(no) Regrets

I wish I could say that life in Europe was the best I ever had. That I lived it to the fullest and loved every minute. I wish I could say it was all I hoped it would be. But it's no secret that my time away was one of my greatest challenges. It's hard to disappoint the ones I love and say that I didn't make the most of my time; that I rather didn't care for it much at all. I know I sound ungrateful, but it's the honest truth: living in Belgium was not my finest hour. And if I had to do it all over again, well, I would.

Yeah, I know it's a hard one to swallow, but I know who I am today would not be without all I was yesterday. Right now I love life and feel more joy for the simple suburban lifestyle I live than I ever once did. Besides I saw Paris. And the Alps and the Mediterranean and drank Italian wine, lived in a Grand Chateau, made lasting friendships and had another wonderful redheaded viking boy. And who could deny those memories? But alas, I stray. All those things never compensated for the days I felt isolated and the times I worried about my children's health, the language and culture barrier or the challenge of winter with a husband deployed. I never got over being a stranger in a strange land.

The affect I had on my family IS my regret. My moods often, yet not always, set the tone for loving or loathing living in Belgium. But the need to bail out at high tide and come home, well, THAT I will never regret because I know the whole family has benefited from the great return. The biggest pay-off has been genuine happiness in our home and this sweet knowing that I am where I belong.

Significant Changes

How does one who has been devoted to scrapbooking for years make a very hard decision to quit? I have taught classes, been a major supporter (both verbally and financially) to Studio Calico, I have a room dedicated to it and have even been published - more than once! I know! I have loved it dearly for nearly 12 years now.  In all honesty, up until about two weeks ago, I hadn't really planned on giving it up so soon. But the idea had been rolling around in my mind for months, if not years. And one peaceful afternoon as I lay collecting my thoughts in the back yard while the kids jumped all around me I realized that as long as I had supplies arriving at my door step every month, there would never be a transition. That transition into painting that I have always seen myself do.... someday....but someday was never coming at the pace I've been taking to do it.


So, I am quitting scrapbooking.

Ok, not completely, totally, and immediately. I'm not running out the door, but rather backing out slowly. But here's the thing....As long as I spend my time scrapbooking like a maniac or reading the masses of scrapbooking news on the internet like an obsessed junkie, I will never be able to make the transition to other other side of me. I want to write, read, finish my art history degree, take as many hands-on fine art classes as possible and eventually sell my work in galleries. Yes, in galleries! Did you know my father is a successful artist selling in galleries in California? And long before I even had children it was something I imagined myself doing. Flash forward to life with husband and kids: now scrapbooking has taken place of my artistic needs for many years. And I DO love it or I wouldn't have put so much time and money into it! But...

Sometimes you know when the time has come to make significant changes. Those changes in the way you live your life that must be done in order to accomplish the dreams you've always had. Like going to bed early to wake a little sooner just to get a run in. Or selling your perfect little condo in the perfect little town so you can have the money to go back to school and get your Master's of Fine Art. Perhaps it may be moving away from all that has you tied down and in a rut. Or shifting away from a particular mindset or belief you thought you had to stick to your entire life, which limits you from accepting everyone or one one particular person for who they really are. Maybe you have to let go completely of the one you thought you loved in order to love yourself again. Or simply, you must get on that plane and fly...

Whatever it is that you have been meaning to do lately, maybe it's time to make a change. Make the sacrifice of one thing for the better of another. But however you do it, do it with gratitude in your heart because it's the only way to proceed at this turning point in your life.

At least that's where I stand today....

Hope you join me as I take the next step and document my journey, right here! Because part of the transition to the other side of me, is telling you how I get there: step-by-step, one brush stroke at a time, and writing little more often than I have been!

All American

In all honesty it didn't take long to assimilate back into the good old American Lifestyle. I know Target as well as I know my own house. Which, by the way, is awesome! We "eased" the transition by staying in a hotel for three (long) months, but the wait was worth it. I guess it was only a few weeks ago that our household goods arrived and we began making this place ours. We've emptied most boxes, painted five rooms, hung curtains, a few pictures, and made good use of the kitchen. My studio is up and running, so is David's, and the boys each have designer bedrooms. We still have a pink basement to contend with and wallpaper to strip in the diningroom, a "bit" of decorating to do in the living room and some updating planned for the kitchen. My current project is painting and finishing up our library where we keep the big double chaise lounge chair that everyone deeply covets and more books than we will ever read.

It seems like Belgium was an eternity ago. I think of the friends I made and the house I lived in occasionally, but mostly I still feel relieved to be home. It feels right. Accepting suburbia has never been so easy. We bought a minivan, signed the boys up for soccer, make playdates, watch tv, and sometimes even shop after 6pm. With the traffic and the planes flying overhead, I know we are not alone. I'm sure one day I will be tempted to complain...eventually I always do, but for now I am enjoying fireworks going off in my backyard and the clerk at the store greeting me in English!

Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow...

I wish I could say that I have been good about keeping my life in Belgium updated and blogged. I wish I had told more stories. Waiting for inspiration to strike and the story to be told sometimes means no story at all. But in my heart I know this is not true. Everyday there is a story to tell; no trip to Paris or fancy French meal, or holiday to celebrate is necessary because it is in the small moments of life that we are really living.

Sure, we've traveled around Europe. Had big summer parties in our yard. Taken feild trips to see the Mona Lisa. Bought Dutch paintings at Flea Markets. Made several trips to local hospitals. Celebrated a Belgian Wedding until all hours of the night. Driven across the border of France just to buy cast iron cookware. Played "football" with kids of every nationality. Been carried up hundreds of steps to the Sacre Cour asleep in a stroller. Flown in an airplane, ridden on a train, cruised in a car, and even toured the city in a little boat. I can not forget that we have sprinkled our time in Europe with an adventure here and there.

But the best stories come from everyday life. I have raised my boys here and fallen in love all over again with my husband. We have learned how to be a family no matter where we are or what we are doing. Most days we are right here at home. Together. And the simple life we live is where we find the most joy. This is what I treasure most as we now say good-bye to life in Belgium and head home. This is what I hope to take home with us. There is no worldly adventure that can replace the relationships we build with our family and the best part of our time away is the bond we've built.

So, even though we didn't make it to Venice, London and Prague...we created the best story of all...a happy family. And now, it's time to go...

Thought You Should Know!

Well, it was only a matter of time, right! I've been scrapbooking for over ten years and I am so happy to say that I will now be published in the April 2010 eddition of Scrapbook Trends Magazine! It's a really cool mini album about all my past sewing projects. I can't share with it with you just yeat, but after it's on the news stand I will post some photos here. In the mean time, how about I share a couple of my favorite recent pages! (oh, and Thanks everyone for your support!)

The Taste of Tangerines

Today I peeled a tangerine and ate it as usual. But a wave of enjoyment rushed over me as I realized that this tangerine season I would not enjoy alone. This tangerine season I would not make lonely quesedilla dinners or tuck the kids in with a lonely goodnight kiss. It's funny how a little thing like knowing that last year when I bought the first crate of tangerines, David had already left for Afghanistan, but this year as I bite into that first juicy tangerine, it's just a little sweeter than before.

I had no idea six months could be so hard. I had no idea it would take so long to feel "normal" again. But I did know that the boys need their father. And everyday we build back the bonds and the strenghth of our family as a whole and it feels good. It's easy to take the little things for granted. We all do. But when I ate that tangerine and looked over at my husband standing there eating a tangerine,too...well, I was just glad to be doing it together this year!

My Final Paper

I got an "A" on this final paper, and I got an "A" in the class. More significantly, I got to know myself a little better. This was written out of thin air in a computer lab at the education center. I did not have time to think. I did not need research. I was given the option between writing two very personal essays, and either one I chose I think I would have come out of the final paper knowing something I did not know before: I am still affected by my parents' divorce twenty years down the road.

I haven’t been camping since my childhood days. I am not a princess, I can handle the dirt. I wouldn’t mind pitching a tent and building a fire, or hiking to the top of the waterfall. I love the smell of the campfire. And it is always nice to get away from the everyday life and get closer to the fresh air and television-free, natural life for a moment or two. But I don’t go, I don’t even make the effort to go. It was only in recent conversation with my sister that I finally came to the conclusion as to why this aversion has come to pass. My happy memories of family vacations to the Great Redwood Forests of California have been polluted with the divorce of my parents in my teenage years.
From my earliest memory I can see myself standing like the tiniest ant next to one of the world’s tallest living things. The great Sequoias of the Sierra Nevada are like nothing else on earth. A vehicle can pass through a carved tunnel, or drive on top of a fallen tree, with room to spare! As small children, my siblings and I would run rings around the base of the tree until we were out of breath, never once catching up to the other side. I couldn’t resist rubbing my palms over the furry, outer layer in amazement that the tree had existed for hundreds and hundreds of years. We were lucky enough to travel to the National park several times a year, always camping, always excited to explore what nature had to offer.
I remember one time the whole brood of us, five kids in all, went for a hike through the forest with our parents leading the way. We came to a meadow where the giant trees had fallen and made homes for all kinds of animals to live. We climbed on top and for dozens of meters we crossed the marshy meadow on the fallen foot bridge to the end where the branches shot out into the sky. We saw deer and rabbits, but my favorite were the littlest tree frogs I had ever seen, no bigger than a teaspoon. We spent the next hour catching and releasing the frogs, hoping to cause no harm.
There were times when I didn’t enjoy myself as much. Some nights were cold and I know I must have been sleeping on rocks. Occasionally our camping neighbors stayed up too late being rowdy and playing loud music. I couldn’t wait for the morning to come, to release me from the long night of waking and drifting. But an early morning campfire to warm us up and hot cocoa never failed to get a bunch of kids running and playing and generally giving back to our neighbors a taste of what we got the night before.
Once we were a little older, I had the permission to wander the campground with my sister on our bikes. A little freedom in a time of perceived safety did wonders to young girls’ confidence. We never came across any real danger, and in the world we live in this was a miracle. It did happen that we got careless in our bike safety, and chose not to use helmets while riding tandem on a one-seater down a big hill. Ouch! No concussions, but scrapes deep enough to keep my father at bay while my mother played nurse to clean out the wounds.
By far my favorite memory of camping was Beatle Rock. Even before the siblings became numerous, and my sister and I were barely old enough to go to far from our parents, we would wander about on the great rocky mountainside that overlooked the valley below. It wasn’t impossible to catch sight of a bear or an eagle from this magical place, and I even knew as a small child that the sunset was unbelievable. I had moments of fear that we could fall off the edge of the great rock that held us up so high, but my parents were both there to lead us and reassure of us against any danger that could pass our way. They were our protectors.
As the marriage dissolved, the illusion of safety and guidance dissolved as well. My parents became separate individuals trying to make an impact in our lives, and often times contradicted one another. Their influence didn’t hold the same power as it once did when they were one parental unit. I left out into the wide world soon after the split and forged my own way in life, not really mourning the loss of my parents’ marriage or my childhood, but not looking back either. Now I have become one half of the parental unit, “the great protectors” to my children and I am finding that I am finally taking a greater look at my childhood days. My happiest memory will always be long summer days camping in the Redwoods with my family, even if the thought also brings out the hidden sadness I feel of the dissolution of our family as a whole unit. The solution I feel, may be, that it’s time to go camping again.

Scrapbooking Isn't Everything...

But it's almost everything! After all the other things that make me who I am - husband, kids, the to-do list, keeping in touch with loved ones, keeping on top of the bills, keeping up with the speed of life, well, then there is only one thing...scrapbooking! I know just about everyone who knows me, knows that this is my hobby, passion, obsession! I love the smell of the paper, I love the ink on my fingers, I love looking at other talented artists online, I love telling a story and putting our life on paper in the best way I know how. Scrapbooking is art and I must be satisfied by doing it everyday! I don't read much anymore (mostly because I'll fall asleep if I slow down for half a second) and I don't watch TV except for the occasional movie rental, and I don't stress about a perfectly clean house, and it's obvious I haven't been as good at updating my blog as usual!

So, why haven't I posted my scrapbook pages you might ask? Well, I had another blog for that, but I am in the process of consolidating. Another thing you should know...I'm teaching classes at my house. Not a consultant, don't have an agenda, not selling, and not really for profit...just want to inspire more people to document their lives in a really fun way. Last year was so much fun and now I'm starting a new season at the end of this month with a summer themed class using the cutest paper from Cosmo Cricket!

You know you can ask me...if you want to know know more about the class, where to get supplies, why I spend all my time and money on this one thing! OR if you want to ask about Europe, the boys, my crazy thoughts that I keep posting in short story format, what it's like to be married to a viking, what I had for dinner last night - you know anything - just e-mail me! mylifewithmonkeys@hotmail.com I'm not hard to reach! So, here we go...I will continue to post my short essays on life, art and travel AND I will post my scrappy stuff here, too. I sure hope you all enjoy!

Laundry Day

It seems simple really. A task everyone must undertake. Laundry. I have become inundated and therefore have no choice but to become an expert. This task begins with a search and rescue. It’s wise to start with the various collection sites in the bedrooms and bathrooms, but attention must turn to the smaller less obvious hiding places: at the foot of the bed, under the couch, in the car, on the dining room table, behind the couch, etc. After the offending articles have been recovered and deposited on the laundry room floor, it’s time for sorting into appropriate piles. I prefer to separate the clothes as follows: white whites for a hot load, reds and oranges together to keep the colors true and avoid the infamous pink socks scenario, darks, lights, and linens. I also choose to wash anything associated with the dog or wiping up messes separate from all other items. Then load by load I make progress through the cleaning cycles; cup of detergent, turn the water on, fill up basin with clothes, top off with fabric softener ball, close lid, and try to remember in thirty minutes to switch the wet clothes over to the dryer. It usually takes at least two cycles of drying to finish off one load and I like to fold the clean, crisp laundry right out of the hot dryer and into the basket. This is where I feel the need to tell you that I often forget my laundry duties and the wet articles will go untouched for hours before I manage to finish one load. But eventually I have baskets brimming and spilling with all the clean, folded and evenly divided clothes, ready to be tucked neatly into drawers or closets. The baskets sit in my path begging to be put away, and after a long week of endless washing, I get to the final task of finding a home for every last shirt and underpant. I very easily could have completed ten loads on any given week, but this is not all. No, this is not all. The final step is what I kindly refer to as the Sisyphus Syndrome, because like the Greek God that was required to push a boulder to the top of a mountain only to find it at the bottom and starting all over again, I must go back to the very beginning of my laundry task only moments after having seemingly finished.

I see colors in Van Gogh hues. The world around me beckons to be captured and pinned down as a shape or a texture or a word that I might later refer to as a memory or a reflection of my soul. I see art in everyday life. I transfer this creative energy to every motion, moment or memento that passes me. I file images in my mind like an intense conversion in a Caravaggio painting or a simple flirting with happiness like Renoir would depict. Is every little lily pond just a Monet in disguise? Or a urinal simply Duchamp reminding me that anything could be art, but probably (most definitely) is not! If I could translate my children’s laughter into a masterpiece I would have nothing left to say, but such a thing is impossible to capture as a tangible object. So, I create because the world I see refuses to be tied to physical boundaries. I am an artist and before I rest my head at night, I have created a hundred works of art in the recess of my mind.