Not All Who Wander... Are Lost

21 Days at the Top of the World: Day 1 - And Away We Go

2011-05-09T17:06:00.000-07:00

(Photo 1: moi, Cathy, Steve, Christina, Rosemary & Nancy) Arriving at SFO at 10:00pm, Hassan and I find Cathy (our fearless leader & organizer) and her husband Stan already checked for our 1:30 AM flight on Cathay Pacific. Within a few minutes, the whole gang is there, minus James, who's already been in Beijing for a week, seeing a girl he's been chatting up on the Internet for the past 6 months (more on that later).

This is a big trip for us. We haven’t been gone this long together since our honeymoon in Bali 14 years ago where we spent a month. When Cathy first sent the proposed itinerary – 21days in China (Tibet), Nepal & India (Sikkim & West Bengal) – I thought the chances were slim given my art festival commitments. However, in reading the details, we concluded that what better way to see a part of the world we hadn’t been to than with a group of people who have been there before -- and we'll work around the show commitments.

(Photo 2: Rosemary, Cathy & Stan)

I'm a bit nervous - I've never traveled with a group before - especially a group of relative strangers - and Hassan hasn't traveled with a group in 20 years. (So can we play well with others? We're used to having a reservation for our first night somewhere, then winging the rest...) I only know Cathy slightly, from her fabulous but now defunct store, Inner Journey - a victim of the recession -- where she carried pieces from my Ancient Splendor Collection. But from the beginning of our acquaintance there has been a connection between her and I and we’ve talked of the possibility of this trip often. Hassan has only met her briefly a couple of times.

Together, we had both just met the rest of the group at Cathy and Stan's house for a couple of hours the last Saturday in January 2011 where we also met Dorje and Usha who own Third Eye Travel and one of their employees, Arun. And now here we are together again, going into the second week in April 2001.

In addition, I'm apprehensive that Hassan and I have packed too much stuff as Cathy had emphasized "pack light" more than once. We're new to the group and certainly don't want to be showing up with “too much stuff,” especially as we’re traveling to Third World countries where conditions for carting stuff around can be rough. (I can’t help but remember a trip with a friend a couple of years ago where we took the Eurostar from London to Paris with 2 big suitcases that felt like they were packed with rocks and we had to somehow hoist them over our heads for train storage. Lucky we didn’t get hernias.) But, as the gang sees our bags they all exclaim, "that's it!!?? Turns out we probably have less than half of what everyone else has (not including what they're bringing for the nuns). Although we don't know this yet, our light bags will serve us well in the near future.

(Photo 2: a still from the movie "Himalaya") I'm as prepared as possible multiple-media wise: my iPad will serve as a repository of the hundreds of photos and videos we'll take. On it, I’ve also got Michael Palin's PBS documentary series Himalaya (which includes "Annapurna to Everest" and "The Roof of the World") as well as the 2007 award winning movie Himalaya (a Nepali movie nominated in the Best Foreign Film category at the 72nd Academy Awards).

On my iPod Nano, I’ve got an audio book I’ve been dying to read (pun intended) Murder in the High Himalaya: Loyalty, Tragedy, and Escape from Tibet, as well as a slew of trip-focused music such as Tibet – Cry of the Snow Lion, Tibetan Meditation Music, The Lama’s Chants: Songs of Awakening, Journey to Nepal, Journey to Nepal (iTunes only) – and, for good measure, a bit of Sainkyo Namtchylak including “Time Out - Seven Songs for Tuva” (iTunes only).

I’ve also spent extensive time on the Web, researching all our destinations. I am multi-dimensionally prepared…or so I think.

My Miracle Year: Copacetic

2009-09-17T16:38:00.000-07:00

(To the left: a blurry me, Sandy & her half-sister Jeanie) My cousin Jeanie (one of my Aunt Rhoda’s 5 daughters) and her husband Kim live in a bucolic suburb of Minneapolis, Brooklyn Park. Jeanie had graciously invited us to stay with her and her husband when we came to the reunion; she said she had plenty of room…and, well, we needed a place to stay and she was family.

A week or so after I first talked with Sandy, Jeanie and I had spoken for at a couple of hours. But for the most part, we were strangers. More so than she had thought when she called…

It was in the mid 80’s that I found out the aunt of whom I had no memories lived 15 miles from me. I saw her several times but the visits weren’t successful. I was too immature, I was looking for a mom – and my aunt was looking for, what, I don’t know. Something I didn’t have or couldn’t give.

(To the right: Buster, Riff Raff & Bodhi at Jeanie's front door) So when Jeanie said she had met me at her mom’s once in San Jose when she was visiting, I said, “Really? Wow! How could I not have any memory of that? Are you sure?”

Jeanie countered with, “Do you have black hair?” I said, “No, not ever. Blonde, now turning….”

She said, “Have you ever lived in Iceland?” Now, that one threw me. I’ve dreamt of being in Reykjavík; I’ve got a burning desire to go to Iceland – maybe some Norse past life – but I haven’t made it yet.

And so now, Jeanie doesn’t have any idea who it was she met at her mom’s and who she’s been thinking was me all these years. And may never know… Uff da!

(To the left: Kim, Jeanie's husband) It came as a wonderful surprise to find out how well we all got along. Think about it: three total strangers -- with 3 dogs, no less -- move into your house for three days (and they also have a dog, Riely). But, her husband, Kim a laid-back California guy (and a dead ringer for Chevy Chase), is a talented guitar player (oops! think Pink Floyd...my brother tells me “Smoke on the Water” is an insult...), as are my husband and my brother; they’ve all worked construction, they're all GUYS. Jeanie and I are totally in sync when it comes to lifestyle, politics, interests, the way in which we see the world. We’re even both vegetarians. And we all love the tropics.

So the next installment of this story is sharing house in Belize or maybe the Bay of Islands in Honduras, somewhere with warm water and cold Margaritas. Stay tuned.

My Miracle Year: Sonja Holy Eagle

2009-09-16T11:20:00.000-07:00

(To the left: Sonja Holy Eagle and examples of her work) Leaving Sioux Falls after staying at cousin Sandy’s one last night (after having supper with Melba in Worthington, MN) kind of marked the end of the reunion – but not the end of the trip. Steve, I, and the dogs still had another 1,500 miles to go.

Our next stop (besides doggie breaks) was Rapid City, SD, a 340-mile drive, straight east. I especially wanted to check out Prairie’s Edge -- a showcase for Lakota/Oglala Sioux art -- as well as to speak with Sonja Holy Eagle at the Dakota Drum Co. about painting my drum.

Several years before I'd had the privilege of meeting another remarkable woman, Yolanda Martinez, a striking mixed-blood Chiricahua and Mescalero Apache with some Mexican thrown in. Among Yolanda’s many roles (one of which is singing -- she is a 2004 NAMMY winner for Best Female Artist), is teaching drum making for use in healing ceremonies, meditation, prayer, dancing and singing. Taking one of her classes, I created an 18-in. elk-hide Apache-style drum -- and made a dear friend in the process.

(To the right: Yolanda Martinez leading a drumming session) Since its creation, I’d wanted to have my drum painted. The advertisement I’d seen in a South Dakota art magazine featuring Sonja Holy Eagle made me think she was the one to do it.

I walked into Dakota Drum and introduced myself. Explaining how I came to have my drum, I mentioned Yolanda’s name. Sonja’s eyes lit up. She said, “Oh, Yolanda! I haven’t seen her in a long time! We used to meet at pow wows all the time. Is she still in Las Cruces [NM]?” The answer being "yes," I caught her up on as much as I knew of Yolanda’s recent history.

Later that night, I emailed Yolanda. “Sonja Holy Eagle sends her greetings.”

My Miracle Year: The Biggest Rush

2009-09-15T09:40:00.000-07:00

(To the right: part of a herd of buffalo in Custer State Park, wading through a "picnic area, day use only" spot) Although our ‘mission’ on the trip was the reunion, we also enjoyed being tourists. I’ve already mentioned visiting Ft. Bridger, Ft. Laramie and several ‘Oregon Trail’ sites.

But our favorite spots all turned out to be in South Dakota – the Black Hills (including Custer State Park), surrealistic Mount Rushmore, lively Deadwood and the [truly bad] Badlands. But among these spots, ‘best in show’ was Rushmore, a visual phenomenon that must be seen in person to really be appreciated.

(To the left: the Badlands under an ominous South Dakota sky) As we approached the Black Hills and the hill town of Custer – gateway to Rushmore -- the summer skies looked ominous. A fierce wind howled through the main street of Custer as we looked for a place to stay for the evening, the temperature in the low 50’s -- a situation very unusual, we learned, for South Dakota in August when it’s normally about 90 with humidity in the same range.

(Above: Washington, Jefferson, Theodore Roosevelt & Lincoln) Since it was only around 4pm, we decided there was plenty of light left for us to make the trek to Rushmore. On the 16-mile trip, a black sky loosed torrents of rain and wind gusts rocked our white Ford Explorer (known affectionately as ‘Whitey Ford’); we nearly turned around.

Then suddenly we were among the blessed. As we turned into the parking lot, the sky cleared to reveal a brilliant sun, the wind died and we had the awesome experience of being among those from all over the US and, indeed, the world, who make the pilgrimage to worship at what is both a shrine to democracy and a unparalleled work of art.

My Miracle Year: Eastenders

2009-09-14T12:16:00.000-07:00

(To the left: Uncle Ted, me, Grandpa Husom, Steve & my Eastender Gran) All my life I've identified with “the princess and the pea” -- I have a very low pain threshold, and darn it, I do feel the pea. And, many friends have teased me about having been a Queen in a previous life.

So I find it pretty funny that my Grandma Husom, Doris Grace Butler Husom, born in England, was an Eastender. Her birth certificate says, born in “the District of West Ham, in the Sub-District of South East Ham,” 1904. About this area, Wikipedia says,

“...Eastender territory extended further east due to the 'diaspora' of East Enders who moved to West Ham about 1886 and East Ham about 1894 to service the new docks and industries established there.”

That means I’m a peasant. Or at least ¼ peasant. And I have strong suspicions that many other parts of me may be peasant also. Certainly the Norwegian part. Probably even most of the German part (my Dad’s side) -- but more on that another time.

Anyway, back to Eastenders -- which also refers to a British TV show that ranks as one of the most watched in the United Kingdom. An Anglophile, I’ve always gravitated to the monarchy/upper class, Bronte/Austen type shows on PBS and BBC; I thought Eastenders was a bit vulgar and common.

However, Wikipedia says about the East End matriarchs, central to the programme:

“[They are] strong, brassy, long-suffering women who exhibit diva-like behavior and stoically battle through an array of tragedy and misfortune…. These characters are seen as being loud and interfering but most importantly, responsible for the well-being of the family and usually stressing the importance of family, reflecting on the past.”

So, I guess I’m proud to be part Eastender. And if I could speak for my girl cousins, they probably would be too.

My Miracle Year: The Farm

2009-09-11T10:54:00.000-07:00

(To the left: me & Shirley, my mother's namesake) There are many cousins I would like to spend more time getting to know; one of them is Shirley, named after my mother. A strong self-reliant survivor, she’s another one who lost a parent way too soon.

Shirley’s Dad, Dean, was the third oldest child after my mother (the oldest) and her sister Rhoda. A career Army man, he died of pneumonia when he was only 39 years old; Shirley was 15, a terrible time, I think, for a teenager to lose a parent. (I know because my own stepchildren lost their mother when they were 14 and 16.)

Divorcing her husband when she found out what he was abusing a child, Shirley bought a small Minnesota farm near Long Prairie and Swanville and raised her three children there, mostly on her own.

(To the right: Shirley, her husband Ken & several of her 11 grand kids) One day in the late 80’s, she saw a car with Washington plates come up her driveway. An older white-haired man get out of the car and begin looking around. the yard. Curious and a bit apprehensive, Shirley went out to confront him. When he saw her, he asked if he could look around the place as it was the farm he had been raised on. “The rock I played on is still there in the yard,” he said pointing.

Shirley introduced herself. “Hi, I’m Shirley Husom.” The visitor turned deathly pale and she quickly sat him down. Suddenly she said, “ I know who you are, you're Arnold Harnack. I’m Shirley, Dean’s daughter.” Hearing someone introduce themselves by the name of his long-dead wife was quite the shock for him.

Because it turns out that the farm Shirley had purchased was the same farm on which my father had been raised. Uff da!

My Miracle Year: Bearhead Cemetary

2009-09-09T11:20:00.000-07:00

(To the left: my much loved brother Steve) Bearhead Cemetery is in a small plot of pine trees, surrounded by rich dairy land, between the farm towns of Long Prairie and Swanville, MN.

From the first time that my brother and I talked about going back to Minnesota, a mental picture of visiting our mother’s grave played in my head. I’d been there before butSteve never. I envisioned us alone, sobbing out the years of loss together.

In reality, it was something else altogether, more about us paying our respects and honoring her memory.

(To the right: Sierra, Sandy, Jeanie, Olivia & Vicki) I’m thankful that Jeanie (a daughter from my Aunt Rhoda’s second marriage and a ‘new’ cousin) and her husband Kim, with whom we were staying near Minneapolis, decided to come with us to the cemetery – a half hour away -- after the reunion had concluded. With them came Jeanie’s daughter Vicki and granddaughters Sierra and Olivia.

Even though the graveyard is small, it took a while for us to find the Husom plots. Not only is my mother buried there, but my brother Arthur, my Grandma (Doris) and Grandpa (Clarence) Husom, Uncle Harlan (whose obit helped me find my family) and many others including great grandparents and great great grandparents. There are even relatives on my dad’s side buried on another side of the cemetary, my Aunt Violet (his sister) and her husband Tommy; their old farm was only a half mile away.

(Below: my mother's headstone, Shirley Elizabeth Harnack) The graves hadn’t been tended to in some time so Steve and my husband cleaned away the overgrown grass and weeds as best they could. In the end there were no tears, just acknowledgement. And maybe, just maybe, some amount of closure.

My Miracle Year: A Circular World

2009-09-08T11:42:00.001-07:00

(Above: Riff Raff, me, Bodhi, Hassan & Buster in Deadwood) On the way to the reunion I laughingly said the high point of the trip for me would be the reunion; for my brother Steve, Deadwood (a raucous and illegal -- it was on Indian land -- frontier town if ever there was one); and for my husband, getting on the plane in Minneapolis to fly home.

In the end, for both Steve and me, the reunion in Swanville, MN, (near Long Prairie) capped all. And my husband bemusedly enjoyed the reunion also; as an only child with 3-4 cousins he’s never met (and at this time has no interest in pursuing), this was his first exposure to relatives mingling, talking and laughing together. It helped that a couple of my girl cousin’s husbands, having married into the family in the past few years, didn’t know anyone either – and they and my husband are all about the same age.

(To the right: Melba, Ruth, Rachel & June) Besides Melba (daughter of my Grandpa Husom’s sister Anna), I met three other first cousins of my mom. Ruth, Rachel and June, daughters of my Grandpa Husom’s brother, Arthur. All three, who are very close, worked in academia and state government and never married; they are still healthy and now happily retired.

It was my fifth cousin David Husom, the photographer I met Googling the name “Husom,” who first told me about them (but wasn’t sure exactly how we were related) and said I should get in touch. Although invited, David couldn’t attend the reunion as he was to be vacationing in Canada that week, traveling through Long Prairie to get there. It’s a circular world.

My Miracle Year: German Internment

2009-09-04T15:55:00.000-07:00

(To the left: Anna, Clarence [my grandfather] and Rena) Surrealistic trip fragments keep permeating my dreams. I look at maps, I wonder where the heck I am, worry about finding food and lodging, are the dogs OK, where’s Steve…

In my waking moments, I’m savoring new family bits and pieces I picked up.

I knew my ‘Great Aunt Rena,’ had given my parents my baby book when I was born and I’d heard a couple of wild tales about her from my dad – that she was an Episcopalian minister and spent some years in a German concentration camp.

What I learned at the reunion was that she was in Europe as a Lutheran ‘Augustana Synod’ missionary when the war broke out. We don’t know her circumstances during the first part of the war but for the last years, she was interned in Liebenau, a woman’s camp for “enemy nationals.” About Liebenau, Wikipedia says:

“A camp in Liebenau, close to Meckenbeuren in Württemberg, on Lake Constance was opened in 1940 and operated until 1945. It was situated in a castle and four adjacent buildings. Originally it had been a mental hospital run by nuns. By orders of Hitler, about 700 of the patients were exterminated with injections, to provide room for internees.

The first internees were about 300 British citizens from Poland. More British were brought in 1941 from Belgium, Greece, Netherlands and other countries. The food rations were augmented with Red Cross packages. The guards were old German soldiers veterans of World War I and treated the internees well, as several of them had been prisoners of war in British camps and had been treated well.”

Conditions were, of course, infinitely better than in the concentration camps whose main purpose was to work to death/exterminate inmates; but still, I’m sure it was no picnic. Food was scarce (but infinitely better, thanks to the Red Cross), the waiting and not knowing interminable.

(To the right: Larvik, Norway) Rena Husom, who never married, passed away peacefully in Larvik, Norway, in 1969. The municipality of Larvik (containing the town of Larvik) stretches from the Brunlanes coast in the south to the border with Lardal in the north, original home of the Husoms.

It makes me feel good that my mother was loved by such a person.

My Miracle Year: Marvelous Melba

2009-09-03T08:35:00.000-07:00

(To the left: Melba & her son Paul) It’s a late Monday afternoon, the day after the reunion and Steve and I are in Worthington, MN, on our way to Melba’s for supper, looking for her farm in the midst of a myriad of country roads with 4-way intersections.

Finally at the end of a dirt dead-end road, we find a complex of buildings – homes, barns and sheds amidst acres and acres of land. Stopping the car, Steve gets out and tentatively knocks on the door of a house and Melba comes to the door. We’ve found her.

(To the right: Melba & me) Weeks before the reunion, I’d gone through my mother’s photo albums. Familiar as I was with the contents, there were people I’d never been able to identify in several photos - a man, woman and child. Visiting cousin Sandy in Sioux Falls, she, our cousin Shirley and I went through more pics and found the same trio. This time on the back we found written “Melba.” Who’s Melba?” we asked each other.

Midway through the Sunday reunion, I find a lovely smiling petite white-haired women standing in front of me. She has a nametag that says “Melba.” “Melba!" I yell, "Who are you?”

I learn Melba is my mother’s first cousin, her mother was my Grandpa Husom’s sister, Anna. It never occurred to me that my mother had cousins – that’s how little I knew about her family. Melba’s not only my mother’s first cousin, they graduated from high school together.

(To the right: my mother & Melba, high school graduation) She shares a story: during their senior year, she, my mother and another girl rented a room from someone in Long Prairie, from January through March, so they could more easily get to school during the snowiest months. Sharing one double bed, each week they rotated who would get the coveted middle space. That’s the most personal story I’ve ever heard about my mother. Uff da!

What a wonderful gift I've received in meeting Melba!

My Miracle Year: Reunion Trip Stats

2009-09-02T18:00:00.000-07:00

I'm beginning to recover from adrenalin and sleep deficit, enough at least right now to post some trip stats...

Departure date/time: 9am, August 17, 2009

Arrival home date/time: 4:30pm, August 29, 2009

Miles driven: 4,815

States visited: (6) CA, NV, UT, WY, SD & MN

# of dogs on trip: (3) RiffRaff, Buster & Bodhi

# of times they got a potty/walk break: (?) can't count that high

Cheapest lodging: Winnemucca, NV

Most expensive gas: Winnemucca, NV

# of lbs. lost on trip (Elle): 6

# of days we had 3 meals: 0

Most awesome sight: Mount Rushmore, SD

Highest elevation reached: 8,559 ft (Cody to Yellowstone)

Most interesting person met (outside of reunion): Sonja Holy Eagle, Rapid City, SD

First rude driver/honker: Truckee, CA on the way home

Highest temperature: 107 around Vacaville, CA on way home

Lowest temperature: 44 going into Yellowstone National Park

National parks/historic sites visited: Ft. Laramie, Yellowstone, Grand Teton, Devil's Tower, Jewel Cave, Badlands, Mount Rushmore

Favorite historical site (Elle): Oregon Trail remains in Wyoming

Favorite historical site (Steve): Deadwood, SD

Favorite animal observed: one particular buffalo in Yellowstone who definitely walked to the sound of his own drummer, traffic jams be damned

My Miracle Year: Wide Open Spaces

2009-08-18T19:59:00.000-07:00

(To the left: wide-open Wyoming skies) After the busy-ness of California and its crowded highways, we're traveling the vast open distances of Nevada, Utah and Wyoming.

As we make our way over each stretch of elevation, the view before us is wide open, all the way to the horizon. Climbing, then openness, climbing, then openness; sometimes it feels like we do the same section of highway over and over and over again. What does change are the patterns and density of the clouds. It all makes us think of Gus & Call, in Larry McMurtry's "Lonesome Dove," running their herds over prairie and through rivers, under a thousand miles of the same skies, from Texas to Montana. The Dixie Chicks' album, "Wide Open Spaces" is playing.

(To the right: the pack [not seen: the photo-grapher, Steve]) The dogs are patient, ready to be out when we gas up, happily sniffing, everything new. They only need two things: food and for the pack -- the six of us, three dogs and three humans -- to be together. We try to model their behavior: really, what else is important?

Cheyenne skies are black as we coast in, looking for an overnight den. It looks like a good summer thunderstorm could be unleashed any minute. Which we think would be pretty cool.

My Miracle Year: The Family Grows

2009-08-16T11:08:00.001-07:00

(To the left: son-in-law,Tom; daughter, Selima; husband, Hassan; son, Jason; me and Jason's then girlfriend, Danae, at Lake Tahoe, Hyatt Regency's floating bar) A couple of days after I’m back from visiting Sandy, my step-daughter Selima calls me and asks me how my trip went. I’m momentarily puzzled: how would she know about the visit? We hadn’t talked about it. Surprise -- I learn she’s been following me on Twitter as well as reading the blog.

As we talk, a kernel of an idea pops into my head. Selima reminds me so much of Sandy. They both have the same wonderful qualities. They should meet.

(To the right: from left, Buster, Riff Raff & Bodhi) Selima, comes from a very small family. Her mom (now deceased) and dad were both only children, as is her husband. She has one brother, Jason, my stepson. The most 'people person' I know, she could use more family! I think I may have the perfectone for her: the one I’m going to be getting to know at the upcoming family reunion.

I think that maybe Spring Break, 2010, would be a great time for a shared visit…

And now we’re off on our 4,000 mile adventure: My husband, Hassan; my brother, Steve; me and our three dogs – Riff Raff, Buster and Bodhi.

To be continued...

My Miracle Year: A Window in Your Heart

2009-08-16T08:56:00.000-07:00

(To the left: my dad & mom in a snowy Minnesota) Uff da, again! When it rains, it pours! The day after I got back from Sioux Falls, I got a packet in the mail from my seldom heard from cousin Becky,* who lives in Michigan (and who will be more in touch after reading this :-).

Becky’s mom and dad were seriously into photography (they had their own dark room, very mysterious to me as a child). She had sent me photos of my mom and dad and a couple of my brother and me soon after my mother’s death that I had never seen before.

(To the right: Grandma Schlinsog holding Steve, Becky & me) It was to Becky’s home (her mother was my dad’s youngest sister) in Washington State, that we fled after my mother’s death. My dad’s mother, Grandma Schlinsog, came with to take care of me and the new baby, Steve. Not very happy times. My aunts told me that for months after my mother’s death I kept asking, “Where’s my mommy?” I wonder if anyone ever told me? I think not.

For those who lose parents at a young age, there’s a black hole that never completely heals, is never made entirely whole. Paul Simon, in his song “Graceland” summed it up perfectly:

"And she said losing love

Is like a window in your heart,
Everybody sees you're blown apart,
Everybody sees the wind blow."

Quite a few years ago, I bought a book called "Motherless Daughters: A Legacy of Loss" by Hope Edelman. It sat on a shelf for a long time. I picked it up from time to time, opening it randomly, then I'd put it back on the shelf. Finally, last year I donated it to a library, still unread. Perhaps someone else will get more use of it than did I. Still can't go there...

*Out of my maternal grandmother’s six children, five had girls within eight months of each other; Bonnie (June), me (October), DeVona (November), Becky (January) and Kathy (February). A great example of the American diaspora, we now live in, respectively, Hawaii, California, Minnesota, Michigan and Washington State.

To be continued...

My Miracle Year: Roots

2009-08-15T15:51:00.000-07:00

(To the left: Borgund stave church, near Laerdal, largely unchanged until the present day. As long ago as 1721 it was described as ”an old and extraordinarily special stave building.”) So here I am, full of fresh information, getting in touch with my Norwegian-ness. I’ve always joked with people that the Norwegian half is the ‘nice’ half, the other half being German. But, truth be told, I’m actually half German, quarter Norwegian and quarter English (whereas Sandy is three-quarters Norwegian and one quarter English).

I’m a relatively new American. My maternal grandmother, a Butler, was born in Bristol, England; and my paternal grandmother, a Dreckman, in Hanover (Mecklenburg-Strelitz), Germany; each entered the US through Ellis Island, New York.

Both my grandfathers’ fathers came from the Old World. I'd learned from David Husum that the Husoms came from the tiny village of Husum, Norway. My paternal great-grandfather, whose family name waaay back was 'von Harnack,' came from the Mecklenburg area of Germany, Prussian to the core. (All family records were destroyed in the massive Allied firebombing of Dresden during WWll.)

(To the right: the Borgund Vindhella road, near Laerdal, part of the old Konge-vegen (the King`s Road) at the crossroad between East and West, completed around 1748.) Some of this is new knowledge for me. For instance, I learned that my mother’s great-grandfather was still alive when she died in childbirth in 1952. Thomas Einer Husum, born in Borgland, Laerdal, Norway in 1863, died in Long Prairie, Minnesota in 1953, the year after my mother passed away (1952); he is buried in the same plot as she. I find this astounding. I’ve never heard of him before. Uff da!

To be continued...

My Miracle Year: Uff Da

2009-08-14T09:16:00.000-07:00

After an all too brief visit to Sioux Falls, I’m back in San Jose, head in a whirl of emotion, elation and story. “Uff da!” (A new Norwegian term I learned from Sandy, it translates as: "I’m overwhelmed," especially for those with Scandinavian roots in the Dakotas and Minnesota.) (To the right: little Minnesota Scandinavians -- me & Steve)

I’m most anxious for my brother to be enveloped in the unconditional love and acceptance I’ve found within our ‘new’ family -- something we never experienced from our father’s side of the family. Shunted from aunt to aunt, then foster home to foster home, we learned early what a 'burden' we were, tolerated for whatever income attached itself to our care.

Rooted in a religion both judgmental and intolerant, my father's family practiced a stoic and dogmatic Northern Scandinavian brand of Calvinism where love and acceptance were luxuries, to be doled out sparingly if at all. In hindsight, I give them the benefit of the doubt; they were not bad people. But they were not very kind to motherless children either. And it didn’t help that my father frequently antagonized them as he had our mother's family.

To be continued...

My Miracle Year: The Girls Together

2009-08-13T21:09:00.000-07:00

(To the right: Shirley, me, Sandy - trying to figure out how the camera works!) Ever since my plane landed the day before, Sandy has been trying to contact another cousin of ours, Shirley (daughter of my Uncle Dean and named after my mother) who lives about an hour and a half away but who has been in Minnesota with our cousin Connie over the weekend, going through more old family photos for the upcoming reunion. Both products of our fractured family, Sandy and Shirley have only met recently themselves.

Finally Sandy connects with Shirley (who I only met briefly at my Grandfather’s funeral some 30 years ago when I also spent, maybe, 15 minutes at her house) -- and she says she can stop by Sandy’s on her way home. When she walks into the house it’s like we’ve known each other forever.

How does this happen, I ask myself in amazement. How can it feel so completely comfortable, familiar, ordinary and unexceptional to be with people I really do not know? Except I do. We do.

In minutes, we are into the pictures; in addition to the ones that Sandy and I have been pouring over -- some I brought, some she has – Shirley has more. We swing between laughter and tears. We all find ourselves correcting long-held erroneous information.

Like I had always thought my Uncles Harlen and Neil were twins; I learn they are not (!!). (Did my dad refer to them as ‘twins’ because they were ‘joined at the hip’? They did marry sisters. And they did keep somewhat apart from the rest of the family.) Other pictures thought to be Sandy are me, and vice versa. Some pictures have long been unidentifiable -- but now at least one of us can identify who’s who.

Some of Sandy’s friends come by as we’re seated around the table. More laughter. More tears. She and they have been there for each other. In some ways cursed, in some ways Sandy is very blessed.

To be continued...

My Miracle Year: How to Be a Mom

2009-08-13T17:36:00.000-07:00

A sunny Sunday morning in Sioux Falls (a good song title?), my Saint Sandy gets a rare treat. Because I am in town, she and I get to visit her beautiful young daughter Kathleen, with whom she is estranged, and her beloved 3-year old grandson, Julian (Daddy is at work).

Kathleen is a lovely girl – and obviously a loving caring young mother. Julian, once he gets over his shyness, acts like the 3-year old he is. When his mother leaves the room for a moment, he lifts his leg, spreads his little butt cheeks…and farts, then gives a big laugh.

The visit is bittersweet, but afterwards it feels like at least one brick has been removed from the defensive wall. It’s a long story, a rupture in the family fabric that goes back years. In fact it’s true origin goes back to when Kathleen was five years old and her father left the family on Christmas Day, saying as he slammed the door, “I’m not the problem, all of you are.”

Anger, angst and abandonment; that’s the legacy of Sandy’s ex.

Although she doesn’t recognize it until I point it out, Sandy’s biggest legacy has been on display today. “Who do you think taught Kathleen how to be such a good mom?” I ask Sandy as we leave. "That may be the biggest gift a mother can bestow." Sandy finally smiles.

To be continued...

My Miracle Year: Saint Sandy

2009-08-13T17:02:00.000-07:00

(To the right: from left, my dad, me, Grandma Husom [the only pic I've seen with her holding me], Great Grandma Butler, Sandy, Great Grandpa Butler, sometime after my mother died) Saint Sandy. That’s what I’m calling her. The most purely good person I’ve ever met. Sandy has turned a lifetime of one bad experience after another into a heartwarming chicken soup for the soul, one that’s nourishing, satisfying and wholesome in the best Mid-West tradition. Big surprise that she’s a fabulous cook and baker. Sandy’s mission is to nourish.

So, no blogging, just talking for 3 ½ days…talking until we are hoarse and dry as we share with one other, trying to cram in the most important experiences of our past 55 years. As I listen to Sandy’s stories, I don’t think she’s ever done or said the wrong thing. The lone adult in a 'Disneyland for Adults' country of immediate gratification and win/lose, Sandy always has her eye on the long-term goal, not the quick reaction or retort. She’s an adult in the most fulsome sense of the word.

Abandoned by a mother who for whatever reason, chose a new husband over an inconvenient child, then kidnapped at the age of six by a father she had never seen before, Sandy survives. She survives brutal beatings and attempted sexual assaults by a father who’s a respected deacon in the local Lutheran church, family upfront and center every Sunday; loves a new grandmother who she finds out years later encouraged her father to beat her mother when she was pregnant with Sandy – because no one was good enough for her son.

But the heart of Sandy’s stories is her experience of being a mom -- and too soon a single mom -- raising three good children on very little besides unconditional love, undivided attention, a vivid and playful imagination and the Norwegian pioneer spirit. Some stories are heartwarming, others bone chilling; she now has grandchildren she’s allowed to see only rarely. But through it all, she builds a life in which others are the center, never herself.

To be continued…

My Miracle Year: Savoring Every Moment

2009-08-07T15:07:00.000-07:00

So here I am, in San Jose (up at 3:45am this morning!), about to board my 6am flight to Sioux Falls, SD. In approximately 5 hours, Sandy and I will meet once again.

When I asked one of my BFF’s “ how are Sandy and I going to recognize each other?” she just laughed and said, “Oh, everyone will know you’re the California girl.”

I already know what kind of reception I’ll be getting.

In my early 20’s, I spent 2 days in Minnesota, attending my grandfather’s funeral. I don’t remember a lot, mostly the unprotected wind-swept cold of a Minnesota November day as he was laid to rest in Bearhead Cemetary (where my mother is also buried) and the blur of many unfamiliar faces – Husom family and friends -- as I tried to come to grips with the fact that my grandfather, whom I hadn’t seen since I was 11, had been killed in a tractor accident two days before my scheduled visit.

Nonetheless, what I do remember is that I was treated as though I had just descended from heaven for a visit. I was overwhelmed…and at the time not appreciative enough. My father had raised very unsentimental children.

This time I will savor every single moment.

To be continued…

My Miracle Year: A Connection

2009-08-07T11:19:00.000-07:00

Unlike the hesitancy I’ve experienced, Sandy’s email in early June is exuberant and loving. She says, “It is such an exciting joy to find my family!!!!” She ends with “I would love to talk to you. Love your long lost cousin, Sandy.” I reply the next day, “Wanted you to know I got your email and am thrilled…. We will talk soon.”

(To the left: from the left, my father, Sandy's father, her mother and my mother) Still I stall – partly because I always stall when it comes to picking up the phone for any reason. It’s like I have a ‘beware of phone’ gene wired into my DNA. And my husband and I are getting ready for a well-deserved weekend in Santa Barbara. And then I am preparing to drive to Portland to spend some quality time with my BFF and her daughter, my goddaughter. And then my husband is flying up to Portland and we’re driving to Seattle to see my stepson and his new girlfriend. Busy, busy, busy, eh?

Finally, mid-July, I get off my butt. Another miracle, due to the Internet, is that Sandy foumd out in 2007 that she has 6 half-brothers and –sisters from her mother’s second marriage. This is the week that Sandy and her newly found half-sister, Jeanie, are flying to Montana to visit some of Jeanie’s brother’s and sisters (Sandy’s half-siblings), none of which she has met.

(To the right: baby Sandy and her mother) I begin digging into the family pictures – the ones taken when we were kids, most of which I got when my father passed away in 2000. It’s been probably that long since I looked at any of them. I am amazed. I didn’t even know it but I have a bunch of pictures of Sandy as a baby with her mother. I have many many more of her mom and my mom together. I doubt whether she has or has seen any of them.

So while she is in Montana, I scan and email some pics, like of her parents wedding. I get an email back the day she is back from Montana. Do I know who the wedding attendants are? Yes, I reply. They are my mother and my father. I realize that she has never seen a picture of my mother.

The following day Sandy calls. We talk for 3 hours. A couple of days later, Jeanie calls and we’re on the phone for at least 2 hours. Then Sandy and I talk for another 3 hours. Never a fan of delayed gratification, I decide I can’t possibly wait. I’m flying to Sioux Falls the weekend before the reunion. She and I can’t catch up on 55 years while my husband, brother and 3 dogs are present as they will be on the roadtrip to Minnesota. I purchase my plane ticket.

To be continued...

My Miracle Year: A Long Time Ago

2009-08-06T10:00:00.000-07:00

"People come and then they go, and

That's just the way it goes.

Listen to what we know - like water

We shall flow back to the ocean in

The body of the Lord.

Welcome home. Time to reap what

You sow. Time is overwhelming.

I just hope there's time for everything."

Kan'Nal: Dreamwalker, Time

(To the left: back row from the left, me & Sandy, front row, baby? & my brother Steve) The last time I’d seen Sandy was at my brother Steve’s 3^rd or 4^th birthday when we were living with my paternal grandparents in Minnesota. At the time, Sandy lived with Grandma & Grandpa Husom and they brought her to the birthday celebration. That’s the night Grandma Husom sprained her ankle badly sliding on an icy step. We didn’t know it then but she had very little time left. That might have been the last time I saw her.

A couple of years later, Steve and I moved back to the West Coast after our father’s third marriage. He preferred that we have no ties to my mother’s family. We didn’t know why. And then Sandy’s father kidnapped her; she was never to see her mother again or have any contact with her family. Our grandparents mortgaged their farm trying to get her back. They were unsuccessful.

And now I was looking at Sandy’s email. Through all the moves Steve and I made growing up on the West Coast (I attended 14 schools in 11 years), the one constant was my mother’s picture albums of her family and the few additional pictures of family that had been taken after she died but before we left Minnesota.

One of those pictures was Steve’s birthday. I’d always point and say, “That’s my cousin Sandy. Her mother was my mother’s sister. She is the oldest of the cousins and I’m the second.” And that was pretty much that.

To be continued…

My Miracle Year: Sandy & Me

2009-08-05T15:34:00.000-07:00

"We're on the verge of something,
Something greater than we know.
Something that will rise above the ashes
Of the old, old where all things change.
Where no one, none of you are ever
Going to be the same."
Kan'Nal: Dreamwalker, All Things Change

(To the left: my Aunt Rhoda on the left, my mother on the right) Two sisters, best friends and confidants, each had a girl, the first of the Husom cousins, Sandy, daughter of my mother’s sister Rhoda, was born first, then me 10 months later. Technically, I guess, we’re really #2 and #3 as my mother gave birth to a baby boy in 1947, two years before I was born. My brother Arthur William, a “blue baby,” only lived 3 days; the technology that allowed blue babies to survive wouldn’t be invented until 1952. My mother’s heart must have been broken.

(To the right: me, Great Grandpa Butler & Sandy) I think it must have been several years before any of the brothers -- several still in high school and one in grade school -- had children. So it was just Sandy and me. Me ‘n Sandy. Doted on by our Husom grandparents, we were also the darlings of our great Grandma and Grandpa Butler who hailed from Bristol, England, birth place of Grandma Husom.

Things kind of went south for both Sandy and me around the same time.

My Aunt Rhoda left Sandy’s abusive father and Sandy ended up living with our Husom grandparents for a while. And my mother died, my father left with a 2 ½ year old and a new baby. Shortly after, my father moved us to Washington where he had sisters, then to Oregon where he also had a sister.

(To the left: back row, from left - my father, Grandpa Husom. front row, from left, my brother Steve, me & Sandy) Dad remarried, a hurried affair to “provide a mother to his children.” Of course, it wouldn’t last. My brother Steve and I ended up back in Minnesota, living with my paternal grandparents.

To be continued…

My Miracle Year: A Reunion?

2009-08-04T17:11:00.000-07:00

"Welcome to the doorway. What is on the other
side? It's not for you or me to say, because the
blind keep leading the blind until the end.

Now here's where all things change. Where no
one, no one's ever going to stay the same again."

Kan'Nal, Dreamwalker: All Things Change

For several years I’d been telling my brother Steve that we should take a trip to Minnesota. I had been back several times as an adult: when my grandfather died in a plowing accident in the 70’s, a couple of business trips in the 80’s, the wedding of a cousin on my dad’s side in the 90’s. So I’ve had several opportunities to visit my mother’s grave, something my brother Steve – born shortly before our mother died -- had never experienced. I had always thought it might give him some small amount of closure.

Although we talked about it early in the summer for several years in a row, somehow I knew it would be this year. My art shows – where I’d either been accepted or waitlisted -- were spaced in such a manner that it was feasible. We had the will, the time and the means.

(To the left: my mom's family - sister Rhoda and 6 brothers including twins Neil & Harlen the same height. Is my mother the one taking the picture?) So when my cousin Steve emails me and leaves his phone number, I still think a while about calling. I have absolutely no idea what I’m playing with here, no point of reference. Cousin Steve’s a complete stranger, my mother dead several years before he was born. I’ve lived a long time without any communication from ‘the other side’ and it wasn’t necessarily bad. I think, maybe, don’t fix it if it ain’t broke, eh?

A couple of weeks later, after a nice glass of California Pinot Noir, I decide to call. No answer. I leave a message. A few evenings later, Steve calls me back. It’s not a chatty ‘girl conversation’ (how quickly we gals can get into those) but not awkward either. Steve tells me about his dad’s last days and that one of the original siblings is still alive -- Neil, his dad’s twin. I share with him that my brother and I have been talking about heading to Minnesota, maybe in July. Winding down, he says he’ll put me in contact with some of the other cousins.

(To the right: My Uncle Don (Connie's dad), my brother Steve and me) A day or two later, I get a short but welcoming email from my cousin Connie. Her dad, my mother's brother Don, had been my favorite uncle when I was little. Tall and handsome, always ready to pick us up and throw us in the air, he made me gasp and giggle.

And then, OMG. I discover Connie's masterminding the first ever Husom family reunion, scheduled for August 23, 2009. Will I be there? I say I think I’d walk if I had to.

The following day or two I get an email from my cousin Sandy. Another OMG.

To be continued...

My Miracle Year: Google Me This...

2009-08-03T14:24:00.000-07:00

"I'm on the verge of something, something bigger than I know
Something born of nothing, infinite and whole.
At the place where, where all things change.
Where no one, no one's ever going to stay the same."
Kan'Nal, Dreamwalker: All Things Change

(To the left: my dad holding me and my mother) Sometime this spring, Googling my way around the web – a favorite way to spend waaay too much time -- a totally random thought came to me. I decided to Google my mother’s maiden name, Husom, which is Norwegian and also the actual Norwegian village her father’s family came from (but spelled Husum).

I remember thinking I probably wouldn’t find anything -- but what the hay… Other than a treasure trove of pictures, I don’t really know much about my mother, who died in childbirth when I was 2 ½, or her family. My father, who didn’t get along with many people, didn’t like her family either so I had little contact with them growing up. And then there was the fact that they were mostly in Minnesota, around Long Prairie – a small town right smack in the middle of the state -- and after the age of eight I was raised on the West Coast where most of my father’s family lived.

(To the right: David Husom's picture of Husum, Norway) Googling the name 5 or 6 years ago, I came up with zip, nada. But this time was different. I found a bunch of links. The first one I followed turned out to be the renowned photographer, David Husom. We discovered we are 5^th cousins: our great grandfather’s were brothers who came to the US from Norway around 1875.

I continued searching; many links were dead ends. But eventually I found a one with the name Harlen Husom; it was an obituary site that allowed one to leave a message of condolence. I knew that among my mothers 7 siblings, two were twins, Neil and Harlen. So I composed a note of condolence as well as a tentative message identifying myself and my mother. I left the rest to the Universe.

A month later, I received an email from Harlen’s son Steve who identified himself as my first cousin.

To be continued…

The Giant Bamboo Explosion

2009-07-30T11:27:00.000-07:00

One day far into the future, archeologists and botanists will pinpoint the epicenter of the giant bamboo explosion that threatened to overrun Northern California as originating from the side of my house.

At my house, we love bamboo. We have about 5 different kinds, all of which are clumping, save one. If you didn’t know there’s a difference, according to Bamboo Garden,

“Clumping bamboos can be planted without fear of them spreading beyond their assigned territory. Their rhizomes, the underground stems, are quite different than than those of our timber and other non-clumping bamboos. Instead of a horizontal spreading rhizome, they are u-shaped making new culms next to the original plant, spreading only a few inches per year, hence the name clumping bamboo.”

Then there’s the other kind. Running bamboo. The kind that’s in a permanent marathon, 365 days a year.

When we bought our ‘runner’ -- to create a privacy wall on one side of our house -- we were told that its aggressive rhizome systems must be contained within a physical barrier, such as a brick or concrete planter or a specialized plastic rhizome barrier.

We went for the specialized barrier. With our black clay soil (hard as brick when dry) this was not a trivial job but we did it. It didn’t work. Our runner did an end run on us. Now we’re making bets on how long it will be before it snakes under street and sidewalk, appearing in our neighbor’s yard across the street.

Partners in Adventure

2009-07-27T12:58:00.000-07:00

One of the things my husband and I pledged to each other when we married was to be “partners in adventure.” I think at the time we actually thought that this vow was about adventure – we both loved to travel and had each spent a fair portion of our lives having great adventures around the world. So we planned to be partners in, well, more adventure.

How little we knew that this vow would be one of the more practiced ones in our daily lives.

I’m a great fan of the concept and practice of positive ‘reframing’ and how it can empower one’s life. The central principle behind reframing is that there is no good or bad in life -- there is only our perception of it. So, reframing refers to our ability to take a negative situation, and make it positive in another context.

"The art of reframing is to maintain the conflict in all its richness but to help people look at it in a more open-minded and hopeful way." -- Bernard Mayer, in The Dynamics of Conflict Resolution, p.139

Every marriage, no matter how healthy, has its share of tense moments, impatience and frustration – that’s just modern life. But what my husband and I have found is that we can be in the hairiest of predicaments -- like nearly running out of gas in the middle of the Mohave Desert or having a flat tire on a narrow shouldered highway at the beginning of a 900 mile journey, or unplugging a backed up toilet – and then look at each other and say “Partners in adventure!” And suddenly, we are having an adventure, of our own making.

Don't Leave Home Without One...

2009-07-23T11:39:00.000-07:00

The island paradise of Bali – Island of the Gods -- is all it’s cracked up to be and so much more. The country is literally a big piece of art, made up of thousands of little pieces of art. A flower tucked here or there, a tranquil pond of lotuses, elaborated caved and painted double doors into private compounds, a patterned pavement of beautifully composed stones... Even the people move in a way so graceful it makes Westerners look like Clydesdales.

One of the more charming traditions my husband and I discovered as we stepped into our first Balinese car -- this includes airport taxis or the hotel shuttles -- is the custom of placing a fresh ‘offering’ on the dashboard of the vehicle as a prelude to any trip, thereby ensuring the Gods will provide a safe journey.

Bali’s transportation motto could be, “don’t leave home without one.”

The easiest way to get around Bali is to hire a driver – so inexpensive it’s cheaper than hiring a car and more convenient then trying to figure out the dizzying array of narrow unmarked roads. So before any trip, each driver would catch the attention of one of the many women walking the sidewalks and roads with a tray of offerings – small woven bamboo trays with some flowers, greenery, a few grains of rice and a stick or two of incense – and call her over. Chanting softly, she would gracefully sprinkle holy water on the offering after which the driver would carefully place it on the dashboard. Only then could we go.

We got so used to this custom in the month we spent there, that to this day neither of us gets into a vehicle without saying “offering on the dashboard.” Neither of us has been in an accident...

The Unexamined Life

2009-07-21T14:32:00.000-07:00

Never one to do something the ‘normal’ way – and because, like most kids, I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do for a living -- I attended a number of colleges as I moved from one work opportunity to another. But it wasn’t until I was nearly 40 that I had the most rewarding college experience of my life and finally graduated.

What was different? One, I was older and working in high-tech marketing so nearly everything I studied was applicable. Two, my classmates were in the same situation – they were there to learn, not to just get another requirement out of the way. Third and most importantly, we attended the University of San Francisco, a Jesuit school that required a tremendous amount of introspection in its coursework, it’s motto being “the unexamined life is not worth living.”*

When you set aside time to examine your life, you

choose your destination
set your goals
determine your path
decide how long it will take
determine whether you’re on the right path or the wrong path.

In other words, you begin to know your self and to take control of your life. You decide who you want to be and begin to become the person you want to be.

*Socrates said that at his trial for heresy. He was on trial for encouraging his students to challenge the accepted beliefs of the time and think for themselves.

'Behind the Scenes': The C2 Collection

2009-07-21T14:21:00.000-07:00

(To the left: Impulse - a faceted, semi-transparent whisky quartz drop (59 cts) on 18K chain) In early 2008, focusing on the more casual laid-back California lifestyle, I introduced the C² Collection – “C squared” standing for ‘California casual’ or ‘cool’ or ‘chic’ or ‘contemporary’ – take your pick. Although one of the hallmarks of my jewelry is that it can be ‘dressed up’ or ‘dressed down,” C² is a more slimmed down version of my ‘conversation-starting’ jewelry, emphasizing a single stunning gem pendant or a sprinkling of smaller beads. My favorite look with C²?

“That’s easy. I love wearing a great pair of jeans, a favorite pair of stilettos and a tailored open-throated white shirt. I add a C2 piece, grab a hot handbag and I'm ready to go, California-style.”

'Behind the Scenes': The Silk Road Collection

2009-07-19T11:22:00.000-07:00

(To the left: Moonlit Sky - roughly-faceted deep navy-hued afghani lapis lazuli briolettes with subtle splashes of golden pyrite in 18K gold) An admiration for some of the oldest jewelry related materials known on earth prompted my Silk Road Collection. More elemental than the Diva Collection, it showcases gems like carnelian, lapis, coral and turquoise.

“Still hugely popular today, these gems have been found among artifacts of the world‘s oldest cultures -- from the Indus River Valley to Mesopotamian Sumer to Egypt to the New World. The beauty of these highly regarded gems (usually the exclusive prerogative of royalty), represented great spiritual protection; thus the earliest jewelry was amuletic in nature. But of course, I‘m sure it didn‘t take long, historically-speaking, for ‘protection‘ to become the transparent excuse for wearing something that made the wearer feel beautiful and privileged -- just the way I want my customers to feel.”

'Behind the Scenes': The Diva Collection

2009-07-16T09:50:00.000-07:00

(To the left: Glow - faceted cognac quartz pendant with 18K gold & diamond accents, on twisted strands of faceted salmonite drops)

My exposure to exceptional one-of-a-kind bead strands inspired the Diva Collection. Diva pieces are designed for the assertive, self-confident woman for whom jewelry is a passion, a fundamental expression of self and style. As I like to say,

“The Diva Collection is not for the timid. A Diva piece is a reward we’ve earned for getting to that place in life where we finally know who we are.

It takes a certain age and presence -- attributes often associated with an individual‘s level of self knowledge -- to be able to pull off a natural comfort with these bold pieces,” Elle asserts. “Diva women have grown into their authentic selves. They know every day is a gift, a reason to celebrate. And what better way to express the beauty of who we are within than to wear something outside that is unique, exceptional and gorgeous?”

'Behind the Scenes': The Ancient Splendor Collection

2009-07-15T17:05:00.000-07:00

(To the left: Joie de Vivre - antique 20K-22K jeweled mughul pendant in the shape of a 'dancing' peacock with feathers of carved ruby or spinel, a head of uncut diamonds and the body a large faceted emerald)

I describe my work as the light-hearted result of superb gems, striking color combinations and the warmth of high carat gold. However, my primary design inspiration comes from the gold-enriched splendor of ancient civilizations as well as more recent ones like Mughal India.

It’s this love of history that inspired my Ancient Splendor Collection. Working with antique 20K-22K Indian plaque amulets and jeweled Mughal pieces, I pairs each exceptional 'link to the past' with a variety of high quality gems. The result? An eclectic blend of opposites described by some as ethno contemporary, traditional Indian motifs presented with a unique, modern twist.

“Most obviously, Indian adornment is a form of beautification. But it also functions symbolically as a vital repository of shared meaning, a metaphorical language communicated from the wearer to the viewer that speaks of spiritual protection, prosperity, respect and social definition. Therefore each piece arouses my curiosity about the person for whom it was originally made and the history they lived. By the time I work with the pendants they’ve become so separated from their original context that the stories about what they meant to their wearers or said about them are long lost. So I like to think that each of my finished pieces begins to create a new story of meaning.”

'Behind the Scenes': The Dreamtime Collection

2009-07-14T16:47:00.000-07:00

(To the left: Neptune's Garden - Australian boulder opal on AAA amethysts and 18K gold)

I love color. The first thing visitors to my 85-year old red-tiled “Hollywood” bungalow notice are the bold jewel colors throughout the house and in the yard. And what could be more colorful than Australian boulder opal? A double Libra whose birthstone is opal, the moment I saw my first boulder opals in 2003 I began visualizing the result: the Elle Schroeder Dreamtime Collection, named in honor of opal’s origin as well as the infinite spiritual cycle Australia’s original inhabitants call “the dreaming.”

“Bolder opal is talismanic to me, more deeply ‘earth-connected’ than any other gem I work with, each is a piece of the oldest continent on earth. Opals speak to me of diversity and strength. Like opals we are each on the surface unique, but under a thin façade of difference we are more alike than not, sharing the same basic fears, hopes and concerns. And, just as boulder opal’s natural ironstone backing makes it much more durable than its solid opal counterpart, so do we individually and collectively possess a powerful strength and durability.

Opals are so spectacular in their own right that my job is simply to enhance the natural beauty already present. Choosing the perfect gem colors and shapes to pair with each opal is a challenge that never tires me. Completing the mix is 18K gold whose rich earthy yellow complements boulder opal‘s organic look and feel, giving each piece a casual, yet luxurious air.”

Procrastination

2009-07-13T10:44:00.000-07:00

All my life I’ve been a world-class procrastinator, often flying by the seat of my pants…and getting by even if penalties ensue. I’ve come to believe there must be some strange sense of satisfaction in having a dark cloud hovering over my head, a perpetual sense of anxiety that feels bad -- but familiar.

For instance, there was the time I had a 500 word critical thinking essay due for my Lyrical Poetry class in college. I kept putting it off and putting it off. Finally I was down to Sunday – and it was due on Monday. That’s when some friends stopped by and said they were on their way to Seattle to see the Rolling Stones – and they had a ticket for me. And I couldn’t go because I had that dang paper due the next day. To top it off, I got a C in the class, the only one in my college career.

The word itself comes from the Latin word procrastinatus: pro- (forward) and crastinus (of tomorrow). Wikipedia states:

“Psychologists often cite procrastination as a mechanism for coping with the anxiety associated with starting or completing any task or decision. Psychology researchers also have three criteria they use to categorize procrastination. For a behavior to be classified as procrastination, it must be counterproductive, needless, and delaying.”

At the beginning of this year, my top resolution was to stop procrastinating and just do whatever needs to be done, as it needs to be done. I can’t say I’ve been entirely successful but I’ve made big strides. The biggest surprise for me has been how good it feels to not have that black cloud over my head; it’s so freeing, I feel almost buoyant, untethered. I like it.

Celebrate!

2009-07-11T09:48:00.000-07:00

Every day you're above ground is a reason to celebrate :-)

Simply Smashing

2009-07-10T11:15:00.000-07:00

Simply Smashing, Deb Rohzen’s absolutely fabulous downtown Campbell (CA) boutique, is simply my favorite clothing retailer in the Valley, hands down. So I’m very happy to announce that as of July 3, 2009, Simply Smashing is carrying a variety of Glimmerdream necklaces, bracelets and -- earrings, earrings, earrings – many of which are brand new designs not yet on the Glimmerdream web site.

A refreshing change from the big-retailer look and feel, Deb carries clothing lines one only used to see in Europe. I've never visited when I haven't found something fabulous and unique. Deb has smashing taste and she purchases in such small lots that chances are you'll never see what you're wearing from there on anyone else.

Stop by and take a look, meet Deb, have fun…

Nothing to Fear But Fear Itself…

2009-07-10T09:25:00.000-07:00

I have wanted to work on my metalworking skills, using a torch, for lo these many years. Why haven’t I?

Fear.

The other day I stopped to listen to what was going on in my head and I heard this mantra (literally from Sanskrit man = mind, tra = instrument):

"You’re too old to pick up these skills. The people who are successful with this have been doing it for years – you’ll never catch up. You probably don’t have the patience to be good at it anyway and you’ll never be good enough to sell this work. And you’ll just be wasting time you could be using to be more productive on the work you’re already good at doing. There just isn’t enough time…”

And then I realized that as long as I believe this -- as long as this thinking persists -- it’s a sure bet that I won’t be any good a metalsmithing. Because I’ll never do it.

Time for a new mind instrument.

Quinn’s: It’s the Experience

2009-07-07T08:45:00.000-07:00

One of our favorite watering holes when my husband and I visit Seattle is the one-of-a-kind gastropub, Quinn's, in the Capitol Hill area, which features an extensive selection of European wines, beers and whiskeys coupled with great out-of-the-ordinary European small plate pubfare.

We always sit at the bar and one of the most interesting things we discovered about Quinn's is that the bartenders there don’t just serve food and drink – they serve an experience.

A couple of weeks ago, we were fortunate to get Toshi who’s served us most times we’ve been there. Not only is he knowledgeable about everything on the menu, he has a deep understanding of how drink can enhance food.

For instance, when I ordered the Fromage de Terri, sugar snap peas, frise -- Toshi suggested a delightful Lebanese red wine (who knew Lebanon made wine?). My husband ordered the house ‘corndog’ – foie gras within a traditional corn batter (I call it ‘heart attack on a stick’) – and Toshi served him a superb Koningshoeven Trappist Ale.

For another small plate, Toshi brought out a sparkling rose that ‘usually isn’t available by the glass’ -- but he had an open bottle and said it would be perfect with what we were eating. And for a light desert of perfectly-not-too-sweet strawberry shortcake, he brought out a split sized Belgian cherry beer that we shared – so good we had the pairing again late the following night.

And last but not least, there’s the Belgian Unibroue. Yummy...beer AS food.

A Day on the Lake

2009-07-06T11:11:00.000-07:00

Costa Rica's largest lake (man-made), majestic Lake Arenal, is surrounded by rolling hills of pastured and forested land, the imposing cone of Volcan Arenal dominating its eastern view.

At 5,436 feet, the youngest and most active of all the volcanoes in Costa Rica, it put on quite a show for us the three days my husband and I stayed in the area in early Sept ‘08. We discovered that many tourists, including Costa Ricans, have visited the area more than once and still haven’t seen the top of Arenal -- usually obscured by clouds -- let alone eruptions.

We got the whole shebang: molten red lava bubbling up from the top and spilling down the southwestern side (spectacular at night, watching from the lanai of our aerie perch at the Lost Iguana, glass of Chilean wine in hand), as well as a couple of big reverberating explosions (one blowing out of the side of the volcano). And from the Arenal Observatory Lodge* we could see hot cinder blocks rolling down the mountain side as we had a beer and a hamburger.

The mostly dirt road around the northern side of the lake was a great example of -- as the locals say -- a “Costa Rican massage.” Full of deep potholes and, since it was the rainy season, nearly washed out in places, nonetheless the road afforded us lovely slow drive, time to take in many exotic flowers, critters and birds.

I had also been looking throughout Costa Rica for one of the elaborately carved balsa masks,** a specialty of one of Costa Rica’s indigenous tribes, the Baruca, to take home. At a tiny gift shop on the lake I found “the one,” now adorning our ‘barzebo.’ Then, towards the western end of the lake we enjoyed an unexpectedly fabulous lunch in a tiny restaurant with a nearly obscured view of the lake, melting into the mist.

* home to Smithsonian Institute and Earthwatch research teams

** The Boruca are an indigenous people of Costa Rica. Their masks are important in the annual ceremony of La Danza de los Diablitos, which has been celebrated every new year since colonial times. The dance depicts the fight between the Diablitos (the Boruca people) and the Spanish conquistadors – with an unusual twist…the Boruca win.

ABCDEs of Skin Cancer

2009-07-04T09:48:00.000-07:00

I recently had a mole on my knee biopsyed that turned out to be pre-cancerous. That and the fact that it's summer – coupled with an NPR Fresh Air segment with Dermatologist Darrell Rigel I heard last week -- compelled me to pass on what I learned about the A-B-C-D-Es of skin cancer which include any change or development in a mole or skin growth that should prompt you to see a doctor, including the characteristics listed below.

Generally look for the mole or pigmented lesion that stands out as looking different from your other moles.

A- Asymmetry: You should notice the general look of your moles or growths, for example, if one-half of the mole or growth does not match the other half.
B- Border Irregularity: Notice if the edges of the mole or growth are ragged, notched or blurred.
C- Color: The pigmentation of the growth is not uniform. Shades of tan, brown and black are present. Dashes of red, white and blue add to the mottled appearance.
D- Diameter: If the width is greater than 6 mm (about the size of a pencil eraser), it could be an indicator of an abnormal skin growth. Generally, any new mole growth should be a concern.
E- Elevation:If a mole is elevated, or raised from of the skin, it should be considered suspicious.

Other Danger Signs of Malignant Melanoma

Change in color, especially multiple shades of dark brown or black; red, white and blue,
Change or spreading of color from the edge of the mole into surrounding skin.
Change in size, especially sudden or continuous enlargement.
Change in shape, especially development of irregular margins or border.
Change in elevation, especially sudden elevation of a previously flat mole.
Change in the surface texture of a mole, especially scaliness, erosion, oozing, crusting, ulceration, or bleeding.
Change in the the surrounding skin, especially redness, swelling, or new moles.
Change in sensation, especially itching, tenderness, or pain.

Basically, any mole or growth that is CHANGING needs to be checked by a doctor.

A Life Changing Experience

2009-07-02T11:36:00.000-07:00

Nearly every year, the week between Christmas and New Years sees me starting a knitting project. The kids are home for the holidays, we have a tiny house and it gets pretty chaotic. So I knit. For me, it’s rhythmic, manual mental therapy.

I was working with an assortment of Italian yarns called Dune that come in wild color combinations, often with a metallic thread coursing through– silver, gold or copper. As I created my beret/scarf sets, my thoughts turned to bead embellishments, something that would really add a custom touch. But I didn’t know anything about beads or beading

So I signed up for an introductory 2-hour Sunday beading class at a local bead store; there were 8 of us around the table. The first thing the instructor said is, “We’re going to make a bracelet and a necklace.” Mentally I groused, “I don’t want to make a necklace or a bracelet that I’ll just throw away – I want to know how to bead on yarn.” We were given 5 minutes to choose some findings and stones for the necklace.

Two hours later, everyone had completed their projects and left the store. Two hours after that I was still rearranging components on a bead board…and the shop was ready to close. I dumped everything in a bag and went home.

I played with the parts off and on for the next 10 days. On the tenth day, I completed my necklace design, held it up, and in that split second I knew my life had changed forever.

Neither Fish Nor Fowl

2009-07-01T08:50:00.000-07:00

One of the conundrums I’ve encountered as a jewelry designer is ‘where do I fit in the retail world’?

My dad thought being ‘different’ was a good thing – so that’s the way he raised us. Let me tell you, as a kid that is not a good thing. However it does make for interesting adults sometimes.

I’ve always been a bit of a misfit in the bigger picture, not easily categorized, so I guess it’s no surprise that that paradigm extends to my jewelry and its fits in the retail market.

I’ve been told that I’m ‘too arty,’ not ‘fine jewelry’ enough, and that I’m ‘too fine jewelry’, not ‘arty’ enough and everything in between. But the most common comment from my customers is “ I’ve never seen anything like that before,” which, to me, tells me I’m in a good spot.

Interestingly, Nordstroms told me they loved my work but they “don’t do one-of-a-kinds because it wouldn’t be fair to their big vendors like John Hardy or David Yurman.” Not bad company to be in, eh? Even if you’re being turned down.

So, now what?

Ruby-in-Fuchsite and the Process of 'Incubation'

2009-06-30T07:44:00.000-07:00

I’ve said before, when it comes to jewelry design, I always have the vision -- even though the execution can be problematic.

A couple of weeks ago, I had a new design experience: I had the material – faceted ruby-in-fuchsite* briolettes -- and I was eager to work with it. But alas, no vision. A bit of panic set in. I spent 5-6 frustrating hours playing around with the material and various findings before finally dismantling and putting all the pieces away. Still no vision.

A little more panic. Maybe I was losing ‘it.’

(Opaque ruby is found in two different minerals that can look very much alike one another. One is zoisite, an opaque stone that provides an deep emerald green color while ruby provides the pink and red. The other is fuchsite, a light green variety of muscovite, its color the result of chromium impurities).

Then, several days ago, I woke up, the design dancing in my head; as I started working with the materials, it just flowed. Like normal. Sweet relief. I realized that my experience illustrates a phenomenon known as 'incubation' that I first learned about in psych class in college. It’s the process we experience when we try to think of a person’s name that totally escapes us and hours or days later, voila! there it is. Or we suddenly find a solution to a problem that’s hovering in the back of our minds for days.

So all’s well that ends well.

*A heart chakra stone, fuchsite is said to link the intellect of the mind with the heart, enhancing knowledge and aiding decision making. Considered one of the most powerful gems in the universe, ruby is said to bring contentment and peace.

Jewelry Design: To Trend or Not To Trend

2009-06-28T16:30:00.000-07:00

Whoa! That’s an easy one: I pretty much wouldn’t know a trend if it bit me in the butt. Well, I take that back – I’ve recognized a trend from time to time. But that’s usually because its run its course and anything vaguely having to do with it is on sale or at EBay.

So, never having been “cutting-edge” anything, I choose to create by inspiration and intuition, leaving the trends to those who can do them well.

But regardless of whether you are investing in an Elle Schroeder piece or a Glimmerdream piece, all my designs share the same attributes:

intrinsic beauty: a natural flow and superb color combinations
originality: non-derivative designs found no where else
quality: high-end precious and semi-precious gems and high carat precious metals
value: ageless beauty (not just this year‘s trendy look)
perfection: exquisite attention to detail
generosity: longer lengths and lavish use of materials
versatility: can be dressed up or worn casually
exclusivity: one-of-a-kind designs & limited editions

Spring Into Summer: 2009 Fashion Colors

2009-06-25T16:28:00.000-07:00

Blue & purple lead the top 10 hues for spring '09, rounded out by lush greens which evoke a sense of renewal and a fresh start. Sophisticated neutrals ground the overall palette, providing visual stability in an economic climate that is anything.

"New York's fashion designers encourage hopeful attitudes with lively colors, while sophisticated, grounded hues address the need for stability in times of economic uncertainty,"

explains Leatrice Eiseman, executive director of the Pantone Color Institute.

(To the right: Glimmerdream's 'Royal' drop earrings from the Holiday Collection) Colors tend to evolve from season to season, and the blues which dominated Fall 2008 are now being expressed as spring's Palace Blue, a

navy with some added sparkle which pairs easily with the entire palette; fall's rich purple has morphed into Lavender...lighter, more summery, and even a touch mystical.

(To the left: Glimmerdream's 'Lemonessence' set) The fun, optimistic characteristics of yellow continue to make it an important hue, especially as tangy & luminous Super Lemon which is not only eyecatching, but cheery.

Subtle, summery orange'ish Salmon Rose is not only friendly and approachable, but also flatters most complexions, and blue-toned Fuchsia Red adds classic,

sensual elegance both to clothing and cosmetics - like lipstick and nail polish. (To the right: Glimmerdream's 'You're Hot' set from the Fleur Collection)

Subtle rose tones result in a sexy, dimensional ne

utral in Rose Beige, while cool Slate Gray has bluish-green undertones which creates a nuanced neutral for the other 9 colors. (To the left: Glimmerdream's 'Dominique' danglers from the Chanteuse Collection)

(To the right: Glimmerdream's Jade Buddha bracelet) Green perpetuates freshness and renewal in the form of Vibrant Green, a quintessential spring shade; calm and somewhat serious Dark Citron; and Reflective Lucite Green for a dash of clean, subtle shimmer.

Jewelry Spotter: Glimmerdream Review

2009-06-25T09:04:00.000-07:00

A friend recently steered me to a Marjorie Miller blog (Jewelry Spotter) reviewing Glimmerdream. Marjorie and I have never spoken or exchanged email (although I left her a BIG ‘thank you’ when I discovered the review). Her blog starts with:

“I am always on the lookout for the next great thing in jewelry. It could be yours. (Actually, it should be mine, but you know me….)

I hang out at Land of Odds and you can reach me there anytime. Point my nose in the right direction — jewelry on-line that people will want to talk about. And, darling, you better believe this is my real nose. The jewelry ain’t fake either.

Let me take your hand, and guide your eye to see the treasures I have found below….”

Her review in part:

“Lin White-Schroeder’s [Elle's] website is perfect. She designs her perfect “playfully opulent” jewelry with all the perfect gemstones and perfect pearls etc. Lin’s[Elle's] perfect philosophy plays perfectly with her perfect presentation of the history, mythology and other associations of gemstones. My g*d Lin [Elle] is the perfect jewelry designer. I thought that was my job. Yikes Lin [Elle] borrowed my ambition.”

You can read the entire review at Jewelry Spotter.

Design - More Than a Bump in the Road

2009-06-24T09:13:00.000-07:00

Every jewelry designer has their own way of expressing the creative process with regard to design. I really like what jewelry designer Warren S. Feld has to say about design in his posting DESIGN – MORE THAN A BUMP IN THE ROAD. Warren is a featured blogger (Rogue Elephant and Tips and Tricks) at Land of Odds, an on-line store where I purchase some of my non-gem components. Here’s an excerpt:

“Design doesn’t suddenly drape itself around you because you’ve visited every bead store between here and there. It doesn’t become a part of you because you’ve attended X-number of bead shows and taken Y-number of jewelry making workshops. Design is something more.

Design means having some intention in life (italics mine). It means screaming Here I Am without having to scream. It means interpreting the inner you for the outer them. To Design with Beads makes this process wondrous. It means capturing light and shifting shadows within colors and shapes and sizes and materials, front, left, center, curve and crevice, inside-out and outside-in. Design doesn’t get any better than designing with beads.

But there is a self-awareness factor. As an artist. A creator. Someone who esteems themselves. With courage. And direction. And meaning. With curiosity. Attention. And detail.”

Amen.

My Life as a Screenwriter

2009-06-23T08:56:00.000-07:00

Nearly every morning, my husband tells me I should "go to Hollywood and be a screenwriter." Why? Because I've just relayed my latest dream, many of which are movie-like with a beginning, middle and end, a plot line and interesting characters. So I sometimes Tweet the best ones.

So, for those of you who don't Tweet...

For those of us who do, Twitter is a very interesting medium as one is allowed only 140 characters with which to say something meaningful (or not), so it's sort of haiku-like. Here's my favorite:

"I am newly married, a sister-wife, one of eighteen. We live in North Dakota and have Early American furniture. I can’ stop weeping."

Am I watching too much Big Love?

The ‘Career Path’ Myth

2009-06-16T20:42:00.000-07:00

One of the things I disliked most in my 20 off-and-on years of corporate life was the dreaded Interview Question: where do you see yourself in 2 years? In 5 years?

How to answer a question like that when the world today is not what it was yesterday…or what it will be tomorrow?

“Not answering stupid questions like this” is what I longed to say. Or, “Doing something wildly interesting whose job description probably doesn’t even exist today.” Or, “working for myself.” (Even if at the time I had no vision of what that would be; I knew I would one day.)

But no, one had to play the game. If, for instance, you were looking for a marketing-related job, you had to act like you had thoughtfully mapped out the appropriate zigzags throughout the marketing functions from entry level to some management pinnacle -- even when you had no designs on ever being a manager. (Some might think a good description of hell is being a first line manager, squeezed between the people you are charged with leading and developing -- and your manager who follows the commands of those who are now so far removed from where the rubber hits the road that they have lost any semblance of real world understanding.)

I once had a manager’s manager say in front of a large group of people that I (yes, the “I” refers to me) was a manager’s worst nightmare: someone who had been known to just ‘up and leave’ one day, to pursue my own interests.

So now do I know what I’ll be doing 5 years from now? Hell, I don’t even know what I’m doing today sometimes – until an errant muse hits and I’m off and running…

The Queen of Pictavia

2009-06-12T11:09:00.000-07:00

Irish Wolfounds the size of small tractors bound out of the backroom of a Santa Barbara storefront on State Street near Hwy 101. My eyes are the size of saucers; I’ve never seen one in person before. Standing up at the gate, knowing they are going home, they dwarf all 5’ 7” of me. Named after their purpose – wolf hunting – not their appearance, Irish Wolfhounds are, on average, the tallest dogs on earth. (I must have had a really scary ‘big dog’ experience as a child because any time I see a big dog my first impulse is to throw up my hands.) However Irish Wolfhounds are known to be sweet-tempered, patient, generous, thoughtful and trustworthy with children.

Presiding over them is the world famous Queen of Pictavia, tattoo artist Pat Fish. The minute I first saw her earlier in the day, I realized – having seen photos on her web site www.luckyfish.com -- that she has lost a lot of weight since those pictures were taken. I see a face with fabulous bone structure – the kind models have.

I’ve driven from San Jose – a four-hour Saturday drive from Santa Barbara – with my husband and ‘partner in adventure’ -- just so I can get my tattoo from the Queen; it is her design. I’ve looked and looked for a couple years -- and Eureka! -- this is ‘the one.’ She’s asked me to arrive 2 hours before our appt. so that I can work with her assistant, Colin – whose face, voice and mannerisms are entirely known to me although I’ve never met him before, at least in this life – to make sure I’m getting ‘my’ iteration of the tat, making any design modifications and that it’s sized properly for me.

Early on Colin and I have the conversation about whether the tat – an armband for my upper right arm – will go all the way around, or will it leave the tender underarm unscathed. The answer? Only girlymen do the half-way thing. My husband and I joke about how many people will see it before someone asks if it goes the whole way around.

Finally I’m on my back on the table; the Queen – who’s been doing this for 25 years – has a light hand. With a low threshold of pain, I consider myself somewhat sissy-ish. But I find it only mildly unpleasant to ‘I’m drifting off into my head’ for minutes at a time; the underarm is more tender but only slightly so.

I love my new tat. And I’m already planning the next one a month or two down the road (literally and figuratively) – with the Queen. Of course.

Oh…! And how many people saw it before THE question? The very first person who saw it, on our trip home. He says “Nice tat. Does it go all the way around?” I say, “Yeah.” He says, “Didn’t it really hurt?” I say, “Nah, not that much.”

Dharma and ‘Right Work’

2009-06-11T12:33:00.000-07:00

A Buddhist-inspired adage says "’right work’ is when all of one's life experiences come together." That is so true for me as a jewelry artist. I can’t think of an experience or learning or skill gathered from my many past employment situations – good and bad -- that isn’t applicable in my current ‘job’ -- many times miraculously so. That's because my ‘right work’ really isn’t about the jewelry, it’s about the human connections I make, both influencing and being influenced by others; jewelry is but the means to accomplish this, not the destination.

Scott Wolfram, a Minneapolis astrologer, puts it this way:

“One’s dharma is supported when one adopts a career, or life’s work that is also one’s ‘right work.’ Right work implies doing both what is rewarding and meaningful to your sense of purpose in life as well as providing some needed service to society.”

Without using the same phrase, I believe Wayne Dyer refers to ‘right work’ in his book Excuses Begone when he says,

“Dharma is the calling in your soul that you are to fulfill…. Passion within you is god speaking.”

It was a serendipitous experience in 2002 that revealed to me that designing jewelry was to be my new path; I had but to listen and follow. Don’t die without achieving your dharma.

Listen, then follow.

Not All Who Wander Are Lost

2009-06-10T13:29:00.000-07:00

"Why are the sun, moon and stars constantly on the move? If you know the purpose of their movement, then move in harmony with them. If you do not know, then move in harmony with them still, for by doing so, one day you will know their purpose."

Gurudev Swami Rama of the Himalayas

Did Curiosity Really Kill the Cat?

2009-06-09T08:08:00.000-07:00

A 2002 study by psychologists at the University at Buffalo suggested that curiosity is very good for people. The study -- related to the field of "positive psychology" --concluded that the degree to which people are curious actively influences their personal growth opportunities.

One of my favorite college professors was Louis Swartz, a young South African émigré who taught my freshman English Lit class. He loved poetry. Intimately acquainted with its layered complexities, he also loved sharing his enthusiasm -- which is how I came to know Alastair Reid’s poem, “Curiosity,” at the age of 17. Although I did not know it at the time, this poem would become the underlying theme of my nomadic adult life.

Curiosity

may have killed the cat; more likely

the cat was just unlucky, or else curious

to see what death was like, having no cause

to go on licking paws, or fathering

litter on litter of kittens, predictably.

Nevertheless, to be curious

is dangerous enough. To distrust

what is always said, what seems

to ask odd questions, interfere in dreams,

leave home, smell rats, have hunches

do not endear cats to those doggy circles

where well-smelt baskets, suitable wives, good lunches

are the order of things, and where prevails

much wagging of incurious heads and tails.

Face it. Curiosity

will not cause us to die--

only lack of it will.

Never to want to see

the other side of the hill

or that improbable country

where living is an idyll

(although a probable hell)

would kill us all.

Only the curious have, if they live, a tale

worth telling at all.

Dogs say cats love too much, are irresponsible,

are changeable, marry too many wives,

desert their children, chill all dinner tables

with tales of their nine lives.

Well, they are lucky. Let them be

nine-lived and contradictory,

curious enough to change, prepared to pay

the cat price, which is to die

and die again and again,

each time with no less pain.

A cat minority of one

is all that can be counted on

to tell the truth. And what cats have to tell

on each return from hell

is this: that dying is what the living do,

that dying is what the loving do,

and that dead dogs are those who do not know

that dying is what, to live, each has to do.

Alistair Reid (b. 1926)

Bad Design

2009-06-08T09:21:00.000-07:00

To paraphrase Will Rogers,

“Everyone talks about bad design but nobody does anything about it.”

Last Friday, I talked about the process of good design. Today we’ll go in another direction.

Who designed kitchen stove oven controls to have “Broil” right next to “Off”?

So much for the home-grown sun-dried tomatoes slow-drying in a 150 degree oven for 4 hours. Hubby got up at midnight to turn the oven off (what a sweetheart!) and, well, “Off” looked a lot like “Broil” at 12am.

Creativity and RBF (Rhythm, Balance and Flow)

2009-06-05T07:43:00.000-07:00

Everyone knows good design when they see it, touch it and/or use it. It simply works -- simply and beautifully. It IS.

In my mind, it has “RBF”: rhythm, balance and flow -- the standards I use to judge my work. (image right: fire opal & peridot in 22K vermeil. SOLD)

Take the first characteristic, rhythm. The most basic and natural flow that we experience in our lives is our own internal natural rhythms. So during the design process, for me there’s a musical quality; I find myself counting -- different cadences for different pieces or portions of pieces. I become conscious of a drumming heartbeat – a deep connection to my inner intuitive self -- as the design takes on life. Other designers I admire have told me they experience the same thing.

As for balance, I’m a Libra whose most visible element is the scale. The ideal being to have all things in balance, Libra’s function best in a state of equilibrium. However, I’m not talking about design symmetry (although I struggle to create asymmetrical pieces - it doesn’t come naturally) but in coming from a point of equal balance between any powers or influences, including mental and emotional balance. Ergo, I must be experiencing equanimity within myself to achieve a balanced result.

Artist Robin Hopper in his book Functional Pottery says:

“Balance is the point of equilibrium where stimulus, analysis and concern are matched by skill, imagination and understanding. “

(image left: rutilated quartz pendant on hematite with 18K gold) Intimately associated with rhythm is flow. Most obviously, flow is about the compositional elements – how the eye perceives the parts as a whole; there’s a natural flow, rather than a whirlwind of chaos. But in addition, for me there’s a liquidity factor to the process; I feel like the design is literally pouring out of me through my heart and hands – I am giving birth as a design moves from an invisible internal concept to an external reality.

When these three elements are in sync, I feel like I’m flying; I’m mentally and seemingly physically off the ground, weightless. It doesn’t get better than that.

Stand Out From the Crowd

2009-06-04T09:41:00.000-07:00

Given that glass ceilings have been shattering at a record rate throughout the business world, isn’t it about time for smart women to move on from the simple ‘Dress for Success’ credos of the 80’s and 90’s?

Now that we’ve gotten past all that silliness and women no longer have to mask their gender to appear competent or demonstrate leadership at the highest level, what’s the next frontier, fashion-wise? We’ve learned that femininity is a plus, to make color and fun -- even fashion forward -- pieces work for us, but are we still wearing the same old ‘safe’ jewelry?

Without a doubt, the one area in business attire where women have a striking competitive advantage over men is that they can sport drop-dead gorgeous conversation-starting jewelry, the one-of-a-kind pieces you can find at Glimmerdream and Elle Schroeder.

My friend and client, Karen, owns a consulting company that works with top management in Fortune 500 companies to help them achieve breakthrough performance in their organizations. She recently told me that at an East Coast convention last month she met a CEO whose company she had targeted as one who could use her firm’s services. The first thing he commented on as they introduced themselves to one another was her stunning necklace.

Let Elle Schroeder and Glimmerdream start the conversation. You get to finish it.

Chakra Choices

2009-06-03T12:55:00.000-07:00

Both my websites, Glimmerdream and Elle Schroeder, celebrate color and its amazing ability to affect our emotions.

Intimately linked with color are the seven invisible energy centers of the body called chakras, a Sanskrit word for "wheel" or "disk." Wheels of subtle spinning bio-energetic activity, the chakras radiate from nerve ganglia (clusters) that start at the base of the spine and continue on to the crown of the head. When the nerve centers are open, energy flows.

Problems of the mind, body or spirit, however, can cause these energy centers to become unbalanced or even closed. Ultimately, the imbalance is noted on the physical/cellular level since each chakra is a "door" to a major nerve plexus and glandular center within the endocrine system. Unless the source of the imbalance is dealt with physical illness will soon manifest itself in some way.

Used by healing practitioners for centuries, color therapies can be traced far back to Chinese, Indian, Tibetan, Ayurvedic, and Egyptian roots. Based on the theory that each color in the visible light spectrum has its own wavelength and frequency -- producing a specific energy and therefore a specific effect on us -- the conscious use of color can enhance our minds, bodies, and souls.

Shop for Chakra Choices jewelry.

Lapis on the Aegean

2009-06-02T08:44:00.000-07:00

Passing several vendors selling souvenirs outside the Basilica of St. John in Ephesus, on present-day Turkey’s west coast, my husband and I stopped to look at some deep blue stone & metal jewelry. The metal work was cheap (silverplate over brass?), but the blue stone was beautiful. I’d read about lapis lazuli -- the exotic blue stone that tiled ancient Egypt’s royal floors and which was also used extensively in their jewelry – but I don’t think I’d ever see it in person.

Ephesus – what’s left of it -- is impressive. At its peak during the first two centuries CE, second in importance and size only to Rome, it was estimated to have 400K-500K inhabitants. However, despite repeated dredges during the city's history its importance as a commercial center declined as the harbor slowly filled with sedimentation from the Cayster River. A visit from the Goths in 263 CE didn’t help the struggling city. Today, the ruins are 5 km inland from the Aegean Sea.

Famed for the Temple of Artemis (one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World), Ephesus is also home to the Library of Celsus (built to store 12,000 scrolls), a grand amphitheater capable of holding 25,000 spectators (still in use today, Sting, Yanni and Elton John are just a few who have performed there) and the Basilica of St. John, built in the 6th century CE under emperor Justinian I.

(left: lapis & 22K vermeil necklace from Glimmerdream.com) Under the fierce Mediterranean sun outside the Basilica, the haggling began. I ended up with a pair of lapis earrings and an impressive lapis necklace (which I eventually gave to a friend who admired it), and my husband with a blue glass "Nazar Boncugu" or "Eye Bead" on a leather cord, worn for protection against the ‘evil eye’ in Turkey.

At the time, I didn’t know that 95% of all the world’s lapis comes from Afghanistan (Chile produces some, but of poor quality), where it’s been mined for 6,000 years.

Turkey and Afghanistan have a long history of friendship. It’s been said that "Turkey is Afghanistan's closest neighbor without common borders." While 12% of Afghanistan's population is ethnic Turkic, and nearly 100% Muslim as is Turkey, historic ties also draw the two nations together.

In the 1920's during the time of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, founder of the modern Turkish Republic, and Afghan King Amanullah (r. 1919 to 1929), relations grew tighter and trade flourished. Like Ataturk, Amanullah was reform minded and interested in following the path of secular Turkey. In fact, Afghanistan was the second country after the Soviet Union to recognize Ataturk's government. (Irony…)

Learn more about lapis at Glimmerdream.com

Ametrine, Ametrine, Prettiest Gem…

2009-06-01T09:03:00.000-07:00

Ametrine… Ametrine… prettiest gem that I’ve ever seen…” (to the tune of “Abilene”)

Wandering through one of our local weekend swap meets some years ago – before I had an inkling I would someday be designing jewelry -- my husband and I came across a rockhound’s display area. In the midst of polished rock slices, geodes, gem spheres, rough (sometimes just barely out of the ground but hosed off) and objects d’art, one item in particular caught my eye: a semi-transparent tapered obelisk with inclusions, about 3” long, pale amethyst gradually morphing into a pale sunny yellow.

I knew absolutely nothing about gems. Well, a wee bit -- I knew amethyst was purple and citrine was yellow. But this looked like the result of an amethyst-citrine marriage that produced a bi-colored child. I know the seller told me the name of the stone but I didn’t remember it. I only knew what I wanted to do with it: hang it from the brass pot holding the Christmas cactus above my kitchen sink with its window that looks out to the back yard. But how?

(right: ametrine necklace from Glimmerdream.com) At the time, I had a wonderful jeweler, Henk, who hailed from Hong Kong. No matter what the jewelry issue, Henk always came up with an artistic -- and oft times, technical -- solution. He agreed to drill a hole in the slightly rounded top and install an eye screw so the piece could be hung. He told me it was ametrine, a colored quartz. It was only later that I learned that ametrine -- also known as Bolivianite and found only on the Brazilian-Bolivian border -- is a naturally occurring composite of amethyst and citrine.

“Twice powerful,' ametrine is said to embody the properties of both amethyst and citrine, making it a "bridge" that helps balance the spiritual and the material worlds. While amethyst helps one visualize a desired result, citrine helps one manifest the vision into the physical. Learn more about ametrine at Glimmerdream.com.

It's Your Choice

2009-05-29T08:36:00.000-07:00

Laura was a great CPA. Probably still would be if that is how she had chosen to continue her life.

Dating my stepson, Laura was an up and coming star at a large regional CPA firm and she was nearing the end of the grueling 80-hour work weeks that make or break young CPAs but which expose them to a wide range of businesses. College was paid off. The future was gravy.

However, Laura was a victim -- a victim of a culture that says 18-year olds should know what they are going to do for the rest of their lives when they pick a college major. By the time Laura was a senior, she pretty much knew she didn’t want to be a CPA. But her parents had all that money invested in her (not a small consideration when one’s parents have sacrificed) and, well, she was about to get her degree. The time for choosing something else was over.

Laura put in her time at the firm, working weekends and holidays when necessary…until gradually she came to a startling conclusion: she wanted to touch lives. Literally.

She wanted to become a massage therapist -- specializing in pregnant women -- and a labor doula. So she saved her money, quit her job and did just that, enrolling in Seattle's Ashmead College, then continuing her pregnancy focus with Doula training from Seattle Midwifery School.

Today, Laura’s dream has gotten even bigger. She’s now pursuing a degree as a Nurse Practitioner Midwife, still focused on pregnancy. Touching lives. She’s touched mine.

‘Vision’ vs. Execution

2009-05-28T12:34:00.000-07:00

From my first magical moment of clarity – not only seeing the path to which I was being called, but also knowing with certainty that I would be very good at it – I can honestly say I have never been without ‘the vision.’ Without any conscious thinking, planning or effort to ‘stir the creative juices,’ I am blessed to have more design ideas swirling in my head and crying out to my hands than I will ever have time to execute. When I purchase gems, it’s almost always because I can see the finished product.

For someone whose previous professional life required living in a world of empirical data, rationality and business process, I still find this fact quite astounding. Not to mention that I had never thought of myself as particularly creative – certainly not in any ‘artistic’ way. I just greatly admired artists from afar because they had some magical thing IN them that the ‘rest of us’ did not.

However – and that’s a big ‘however’ – what I want to pass along is: just because the vision is clear doesn’t mean the execution is. Vision is the easy part. That’s why it’s called ‘vision’ – because it’s mental, it doesn’t exist in the physical plane. Execution, on the other hand, is pure reality. It can be quite technical with lots of trial and error. And so one learns the many ways that something doesn’t work. Until it does.

Pavo Cristatus, Monsoon Maker

2009-05-27T09:40:00.000-07:00

Since one of my Elle Schroeder Collections, Ancient Splendor, features 20K-22K antique Indian plaque amulet pendants and Mughul jeweled pieces, I’m always curious to know the significance of what I’m working, both for my benefit and that of my customers. One recurring theme in Indian pieces is perhaps the most beautiful bird on earth, pavo cristatus -- or, as we know it, the male half of the peafowl, the peacock.

Called "the bird with one hundred eyes" due to the eye-like patterns on its tail, the peacock is the national bird of India. The Peacock Dance, sometimes called the Monsoon Dance, plays an important role in the Indian ethos. Believed to be a harbinger of the approaching monsoon and hence, fertility, at the sight of dark clouds the bird spreads out its tail and starts dancing in rhythmic fashion, strutting and displaying its feathers in an impressive fashion as if welcoming the gathering of clouds at the end of the summer (although he’s just trying to attract a mate). And for Indians, at the height of their sweltering hot season, there can be no greater joy than the beginning of the rainy season.

Its scientific name, pavo, derives from the Sanskrit, “pavana,” referring to the Hindu deity Vayu, the wind who is also the breath of life and the father of Hanuman. The peacock is the vahana (vehicle) of Kartikkeya, the god of war; Saraswati, goddess of knowledge, music and the arts also rides a peacock in the entourage of the Goddess Durga. Lakshmi, goddess of wealth, fortune, love and beauty, is also sometimes depicted with armbands in the form of peacocks.

The ‘Mohs Scale'...and Why You Should Care

2009-05-26T17:54:00.000-07:00

Devised by the German mineralogist Frederich Mohs (1773-1839), the oft-referred-to Mohs scale measures the relative hardness of ten minerals, numbered 1-10 -- chosen at the time because they were common and/or readily available.

The scale starts with talc (#1) a very soft and unstable substance. However, the scale is somewhat arbitrary and is not scientifically linear. For instance, while #9, corundum – a category that includes sapphire and ruby -- is twice as hard as #8 (topazes), the diamond (#10) is more than four times as hard as corundum.

Talc (plastic)
Gypsum (salt, fingernails, gold)
Calcite
Fluorite
Apatite (copper coin, window glass)
Orthoclase (includes moonstone & labradorite)
Quartz (tourmaline, crystal quartz and all colored quartzes)
Topaz (also beryl’s – emerald & aquamarine)
Corundum (sapphire & ruby)
Diamond

One can see why calcite -- #3 on the scale and therefore relatively soft -- was a favorite material for Egyptian sculptors. Also known as ‘Egyptian alabaster, calcite was used to create the canopic equipment that eventually contained the internal organs of individuals removed during the process of mummification (and which can be seen firsthand in many museums).

So – all very interesting you say…but why should I care about this? The biggest reason I think is the ‘ole gotcha, “caveat emptor.” Whenever one is purchasing gems it seem a good idea to be an educated buyer.

For instance, it’s become very popular for the public to attend gem fairs where they can purchase faceted stones to be set later. However, one should know, for instance, that although fluorite and apatite are both beautiful stones with a huge color range, they are not recommended for rings -- because they are soft enough to scratch easily or even crack. Therefore they should be used only for necklaces and/or earrings that don’t experience the same kind of wear.

On the other hand, quartzes (#7) are beautiful, come in a wide range of colors, are relatively inexpensive and -- can take a lot of daily wear.

Color is Transformative

2009-05-25T09:17:00.000-07:00

It is magical. It is transcendent.

Ask anyone who's lived in the Pacific Northwest or New Zealand's South Island about the effect of color on mind and spirit. Listless flat gray skies move in like not-so-welcome houseguests who come for three days but stay for a month -- not only sucking color out of the atmosphere but our psyches as well. Days, feet and minds drag.

But, oh...when those gray skies decide to pack up and catch the next 'Greyhound' outta' town -- and the sun deigns to show its face once again -- we are warmly reminded that the reason nature has provided us with color is to feed our bodies and our spirits.

Color... the effect produced when lights strikes an object and then reflects it back to the eye... energies of differing light frequencies that the eye perceives as nerve impulses -- which our brain then translates into colors -- so simple, yet so complex.

Whether we think of in this way or not, each one of us has a personal relationship with color. Color can make us feel happy, glad, joyful, giddy, wistful, melancholy, sexy, pensive, wicked, tranquil, somber or at peace.

For example, warm colors -- those with longer wavelengths such as red and yellow -- stimulate the heart and nervous system, so we feel excited or anxious. Cool colors -- those with shorter wavelengths such as green or blue -- ease the brain, so they're more restful.

"There is conclusive medical evidence that color affects all our vital functions, biorhythms, body clock, hormone levels and ability to deal with stress," says Suzy Chiazzari, color therapist and author of The Complete Book of Color."

Color nourishes our whole system, supplying a vital energy that is an essential and wonderful part of life. Most of our reactions are, however, unconscious and it is only when we start to use the qualities of color in an informed way that we can harness this wonderful vital force to improve the quality of our life and our well-being.

Colored Quartzes - Sun Shy

2009-05-22T06:16:00.000-07:00

I’m all for glamour, but when you’re lounging poolside at your favorite South Beach hotel, sipping Pina Coladas and stargazing, it’s not a good idea to wear your favorite citrine or amethyst chandeliers and bracelet – even if it does make the whole bathing ensemble thing POP.

The second most common mineral in the earth's crust, quartz is also the most varied in terms of varieties, colors and forms; it is also a relatively hard stone (7 on the Mohs scale) that wears well.

That said, most colored ‘gemmy’ quartz on the market today is heat-treated to achieve a particular color. Popular colored quartzes include amethyst, citrine, ametrine (a hybrid of amethyst and citrine), rose quartz, smoky quartz and prasiolite; all of these are heat-treated to achieve color or intensify color. (For instance, although citrine does occur naturally, the majority is the result of heat-treated amethyst.) More recently on the market are subtly colored neutral quartzes in pale yellowish-to-brown shades that go by names like "cognac quartz," “whiskey quartz,” “beer quartz” and “champagne quartz,” all of them heat-treated.

And ‘heat-treated’ means that heat -- from whatever source, including solar – can, over time, cause a quartz's color to either change OR remove the color altogether, leaving a muddy hue.

Learn more about colored quartzes at Glimmerdream's Gem Journeys.

Pearl Knotting and the Art of Being Present

2009-05-21T09:21:00.000-07:00

Good pearls need to be knotted. With a surface hardness of only 2.5 - 4 on the Mohs Scale, having an appropriately sized tight knot between pearls keeps their fragile surface of nacre from wearing. The knot should be just big enough to create the space but small enough to be unobtrusive.

I do not like knotting pearls. Why? Because every knot is a potential problem. If, in the process of trying to tighten a knot against a pearl the cord slips off the knotting tool -- leaving a tight knot with space between it and the pearl -- there is no “undo.”

There is only start over.

And at what point in the process is this most likely to occur? Toward the end, of course -- because the motions have become routine. My mind wanders.

I have ceased to be present.

So each knotting session becomes a lesson in being present, one I have ample opportunity to practice over and over.

The above is an example of a piece in my Ancient Splendor Collection that I redid 6 times. It’s an antique Mughul pendant with table-cut diamonds and red spinel cabochons that make up a seated Ganesha – on very lustrous cultured baroque pearls accented with

18K meenakari* beads. The back of the pendant also displays meenakari work.

*Meenakari is the Indian art of fine enameling. Because a shallow layer of high-carat gold was used in Mughul pieces, and is therefore soft, the back of pieces were enameled to prevent the gold from wearing off on the wearer’s skin.

If I Only Had the Time

2009-05-20T09:21:00.000-07:00

In a perfect world, I’d have the ability to clone myself like Dolly the sheep.

Have you noticed that whenever you begin stimulating your creative juices in one area, you start feeling creative in many other aspects of your life? Seven or eight years ago, shortly before I started my jewelry career and a couple of years out of high-tech, I would have told anyone who’d listen that I didn’t have a creative bone in my body…well, maybe a smidgen, une poco, and I would have thought it centered around writing – not that I could have made a living a it. Now, six years into ‘this’ life, there are so many things I’d like to do that I get dizzy just thinking about them all.

There’s a string of nouns that for me describe the heart of the creative process when I’m working on jewelry: rhythm, balance, color and flow. The same words relate to so many other areas that I’d love to delve into…if I only had the time.

If I only had the time, I’d be a clothing designer; the clothing lines and fabric designs are already in my head. I’d be a turner of wood – in fact, I was already signed up for a lathe class when my fate turned in the direction of jewelry; however, the vision is still there on a back burner, simmering. I’d be a potter; I love ceramics and my few hours at the wheel were pure therapy. I’d be a spinner of wool, doing my own dying and knitting up heavenly visions – my first and only beading class was to learn how to embellish knitted pieces with beads; but the teacher said we HAD to make a bracelet and a necklace and, well, you know the rest.

I Guess It'll Do...

2009-05-19T10:01:00.000-07:00

“Good decisions are based on experience. Experience is based on bad decisions.” One of my favorite aphorisms, as a jewelry artist, this saying has never been more applicable than to the experience of buying gems. There are costly gems, there’s junk…and there’s a lot of stuff in between.

I know. I own products in all three categories.

It took a while after I started designing for me to realize that when I’m at a gem show or vendor’s showroom and I hold up a strand of beads and think, “well, I guess this’ll do,” that I should just flush the money down the toilet and be done with it. Because every couple of weeks, I find myself throwing away a strand or two of something I paid good money for but now wouldn’t think of passing on to my customers.

At a gem show, standing at the booth of one of my favorite vendors, the person next to me asked, “does he have good products?” I said “yes, the best.” She asked, “does he have good prices?” I said “no… because he has the best products.”

So the next time you’re in a situation that you find yourself thinking, “I guess it’ll do,” don’t. Insist on/wait for the best.

A Peculiar Path...

2009-05-18T17:51:00.000-07:00

As a jewelry artist, my inspiration comes not only from my day-to-day life but all the encounters I’ve experienced in a pretty unconventional and peripatetic life. My father traveled – and we with him -- to where there was work. Farmwork in southern Minnesota; orchard work in Washington, haying in Yuma, logging in Oregon, carpentry in Idaho...and so on, often housed in our 40’ x 8’ Spartan trailer house, our home on our backs, so to speak. Attending 14 schools in 11 years, I completed four years of high school in three. College was equally spread out: Texas, Oregon, Hawaii and California – finally graduating close to my 40^th birthday.

Workwise, I’ve picked beans and hoed strawberries, been a teaching assistant, a secretary, an accounting clerk, an entrepreneur in the food business, a cocktail waitress and bartender, worked in Apple Computer's business development and sales, managed a quaint off-the-beaten-path resort in the South Pacific, worked in Hewlett-Packard's channel marketing and distribution...and now I'm a jewelry artist.

As Raul Malo from the band, The Mavericks, has said, "if most people did what I've done in my career, they'd be driving a taxi by now."

The Beginning of the Beginning

2009-05-17T17:54:00.000-07:00

Working at Hewlett Packard included ‘offsites’ – gatherings that occurred somewhere other than the workplace where groups often combined some work with play. At this particular 2-day offsite, our group participated in a questionnaire that evaluated key strengths and profiled each of us into one of 16 different categories such as “developer,” “implementer” and so on.

On day 2, I was the first to show up. The facilitator asked if he could use my ‘profile’ as an example when results were passed out. He said, “This is a profile we hardly ever see in a corporate setting…that of an entrepreneur.” I shared with him that I was completely dissatisfied and bored in my current job – even though it paid well. He said “this shows it,” adding, “you have the potential to be a millionaire, to be successful at whatever you do. You have what it takes to run your own business.”

A couple of months later, I tell my manager “I’m giving HP two more years and then I want to do something on my own.” I just have no idea what it will be.

Two years go by, then two more…and two more. Too many…unless you subscribe to the idea that all things happen when they’re supposed to.

Still at HP, neither my girlfriends L. and C. or I have been to a psychic before. We’re hesitantly open to adventure. We draw straws. I go first. The psychic introduces herself and talks about how she works. We shuffle cards, I cut, she lays them out. The very first thing she says to me is “Have you ever thought of running your own business? You’d be very good at it -- not that it wouldn’t be a lot of hard work -- but you’d be very good at it. You should think about this.” I stare, gobsmacked. “Who have you been talking to,” I think. “How on earth do you know this?”

How's Your Glass?

2008-09-22T16:11:00.000-07:00

In measuring support for Barak Obama or John McCain during this most interesting of Presidential campaigns, the number of ways to slice and dice American votes are endless. Daily, the deep demographic divisions among us are reinforced by the relentless reporting of segmentation polls.

The strength test of both political parties is often portrayed as “blue” states vs. “red” but this year we’ve added “purple” states to the mix -- those states that are so closely divided they could swing either way. Then there’s white vs. black vs. Latino, college educated vs. not -- closely linked to white collar vs blue collar. Regional differences are also plotted - – the Midwest, Rocky Mountain States and South vs. New England and the West Coast. And gender-related polls always illustrate some interesting differences, whether simply male vs. female, or sliced even further by age group. Then there’s one of my personal favorites, urban vs. rural: if one gets down to the county level in studying recent past national elections, even in the red states the large urban centers of those states are generally blue.

But this year, the rhetoric I’m hearing from both the candidates and dialogue among voters makes me think there’s another, more fundamental phenomenon going on here -- and my observation is this: are we people who think our glass is half full or do we think it is half empty?

McCain is doing a great job of tapping into the post 9/11 fear, economic uncertainty, resentment, and anger of many of our citizens -- the holders of the half empty cup -- deftly turning intolerance, exclusivity and a lack of curiosity into virtues, making the Presidential contest one of ‘us’ vs.’ them,’ the ‘haves’ vs. the self-perceived ‘have nots,’ the flag pin wearers vs. those who choose not to. How the Republicans can do this is a great conjurer’s trick in my mind: by playing on all of the above the champions of less government (but always biased towards big business), free markets and unfettered capitalism – the very concepts that serve to keep the ‘have nots” that way as the rich get richer and the poor get poorer – get people to vote for that which is not in their best interest.

Obama tells another story. He speaks to what Ross Robertson, poet, journalist and utopian operative has called “the frontier mentality...all about grit, curiosity, and unrestrained optimism.” In Obama’s world it’s about being our best selves, it’s about abundance -- our glasses are at least half full -- there's more than enough for all. It’s about differences in race, gender, religion and sexual preference being meaningless because we are all citizens (and caretakers) of the same interconnected world. As trite as it may sound, it’s about the American Dream, that hope and belief in a better future is not only a good thing – it is a real possibility if we take responsibility for it. And, last but not least, it’s about ensuring that Americans continue to live in a country of laws, laws that uphold the constitutional liberties that mean the difference between living in freedom and living in tyranny.

So I ask you, how's your glass?

Carlygate

2008-09-18T16:07:00.001-07:00

It's hard to be perceived as a team player when it's really all about you. Carly Fiorina had a few different ways she could have gone when asked if any of the principles in the Presidential race could run a Fortune 500 company like HP. Her quick and undiplomatic response was "no"; the subtext was "but I can." She could have said, "you know, that's not really a fair question because big business and government are fundamentally different, it's like comparing apples and bananas..." or "you know, being a leader in government takes a different set of skills and John McCain...", well, you know the rest. Fired, once again, this time as John McCain's 'financial advisor,' her real game plan one might reasonably assume -- ripe with photo opportunities featuring her and McCain -- was about introducing the reinvented Carly Fiorina to a national audience.

I've never seen a CEO come into a company with as much good will as Carly Fiorina did when she arrived at HP where I worked at the time. After the grindingly dull years of John Young and Lew Platt, she seemed a breath of fresh air, a WOMAN of all things -- AND a non-engineer, come to lead us into the 21st century, shake out the cobwebs and inspire us to re-create HP's glory days. She was all about 'personal empowerment' and moving decisions down the chain of command -- a real biggie because at the time, the decision process was a nightmare, anyone from any division could say "no" to a proposal...and no one person could say "yes" -- while we sat in decision limbo for months at a time, often finally getting a decision after the whole matter was moot, or nobody really cared anymore. So the result of Carly's first broadcast to the division in which I worked? Employees whistling, grinning -- and screaming, believe it or not --"Carly for President!" We were stoked. We had our gal. We were going to make history. We loved her.

Move ahead one year. Nobody has seen or heard from Carly since then -- she's never actually had time to personally visit a site that's about 14 miles away from Corporate and has about 4,000-5,000 people -- other than bewildering tops-down pronouncements, seemingly made in a vacuum, carried over the site sound system. Listening, we rolled our eyes, looked at each other in amazement, sighed and went back to our cubicles, un-stoked, un-inspired, un-motivated. No long-term nagging problems got solved, decisions became even harder to come by because many now required Carly's personal involvement (so much for "personal empowerment") and she often wasn't available as she was off courting Wall Street or the press or whatever. Then there was the whole ugly Compaq merger, Carly's 'brainchild,' her marketing genius at work, a merger whose lofty premise made no sense to any HP employee I knew.

Around Carly's 18th month at the helm, disengaged, feeling if anything that HP had gone backwards, I could no longer justify taking up cubicle space -- even for a bi-weekly paycheck. In hindsight, one of the best professional decisions I ever made. Because it was only in leaving that I found my path and my true passion.

But the morning Carly's firing made headlines at the San Jose Mercury News, I called an old workmate and friend at HP, singing "Ding dong, the witch is dead," as she answered the phone. She responded that people were celebrating, singing in the isles -- and yes, they were singing the 'ding dong' song. I can only imagine a similar scene at McCain campaign headquarters: Queen Carly wouldn't have made any friends with the 'little people' -- and, well, she was never a team player -- except for Team Carly.

A 100 Strokes

2008-09-18T16:07:00.000-07:00

I was watching, once again, that fabulously catty 1939 movie, "The Women," the other night, directed by the legendary George Cukor -- said to be the only director in Hollywood who could have managed an all -female cast made up of all those ruthlessly ambitious extraordinary personalities -- Norma Shearer, Joan Crawford and Rosalind Russell, just to name a few -- when the sight of a women in an elegantly simple negligee and peignoir sitting in from of her vanity, brushing her hair, caught my attention. And I started laughing.

Girlfriends, do you remember hearing that crock, oops, I mean 'adage' growing up in the 50's? The #1 rule of having glamorously beautiful, thick, shiny, long hair was to BRUSH YOUR HAIR 100 STROKES EVERY NIGHT BEFORE YOU GO TO BED. And we all bought into it. Or at least a lot of us did.

The word 'wispy' didn't even begin to describe my own hair. Permed to death before I was 5 -- just to get it to do SOMETHING - my hair wasn't curly and it wasn't straight...it just kind of 'floated' 'out there' (or more often flattened and frizzed), determined to not cooperate in any way that would move its owner up a notch on the attractive scale.

Platinum white until I was ten, and hair so fine a hand running through it couldn't feel anything, I was a sucker for Breck ads with the 'take-away your breath' Breck Girls -- oh how I longed to BE one -- or Prell (with a model who looked like Rita Hayworth), "[its] thick, rich lather gently lifts away daily build-up like residue, dirt, oil and perspiration (eeewwww!) and leaves your hair looking healthy and shiny." And then, for the most fabulous hold once you achieved the perfect look, AquaNet -- industrial strength hairspray - my aunts and cousins bought it by the case. We had veritable helmets by the time we trooped off to church each week.

But the subtext flowing under all this girl 'fun' was the principle of personal responsibility in achieving admirable results -- which, translated into action, meant brushing the requisite 100 strokes every night, without fail. So, for two years I brushed religiously, even fanatically (that's 73,000 freakin' strokes!), always believing that, surely, the accumulation of all those strokes would provoke a miracle. But all I got for my commitment was oilier, lankier hair (if that was possible), split-ends and broken hair. Oh, and a very sore scalp.

It strikes me that maybe, just maybe, this early urban myth was how we gals were conditioned to repeat the same set of actions over and over, even if the promised outcome always disappointed -- we knew it would be better the next time because WEREN'T WE DOING ALL THE RIGHT THINGS? At least until, one day, we learned better and we could finally say, "yeah, been there, done that, bought THAT t-shirt." Time to move on...