Wabi-Sabi

  The last several months have found me pondering the Japanese philosophy of Teaism, particularly the concept of Wabi-Sabi. I confess my understanding of this is currently...wobbly at best.

  While I believe Wabi-Sabi has more to do with the simplicity and rustic beauty of imperfect and/or incomplete "things", I was struck by the notion of the "artful mending of damage". I was taken with the idea that an object broken can be transformed into a thing of greater beauty and elegance due to having been mended.

  Then came the moment where my mind veered.

  Enter artist and friend extraordinaire, Babs Synderman. Upon discussing this with her, we decided upon a collaboration. 

  Technically, this side road began as her sterling and opal birthday present to me - a precious gift I'll long treasure. The poem I penned came later. Neither is simple or rustic. Yet, I think Wabi-Sabi elements are playing out here. Anyway... 

I was once a pretty thing,
Flitting among my stars,
Coolhanded of time.

Til the storm broke.
I remember thinking,
There should be noise.
A horrific roar.
The crush of glass.
Bellows of anguished wails.

But a heart can break without sound,
A shattering, tumbling free fall
Of silent, exquisite pain.

How long had I laid here?
Broken. Eyes shut tight.
Perfectly still.
And barely breathing.
I remember thinking,
I'll never be the same.

At last my soul cried, "Enough!
Stand. Open your eyes.
Be your own savior." 

Light gathered to soften sorrow,
Til I could sail above the sunrise,
To make my peace with time.
And I remember thinking,
I'm a gorgeous thing,
How glorious to not be the same.

  To learn more about Babs and her work, I invite you to visit, www.babsbags.com. Tell her I sent you and that I love her madly!

When the Universe Speaks

Mona Burroughs

  

  An unfinished project is like a dangling participle or an unwanted shadow. It's a small stone trapped in your shoe. 

  Rarely do I leave one unfinished.

  But as I felt compelled to step away from speaking at our historic Burroughs Home, there seemed little reason to finish a 1-woman show where I play a true Burrough's maid from the twenties, Mary Epsey.

  Which, btw, I began before becoming aware of The Help.

  Yet, I've finished most of the research.

  But it wouldn't make sense to an audience if you weren't actually at the Burrough's.

  Yet it's 3/4 written!

  But, I'm not a woman of color!

  Technically I poetically licensed this last point, but you see my dilemma. 

  In a twist of fate, the last few days have found me considering a return to the Burroughs Home. This could also mean a return to Mary Epsey. Fate loves it's curve balls.

  Oh what to do, what to do! If only the universe would send an omen as I bike down Estero Boulevard.

  I'll pause while you read a portion of the script in order to understand where I'm heading here....

...Miss Mona and Miss Faye are good friends, but I wouldn’t be calling em two peas in a pod. Miss Mona’s always the life of the party. While Miss Faye? Well, she’s more quiet like. But between you and me? Those are some still waters runnin deep in Miss Faye, you mark my words.
            (sees an easel sitting with a partially finished canvas sitting on it)
   What is Miss Mona workin on now?
            (puts down the tea pot and holds out her thumb to eyeball the painting, studying it for a moment before turning back to the house)
   I don’t know what that does but I see Miss Mona doin it all the time. She’s a good a painter, don’tcha think?  I especially like this one.
            (sees the table near the easel with an artist palette, open paint tubes, etc.)
   Don’t know what all this is doin here. She usually sets herself up down by the river. She likes paintin by her daddy while he’s fishin. Will ya look at this?
            (begins closing paint tubes)
   Good Lord, I never seen a young woman so messy. You should see her room – it is not a calm before the storm, I don’t mind telling ya. It is a full blown hurricane a barrelin on through...

  So. Here I am riding my bike down the beach, a angstin and a wishin for an omen, when I see an artist's palette, complete with wet paint, lying on the grass. 

  If I'm lyin, I'm dyin!

  My mouth falls open. But as it's my fate to resist fate, I prop the palette on a sign in case it's owner returns for it. 

  But an hour later, it's still there as I ride back by.

  FINE! I don't need to be bopped on the head!

  For your reading pleasure, here's a bit more of the script...


   ...What! Now hold on Miss Mona!
             (hands teapot to a guest)
   Take this for me now would ya, Ma’am? Go on and pour yourself a cup if ya like.
             (to Miss Mona with her hands on her hips)
   You want me to tell your Mama you’re not at her garden club meetin cause you’re dancin at the Royal Palm? Again?
              (pauses)
   Why thank you, Miss Mona. The good Lord did give me good ears, but I’m not convinced bearing unhappy news to your mama is gonna enhance her afternoon.
               (to the house)
   Or mine... 

  I've missed ya Mary. Thanks for your patience.
  

The Doors Open

It's time to open the doors of my Vintage Emporium. This temporary shop will likely see more treasures as I've just now remembered there's another box of reproduction patterns stashed in the garage. 

Oh...and there's vintage magazines resting quietly under my couch. I forgot all about them!

I've been relishing the new spaciousness of certain shelves and cupboards. It was necessary, however, to walk away from my dining room cabinet - the one where items were inclined to jump out at you only last week. It's now sparsely filled and the eccentricity of arranging what remains, turning items slightly this way or that, was not lost on me.

You might be wondering if I'm compelled to now begin a new era of hunting and gathering. I can't say I am.

Not yet anyway. But for the sake of argument, if I were to begin collecting anew, what would strike my fancy? Hmmm...

Lordy! Don't let me go there!

If you're interested in perusing my treasures and possibly making them your own, click here. This link takes you to a private page at LaurieNienhaus.com. 

You can email me at editor@glily.com or call or text me at 239-463-1079 to order. This information and more is on the page featuring all items.

I was asked my plans for monies made from Vintage Emporium sales. Next year, Kenny and I will have been married 30 years. I want to go somewhere romantic and marry him again! So that we don't end up in Oklahoma at a western art museum, I'm taking charge and planning ahead.

Not that there's anything wrong with a western art museum in Oklahoma, mind you. It just doesn't cry out romance when said aloud.

Lastly, for those wanting my stuff to become theirs - thank you. Enjoy!

I Resemble That Remark

"That so few now dare to be eccentric, marks the chief danger of the time." From On Liberty by John Stuart Mill

 The universe has its ways. What are the odds two different people would mention I was eccentric in the same week I chance upon the above quote?

 "What!?" I interrupted both times. Not that I've ever given it much thought, but I've never considered myself eccentric. I always thought one must possess barrels of money or cats in the double digits to lay such a claim. 

 Unlike Oscar Wilde, I've never had the least urge to sally forth with a lobster on a leash. And, unlike Prince, on the few occasions I've been interviewed, it never occurred to me to put a paper bag over my head.

 It was so shocking to hear such a thing that, of course, it fueled thoughts for No Cobwebs Here. Quick research seemed a worthy use of time. Self examination will come later.

 There's much to be found on the subject of eccentricity, although apparently there's been "astonishingly little clinical research into the subject". It's been suggested this is because eccentrics tend to be cheerful souls rarely seeking treatment. You need treatment for it!?

  British psychologist, David Weeks, did reveal a few discoveries in his book, Eccentrics: A Study of Sanity and Strangeness (1995). Let me mention from the get go...I'm not fond of the title.

  According to Dr. Weeks, eccentric people are:

1. Creative...I'll give you that one standing tall.

2. Idealistic...Personally, I wonder if history lovers are all that idealistic. With even a modicum of perspective of the past, it's hard to hang onto idealism. Hence, my huge issues with Obama and socialism. But I digress...

3. Obsessed with hobbies...It only seems like obsessive hobbies because I'm not the most brilliant of business women.

4. Curious...If I might quote the Wicked Witch of the West here: What a world, what a world. How could one NOT be curious?

5. Non-conforming in attitude...There's a conforming attitude?

  Those are only the top five indicators. To learn more, you can read Jordan Elgrably's well done piece about the book, called Wilder at Heart, by clicking here.

  Thankfully, there are benefits to being eccentric. Such folks are happy and optimistic, have strong immune systems, visit doctors less and live longer.

  In On Liberty, John Stuart Mill, also suggests it is the eccentrics who are the visionaries. They provide the untried ideas allowing societies to progress.

  All in all, I'm happy to resemble these remarks.

  To read a list of the ten most fruit-loopery of historical eccentrics, click here.