number 16

please do not judge me when I tell you how long I waited to unravel the surprise ball. because, look at it. I mean really. prettiest. ball. ever. color so bright you can practically taste it. gina (surprise ball maker extraordinaire) kindly sent one my way and once I received it, here's what I did: I tucked it away someplace safe. and I did not touch it for two years. I KNOW. people, do not judge. I could not help myself. I was saving it for a rainy day, I was waiting for emergency circumstances. ultimately, I was forced to put it on the list. according to gina, I am not the only one. there have been others-- all of them reluctant to unravel, all of them women. I don't know what that says about us.

anyway.

but one bleak january day I broke down and I'll tell you, I could not have picked a better day.



you know what the hardest part was? breaking that seal.



in case you're wondering, this is how the surprise ball works: you unravel it. and as you unravel it, sweet little vintage trinkets are revealed. no one was more excited about than this than ava, designated unraveler.



once the paper confetti came spilling out, the party was totally on. then came the paper balloons, brilliantly buried in layer after layer of crepe paper, flattened and ready to blow up.



I may or may not have squealed when I first saw the vintage swimming goggles.



actually, I'm pretty sure there was squealing.



lots and lots of squealing.



dear baby crayon, I love you.



and little bluebird candle holder, I will probably have to bake a special cake. just for you.



the end would have been devastating had we not been so taken with the sweet old jacob's ladder toy we found at the center.



truth be told, it was the pile of leftover crepe paper that sort of stole my heart. it sat on my desk for weeks and weeks afterwards. I could not bear to throw it away.



one of a kind vintage trinkets from all over the world. swoon worthy, yes? we are in love with every last little thing. and we are still fighting over stuff. though the vintage goggles are mine. THEY'RE MINE. gina, we thank you. a thousand times over, we thank you. your awesomeness cannot adequately be put into words.

(number 16 off the list and you can find gina's extraordinary surprise balls over at kiosk)

number 28

a couple of years ago, I found a beat-up polaroid automatic 100 at a yard sale. the viewfinder was cracked and the battery compartment was completely corroded but I figured I could find a way to make it work. then, back in march, miss jenny frecklewonder sent a little package my way. nestled amidst the many vintage treasures inside? a beautiful polaroid automatic 100. in mint condish. fast forward to july and a nervous me holding said camera. freshly loaded, ready to fire. I'll admit, it felt totally foreign in my hands. did I even have it set right? was it in focus? was the light right? and most importantly, would I be able to yank the film out fast enough? first shot out the pack was this one of ava. and well, and that was that. totally hooked. and number 28, triumphantly crossed off the list.

so this one is for you, jenny. I cannot thank you enough.

p.s. I think I might love peel apart film. this should come as no surprise to all you peel apart lovers out there.

june, I love you

(postcard I made for last year's swap)

first of june= unofficially summer. even if it doesn't feel like it, even if portland doesn't know it yet. the first of june is when the sandals and floaty skirts come out, it's when I start thinking about things like box fans, lightning bugs and baby pools. I get serious about gardening. speaking of which, my strawberry plants are looking awesome. anyway. june means open windows. it means picnics, yard sales and road trips. and projects. good lord, the projects. june is for the starting of new projects, june is the new january. only without all that pesky dreary weather. unless, of course, you live in portland.


(more of my postcards)

so it was this time last year that I organized my first postcard swap. when I initially put the idea out there, I had no idea so many people would be interested. 20, I thought. 30 tops. when the final count hit 80 something, I was shocked. I decided I needed to break folks up into smaller groups of 12-15. high on some kind of crazy summer happy, I put myself on every list. which is a little nuts, yes, I realize this now. but I'd decided early on to send a postcard to each person who signed up.


(the great wall of postcards, about to be dismantled and *gulp* mailed out)

which meant I made a lot of postcards. oh friends, so many postcards. wore down more gluesticks than I'd care to mention, cut up enough little squares of paper to cover a small third world country. I spread my supplies out everywhere, took over the entire bed, the entire house. each night, ward would try to fit his body into the inch of space I'd so generously left for him on his side of the bed. he would gently (okay and not so gently) push supplies out of the way, curl up into a little ball and try to fall asleep. meanwhile, I woke up with bits of paper stuck to my legs, my arms, found them hiding in the folds of my nightgown.



somewhere around the 50th postcard, I wondered what I'd gotten myself into. but sending out 80 or something postcards also meant that I'd be receiving 80 or something postcards.


(my wall of summer, thanks to all the delightful swap peeps)

actually, I received a little bit of lovely summer mail art everyday for about a month. which made all the hard work absolutely totally worth it. the postcards, they came from all over. some from different countries, many more from all over the united states. each day I found something new waiting for me in my mailbox. a bright-colored collage or painting, an old-fashioned summer recipe, a favorite summer poem. everything from a deconstructed watermelon to the simplicity of the grape popsicle. everyone had a different take on summer and by the end of the season, they'd all found a place on my kitchen wall. which is exactly where they stayed until the night before thanksgiving. I could barely stand to do it but the time finally came to take them all down.



so I just can't not do it all again. and I can't wait for portland to bring me summer because holy crap, she is really dragging her feet. portland, I'm going to pretend that it's not cold and rainy outside today. I am going to shut my eyes and pretend it isn't so. while I am waiting for the sun, I will be working on summer-themed postcards. well, hopefully. I need a few people to sign up to make the second annual summer postcard swap an official thing. so if you're interested, please leave your name and email address in the comment section below or click on my profile where you'll find the option to email me. same guidelines as last year and soon there'll be a new flickr group to join. I'll allow a couple weeks for folks to sign up and then close the swap on june 15th. you'll receive an email with instructions and a list of names and addresses. and then the fun really begins. hopefully, the sun will be out by then. hopefully, summer will be in full swish.

so close

the postcards are finally (FINALLY) finished and I am currently busy writing messages on the flip sides. each person shall receive a lovely cryptic summer poem which, if properly decoded, will reveal the secret to life.

um, just kidding. but wouldn't that be nice?





though it's a great relief to finally be writing messages and addresses-- a stage in the process I thought I'd NEVER reach. I so totally underestimated how long it would take me to make 77 postcards. if there was a cape of shame for this sort of thing, I would be wearing it. live and learn, I say. live and learn.



in the meantime, I've been receiving postcards most everyday and The Wall of Summer is growing exponentially. happy blocks of color have taken up residence on the green wall in the kitchen. it's like my very own private miniature art installation and I do so solemnly swear to share more photographs of the happy wall. until then, this lil peek will have to suffice. you can make it, can't you? it's a lovely, lovely sight. it will be worth the wait, I promise.

photobooth friday

today, I am sharing.

firstly, a personal quirk to share: I often blink the second a photograph is taken. I try hard not to, which only makes it worse. sort of a weird thing I do and if you need more concrete examples of said affliction, well, then just look at this. and especially this. though I think maybe the latest contribution is the least clumsiest of them all. this one is crying out for something like a haiku poem. here, I am unexpectedly serene. this image will not fly in my enormous gallery of blink shame. naturally, there's a gallery but I keep it hidden from the world in my favorite old adidas shoe box. I let ward look at it every once in a while but only when he is feeling really really down and I've already tried everything else. when the mimes don't work, I know it's time to bring out The Box.



secondly, some lovely mail to share: abby sent this fantastic postcard my way because she knew I'd like it. isn't that nice? thank you so much, abby-- I love it, loved finding it in my mailbox. I am having a serious love affair with the mailbox these days.



finally, some big fun to share: I went to a public pillow fight tonight. no really, I'm serious. about 200 people gathered downtown at skidmore fountain to let the pillows fly. um, totally bananas. feathers and squeals in great abundance. I told you, it's going to be a GREAT SUMMER.

still with all the sharing:

poetmama
jesC
scrumdillydilly
acumamakiki
jördis
lovegreendog
miso
weaker vessel

last call

last call, postcard swap peoples! already, a fantastic response-- slightly overwhelming but in the nicest way, the best way. oh, so many of you! and from all over, too. checkit, we're delightfully global: folks from australia, canada, the netherlands and the UK. and look at all the states in the house: arizona, alabama, california, colorado, maine, maryland, minnesota, nevada, new york, ohio, oregon, texas, utah and washington. did you notice how nicely alphabetized that all was? I'm on an alphabetizing kick lately. I'm not sure why.

we're a big enough group to be divided into five (or six) smaller groups. and just to clarify: each person will be put on a list (with 10 or 11 others) and will be responsible for creating (and sending) a postcard to each person on that list. this also means that said person will receive 10-11 postcards in return. voila, instant summer. hang them in your window. tack them to your inspiration board. put them on your refrigerator door. stash them in a shoebox and take them out in twenty years. leave them on telephone poles all over the city as an homage to the guerilla art movement. whatever you like.

but you do have to sign up first (if you haven't already). again, please leave your email address in the comment section here (one person didn't-- amy jo, are you out there?) or email me (option available on my profile page). if you've commented and expressed interest in signing up but haven't yet received an email from me, please let me know! everyone that has signed up should have already received something from me. and if you have recieved something but have not yet responded, please do. you know, so I can get my head straight with all this and try to make it happen. this is a most hypocritical request on my part as I am generally so slooooow in responding to others. all apologies for the hypocrisy.

that said, the deadline to sign up (or respond to an email I've sent you) is sunday, MAY 20TH. final lists will be sent out by tuesday, may 22nd. your postcards should then be sent out by the first day of summer, june 21st.

some words about the actual postcards:

one side of the card must have some sort of representation of summer (original inspiration here). think abstractly. or literally. feel free to use words, photographs, scraps of paper, paint, pencils, crayons, markers, thread, fabric, anything. again, the idea of summer is broad and meant to be widely interpreted. it might be as simple as the colors that you strongly associate with this time of year or a list of words that come to mind. you might choose to create original collages, paintings, drawings or photographs. really, there's no limit. don't feel pressure to explain yourself, either. part of the fun is in the interpretation. which is what art is all about, no? and speaking of art, you don't have to be an artist to do this. you really don't. you just need some blank postcards and some ideas. and a few materials, of course.

the other side of the postcard needs to have the name and address of the person you're sending it to (duh) but also-- maybe some sort of message. again, this part is up to you. it can be as simple as hello. and perhaps some sort of introduction. or it could be a story. or something. you may also choose to leave it blank (though please do at least sign your name).

some of you might be tempted to overthink it-- don't. I say this because I am as guilty of the overthinking as anyone. always too much in my head about things. feh. this swap is meant to be fun. it's about having an excuse to make something. it's about sending and receiving real mail. but also: kicking off the summer in the loveliest way.

instant summer

a while back, I wrote about my love for postcard swaps and how much I wanted to organize one of my own. and then a bunch of big life stuff happened, blahblahblah and I was forced to put the whole idea on hold.


inspiration here comes from ava's art work and images from the polaroid book

now that things have settled down (somewhat), I'm ready to play. here are the details:

1. create x amount of postcards (hopefully around five, though not too many more than 10) with the idea of summer in mind. okay yes, this is what most would call a 'theme' (not something I was entirely sure I wanted to impose) though it's meant to be widely interpreted. think: colors, sounds, images, stories. also think: photographs, collages, paintings, drawings, the written word. it can be as personal (or impersonal) as you like. completely abstract. or not. it doesn't have to be art. mostly, I'm interested in seeing where ideas merge and overlap but also-- where we split off. I'm interested in inspiration. and of course, extraordinary mail.

2. sign up in the next two weeks, either by leaving me a comment here (make sure to leave an email address) or by contacting me personally via email (check my profile page for that option). I'll make a list of participants (if there are more than ten, I'll break it up into groups) and send out the information out by may 21st.

3. send your postcards out by the first day of summer-- june 21st. then: camp out in the baby pool in the front yard. wear your most fabulous vintage swimsuit and try to look casual as the mailman approaches each day. let summer come to you on square bits of paper. prepare for happy, happy times.

thursday love

about a year ago, I participated in my first postcard swap. initially, I was all giggly and excited about it. but then I did that thing where I wait until the very last minute to get started. when that happens, the thing that I have put off doing becomes more like work and less like fun.

all my supplies were neatly laid out on the dining room table, right next to the list of names I'd be sending postcards to. I walked past those supplies several times a day-- folded clothes around them, spilled milk from my cereal on them, fought tooth and nail to keep them safe from grubby little hands. still, they went untouched. and worse, they began to mock me.

when I could stand it no longer, I made my first postcard. while the kids were asleep, I spread everything out on the living room floor and got to work. my name was at stake, people. and I really dug christina (the woman who organized the swap and invited me to take part) and couldn't have her thinking less of me. wouldn't you know? once I got going, I couldn't stop. a kind of euphoria set in-- like when you get lost in a project and you lose all sense of time and place. you don't want to stop to eat or sleep, you don't care about the monumental mess you're making. in fact, the bigger the mess, the better. my kindergarten self came bubbling to the surface and I found out she's pretty tired of being all pushed down and smothered by the grown-up self.



then it came time to mail them off. I'll tell you-- I had a difficult time letting them go. my hand would not release that thick stack of postcards, I was physically unable to drop them into the mailbox. all those little miniature pieces of art that I'd spent so much time on, all of them helplessly out there in the hands of any given postal worker? I hadn't thought about that part. they might be subject to rain. or greasy hands. or worse. they might very well be put in a situation where unnecessary manhandling would be involved. why didn't I put them in envelopes? although, wouldn't that have defeated the whole purpose of sending out postcards? oh, the vulnerability! too much. finally, the guy in the car behind me honked extra loud and rude-like and I came to my senses, reluctantly tossed them into the slot and drove away.

as I turned onto dekalb avenue, I thought about all the different places they would be going-- texas, vermont, california, oregon, arkansas, washington, tennessee, maryland, canada, japan. so terribly exciting to be sending them out into the world like that. I remembered the time in fourth grade when we each attached our names and our school address to balloons. on a sunny afternoon (and in dramatic ceremonial fashion), we let them go. so many red balloons floating away, bright like tulips against the turquoise of the sky, strings trailing and spiraling. I remember the humble little white squares of paper that held our neatly printed names, I remember the way they flapped in the wind. I will never forget the sight of it. the idea behind the project was that maybe somebody somewhere would find your balloon and write to you. I never received a letter but that didn't really matter. the real joy was in the moment I decided to open my hand and let the balloon go. the real fun was in the possibility it represented and what it felt like to intentionally put something good out into the world. where would it go? how far would it travel? who would find it? what would they think? I remember watching my red balloon grow smaller and smaller, I watched until it completely disappeared from sight and I wondered about it and I felt good.



so I've decided I have mad love for postcard swaps. even though I've only done one. I've just signed up for another and am planning on organizing one of my own. if you care to join in, leave something in the comments or email me. details will be decided in the coming weeks. or we could all get together and release red balloons into the sky. I'm open, you know.

(more thursday love aka TILT here)

for revital

I was all set to complain about our upcoming move. I was. I've been writing it all in my mind for the past two weeks or so, muttering it under my breath like a crazy person. I was absolutely furious over having to pay 25 dollars for one gallon of paint the other day, FURIOUS and I've been all schlumpy in the shoulders over the amount of painting that needs to be done to the new house in the next several days before we move in. I've been feeling sour with no intention of sweetening anytime soon. and I was all prepared to share the sour.

and then I got an email from revital monday morning. back in mid-july, revital sent me the most magnificent color-iffic blue and brown swap package. the day it arrived, we'd been looking at house after house after house and I was feeling fairly sour then, too. I resisted the urge the rip it open and let out a little gasp of surprise when I saw that it had traveled all the way over from israel. israel! a few weeks earlier, I'd sent my blue/brown package to norway. I'm loving this globalness, I thought. with ava right by my side (and breathing excitement down my neck), I carefully opened the brown paper package. oh, we marveled at the goodies inside and the way it was all so lovingly packed. chocolate bars and rain-scented soap from israel! papers and craft supplies! and the handmade items-- magnets made to look like little chocolates (good enough to eat), a sparkly mobile (which ava laid claim to almost immediately), a hand-decorated journal (for my travels, she said), a beaded bookmark (because she noticed my love for books, she said) and my absolute favorite-- a hand-beaded ring (pictured here on ava's hand). I was deeply moved by the amount of thought put into the package, the loveliness of everything and put it all back in the box the way it came. just so I could re-open it again and again.



so we've been trading emails back and forth and all that is going in israel has not gone undiscussed. but this month has been particularly horrible for revital-- bombings all day long, completely unable to go out in the light of day, scared beyond words for her family, her friends, herself. she craves normalcy, friendship, kind words (don't we all). but truly, can you imagine? I'm not about to get all political (as I so easily could)-- it's not my style. I'm just asking: can you imagine what this must be like? because I can't. and I've been seeing it all on tv and reading about it in the newspapers and listening to reports on npr but I'm not sure I really really got it until I read revital's email monday morning. suddenly, my outrage over having to pay 25 dollars for one gallon of paint seemed absolutely ridiculous.

and I feel so powerless. I hear her and I want to help, I want to say something that will help. what she wants more than anything is the normalcy, the friendship. and that is the one thing I am able to give her. it's a drop in an enormous bucket, but it's something.

so, dear revital (if you're reading): thank you. for the most gorgeous package and all the heart and thought that went into it. but also for opening my eyes in the way they needed to be opened.

and everyone else reading-- if you're feeling it-- leave some words for my girl revital. my guess is she could use the diversion. she would welcome the kindness.

thursday love

(gorgeous handmade bracelet by superfresh madness-- sent to me just because-- a whole lot of fabulousness in a nondescript manilla envelope)


I love mail. obviously, not the kind that is financially draining (aka: bills) or the endless stream of junk that comes our way but the occasional postcard, personal letter or unexpected package? love. it's the teeny tiny hint of pink in a sea of grey, a little bit like gold.

I have not always loved it like I love it now. I mean, you learn to love mail growing up-- what, with all the postcards from friends and letters from penpals and boyfriends and birthday cards with crisp dollar bills inside and fancy holiday packages from grandparents. and the church camp that I grew up going to each summer made a big deal over mail. each day during lunch, they called your name over the loudspeaker if there was any sort of mail for you. and if there were three pieces or more, you had to SING for it-- into the microphone, in front of EVERYBODY (horrific for the completely insecure preteen, I know). my cousin kristy jo, she knew this. she sent me three letters almost everyday, some with nothing but hand-cut confetti inside. because she knew I'd have to sing for it and (even with as much as I protested), she knew I secretly loved the attention.



(package of goodies from superbrilliant lisa that magically arrived in the middle of dreary january, all because I happened to mention a desire to try out blender pens)


when I was sixteen, we moved to cincinnati. leaving behind a serious boyfriend and a couple of best friends made the receiving of mail the most important thing to me that year. thankfully, one of my best friends purchased a journal that we each wrote in, filled with gossip and c-o-o-l collages and sent back and forth through the mail (beth, you know I still have it and treasure it-- is it my turn to send it back to you? you'll have to pry it from my cold, dead fingers). but really, I lived for the letters from my boyfriend: plain white envelopes filled with clumsily folded college-ruled notebook paper, letters that promised longing and faithfulness and undying love (sixteen is such a dramatic age). my family lived in a one bedroom apartment those first six months (all five of us, which is an entirely different story for another time). each day, I'd walk down to the foyer of the old apartment complex where the brass mail boxes were, hoping and praying (mostly closing my eyes and crossing my fingers) for mail. on one of my more memorable trips, I peeked into the dark slot to find what looked like a thick love letter. a surge of electricity filled my body as I went to open the little door. but the box was jammed and I was forced to resort to frantic banging and pulling. when that didn't work, I thought maybe I could access the letter by going in through the top of all the boxes. I had seen the mailman drop the mail in like this, was sure I could figure out a way. I jumped and slammed my hand in as deep as I could, but nothing. you know, love makes you so loco sometimes and so I continued to jump and reach like that for what felt like hours (more like fifteen minutes, I'm thinking). on what must've been the seventh or eighth try, I made contact but my arm stuck and I hung there-- helpless, ridiculous. my fingers still gripping the letter, I cried out and my eyes quickly filled with tears over the surprisingly sharp pain and the thought of my arm snapping in two. finally, I gave up and dropped the letter which somehow released my body. I cried like a baby that afternoon as I walked back to our small apartment. I cried because I was humiliated, because I was empty-handed. I cried because I wanted that letter more than anything. for those few months, mail was absolutely everything to me-- almost worth a broken bone.



(rad turntable baby tee: ordered from the supertalented anatomist, given to ezra for christmas)


(the best pink and red swap EVER from cool girl/color genuis jek-- the tiny red suitcase filled with joy arrived wrapped in brown paper and I'm just a little ashamed to admit that I tore into it while driving in traffic)


then you become an adult and the mail is more about bills, credit card offers and bad news-- an ongoing reminder of obligation, responsibility and disappointment. I went through this thing where I truly dreaded that daily walk to the mailbox. I blame this perpetual state of anxiety on more than a couple of things: a) credit card bills. b) summertime electricity bills. c) crazy tax mix-up. d) the time the health insurance company sent us a bill for $18,000 for the special care ezra required for the three days after he was born (again, another story). I found myself having to work up courage for that daily trip, having to take deep breaths, having to say little prayers. each day that we received only the garden variety assortment of junk and expected monthly bills represented a small victory whereupon I celebrated by exhaling slowly and smiling all the way back to the front door.



(lovely flower power mug from england, courtesy of an anonymous thrift store swap and a splendid vintage chiquita banana recipe booklet from the superlovely ozhiaz)


(march's color-iffic swap-o-rama had me weeping with joy over greengreengreen delights from the superfantastic oneye-- goods from the netherlands? always cool)


so, no. I have not always loved mail like I do today on this day of thursday loves. at best, it has been more like a lifetime of love/hate/fear/hope. but lately, the mail has been great. and I'm not afraid to say that this here blogging gig has cracked the world of good and lovely mail wide open for me. you can see it all here, beautiful things that have made their way to me, all from fantastic people I've met through THE INTERNETS (and man, I don't even have photographs of the postcard swap I participated in to show yet either-- ah yes, next week). that's not to say that I don't occasionally receive an unbelievable package from my cousin (the master, for sure) or my mom and dad. but mostly, good things have come my way through friendships and swaps found via THE INTERNETS. the internets, they have been good to me. I used to think that this internet business was the whole reason I would never receive any quality snail mail again (forever and ever and ever, amen). I was wrong. and this (miss alanis) is the definition of ironic: the very phenomenon that should be keeping me from loving the regular visits to my mailbox is precisely the reason I am receiving so many incredible packages, letters and postcards these days.

thank you to everyone who has sent love my way, thank you to those who are even thinking of sending love my way or will, sometime in the near or far future, send love my way. it will come back to you tenfold, I promise.

(more thursday love here and here, more of my thursday loves here)