37days

She had me at "cow town"

Oh, my.

I love to shop on Etsy. Real artists making art. I've made a conscious commitment to buy handmade.

My dream is to create a small shop at 37day.net that will include only handmade objects that relate to my blog and book (did I mention I've written a book?), so in service to that vision, I've been exploring Etsy to find artists whose work I love, then asking if they are interested in creating 37days art. (Are you interested? Please provide a link to your work in the comments!)

One day last week, I found beautiful tiles with words on them. My very favorite color. I wrote to ask.

Rachel wrote back. Turns out, that the very day I wrote to her was Day 37 of a big life change. She was struck by the synchronicity. So was I. Said she'd love to create some prototypes of tiles with the six practices for intentional living that are outlined in LIFE IS A VERB.

When she sent the photos of them, I burst into tears.

There is something about seeing art made from your words that defies description. I felt that way, too, when all the amazing art flowed in from readers around the world to illustrate the book.

I loved the tiles. Wanted to tile my kitchen so I'd see the six practices every morning when I wake up and stumble in there to make coffee. Wanted to tile my shower so I could meditate on them in the steam. Wanted to create a path of them in my garden. Wanted to carry them all in my handbag so when people irritate me as they are wont to do sometimes AND ESPECIALLY THIS WEEK FOR SOME UNKNOWN REASON IS THERE A PLANET IN RETROGRADE?, I could reach in and feel the outline of the words and calm myself right down. I sent the photographs to Mr Brilliant:

"It must feel pretty good seeing your words incised in something (that isn't a tombstone). AND HEY:  speaking of tombstones, looks like she lives in the city where Oliver Loving is buried--remembered, Goodnight-Loving Trail? It was the promise Charlie G made to Oliver to carry his rotting corpse back to TX that inspired old Larry to write Lonesome Dove. So Oliver's trail ended there--she could probably drive there in 15 minutes and put a pebble on his grave if she was so inclined. Your potter lives a few miles from where the trail began for one of your favorite books. Pretty poetic. You should share with her--its a good story."

I think Larry McMurtry's novel, Lonesome Dove, is a Great American Novel. In fact, Mr Brilliant is working on a book about the series of McMurtry novels that are connected to Lonesome Dove. That's how much we like it.

I sent his story to the potter. "Yes!" she wrote back. "We DO live near where Charlie Goodnight is buried - at the Greenwood Cemetery - AND we live off of Greenwood Road. AND Lonesome Dove is one of OUR favorite books too - at LEAST once a year, we get out our Lonesome Dove CD set and watch the entire thing yet again.  We know it by heart. AND -  MY husband's name is Larry.  SO many parallels.  It is Synchronicity and  Serendipity."

She continued: "When I first read the book, Lonesome Dove, I was trail riding about once a month, living in Austin, and I grieved for an entire month when I finished it.  For Gus, AND for the book itself, that it was over.  I was so profoundly moved by that story and completely taken and emotionally involved with all of the  very colorful characters - of course, especially Gus McCrae.  And now I live here - at least 20 years later."

Synchronicity and Serendipity. Her beautiful Life is a Verb tiles will be available for sale (either individually or in a set of 6) soon in the 37 days shop. Do you like them as much as I do?

Eat raw tarantulas in hot sauce for someone

"That's it!"

"That's the dress I want!"

I peered at the computer screen over her shoulder, at a pink satin halter dress like Marilyn Monroe wore in the 1950s, with a crinoline petticoat underneath.

"Does it come in black?" she asked, worriedly.

"I'm sure it does...let's see." We clicked through all the choices--pink, gold, green, red. No black. I emailed the company. They wrote back "sorry." I emailed again to ask for the name of the manufacturer, thinking "let's go to the source." They wrote back that actually a manufacturer creates the dresses under the store's label and couldn't possibly get a black one done in time.

There's just nothing I hate more than hearing someone say, "I can't."

It had all started so innocently. An invitation to the Prom from a young man who has become very affectionately known as Kilt Boy. A need to match a Montreat tartan kilt. A 1950s halter dress that, as it turns out, not only didn't come in black but evidently has never existed in the history of online shopping in black. Trust me, I know. And, of course, the final ingredient--a mother who would eat raw tarantulas in hot sauce if it meant saving her daughter.

37days readers helped, sending links to beautiful dresses. "Not really. Nope. I mean, it's really nice, but not exactly," Emma responded to each one. Clearly, she would have settled for one that was sort of like what she wanted. But why?

Have I mentioned that I like a challenge?

Ninjas!

Perhaps you will enjoy an earlier essay of mine that appears in this month's Skirt! magazine! And thanks also to Skirt! publisher Nikki Hardin who mentioned 37days so wonderfully in her site's morning muse today - as well as mentioning the beautiful, engraved jewelry made for 37days readers by artist Sarah Blaine.

Nikki is the real reason that the book, LIFE IS A VERB, exists, having written to me over a year ago after reading 37days for awhile, to ask, "would you be interested in making a book out of your 37days blog posts?"

Many thanks to Nikki for that broader vision of 37days in the world! Only 118 days until the official publication date of LIFE IS A VERB! Let's have a big old Ninja party, shall we?

[Art by 37days reader Laura Stinson, from the book, LIFE IS A VERB]

Women begin as people who scream in the sheer joy of sand

 

(Real) Women play the tuba - Emma Ptak

When I was in the sixth grade, as soon as I was eligible, I joined the band.

Girls played flute and clarinet, and boys played trombone and trumpet in those ancient days, long before sliced bread or ball point pens were invented and back when Chicken Pot Pies were New! As Seen on TV! Freeing Moms Everywhere from the Drudgery of Cookery!

Mr. Smith, our band director, would likely have passed a gallstone at the very idea of a GIRL in the low brass section. No, no, it just wouldn't do. And so we stuck to our reed instruments, longing for the day in eighth grade when we could break loose and switch to bass clarinet or the fantastically nasal oboe or the beautiful red bassoon.

Fast forward several hundred years to Emma's entry into the sixth grade band four years ago. "Flute is nice," I said. "And very compact! Easy to transport! You could carry it home in your purple camouflage backpack!" My whole strategy to convince a 12-year-old was evidently based on exclamation points.

"Nah," she said. "I think I'd like to play the trombone."

And then I said it, like that little boy in "A Christmas Story" when the lug nuts from the car tire go flying through the air as his dad is trying to change a flat, and the boy says, in very slow motion, somethin akin to "fudge": "But trombones are so heavy! Girls don't play trombone!" I heard myself say.