Ridiculous Ideas & Photos to Prove It

Ridiculous ideas. They usually don't seem ridiculous at the time, and if you have any initial doubts, you tend to squelch the part of you that wants to nay-say and embrace the foolish hopeful portion that says "Grand idea! Why didn't I think of that?!"

It was not actually my ridiculous idea. I was just the pawn who bought the ridiculous idea. I was simply lured in by genius advertising and marketing. Bravo, advertisers, marketers and  pushers. Well done, good sirs. I was now the proud owner of a twenty-claw set of teeny tiny (complete with glue!) cat claw nail tips.

What did I think would happen? I don't really know. I was previous-to-my-ridiculous-purchase an irritated cat owner who became enraged at the far off sound of one of our two cats clawing at the furniture or carpet. The clever felines always managed to claw at something at a moment when I was otherwise engaged and could not spring to the rescue of my furniture or carpet: curled up under a blanket watching TV, guarding soon-to-be-boiling water, or viewing a particularly funny video on YouTube of a cat drinking water from a faucet. (Adorable!)

I was in need of a solution. Like a perfect-fitting (albeit glass) slipper, presented to my tiny, willing foot was the following: 

The clouds parted and a ray of holy sunshine hugged my soul with solution-ish bliss.

My package arrived in the mail a few days later and I excitedly showed my family the answer to our problems. They laughed hysterically (spouse) rolled their eyes (daughter) and feigned disinterest (son). This made me vow to be the saver-of-furniture-and-carpet via my astutely-discovered purchase. I put my save-the-furniture purchase "in a safe place" for future contemplation.

Ten months later, while cleaning up my "home office", I came across the $12.99 (+ free shipping!) package and decided to give it a go. The following is a photo story of the events as they occurred:

Smudge and I become acquainted with the solution.

We read the simple directions.

I remind myself how I will save the furniture and carpet.

I look to Smudge for the nod of approval/We'll-show-them! validation.

I think I see a glimmer of cooperative spirit in her eyes.

Nope. It was a show of claws.

Project abandoned. Cats win.

Okay, it was a ridiculous idea. But, ridiculous ideas must be faced head-on and embraced until they are roundly defeated by a cat swipe to the hand that feeds them.

While Smudge destroyed the product and packaging of the-answer-to-our-problems, I settled in to watch some (adorable!) cat on YouTube drinking water from a faucet:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MDVMC0DRpsk

The Year of Living Pinterestingly: Segment One

This is an hilarious character created by Allie Brosh of  http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com 

My name is Lisa and I've succumbed to Pinterest. 

You in unison: "Hi Lisa."

I soak up all its visually stimulating, time sucking glory. I'm a visual learner and a non-creative copycat. So when I see something visually pleasing, and want to go to there, I think, "How hard can it be? Couldn't I make that?" <<----Rhetorical questions, Steve. But if you have to answer them, try: 1. Not that hard, sweetheart. and 2. You could make that and I'd be glad to help you!

So I found out about Pinterest just before the New Year 2012 and as soon as the clock struck midnight, I had my first project planned for Steve to help me with.

There was this great photo of a poor little toilet room (We have that!) with a poor blank space above its head (We have that, too!) that needed some rich mahogany-looking, heavy, "floating" shelves with no brackets or hardware showing. These shelves were just magically floating, anchoring that poor little toilet room and bringing it some weight and class. ("We" can do that!) 

Here's the photo that made me drool with all kinds of deadly sins:

laramarkdesigns

Castle Rock, CO, United States

Well, as a Pinterest newbie, I promptly misplaced the photo-inspiration that would ensure my success, (ALWAYS pin! ALWAYS pin!) so I was left with trying to explain my vision to Steve. I was gesturing pinterestingly with my arms and sighing longingly as I described this pearl of beauty. I may or may not have used the HGTV most-used-overused-and-hated-by-me word, pop! "...and it'll really give our toilet room that...*pop* it needs!" Just hearing myself say it was almost unconvincing. You shouldn't use an HGTV word on an engineer. He speaks in numbers. With no exclamation points.

Per usual, and using his engineer voice, Steve explained the possible difficulty, the time commitment, the probable cost, the uncertainty of achieving what was in my mind's eye, and (probably) his basic hope that I would change my mind. 

So, when he stopped talking, we were off and running!

Weeks, hundreds of dollars and priceless quality bonding time later, we were done! Since I don't have much photo documentation for this project (ALWAYS document! ALWAYS document!), I'll post a sort-of-during and much-after photo and let the reader decide.

The sort-of-during photos of our sad, lonely toilet room makeover

Insert blood, sweat, tears, time,dollars, more sweat, and more dollars. And heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere's the reveal:

The much-after-photo of our toilet room with magical floating shelves and no memory of the chaos that ensued to reach this point.

Was it worth it? Did my expectations match reality? Will dear Steve ever feel the same when I say "I saw this photo on Pinterest..."???

Stay tuned because those were all rhetorical questions anyway, and would certainly dampen my spirit if I had to entertain the possible answers.

So, that concludes Pinterest Project #1! Stay tuned for the Paint Chip Collage, the T-Shirt Quilt, the Graduation Clever Chocolate Caps, the HempJute Pendant Lamp Shade, and perhaps the elusive Garden Totems.

Not Sure Yet

October is almost over. I got my first ever nephew this month (hi Andrei) and my first ever sincere desire to suddenly become someone else. Not sure if one has to do with the other. We'll leave that for the scholars to decide.

I've been tapping into my creativity and have dabbled in Artist Trading Cards. I have done two swaps and one trade and now I'm in the cool down period of art. Which brought me to the hot blood pressure-rising period of work, Halloween (Headache Day) and parent-teacher conferences.

Who's grumps?

I am. I'll try to post a photo and exit quietly.

Through the Elephant

A year-in-the-life is a journey through elephant bowels. It is dark, you're all squished and surrounded by poo and all you want is to make it out the other end in tact, and able to see daylight.

The problem is, your travel companion for the duration is a year's worth of excrement, hopefully slick enough to at least make the exit pleasant. Happy New Year, enjoy the home stretch, and I'll see you out the other side.

2010 Almost a Wrap

This is where I'm supposed to wax poetic about the end of the decade, ushering in the new year, etc. Ah, that's kid stuff. I'm glad to have sort of figured out how to blog so I can post pictures. It seems a good idea to have a theme for the photos and update regularly. I may or may not take me up on that.

I would like to laugh more in 2011 and create something artistic. That's bloggable.

Happy New Year!

Another attempt at photos

The nest is not empty yet. Or as Phoebe Buffet would say: "Don't 'Aw Pheeb, that sucks' me yet!"

I've Been Meaning to Do That

Besides trying for "way too long" to figure out how to add copious pictures to my blog (unsuccessful), I have a jumble of things I've been meaning to do. Here it is--possibly in list form--so I can check off each completed goal, or more likely: later refer back to, lament how it’s still undone and contemplatively decide if it’s still worthy of my time.
1. Finish Sara's toddler clothes quilt I smugly started 12 years ago. (It waits, nicely folded in my art closet next to the sewing machine I bought myself for my 33rd birthday.) Happy graduation, Sara! Perhaps you could reach another milestone worthy of a toddler-clothing scrap quilt once I finish it!
2. Take photos outside early in the morning. (seems like a good idea for differences in light and shadow, but insert reasoning for not doing here:             )
3. Alter a book with all those gathered collage pieces I’ve meticulously cut out of magazines, and even purchased from the “ephemeral” section of ebay.
4. Organize my art room (formerly known as “the office”) so I can attack aforementioned projects.
5. Stop obsessing over dog and cat hair covering every inch of my home.
6. Get new carpeting to get a fresh start on the dog/cat hair thing.
7. The snow on the tree outside is so beautiful in the sunshine right now, that I shall take a photo forthwith. Brrrrr, got it. If I can figure how to post photos, check number 2 off this list even though it’s nearly ten-thirty.
8. Read more books from the Newbery winners and/or classics.
9. Become more technologically adept, or hire/cajole someone to turn my thoughts into words and pictures on my attempt at a blog. (Alexander comes to mind—he could make this blog thing work with his eyes closed!)
10. Sketch out funny thoughts as comics and try to soak up some of Sara’s talent for visual artistry.
11. Convince Sara to publish her exquisite drawings, paintings, comics and observations because she is a comic and artistic genius.
12. Always have Pandora music in the background—Pandora knows what I’m all about and will feed me inspirational sounds.
I will stop at 12 “Things I’ve Been Meaning to Do” (or is twelve Things-I’ve-Been-Meaning-to-Do?) Damn. There’s another thing on the list: figure out intricacies of punctuation and titling. bluurrrgghhh!

Goody, Goody Gumdrops

"Goody, goody gumdrops." It was the 1970's kid-equivalent of being too cool to care. Things we said and did, and where the expression or event even came from are sometimes nuggets of wisdom lost to time. But sometimes, they sneak up in memories and make you want to investigate... Notice anything familiar?

Detroit, circa 1972 via Uncle Joey:
(everyone puts his ratty tennis-shoed foot in the middle and then...)

Eenie meenie, dipsy deeny, high pone tusk. Tusk in, tusk out, tusk around the water spout. Have a cherry, have a plum. have a stick of chewing gum. My mother said to pick the very best one and you are not...it!

Detroit, circa 1974 via childhood friend Julie Walters:

Kindergarten babies, first grade tots,
Second grade angels, third grade snots,
Fourth grade peaches, fifth grade plums,
And all the rest are dirty bums!

On the way (skipping, running or jumping) to Stellwagen Elementary School 1970-1975:

Step on a crack: break your mother's back.
Step on a line: break your father's spine.

Is that why every detail in every square of concrete sidewalk is so familiarly etched into my memory even today? The sidewalks had their own personalities back then. I knew the various patches of concrete so well. Some had a friendly, smooth appearance and an inviting appeal to drag an old piece of chalk across for hopscotch. Some were more mottled, cracked, or heaved up with elm tree roots and were to be avoided when skipping, jumping rope up and down the block, or racing Big Wheels or Krazy Kars. Some had cracks or dents that resembled faces and were a comfort knowing they remained the same season after season.

I wonder if low-to-the-ground things and the ground itself are still familiar to today's kids, or if the concrete jungle I grew to know intimately, was just my own childhood way of feeling at home in my surroundings? Do kids avoid cracks and lines to save their parents, have jump rope songs about missing links and being out, or do put-your-foot-in-the-middle rhymes to decide who's "it"?

Maybe today's kids have new and improved singy-songs that have a basis in fact, or fair decision-making methods that are more articulate and modern. Well, you know what I say to that?

Goody goody gumdrops.

Thanksgivings Past

Thinking about Thanksgivings past...

Images come into my head of apple-turkeys stabbed with toothpicks skewered with mini marshmallows and gumdrops. I guess it's a fine way of keeping kids feeling creatively involved in the festive process while the adults (okay, the womenfolk) worked like dogs on the feast we kids would soon criticize. A note of state-the-obvious: don't give kids free reign on a bag of gumdrops and mini-marshmallows and then later try to get them to eat purple-red-glop and seemingly chewed-up soggy bread just because it's "tradition".

Other memories include festive, extended-family dinners at Grandma & Grandpa's home in Detroit, where my birth order--5th oldest cousin out of ten--secured me a pernament sequester at the "kid-table". There were usually two kid-tables, with a vicious pecking order of who got to sit at the one closer to the "real" (turkey-clad) table. Those at the better kid-table got first dibs at dessert pies.

A kid-table prerequisite was for the card table to be sporting one bum leg, just to add a bit of excitement to the occasion. A favorite kid-table tradition by the older cousins was to wait until someone's milk glass was filled to the top, then furiously and savagely begin cutting into the meat portion on his or her plate, trying to upset the delicate balance of the card table.

Teenage-year Thanksgivings were the worst for cooperation and thankfulness. In my family of four kids (in an age-differential span of five years), the holiday may as well have been named the anti-thanksgiving. The order of the day was work avoidance, complaining about the looks of what was eventually going to  be plopped onto our plates, and campaigning for the use of paper plates for the meal since the mess was growing bigger as each quarter of the Lions' loss to the Bears progressed. If I was a parent in that household, I'd have canceled Thanksgiving and declared a day-of-drinking instead.

We still laugh about the time my younger brother declared that Grandma Cass' pumpkin pie meringue topping looked and tasted like styrofoam. Ah, teenagers and Thanksgiving: a dish best served as leftovers at noon on Friday.

Well, it's time to give thanks for all we have, and I'm thankful I have memories of Thanksgivings past. I will try to save some gumdrops and mini-marshmallows for the apple-turkeys.

Creativity Mandate

There must be some sort of nesting quality I have that spurs me to "be creative". When I was a kid, my sister and I, when needing a creative fix, declared "Let's do projects". And we did. We'd hunker down and create board games, write poetry, play pretend games, or discover an attic and transform it into a clubhouse.

It was so easy to just abandon everything and "do projects". Now that I'm old(er), doing projects has come to mean cleaning out the refrigerator, reorganizing my closet or finding the stepladder so as to replace all the burnt out light bulbs. (side note: think of creative reference for stepladder meaning not your real ladder, but the ladder your other ladder married after divorcing your real ladder. It's not the boss of you and never will be.)

Creativity gets squelched when you become a certain amount of "responsible". I guess I have reached that level. Weekends start out being so full of potential, too... Then eventually, thoughts of doing projects gets sucked into the void and replaced with appointments and schedules.

I hereby declare a mandate: a creativity mandate. I will create something everyday that is wholly unrelated to responsible, scheduled, committment-type behaviors. Perhaps I will take a photograph or post a blog entry or sew a pillow or write a poem. I may denounce my relationship with my stepladder and disinvite her to the light bulb and smoke detector battery's wedding. Maybe I'll just listen to a favorite song and think creatively for that time.

There I have it: Mandated Creativity. I like it.

Let's do projects!