgiveness, I realized that I did not want to return to my known career path.  I wanted to work in a joyful way.  I wanted to know joy through my work and to share the joy with others.  I wanted to use my art and my writing to support myself.  I wanted to be happy.

Here I am, heart on my sleeve, grinning from ear to ear, offering to share with all who desire, some of life’s little joys.  Please browse the site, it won’t take long.  Then come back often to see what’s new.  I will be adding things as I create them, and sharing some thoughts on life, art and happiness every now and again.

No, I don’t speak French, but, the joy of life, like art, is beautiful in any language.

                                                                                    Isabella

                                                                                    12-08-2017