Reflections on being brave

"Don't take the big camera out with you," I silently say to myself, "Just take the iPhone. Only the iPhone."

The clear light is so beautiful... and so fleeting.

My photographer's heart tries to argue with my head, "You could miss something really special and not have the good lens with you. You've got to go back and get the real camera... not this toy."

By this time, I'm out the back door and already seeing the first photographic opportunity as the sun shines hot and bright through the glimmering petals of newly bloomed snapdragon volunteers growing in a pot from last year's seed.  



The garden kitty greets me and meows for me to stay. Good thing. Otherwise, I'd be back inside in a flash to pick up the "big gun". I sit down on the deck stairs behind an overflowing pot of lavender alive with the movement of bees and the intermittent May breeze. Again, the light is perfect. I can't really see what I'm shooting. I can barely make out the display from the glare.

"How do these iPhonographers do this?" my heart says as my head says, "Just persevere. You can see it all later out of the sun."

Oddly, the roles of head and heart are reversed (again) with my head the creative brave part of me and my heart the cowardly lion. My head tells me I must push myself to explore new creative horizons and places I haven't experienced yet. My heart wants to go back to the comfy cozy place where it feels all warm and fuzzy--the creative terrain I've tread for some time now. This seems to be a theme for me for the past few years. I think of it as trying to "be brave". It's a strange thing for me to face.



When I was a kid I was used to change, new horizons to explore, and facing the unknown. After graduating high school, I had a perpetual case of wanderlust that lasted all through my twenties and into the early part of my marriage in my early thirties. Hubby and I got so good at traveling we had our carry-ons permanently packed with the essentials. All we had to do was throw in clothes for the trip and go. Change was exciting. Change was romantic. Change was a constant (if that makes sense).

Then we moved here. I settled into our home. After living here four years, I officially set a new life milestone for how many years I lived consecutively in the same house. Four years turned into eight. And eight years suddenly were twelve. Roots grow pretty deep in twelve years--in gardens and in people.

So is this why I am often facing the challenge to "be brave"?  Is this why it's so ridiculously difficult to take photos with my iPhone instead of my DSLR? It feels like it is, but maybe not.

Then I realize that by having roots that run so deep I am treading new territory--more unknown than any other horizon I've ever walked toward. Allowing myself to feel this sense of place... being like the oak tree instead of the dandelion... this could be the most brave I've ever been. And it's my heart that's leading me with this one.

My photo "Land of milk and honey" led me to some creative epiphanies

The "recipe" for the above photo "Land of milk and honey":

Used my own textures Emerald Isle at 35% Soft Light and 

Lace Camisole at 65% Screen with strategic erasing

A couple of years ago, I was just getting into the groove of creating photographic art using techniques I'd developed through trial and error while learning Photoshop CS3. The above image is one that I produced back then (some of you may recognize it). The past couple of weeks, I've been revisiting this image in order to turn it into a suite of wedding stationery (hence this post).

When I first started honing the technique I now think of as digitally painting a photograph, I wasn't being conventional in my use of Photoshop.  I use what is known in Photoshop vernacular as "destructive" techniques of erasing, burning (darkening), and dodging (lightening) directly on the layers of an image instead of using masks that were "non-destructive". I couldn't get my head around mask layers (still can't). I think it's because I need to see the result of every stroke of my stylus as I make it the way I see the result of every stroke of the paintbrush when I paint traditionally.

Secretly, I've felt like I'm "cheating", haunted with thoughts like, "If other Photoshop users knew what I was doing they'd be appalled because I'm using this tool the wrong way!"

Over time, I realized I'm not "destroying" anything with my technique, because I always work on duplicates of the original photo layer. Using the word "destructive" is... well... destructive.

When I decided to think of what I do as "strategic" erasing instead of "destructive" it changed my perspective. I've come to the conclusion that if it works for me, then it's okay. No one is here in my studio staring over my shoulder going "tsk tsk".  The result is what matters. And if my techniques free me to create something I couldn't create otherwise, then I say, "So what?!?!"

It seems that life lessons I learn often come around full circle. Just as I had to get over a mental hurdle with embracing my way of digitally painting photographs, I've recently had to get over the mental block I've had about creating suites of wedding stationery. And the above photo is what led me through that journey.

Imagine me being a stationery designer but having a mental block about creating suites of wedding stationery! I'd tackle and conquer the designing and layout of a wedding invitation no problem. But when it came to designing the coordinating stationery (e.g., save-the-date cards, enclosure cards, response cards, etc.), I'd just poop out. I'd get a bad case of creative ADD and frolic on to the next pretty and shiny creative project that came along. Doing the layout of the same art again and again seemed too repetitive. And repetition=boring.

I decided that wedding stationery wasn't really my thing. I'd do other stuff instead.

That only worked for so long until I was approached by someone asking me to specifically design suites of wedding stationery for a new online venture in which they wanted me to be a featured designer. Talk about a good swift kick in the butt. It was time for me to get over the hurdle that I'd been avoiding.

In most of my creative pursuits I engage in a great deal of "mulling"--a process of thinking and thinking about something and letting it form in my mind. That's what I did.

I mulled...

and mulled...

and mulled.

If not reined in, mulling can transform from a stage in the creative process to a stage in the procrastination process. It almost happened that way for me this time. Fortunately, the image of "Land of milk and honey" swirled around in my head in all that mulling and began to form into stationery designs that intrigued me so much I had to get them out onto the computer and see them come to life.


Click the image to see everything larger

Click here to see the e-vite version I did for pingg.com

Again, when I changed my perspective from thinking of designing a wedding suite as a "repetitive" process into thinking of the process as "evolutionary"... things changed. The creative ADD went away and was replaced with a fervent creative drive that kept me at the computer designing (often into the night). Nothing really changed except my perspective and the accompanying vocabulary with which I approached the creative task.

It's made me think... what else in my life could be approached with a slightly different "vocabulary" that would make all the difference? I suspect quite a lot.

What about you? Has this experience ever happened for you?

Life at Rosehaven Cottage: Tucked in the corners of the January gardens

The gray of January hangs in the damp chilly air over the gardens here at Rosehaven Cottage. There is no winter snow... just rain, fog, and an occasional early-morning frosting of shimmery crystals on the rooftop. The beauty of the winter garden often lies low and in protected corners where the frost cannot find it.

At the base of our young olive tree the sunny yellow heads of jonquils brighten the drab landscape, sending hints of their fragrance wafting on the chilly air.

Under the protective boughs of the oleander, the shy little violets bloom fragrant and sweet in the blue-purple color I associate with January.

On the shady side of the house, the camellias put on the annual show I wait the rest of the year to see. Their spectacular display of lipstick reds and rouge pinks are garden Valentines.

Intro: Collecting rocks

When I was in 4th grade, I was "interviewed" by my elementary school's newsletter editor because I had won a contest for a drawing I'd done. I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. I'm sure the interviewer was expecting me to say I wanted to be an artist or something having to do with the fact that I'd just won a drawing contest. But no. Without hesitation, I told her I wanted to be a geologist. So that's what got printed in the newsletter article. I think back on that and can't help but chuckle.

I have inherited from my mom and her family, a love of rocks. I started collecting rocks when I was a child. I even asked for (and got) a rock tumbler/polisher for Christmas one year. It was probably the Christmas just prior to the aforementioned "interview". I had this dream only a child would conjure up that I would make all my rocks beautiful and shiny and discover the hidden beauty in them so I could make jewelry and other pretty things for others to enjoy.

Fast forward over thirty years (and many career path changes) later to when Hubby and I bought this little house that would become Rosehaven Cottage. It was in a shambles. To most it definitely qualified as "scary". I know it qualified as such to most of our family members. It needed so much work. But it had "good bones" as our house inspector said. And we saw the hidden beauty within it.

We would be only the third couple to own the little 1947 house. Consequently, much of what the original owners had put into the home when they custom-built it almost 60 years previously was still there. It was just buried in years of dust, dirt, and neglect. The garden was no exception. I came to dub the garden the "Winchester Mystery Garden" because I would find the oddest things while digging in the dirt.

One quite serendipitous object that I would uncover periodically would be a single old child's marble. The first time it happened, it was a small joy. Then the second, third, fourth, and consecutive times it happened it became sort of a good luck charm. If I found a marble while digging in the garden, it signified to me somehow that I was doing the right thing by bringing this little place back to life.


Another wonderful discovery I had while digging in the dirt was the day I uncovered the former owner's rock pile. It had been buried in compost and sediment from years of leaves and rain falling on it. I dug and dug that day finding every wonderful rock I could have ever dreamed of finding back when I was in 4th grade. The owner had used many of the rocks to embed in concrete slabs as part of the walls of a lanai that was built (and dedicated with a plaque I uncovered) in 1961. The rest of the stock pile had been buried. And I was the lucky girl that found them. Be still my dormant little 4th grade heart.

Along with the rocks, the former owner had collected abalone shells from days of abalone diving expeditions out on the bay (a neighbor that has lived here for decades told me this). After removing the contents for an abalone feast for the owner and his diving buddies, he would take the lovely shells and embed them into the concrete wall of the lanai along with the rocks. I found many abalone shells, whole and broken, as I dug around the garden. And when the dilapidated lanai had to be torn down, I carefully removed each rock and abalone shell to use it somewhere in the garden. Interestingly, the abalone shells would often pop right off the concrete completely intact while the rocks wouldn't fare as well.

Now all the rocks and abalone shells that the former owner lovingly collected are showcased somewhere in the garden either as a path border in the front or as a pond border in the back. And the marbles have come inside to reside on a shelf in my studio.

Am I disappointed that I didn't become a geologist? No. What I didn't know in 4th grade, that I know now is that I can collect rocks and love them without being a geologist. I also didn't know like I know now there are many other things in life that need to be polished in order for their inner beauty to come forth... like little old houses, neglected gardens, and even people. And when you throw them all in together into the big proverbial "rock tumbler" of life's experiences, they polish and smooth one another.

As I've reflected on this wonderful phenomenon the past week, I've come to the conclusion that I need to share more of my own "rock tumbler" experiences here--particularly the ones I've had while bringing this little house back to life and making it into Rosehaven Cottage.

And I hope that you will indulge me as I take this introspective journey that I am about to embark upon.

Scroll up the sidebar for the additional "chapters" to the story -->

The Serendipity of the Unexpected

Life is full of the unexpected. It's ironic that one can expect the unexpected. I think there are different ways of dealing with the unexpected. I tend to deal with them in one of two ways. I either view the unexpected as a wonderful stroke of serendipity, and I revel in the magic of it. Or the unexpected broadsides me with such an impact that I am overwhelmed to the point of an extreme emotional response.

When I chose to follow my heart and plant a garden that could be certified as a backyard wildlife habitat, I had no idea all the unexpected things that would occur. I felt pretty green when I embarked on the whole plan, so I expected the unexpected because I didn't know what to expect (there's that irony again).

Let me share just a few of the things that I, in no way, anticipated or expected but have been magically serendipitous:

• I became passionate about growing citrus trees even though I had very little experience doing so. Being situated in a hilly town where each street can have a different microclimate, our home happens to be on a street that is prime for growing citrus and having them thrive through the winter.
• After digging a 1, 200 gallon pond with a shovel and sheer willpower, I quickly found out that I also needed to be a steward over a population of fish, or I was going to have a mosquito farm on my hands. I had no idea that Wal-Mart goldfish would breed year after year and become "indigenous natives" in my garden habitat pond. Wild goldfish... I never would have expected it.
  
• With the original vision of having two sweet little indoor housecats, Hubby and I had no idea that we would end up being the rescuers and stewards over many others that would cross our paths. Some would only need temporary assistance, and some would end up becoming permanent residents. Regardless of the length of our association, we have considered it an honor to assist in each of their life's journeys.
• Being a habitual traveler with a heart full of wanderlust, I had no idea that I could fall in love with my own home and garden so much that the desire to wander would fade to almost nothing. I had no idea that my roots could grow so deep in one place.

The other evening I sat down in our living room with my camera to clean its lens and brush up on some less-used features. I was wiping the optics and raised the camera to look through the viewfinder to check its clearness. What I saw through the viewfinder made me laugh spontaneously. Fortunately, I had the wherewithal to snap the shutter...

This experience encapsulates the beauty and magic of the unexpected for me. This is pure "photographic serendipity" as its best. And this is the experience that got me thinking about this whole idea of the unexpected being a positive thing in life if I let it.

As I read over the many comments left on my post about the mandarins on our tree, I thought about how many of you could probably cultivate citrus where you live, but don't know it. I thought, "What a great unexpected treat would that be for someone to realize that they could grow the very thing that they are pining over, but they just don't know it yet?"

The link to the right is to a book I found that showcases more than 100 citrus varieties that can be grown outside year-round in the U.S. states of California, Arizona, Texas, The Gulf Coast, and Florida. Each of those states is big with lots of micro-climate variations in them, so there are many parts of the world that are similar. Then when you consider that many citrus varieties can be grown inside anywhere in the world... well... the possibilities are endless!

So what unexpected and serendipitous experience are you going to embrace this coming year? Will you plant your first citrus tree like I did a short while ago? Will you decide to turn your condo balcony into a butterfly and hummingbird garden all with potted plants? Will you grow tomatoes from seed for the very first time even if it's in a 5-gallon pot in your kitchen window? Tell me... what unexpected magic will stare you in the face (just like Lucy stared into my camera lens) and make you take a moment to laugh and feel pure joy?

Thoughts on My 41st Birthday

It was 41 years ago today that I was born into this world during a September heat wave (poor Mom). After 38 hours of labor (again, poor Mom) I was born c-section, had the guck suctioned from my lungs, and I took my first breath.

It was almost 2 years ago (1 year, 10 months, and 29 days to be exact) that another surgery gave me new life by freeing me from over 20 years of living with the crippling condition of endometriosis. It was as if someone had again allowed me to take my first breath.

It was 10 years ago today that I sat in my Auntie's home, discouraged and forelorn at the horrible prospects of my lovelife. I was browsing through one of her quilting magazines and admiring a design with a grapevine wreath in the center.

"I'll make you a deal," Auntie said with a twinkle in her eye, "I'll make you that quilt either as a wedding gift or for your 35th birthday--whichever comes first."

It was shortly after that birthday that I went out on a second date with an old friend whom I'd had a first date with a month previously and determined he wasn't "the one". Tonight, I sat across a table holding hands with that same man and proudly told our waitress that we had been married for almost 10 years now. He is my soul mate, my protector, my all-time love, and my best friend. The friendship and deep love I share with him also breathed new life into me allowing me to heal past wounds, discover parts of myself I had not known, and gave me the courage to explore creativity and passions I had left untapped within me.

My mom recently told me that she wished that my life had been so different than how it had been. I told her, in all honesty, that I wouldn't want it any other way. Don't get me wrong. There's a lot about my life that has been just plain awful and truly a living nightmare. But I survived to be 41 years old and am a stronger woman for all that I've experienced and will continue to experience. That's what my life's trials and tribulations have been for, so that I got the privilege of learning what Cindy is made of. And I wouldn't trade that for anything.

Now today I'm going to do exactly what I want to for my birthday.... work in my garden!