A few years ago, I unearthed a travel journal from a month-long trip to Europe that I took in 2006. As I reviewed its pages, I was struck by just how many details of the trip I had completely forgotten. And if the memories of a once-in-a lifetime trip that was so impactful to me could fade away – how much of my day-to-day life is lost? Sensations, emotions, achievements, losses, experiences from the mundane to the exceptional, all transforming from that specific moment in time to become that day, that week, that year, that life…

As I get older and gain a better understanding of how fragile, how brief, and how precious life really is, it's become even more important to me to me experience it to its fullest and to try to retain all of those little moments that might otherwise get lost. It's with this idea that I started the process of recording these moments – a travel journal, of sorts.

A travel journal for life.

Thursday, November 7, 2013


I’ve really been neglecting my creative/artistic side lately and that’s been bothering me.  A lot.  One of the major reasons that it’s been so neglected is that I don’t have a space to be creative in.  I’ve been meaning to create a space in the basement for as long as we’ve lived in this house – but it’s so dank and dingy down there; it’s not exactly inviting and it certainly isn’t inspiring.  Plus, if I retreat to the basement, I don’t get to talk and unwind w/my hubby in the evenings, and that’s pretty much my favorite part of the day.  So, all my beautiful papers and paints and pastes and tools continue to molder, unattended in the basement, and my creative spirit suffers a similar fate.

Several days ago, my darling friend Robb visited me for the weekend.   I love my Robbie so very much for so very many reasons – but one of the major reasons is that he is, by far, one of the most creative people I’ve ever met.  With a mind always working on overdrive; he sees infinite possibilities for beauty where most of us see none, and he has an uncanny knack for producing exquisite somethings out of nothing. He always makes me excited about making stuff, so we planned our entire weekend around being crafty.  On Saturday we visited the Society for ContemporaryCraft and Creative Reuse to get inspired and gather supplies. (Oh, and the wine and spirits shop, we mustn’t forget that integral part of the equation).  Then we moved all of my neglected supplies up from the basement to a giant table that we put in the center of my dining room and that’s where we took up residence for the remainder of the weekend.  We blasted music, we drank wine, and we created things well into the night and throughout the next day.  I felt energized and excited; I had forgotten how great it felt to push paint around and to make stuff.  One idea spawned another which created another until I was thoroughly engulfed in an avalanche of creative.  I couldn’t even keep up with myself. 

Monday was tough.  Robb went home and I went back to the daily grind.  All I could think about all day were the projects that I’d left behind on that table.  Later that evening, when Mike and I arrived home, we had to laugh at the spectacle that was our dining room. “It looks like your creative exploded.” He said.  “Well, it kinda did.” I admitted.  I sighed and moved forward to clean up the mess and move the table full of supplies back to the basement.  But before I did, I thought maybe I would just finish up that one thing…  I changed into my comfies, turned on the music, and sat down to work.  Mike and I laughed and talked back and forth as he played on his computer in the living room and I worked away.  The evening passed so quickly, it got too late to worry about packing up supplies and moving them down to the basement.  As I drifted off that evening feeling happy and content, I thought - even though it’s obtrusive, even though it’s an eyesore, perhaps the art table can stay upstairs for a while longer.  

Because really, what’s so bad about having your creative explode right in your dining room?

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