Hand of Bela Peck

How Bunny Grey Got His Spots

There was a time when a trip to the pediatrician was exactly that: a trip to the pediatrician.  Usually it was to get yet another doctor's note for school to explain away the usual absences associated with school age children and their germy ways.  I always took along a stitching project because my hands would  (and still do) go stir crazy if left idle for more than 2 minutes.  But Baby Girl is now 17, and when a routine doctor visit took a turn for a nightmare in 2011, with an unexpected need for open heart surgery, there hasn't been a routine doctor visit since.

When I brought Baby Girl lunch at school just before noon yesterday I knew something wasn't right.  She was shaky and grey, complaining of abdominal pain.  Within the hour the school nurse would call and one look at Baby Girl doubled over on the couch- I knew it was going to be a loooong visit at the doctor's office.  Grabbing my car keys, cell phone, wallet, and the nearest craft project- we bolted out the door.

This is routine now.  Pain will subside, tests will be run and we will wait for results.  This is when I pull out my stitching to pass the time.  It helps with nervous energies as well.  A mother's mind is keen at imagining the worst possible outcomes in a doctor's office if left to wander in the sterile box of a waiting room.  Armed with a blank wool bunny I made earlier this week from an up-cycled coat, and some natural wool roving from Milltown Primitives, I begin the calming work of needle punching polka dots.  Slowly, bunny grey is coming to life as Baby Girl is resting.

More spots will be added as we venture to the ER with what looks like appendicitis. Even more spots will be added as appendicitis is ruled out and another battery of tests is performed. Slow little perfect circles sculpted in place with the needle as Baby Girl is wheeled back in to the room.  On the outside she and I are tough as nails.  Inside we are freaking out at the idea of another surgery.  Polka dots are finished up just before the final diagnosis of "possible" appendicitis and we are sent home to keep watch. 

 And this is how bunny grey got his spots :)

LOVE  &  CALM SPOTS

 

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Memories of Home

When the snow falls deep and fluffy around the old homestead, and Mom sends a pic of good ol' 363 up to her second stone wall of drifted accumulation I am full of memories.  Suddenly I am eight years old with my nose pressed to the second story bull's eye glass window panes, staring down the hill to my best friend's house.  I am wondering if it's too early to fire up the rotary phone and sound the battle cry of fresh hillsides waiting to be plundered by our sleds.

I haven't seen snow like this since I left New England 20 years ago.  Splitting those 20 years between Florida and Texas has left little chance for flurries in the forecasts.  When we are young we want to see the world and be as far away from home as geographically possible.  If someone told me 20 years ago I would see my parents maybe once a year from that point on and I would never know the joy of that cold drafty dining room on Thanksgiving again...... maybe I would've thought twice.   Maybe.  Having my own graduating senior who is now full of travel ideas and the lure of far away places, I wonder how I never took my parents' feelings into consideration.  Perhaps it's the secret power of parenting that we know if we restrict a dream, it somehow forces it's way to the surface with or without parental blessings. 

This house is home for me.  No matter how far I roam it always will be.  I carry her memories with me everyday of my life.  It is here I learned to stitch, unearthed history lessons in plastered walls, had the first kiss from the boy who would become my husband, and where I drafted the story of my life.  It is here that my mom hugged away my teenage tears and I learned that if I fell I could always get up to try again.  I am lucky that my parents still live here.  I can go home to hear the floorboards creak out past tales, pull on the latches, and hear my father complain about someone using all the hot water in this one bathroom house.  When I see my Dad in this photo, standing to the right side of the house, I laugh knowing he is complaining about having to suffer like Puritans in the fierce New England winters.  Though they complain, they will never leave.  This is their home.  It is a mythical place my husband and I hope to find one day. 

So today, from Galveston's shores I wander through my thoughts of home, marvel at the stunning beauty of freshly fallen snow so far away, and adjust my toes in the sun-warmed sands so thankful that the only shoveling I will be doing will be in my garden. But y'all have fun up there!

LOVE  &  HOME

 

 

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The Empty Mug

The Empty Mug

Routines are funny.  Simple tasks repeatedly completed without thought or preparation, done so often they are as mindless as breathing.  Half awake, rinse the coffee pot, fill with water to the 8 cup line, scoop some Texas Independence Vintage Bin blend, ummm smells good, even out the mound of brown caffeine goodness, hit brew, grab half & half, hazelnut creamer, whipped cream, nod to the dog waiting for a treat, and grab the mugs: my usual Lennox delicate tea cup, his the heavy Norwich crockery.  I do this every day.  Even when he is not here.

Even though I wake up in a bed all by myself, it's not till the coffee grind that it truly hits me.  Hubby is on the other side of the world, thirteen hours ahead of me, working in a world I've never seen.  Today is the start of his three week trip.  Trips that are becoming more frequent.  Looking at his empty mug I can't help but wander to scenarios my brain is best not to explore.  But I'm there.  Thinking of everything that could go wrong.  Fretting over the recent BP hostages in Algeria.  Hurting for fellow Houston families whose men aren't coming home alive.  Knowing hubby felt so uncomfortable on the streets of Dhaka last trip.  Fearing the unstable politics and religious fanatics that dominate so much of the world where energy business is conducted.  When he is gone I worry.  Endlessly.  I begin to miss all his silly habits that I swore would be my ultimate undoing.

I am lucky.  Hubby is protected wherever he goes and I know he will be home soon to leave his mug on the table long after he's drank his coffee and I will be able to grumble about a man's inability to pick up after himself.  Looking at this morning's empty mug reminds me that I have one nephew soldier in Afghanistan whose wife is pregnant with their second child.  I have another nephew in the Army facing his first deployment overseas next month.  The mug reminds me I have precious friends whose husbands passed far too early and for them there are only memories to fill their empty mugs. 

I am very lucky.  I miss him, but I am lucky.

LOVE  &  MORNING THOUGHTS

Autumn Table Dressing

Thanksgiving excitement is in the air!  The lines at the grocery store are growing longer, the yam supply getting lower and everywhere you look there seems to be a pumpkin pie recipe.   This is my cue to dust off the table finery that lives 363 days a year in triple bubble wrapped confinement.

I remember picking out this pattern at Macy's with my Mom.  She is a finery queen and insisted that I have both a formal and informal China pattern on my wedding gift registry.  In my 20's I  rolled my eyes at my mom's insistence- refusing to go through the laborious task of caring for so many dishes as she had done my entire childhood.  My mom would unwrap her Wedgewood china two days before the holiday meal.  This was done in a quiet ceremony only she understood- a worship of each piece, an admiration of the platinum accents, and the tale of my dad buying it overseas while he was in the Navy. 

When the meal was over and company left, my mom would wash the china by herself- refusing all offers of help.   It was as if she was relishing her few quiet moments rinsing the dishes with the care one would give a newborn at the sink tub.

Now in my EARLY 40's (snicker snicker) I understand this ceremony.  When I unwrap plates, serving dishes, and cups, I savor the memories associated with each piece.  I see that Macy's showroom, browsing the patterns with my Mom and falling in love with this Autumn pattern by Lenox.  I recall her words, the same ones I use now with my own daughter, telling me not to look at the price but to choose what I love.  I remember unwrapping place settings as wedding gifts and the excitement of marrying my true love and all our youthful ambitions. 

Those youthful ambitions have brought us many years of good fortune but at the price of being far from home.  I have yet to use my china for a full family gathering- so instead I use a tea cup every day.  Sipping my morning coffee from these sweet cups reminds me of home, holiday tradition and the hope that someday this Yankee-turned-Texan will be a Yankee again.

May y'all have a very blessed Thanksgiving!

LOVE  &  FINERY

Winter Memories

 Even though the pictures are grainy, the memories are as crisp as the black crow's caw against winter's white cloud sky.  The first snow, the freshly knitted scarves and mittens, and those ridiculous rubber boots that never kept our toes dry....   Mom stuffing our feet in plastic bags before jamming our wee toes in outgrown shoes.  Oh how we protested- but forgot our humiliation as soon as we hit the snow!

My brother and I are almost three years apart.  We had the good fortune of lots of kids in our neighborhood which bordered a large meadow.  It was a magical place of winter perfection complete with a sledding hill and ice-skating pond.  We grew up with lots of friends and endless meadow adventures.  Though my brother had his friends and I had mine- we all ended up together in Lathrop Meadow testing the ice thickness and building snow forts.

Those were the days when Mom would see us at breakfast, check us in at lunch and remind us to be home before dark. What happened in between was a mystery to her.  For us it was a time of  autonomy and innocent mischief.  Except, maybe, for the time my brother and his best friend set the meadow ablaze while trying build a small campfire.  And the time when my brother and his best friend got caught throwing snowballs at passing cars.  And the time..... well- most of it was innocent.

That best friend of his was pure deviance with blonde cow-licked curls and Irish green eyes!  Between the early pics I posted here and the wreath photo below, there was seldom a photo of my brother and I without his best friend.  I stood closer to his best friend in every shot- pretending I was his girlfriend.

I took this wreath photo while walking the beach when I was 22, 20 years ago.  It was a chilly November day that promised that year's first snowfall and I was with my brother's best friend.  This was the day my brother's best friend asked me to be his wife and I said yes without hesitation.  I can honestly say I can't remember a day in my life without him.  It's a feeling as exhilherating as the first breath of fresh snow.  And to this day, he and I still laugh and play like two little kids set free in a winter meadow.

LOVE  &  WARM MITTENS

The Interrupted Studio

 Working from home has as many advantages as it does disadvantages.  One of the biggest struggles I've had in my first year "full-timing it" has been finding a balance between home duties and building a home-based business.

In the beginning I had "work at home guilt syndrome".  This is a devestating cycle of thinking that lost "real world" income has to be replaced with proof that I can balance it all in those short 8 hours: clean the house, run the errands, cook a balanced meal, and launch a business all while putting on my happy face when everyone returns home from their day. 

You can guess how well that plan worked!  I was raging inside while outside I was portraying some 1950's Good Housekeeping ad.

Truth is I have learned the art of the interrupted studio.  Any work-from-home-artist-mom knows this is the only way to go! We work through the chaos and cherish the rare stretches of pure creativity.

There are mornings, like this one, when I wake with a vision for my blog- but before I can execute I am run over by the Mom, mom, mom, mummy, ma, maa, mom, mommy, maaaaa, mum, ma, mommmmm, ma, mum otherwise known as my daughter's school prep routine.  Each time I picked up the camera, a new screech came from down the hall.  The camera was replaced by permission forms, lost car keys, and the teen panic of "surely those yoga pants are under all that room rubble somewhere!"

Oh she's cute as a button, but she is all Stewie Griffin in the morning.

  

I'm pretty sure this is how she pictures me in the morning: A ranting crab of a mom!

 This is also what I think I look like as I clamor for more studio time or snap back at my family who wants me to stop working whenever they are not busy. 

Truth is- I have always put 200% into any job I've ever had- so this work ethic shouldn't come as a surprise.  The only difference is I am at home pounding away as opposed to sitting at lengthy hearrings that run over or Christmas retail seasons that insist on 100 hour weeks.

In all reality, my house is a mess of shipping boxes, tissue paper, and half-finished characters that my family has long stopoped trying to explain to friends.  Friends either get it or they don't.  There are no more apologies for cluttered countertops, thread in the food supply, or my habit of working late into the night.

My daughter no longer tells people I don't work, my husband is learning not to call before the blog is published, and I am learning to embrace this growth process.

Days like today- where everything starts with interruptions, I simply pick up wherever I've left off a thousand times already, add a few embellishments and lose my place again. But I continue to learn and grow with every pause and breath.

LOVE  &  INTERRUPTIONS

 

Snippets of Inspiration

When I need a dose of inspiration I turn to Papaya Art for a quick fix.  The nostalgic magic never fails to inspire me or get me geared up for whatever the day holds.

 Today is a busy day of cleaning and prepping for my Mom's visit this week.  I am so excited that we get to see each other for the 4th time in a year!!  Generally we have only been able to get together once a year- some years not at all.

I think of my own daughter currently in her senior year of high school.  Where will her travels take her?  Could I bear not seeing her everyday as I have for the past 17 years?  This is the time when I really need advice from my own Mom and I am so glad we will have time over coffee to chat, laugh, and remember how blissful I was at 17 (snort snicker snort).

I guess as Moms- we all just want to know our kids are happy and safe.  Currently my house looks like an episode of Craft Wars gone horribly wrong.  Need to go fix that before my Mom sees my ADHD tendencies are still gettting the best of my household duties!

I will be on blog vacation while my Mom and I enjoy all the wonders of Galveston.

Click here to shop Papaya online.

Click here to check out the Paapaya blog.

LOVE  &  MOMS!!!!

First Love Up In Flames

Teenage girls huddled over a burning box in the backyard can only mean one thing: the break up ceremonies have come to a close and it's the official crash and burn of young love.

It's the moment parents of teens fear most: the first love break up!  Eeeeeks!  Scarier than any haunted house and capable of changing my normally easy going child into that creepy Exorcist girl with just one text from HIM.

Emily is now a senior so there have been break ups along the way; the homecoming romances usually fizzle by November, the cute baseball player who stole her away from the dufus, and the countless dates who turned into good friends. 

But as parents we all know when "the one" comes along to steal our child's heart for real.  "The one" who inspires fancy boxes to be made to store notes and keepsakes in a special place.  "The one" for whom she is willing to defy our parental commands.

My daughter is not a girl who falls quickly- and usually she needs to be talked into a committment of any sort- so when weeks turned to months with this respectful and humorous young man, her dad and I knew we were in trouble.

It was a sweet courtship that might've ended as quickly as the others had it not been for two super-glue factors:  He stood by Emily through her open heart surgery and recovery.  She stood by him as he made the unpopular decision to join the Marines.  Within months we had moved 300 miles south, and He had left for boot camp.

Any parent who says they don't hurt right alongside their child is a bold faced liar and probably doesn't have a  beating heart.  The extraordinary circumstances of their first love and how it played out was nothing short of a Nicholas Sparks novel and I painfully read every page of Em's edited version. 

Before He left for bootcamp, they made the weekend trips to see each other. The 4 hours of driving or flying never deterred them.  When He left for bootcamp, part of Emily left too. 

That was November 2012.  Emily was a high school junior in a new city while He forged a new life in the military 2ooo miles away.  As parents, we know this is doomed to fail and no amount of parental intervention can save them from the heart breaks ahead.  But watching from the sidelines and handing off tissues seems so inane when, as the Mom, you wish chicken soup could still make everything ok.

Long story short, the break up started as a small stir over the distance and culminated in Him marrying someone on the fly in Vegas a few week ago.  Game over. 

So out come the matches in a surprising end to an epic first love.

Good bye fairy tale ending. 

 The notes set ablaze in the box she made to store them.  Water poured (by the Mom) to keep the backyard from starting a forest fire.  And the lid closed one last time.... forever.

LOVE  &  ROLL THE CREDITS!

Time for Time Out

It's one of THOSE days!!

Already my computer has deleted my attempt at blogging twice and all the mundane chores I've ignored are ganging up on me.  They lurk outside my studio door demanding my attention like bored children.  UGH!

Even the dogs are not content today! 

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My solution?  Stop the madness by running away for the day! The chores will still be there when I get back and I will be in a better frame of mind to get them done.

Last year, living outside Fort Worth, I could escape into the country with a 5 minute drive and be surrounded by miles of ghost towns, farms and scenic views.  I could drive 2 hours on a backroad and rarely pass another car.

Now in League City, I am trapped by Galveston and Houston.  I have to sit in my car for 2 hours to barely pass through the city. 

So today I shall take refuge in thrifting one of my fave spots in the middle of gang town Houston.  I will imagine I am back on the steep rocks of the Paluxy searching for dinosaur fossils in my fave used-to-be-getaway of Glen Rose.

Peace Out Homies. 

LOVE  &  TIME OUT!

Urgent Staff Meeting

 I was just thinking about how I am so happy committing myself full time to building Hand of Bela Peck when the call came in.  At first I greeted the unfamiliar number with the hostility I reserve for all telemarketers.  Then confusion set in.... Galveston Juvenile Justice??  Oh dear God- think, think, think...... where is Emily...... as more words are spoken from the other end.... "calling about the resume you sent back in July?"

Oh.... a JOB?

Wait... leave the barely-paying one I love??

Time to call an urgent staff meeting with the family and the monster minions!

Holy forgotten niblets!!

 I had applied for a job with juvenile justice in one of those panic moments back in the summer.  My artist friends know this moment well.  It's the temporary insanity brought on by slow sales, little Etsy traffic, and self-doubt.  The "I need a steady paycheck" breakdown moment.

I remember filling out the on-line application with a sense of defeat.  I'd been working my tail off with no obvious results for nearly a year.  I felt guilty I wasn't contributing more to our finances.  Everytime my husband and daughter wanted something that the budget wouldn't allow, I cringed with anxiety. 

But a return to working with juvenile offenders is truly a return to the dark side.  There is seldom a silver lining or  a happy ending. Though the kids look harmless and even if the offense is a simple one- more often than not there's a heartbreaking history behind every case.

 The new job would be even more intense: the most serious of offenders in Galveston County.  No rosey cheeked truants, runaways or misdemeanor mishaps- but drug traficking, serious gang members and murderers.  Living so close to Houston, the level of violence perpetrated by minors is staggering. Having left the profession 8 years ago due to over-exposure to society's underbelly, I have to question what good I could be to these kids.  

I realized I love every stressful minute of  building my craft business.  I have never felt more alive and purpose driven.  The pay sucks, the hours are long, and second-guessing hangs in the air like ripe cat litter, but I am happy.  Recently I have seen those perceived inactive summer months as garden tending- the perfect sowing of seeds to reap real progress.

I have the most supportive family in the world.  We have been blessed with all the necessary comforts of a happy home.  My husband and daughter both voiced no regrets to back Hand of Bela Peck.  I know in my heart I am on the right track so there was only the monster minion vote left to cast.

Should I leave the studio gamble behind for the promise of a steady paycheck?  Should Hand of Bela Peck be returned to hobby status? 

The vote was unanimous.

LOVE  &  BIG DECISIONS