Recently I was reading an article in a home decor magazine discussing current design trends, and an architect (I believe) was talking about how now more than ever people wanted to create homes that were sanctuaries, safe havens. At first I thought, well isn't that lovely and simple, but then I thought, well, duh. I personally don't know of any other type of home one should have if it's not your harbor. There's a reason why there's no other place like it. Granted, mine is a work in progress--which is work eternal when you're indecisive and working with champagne dreams and a (domestic) beer budget--but without question it is the place where I feel safe and free and settled as soon as I cross the threshold. I'm not much for chronicling what exactly makes a house a home, other than to know a good thing when I've got it. But what I am talkin' about though, is the fact that, until recently, I lived as a self-imposed hermity homebody. If you want me to go out with you, you'd best let me know before I park my car in space #48; you needs to have a food plan or snacks + beverages as bait; and you gots to know that I am not (always) an SATC girl--those heels most likely got kicked to the curb before lunch.
Now once I'm out, I'm out. As in, I will shut the ish down--on a school night or otherwise. As with almost anything pertaining to me, there's effort involved in luring me out and about; however, you will be rewarded handsomely because if I believe in little else I believe in keeping the Golden Rule ablaze.
As you all mostly know for the past five years, sitcheeashuns with Mags and/or Pistol Pete have required me to be the homebody that I was. I had an immune system and sanity to keep, plus I had to become my own safety net, and while those things still comprise my case, I realized a few things:
- I'm thirty. This essentially translates to, No time like the present. (This applies to socializing, facial cream, playing hooky and the drinking of the wine/well-crafted beer/sophisticated booze.)
- Not only am I funny, but I'm fun, too.
- I live in a really great city that consistently amuses and rewards those who are willing to be adventurous.
I've also finally cultivated a crop of folks I absolutely adore. I cannot possibly express how rare this is, and I continue to hold steady to the promise of all the good that comes from waiting, but man! Great good people are hard to find, yo. And when I find you I'm not afraid to admit that I can become a bit like:
Pistol Pete has been wrong about many a thing, but Never Hurry, Never Worry is absolutely golden as it applies to making friends. It's not something I do easily or readily, but I accept that God has placed me where I am for a reason, and lately (thankfully) I have made some connections that enable me to accept that knowledge breezily. Good things do come to those who wait.
(I'm still waiting on one or two other big-life-item-type things, but that's for future posts ... or my rapidly approaching NaNoWriMo exploits. Yeah, you read that right. 50,000 words by 11/30. Feel free to pray for me at any time. Excerpts may or may not appear here, depending on what comes out of this head.)
At any rate, I've re-discovered the flex of my moxie muscles, people. The fact that Fall is my favorite time of the year has served as the perfect impetus. I'm always infinitely inspired during this time of year, but now? I'm a festival goin', volunteerin', craftin', workshoppin', flea marketin', by-day road-trippin' fool. I'm a lot like Jim Carrey in that Yes, Man movie, but better. I can hardly say no to anything, save for what my moral scruples and persnickety purse just can't and won't allow. (Yes, 'round the way, red-eyed, Osama-bearded dude, I'm side-eyeing you!)
It feels great. Swirlin' Spanish wines and nom-nommin' on Zamorano and Castellano; inciting people to tell me stories at random on the spot; grabbing lunch and dinner with co-workers who've made the sacred segue into beloveds.
I'm on a quest to eat at places I've been dying to try, to see and to hear shows I always want to attend, but miss, and I plan to see this city for all the LOVEliness it offers. There are murals to be seen, the cheesesteak-to-end-all-cheesesteaks to be tasted, snaps to snap at story and poetry slams and hipsters whose existential existences solely depend on an eyebrow raise and shaking of the head that only I can provide.
So far I'm off to a great start. I spent the weekend supporting my neighborhood's art initiative where I found this pencil drawing for Mags:
I also chatted with the artist, Arleen Olshan, of the following charcoal portrait. I feel I need to make a habit of collecting more charcoal and pastels pieces. This woman spoke to me.
I also spent Saturday on a quest for my new favorite thing: Art-o-mat. I spent a lot of time tuggin' and yankin' on those old cigarette machine knobs as a frequent patron at various Upstate SC steakhouses back in the day. I used to beg my dad to let me put the money in so I could help him kill my developing lungs, and I had simply forgotten about those machines. I do love a good re-purposing project though, and one that kerplunks random pieces of art for $5? Shood.
Picture it. Danita, age 8.
It was me and the ski ball ranges at Showbiz all over again, because for five bucks you get a token. (I know, a token, but this is, like, the Charlie Bucket's golden ticket of tokens.)
But you pop the token into the pretty snazzy looking machine, shake hands with the knob of your choice and voila! I bet you want the goodies; I bet you thought about it ...
I love things that are just plain neat, and the Art-o-Mat machines fit that bill. You should try to find one near you, because I can guarantee that every road trip I take from now on is gonna include a pit stop where one of these mugs exists.
I spent the rest of my Saturday with Crafty Constance wherebouts we hung out in what is now essentially an urban garden, but was once the home and public garden of naturalist John Bartram. A place where Washington, Franklin and Jefferson took tea and indulged in the wonders of Bartram's botanical exhibits and mega neat, hand-carved cider press. It is known as Bartram's Garden, and walking on those grounds I'll tell you--I plan to make it my business to possess a cottage engulfed in the magnificent quiet and ease that only a garden can create.
We also staged a very impromptu and fairly anti-climatic covered bridges tour in nearby Bucks County (which conveniently houses TWO art-o-mat machines even though we only made it to one). We drove across the first one, and it felt a lot like, "Is this the it?" The second one was a bridge to nowhere. I mean it was the equivalent to visiting a nursing home for retired bridges. Some time in the 50s they decided to move that which was first constructed in 1836 to a local park where it bridged ... nothing. I mean it's a good lookin' bridge and all, but seriously, they propped it up in the corner of the park, strung some holiday lights on it and acted like I could march myself into history. Patooey.
All in all, it was a delightfully fun-filled Saturday that's left me hankerin' for more adventure. Next up? Thrift shop/flea market mania. I'm on the hunt for quirky, random pieces of furniture to further housify my home. Come see me. Let's be friends and play.