I’ve been dropping hints.
I’ve been alluding to a major project that I’m working on.
Something big is coming.
Remember this name.
Sweat
I work out five days a week. There are days when I don’t want to. There are many days when I don’t want to, but I continue to go because I know I will feel better, both mentally and physically, if I do. Sometimes, when I’ve wrangled myself into my swimsuit and topped it with a warm-up suit, I think about how I’d much rather be in my pajamas under the covers. Sometimes, after I’ve dropped V off in the child care center and I’m unloading the contents of my backpack into my locker, I think, “I could just sit on this bench here and just do nothing until I have to pick up V in two hours.” Sometimes, I have a poor performance in the pool and think, “That was a waste of time and energy”. Despite all of those scenarios, though, I know I would feel much worse if I never crossed the Fitness Center threshold at all. Truthfully, I don’t consider a workout successful unless there is a full on flop sweat coursing down my face. Physical exertion is one of the best ways to move through and beyond a sour mood. The ordeal that is our morning routine is sure to leave several of us (okay, me) cranky and uptight before we’ve even left the driveway. When I’m gripping the steering wheel like Homer on Bart Simpson’s neck, I know that once I get situated on the Elliptical or the Stairmaster and get the sweat flowing, I will be in a much better place. Even as I type this, I’m struck by the thought of being bathed in sweat, the sweat actually cleansing me of negative energy. All of the nasty feelings, critical thoughts, nuggets of self-doubt or what have you are being carried out in rivulets of sweat and evaporating into the air. Poof! Gone, leaving me red-faced and soaked through, but considerably lighter in temperament. The release of sweat re-calibrates my internal metronome, enabling me to march to my own beat without missing a step.
Tears
The Hubs and I are both in the midst of serious professional growth. It’s been challenging for me in that I work from home. There are precious few hours that I can 1) devote to my projects and 2) work on my projects with some semblance of focus. I am getting up at five in the morning to put in some work before we start our day. I sneak in an hour or two while V naps, and then if I’m lucky (i.e. not delirious and cross eyed with fatigue), I get squeeze in another hour after lights out for the girls. Then it’s to bed and back up for a repeat performance the following day. It’s a grueling schedule to keep. I’ve never been much of a night owl; I’m more of an early to bed, early to rise kind of gal. The cumulative effect of these early morning, late nights began to take its toll on me. The day came when I could no longer keep it together after manning this ship on domesticity while the Hubs traveled for work. I was tired. I was cranky. I was feeling unappreciated and overwhelmed. I was resentful of the Hubs and his ability to just get up, get dressed, and get out the door unencumbered by the petulant whines and cries of three little people each with their own very strong opinion. I was mad that I had passed another sleepless night and that I was caught in the hamster wheel of Monday through Friday. I flung the covers off, got out of bed. I stewed about what had happened and what needed to happen and I began to cry. Hard, angry, hot tears that caught the Hubs completely off guard.
“I’m just. . I’m so tired,” I snotted and sobbed into the shirtfront of my bewildered husband. And when the Hubs in a Herculean attempt to calm me offered to go get bagels for the girls, I snapped out of it. I grabbed my big girl panties off of the shelf, stuffed my tears and general malaise up on the shelf in their place and carried on my day. Despite his best efforts, bagels weren’t going to suffice. Shelving my emotions was not a solution that would prove to be an enduring one, either. As we continued in our roles, the feelings ballooned up until one day, I found myself clicking on the television to babysit the girls so I could go upstairs, lock the door and cry. And cry. And cry. I lay face down on my bed with the comforter balled up in my fists, the corner of our decorative throw pillows catching the onslaught of water sluicing from my face. I cried furiously, thoroughly, in body-wracking disgusting sobs, hiccuping and snorting like truffle pig searching for chanterelles. I cried until I was scooped out and deflated, until the only sound in the room was the raggedness of my breath coming in ever diminished bursts. It was a cry for the ages. When I peeled myself off of the bed, I saw how the shedding of tears left a soggy, Hilary-sized impression on the bedclothes. I felt clean, like a slate had been wiped, like someone had hit the re-set button. While my situation was the same, I was now empty of everything that had been weighing me down as I tried to manage it. With each tear, I jettisoned anger, frustration, fatigue, and resentment. I was hollowed out and determined to be replenished with only good things.
The Sea
I love the beach, plain and simple. I didn’t grow up near the beach. We didn’t vacation at the beach growing up or with any regularity as adults. I could choose my vacation destination, however, with the exception of Paris, I’d be going to the beach. The calming, repetitive nature of the surf coming in to and pulling away from the shore is hypnotic. I love the feel of the sand between my toes and watching the sugar-like crystals be swept away by the angry fingers of an ocean wave. I’ve been lucky enough to visit beaches on the East Coast and West Coast, in both warm temps and not so warm temps. It doesn’t matter, I love it all the same. I’d be just as happy in a rolled up jeans and a chunky sweater, strolling down Chick’s Beach in October as I would be in a bathing suit and Ray Bans laid out getting tan in Costa Maya in August. I’ll take it all and every point in between.
Our immediate family is trying to keep a tradition of a bi-annual trip to Martha’s Vineyard in motion. We’ve been more successful with this than we have been with Pancake Saturday, but I digress. The beaches on Martha’s Vineyard are both public and private. The Atlantic is cold and sometimes is met with rocky shores or smooth, windblown sandy beaches. Whether it’s Tashmoo Beach, Longpoint Beach, the Inkwell or State Beach, it’s of no consequence. The 12 plus hours it takes to get to the Vineyard are magically erased when I lay my towel down and pop open the umbrella. Everything is right with the world. I don’t know much about astrology and zodiac signs, so I don’t know if or how my birth sign corresponds to the elements. According to the books, I’m more earth-centric, but given my way, I’ll take the ocean any day.
I remember laying back in the waters in Costa Maya, thinking about this old Foxtrot cartoon I had read. Over the course of several installments, the Fox family goes to their cabin for the week The husband, Roger, locks the keys to the car in the ignition. The rest of the family goes about the week while he tirelessly tries to unlock the door with a hanger. Once he successfully liberates the keys, he tries to share his joy with his son who replies, “Mom told me I have to pack.” The next panel shows Roger floating in the lake, imploring the waters to soothe him, calm him, restore him to his balance. By the fourth panel, we see his wife yelling, “C’mon, Roger, the car’s packed and running! It’s time to go,” to which Roger replies, “Hurry up, water! Hurry up!” It’s easily been ten years of more, since I’ve read Foxtrot, but I can’t ever float in the ocean or in a pool without thinking of this cartoon and how we rely on the water to heal us.
What about you? How does salt water cure you?
original post first published June 1, 2012
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The girls get out of school in about 5 days. Then the summer will officially begin. Oh sure, there are a few camps in the mix, but when those requisite summer activities are completed, it will be a summer of no plans. Shock of all shocks, right?
I’m hoping that me and the three love-bugs will spend many days outside just watching the clouds roll by and waiting for the delicious melody of the ice cream man rolling through the neighborhood.
There will be sidewalk chalk.
There will be bubble juice and every conceivable contraption to make bubbles.
There will be sprinklers and new bathing suits.
There will be trips to the pool.
There will be trips to the playground.
There will be Popsicle stained mouths and dirt stained knees.
There will be bug bites and lightening bugs trapped in jelly jars.
There will be cook-outs with ketchup stained paper plates.
There will trips to the Vineyard, to the grands.
There will be smiles and laughs and happiness.
Let’s get started. . .
About nine years ago, when I was pregnant with M, my beside table was overflowing with parenting magazines. I had “Parents”, “Parenting”, “WonderTime” (awesome and so sad it’s no longer in publication), and everything in between. Of all of the articles that I read, there’s only one that I can readily put my hands on if I choose to. The title of the article escapes me, but the concept doesn’t. The author created a project to capture the growth of her daughter over the years. Every year, on or around her daughter’s birthday, she pulled out her bathing suit – a fetching orange, pink and white flowered maillot — and dressed her daughter in it. Once situated, the author snapped a photo and tucked the suit away for the next year. Along with the story, there were 16 photos, starting from when her daughter was a newborn through her 16th birthday when her mother’s maillot fit her like a glove.
I was amazed and inspired. I ripped the article out, stored it with my other important papers and gave my baby bump a pat, promising to create something similar for her. Fast forward through M’s birth, first few months, and well past her first birthday. We had relocated from Richmond to Norfolk, where the Hubs commuted to work, and I psyched myself up to forge new friendships in our new zip code. During one of M’s naps, I unearthed the aforementioned article from my piles of papers and did a mental head slap. A year plus had passed and I hadn’t made good on my promise. Rummaging through my dresser, I dug out my Lands End Bathing Suit and pulled M out of her clothes. It was October, a good while past her first birthday, but she still had the chubby baby look about her. I slid her into the suit, grabbed my Sony pocket camera and snapped a few photos. I have to admit, the quality on them was not the best. I had not yet discovered my passion for photography. At this point in time, it was more like a casual fling. Still, the image was captured and I vowed to be more on top of things for the following year.
This year, M will turn nine and that bathing suit will certainly ride a little higher on her long legs. C, who is going to be 7 at the end of the summer, wears a dress that I bought from a long ago trip to Greece. As for Miss V, I did something differently with her when she was a baby. I did a monthly capture of her growth. Every month, I snapped a picture of her with a sticker denoting her age decorating her chest. Because I was so dutiful in this endeavor, I didn’t really think about doing a yearly snap as well, until M & C called me out on it. So, I bestowed upon her that J.Crew sweater that I just could not make work into a suitable outfit. It’s well past her knees, loose in the neckline, and the sleeves cover her hands, but it’s already way more flattering on her.
They say the days drag and the years fly. Watching my girls literally grow into my clothes means I know this to be true.
Happy Birthday, V.
May 18th, 2012
5lbs. 2oz.
6:50pm
I’d like to think of myself as someone who has good manners, someone who has, as my mother likes to say, “home training.” It doesn’t take much to do the right thing when it comes to our daily interactions with people. If you’re entering or exiting a building and see someone close behind you, hold the door for them. If the roles are reversed and someone holds the door open for you, say “Thank you!” Or if an act of a Good Samaritan makes your life a little easier, pay it forward and do something nice for someone else.
I used to work for a real estate agent (what haven’t I done, right?), and this man said that whenever he and his wife were out having dinner, if he saw another diner that he could identify as being in the any branch of the military, he would automatically pay for that persons meal, no questions asked. Rick, the agent, said that picking up the check for someone who would fight for our rights and freedoms was the very least he could do. I have not ever found myself where I could take the steps that Rick took — I’m far less gregarious and usually running down wayward children to cast about for dining veterans, but the lesson shared was one that I haven’t forgotten.
It doesn’t hurt to be kind. In fact, it serves to bolster our self-esteem. In this day in age, who wouldn’t want a little inoculation against things that would rob us of joy? I try to hold doors open for people when I can. If I’m in the grocery store, I will let a shopper with fewer items scoot ahead of me. I have read the #ChiptoleProblems on Twitter, so I make sure I am not on my phone, always say “please” and “thank you” and make eye contact when I’m ordering my food. For that matter, as a former food service employee, I really try to be super courteous to wait staff. I’ve seen what goes on at the bus stations and in the kitchen (blerg!)
When I was at the RAD show, I went to use the ladies room. There were three stalls, two of which were occupied. As I made for the empty stall, one of the others open up and the woman said, “Oh no, no, no! Don’t go in there! Someone took a huge dump and didn’t flush it! Here; use this one.” I was surprised that 1) she forewarned me of what could have been a dry heave inducing experience and 2) she said “dump”. I appreciated that honesty, catching a break is probably more apt. After I had used the stall, I noticed that the toilet paper roll was getting dangerously low and there weren’t any spares within reach. When I came out, I told the line of women waiting that the deal was. Would most people have just washed their hands and rolled out? Probably. Would I have been one of those people had it not been for my previous ineteraction? Probably. Still, I’m trying to be better. I’m not necessarily living the golden rule, but I’m working towards it.
Today was a swim day, and I had been looking forward to getting in the pool. I don’t know if I’m a strong swimmer, but I’m confident in what I can do. Just as I was about to slip into the lane, a woman approached me and asked if she could share. The other lanes each had one swimmer in them, save the very far lane of the pool which was reserved for open swim. She explained that she asked before I got in because then she wouldn’t have to interrupt anyone and if she swam in the open swim lane, there was a chance that a class could come in and kick her out. Here was my face:
I know, I just got finished say that I ‘m trying to be better, but I haaaaaaate lane sharing. While I may be confident in what I can do, I’m not confident about what I can do when someone is swimming in tandem with me, less than 6 inches away. I’m on hyper alert. Am I drifting too far to center? Did we say circles or splits? Am I too close to the lane line? Can I backstroke or will I get in her way? Is she trying to race me? What was supposed to be a relatively stress-free workout has been now all twisted out of shape because I’m trying not to encroach on someone else’s workout. And I kind of doubt they’re worrying about me the way that I’m worry about them. That in turn leads me to these kinds of thoughts:
- I’ll just check the surrounding lanes after each lap
- I’ll just won’t do backstroke today.
- I’ll just stick with the crawl
- I’ll just slide over a lane if another lane opens up.
- Wait, why should I slide over a lane? I was here first. She asked me to share.
- Yeah, but I’m not enjoying sharing, so if something opens up, I should move.
- Well then, she’ll have won.
- Won what, dummy?
- She’ll have the lane to herself.
- I’ll have a lane to myself, if I move over.
- Yeah, but what if I move, then someone else comes and asks me to share and then I’ll be right back where I started.
- #firstworldproblems
And then I sheared off the top layer of skin from my forearm because I was so busy wrangling logistics with myself that I cozied up to the lane line without even realizing it. This went on for a good 20 minutes, and probably another 5 went by before I realized the woman had taken it upon herself to slide to an empty lane when the opportunity presented itself.
When I had finished my swim, I spent a few minutes stretching before I hopped out of the pool. The woman pulled up in the lane next to me, removing her fins and adjusting her goggles. I felt like I should apologize, but she didn’t know the inner monologue that I had been using to fuel my flip turns. So, I turned to her and said, “I’m sorry if I threw you off while I was doing the backstroke. I hope you were able to get your laps in.” She shook her head and said, “Oh no, it was fine. Thanks for sharing.”
She thanked me.
Yeah, I felt pretty small.
So, I’m going to toughen my resolve, make my mother proud, and make a conscious effort to go the extra mile for a stranger. I can hold a door open. I can wipe down a toilet seat (not that I’m a sprayer, but just as a courtesy). I can offer a smile. I can always say “Thank You”. I can put the phone down when I’m checking out at Target. I can just be a better version of me and in so doing, maybe make someone else feel good.
I can learn to lane share, and I can do it without giving the Chloe side-eye.
Maybe. . .baby steps, people. . .baby steps.
I’ve been doing some introspection lately. I’ve been trying to put the words to the reason behind why I blog. I was speaking with a friend the other day who was looking for some insight on how to get started with blogging. The question of why I started blogging came up. Seven years ago, I was a new mom of two small children. We had recently moved to a new city, we had downsized from a multi-square-foot house to an apartment. The Hubs had a vicious commute and I had a lot of time on my hands to knead and shape my loneliness. I had always been a chronicler of my own life experiences. I could burn through at least two journals a year. Having children, however, left me less time to put pen to paper and I was smarting from the lack of relief that writing provided. I had started following a friend’s blog and thought,”I could do that.” As it turns out, I most certainly could.
Fast forward seven years and my blog has taken various forms. At first, I thought I wanted to be an Erma Bombeck type — this being prior to the Mommy Blogger assignation. I wanted to recount funny stories with my kids and dispense pearls of wisdom. Then for several attempts, I thought maybe I’d be more like Martha Stewart, where everything was a”good thing” and I could talk about recipes I’d made or crafts that I’d created. I tried theme posts. I tried blog challenges. I tried a number of things before settling on the open, stream of consciousness diary type of blogging that I find myself doing. If I still took pen in hand and cracked the binding on a fabric covered journal, I’d probably be writing very much the same thing I am here. The blog is how I curate my thoughts and experiences. It’s my confessional, my confidant, my soapbox and my platform. I write the way I think; that’s it. There are scores of unfinished posts in my draft queue because I have a tendency to start something, get distracted and forget what direction I had planned to go in when I finally get back to the post. I can’t write something, save, come back several days later to review, edit and so forth. I’d have zero to no posts and this blog would be the equivalent of an empty lot. I write. I spell-check (I miss a few things, occasionally). I publish. That’s it.
What else is there to know about me? What are my vital stats besides being a writer, photographer, wife, mama, sister and friend? There’s quite a bit more. Rather than provide you with an ESPN worthy highlight reel of my greatest hits, I thought I’d answer some questions that I found from a post that had been left in the queue longer than I’d care to admit. These questions came from another blog challenge, which I clearly didn’t complete. Initially, the plan was to fill in the questions, swap out one question for one of my own and then pass the challenge to another blogger. I think the blogger I got this from and the blogger I planned to send it to are no longer blogging. It’s been that long.
What are your current obsessions?
The usual suspects: bacon, chocolate, and books. A dark chocolate and sea salt bar studded with bacon to snack on while I read a book that it is at once gripping, hilarious, and thought provoking? That’s the ideal. Reading, reading, and reading. I’m either in the middle of a book, just finishing a book or on the look out for the next book that I want to read. Similarly, I’m either having a snack, finishing a snack or thinking about what the next snack will be. As for the book, however, I recently updated my GoodReads shelf with my starred review of “Seating Arrangements” by Maggie Shipstead. I downloaded a sample of her next book, “Astonish Me“, as well as a sample of BJ Novak’s collection of short stories entitled, “One More Thing: Stories and Other Stories“. I am completely in love with the ability to borrow e-books from the library, but I’m so far down on the waiting list for both of those aforementioned titles, I may cough up a few bucks to iTunes to get my hands on them.
Which item from your closet are you wearing most often?
Undoubtedly, my leopard print scarf from J.Crew. I almost didn’t buy it. At the time, J.Crew was a special occasion brand for me. I ran in Old Navy, Target and sometimes the Loft type of circles. I had just finished reading yet another “Top 10 Closet Esse
ntials”, and was trying to make something out of the nothing that was hanging on my shelves. One of the items listed was a “wear with everything scarf”. The author advocated prints, especially leopard. The only times I wore scarves include when one of the girls pilfered my hair bonnet or when the temps dropped low enough that a turtleneck and sweater weren’t going to cut it. Print scarves were completely out of my wheelhouse, but I got on the Internet and searched for some options. Lo and behold, J.Crew had a scarf (and I had a coupon), and we’ve been inseparable ever since. While I have learned that there are at least 24 ways to tie a scarf, I usually stick with one or two ways, but I add that flash of print to just about everything. Jenna Lyons is absolutely correct in her assessment.
Last thing you bought for yourself?
That’s a tough one. The last thing I bought frivolously or the last thing I bought purposefully? I recently bough this dress from Vineyard Vines on a complete impulse. The more I hang onto it, the greater my buyer’s remorse. It’s a lovely dress, and I feel good in it, but. . .where am I really going in this dress?
Vineyard Vines Sea Shell Maxi Dress. *excuse the hair*
Plus, I’m kind of in between sizes so the first size was too roomy, the second size was too snug. The whole thing is too long, so in order to make it work, I’d have to have it tailored. It’s not really that big of a deal, but when you add the cost of tailoring to the cost of the dress, that’s more than I’m comfortable with for something that is thoroughly limited to one season and easily identifiable once worn (read: I can’t wear this multiple times in the same season!). Like I said, it was an impulse buy. It’s going back even though I know I’ll be thinking about it, wishing that I had kept it. The last time I saw a Vineyard Vines dress and talked myself out of buying it, I regretted it. That dress was a go-to warm weather frock that could be dressed up or down, depending on the situation. I have a habit of buying things, regretting it, and then when I go to return it, discovering said item has been sold out or back-ordered due to high demand. Then I get a big head like, “Oooh, maybe I’m ahead of the curve in that fashion game this time!” The temptation to keep it is great, but really . ..where am I going in this dress?
What are three things you would like to learn to do?
Play the piano. . .with both hands.
Speak French fluently. The struggle continues.
Proper function and use of various kitchen knives.
Know Your Knives
What is one item you could not live without?
Post it notes and pencils.
I’m ripe with ideas. I’m swollen with ideas. Projects. Places to go. Things to do. Stuff to make. Meals to try. Challenges for the mind and body and creative side of my personality. My wheels are continuously turning and my train of thought rattles and sways through the remotest of connections between topics. I’ve got to have a place to capture these ideas and re-visit them when time permits. So, there post it notes and pencils within reach at all times. In the bathroom cabinets. On the bathroom mirror. In my nightstand. In the kitchen junk drawer. In the kitchen spice rack. On my desk. On the mail table. In the car console. In my briefcase. In my purse. In the diaper bag. I’m kind of surprised that there isn’t a trail of yellow stickies and eraser shavings following me like cans tied to the bumper of a wedding car.
Money’s not an object, so where are you going on vacation?
Seychelles (I just like the name and how it sounds. Oh, and it’s a goregous island with sugary white beaches and Tiffany Box Blue waters.
Venice, Italy.
Cairo, Egypt.
What is the last movie you saw?
Probably Frozen. I have three little girls, so I think that explains that.
What’s your guilty pleasure?
I love Dancing with the Stars. Love it. I will stay up late (I know, I need to go to bed) and watch every undulation, sequin, shake, and shimmy. I love watching the partners do rolls during the latin dances. I love the lifts in contemporary and the flying footwork that comes with quickstep and the jive. Fancy myself a contender even though I’m neither a) a dance or b) a star.
What’s your favorite smell?
I love how my room smells after I’ve left all the windows open on a gorgeous day, but have kept the door closed. All that sun dappled, Vitamin D infused air just percolating around my room, in my bed and in my sheets. It’s the same smell that permeates your clothes when you dry them outside on the line, except that now it’s all in your room. Mmmm. . .it’s so clean and refreshing.
Best thing you ate or drank lately?
I gave up wine and red meat for Lent, so one of my first post Lenten meals was a nice marbled rib-eye, a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon and a side of fries.
Care to share some wisdom?
I have been given so many seeds of advice and nuggets of knowledge, it’s hard to choose one or two that speak to me above the others. They’re all so vital. I went to my Pinterest board, the aptly entitled Pearls of Wisdom. The most often repeated pins had to do with cultivating good self-esteem, the love of books and setting a proper table.
Describe one of your happiest moments?
Walking for the first time, without crutches, a boot or any help, after my tenolysis surgery.
What is your favorite snack?
I’m really into The Fresh Market’s Sea Salt Popcorn.
What do you have an addiction to?
Chipotle. 2-3 times a week, I confess.
Why do you blog?
1. What is your favorite word?
2. What is your least favorite word?
3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
4. What turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
5. What sound or noise do you love?
6. What sound or noise do you hate?
7. What is your favorite curse word? (stars with pre and post indicators will suffice)
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
9. What profession would you not like to do?
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
Read more at http://bettesblues.blogspot.com/2013/06/10-questions-james-lipton-asks.html#uMqzkECd8PCRKeT6.99
To quote Lord Byron, “If I don’t write to empty my mind, I go mad.”
Is there anything you’d like to know? Ask me a question in the comments and I’ll do my best to answer!
1. What is your favorite word?
2. What is your least favorite word?
3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
4. What turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
5. What sound or noise do you love?
6. What sound or noise do you hate?
7. What is your favorite curse word? (stars with pre and post indicators will suffice)
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
9. What profession would you not like to do?
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
Read more at http://bettesblues.blogspot.com/2013/06/10-questions-james-lipton-asks.html#uMqzkECd8PCRKeT6.99
1. What is your favorite word?
2. What is your least favorite word?
3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
4. What turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
5. What sound or noise do you love?
6. What sound or noise do you hate?
7. What is your favorite curse word? (stars with pre and post indicators will suffice)
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
9. What profession would you not like to do?
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
Read more at http://bettesblues.blogspot.com/2013/06/10-questions-james-lipton-asks.html#uMqzkECd8PCRKeT6.99
1. What is your favorite word?
2. What is your least favorite word?
3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
4. What turns you off creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
5. What sound or noise do you love?
6. What sound or noise do you hate?
7. What is your favorite curse word? (stars with pre and post indicators will suffice)
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
9. What profession would you not like to do?
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
Read more at http://bettesblues.blogspot.com/2013/06/10-questions-james-lipton-asks.html#uMqzkECd8PCRKeT6.99
The Richmond Ad Club is a group of extraordinarily talented and creative advertising professionals living and working in RVA. In addition to supporting the visionary work of their peers, the Richmond Ad club also works to make the Richmond advertising community by hosting events like fundraisers and networking opportunities. The RAD Show, also known as the Quest for the Cannonball, is an award show and party hosted by the Richmond Ad Club to recognize and celebrate the award winning work put forth by Virgina’s advertising professionals.
This past Saturday night, the Hubs and I attended the RAD Show, and your girl came home with two silver cannonballs. My homepage of wiggling, spiraling curls directing you here and there is now an award winning website!
I first had the idea to create a unique splash page for my website about this time last year. I had not seen anything even close to what I wanted to do. There were a few ads that showed curly haired ladies that had words superimposed over their hair, or that had words written onto the hair, but nothing that showed words spelled out from the hair itself. Writing and photography are my forte, so while I could describe easily enough what I wanted to do and even take a few mock snaps of myself to storyboard it out, I needed some additional help.
The first step was getting the right picture. I love beauty shots. I love the simplicity of a white background and nothing but the tight close up of the model’s face filling the frame. In order to get the desired effect, I was going to have let my hair have free reign. My good friend Ariel Skelley set me up in her studio with the right lighting, great direction and provided me with scores of shots from which to choose.
Once the image was created, I needed someone to work some Photoshop magic on it to get the words spelled out. I started talking to other creative types I know and one suggested Jeff Glotzl, who does photo retouching. Jeff did work on the Science Museum of Virginia ad that showed the young boy lifting up the ocean to see what was between the water and the sand (It’s a such a resonant image, because who among us hasn’t wanted to do that very thing). Click here to see it.
I reached out to Jeff, explained what it was that I was trying to do, and he was enthusiastically on board. Of the course of our collaboration, Jeff mentioned once or twice that we should consider submitting the finished product to some contests because he hadn’t seen anything like it in his experience. As things took shape, like the words “about”, “writing”, “photography”, “projects” and “contact” — from a literal lock of my hair, I could see what a one-of-a-kind design I had created. I followed up with Jeff about submitting the design with a simple, “Just let me know if you hear anything,” and left it at that. Eventually, the page was complete, the “i’s” dotted with a curl and the “t’s” crossed with a bobby pin. Jeff gave each word a little more personality by having them wiggle and wave as your roll over them. I was thrilled and just awed that something I had scratched out on some notebook paper was live in front of me.
With the help of Andrew and Spencer at Team-Eight, we took the site live to what it is now. I’ve had incredible amounts of positive feedback from family and friends as well as people who happen to stumble upon my site through various means. I’ve been riding high, and when Jeff sent me an email several weeks ago with “We Won an Award!” in the subject line, it was the icing on the cake. We entered the design in the web category for micro-sites were in contention for Gold, Silver or Bronze. We were also chosen to win a design award (Gold, Silver or Bronze), which, as it turns out, we did! Complete list of winners here.
The Hubs and I got duded up and spent the evening at the show. It was incredible. There are so many talented people working in advertising in Richmond. Major campaigns for UPS, Geico, Oreo and the like, originated and were created here in RVA. Seeing my page up on the large screen, hearing my name called along with Jeff’s, threading my way through the audience to receive my award, hearing the President of the Richmond ad club tell me, “Oh, we clicked on the curls a lot!” — the entire experience was surreal.
We ended the night with little post show celebration of oysters and prosecco at Rappahannock afterwards, just me and the Hubs.
A great number of things, both creatively and professionally, are falling into place for me right now. I’m so fortunate, so blessed, and so giddy about it all. A few weeks ago, I posted a snap on IG of a bottle of champagne, saying that I’d had the bottle for close to 10 years, but was going to pop it open this summer. This past week-end is one more reason to celebrate.