it’s been pointed out to me recently that i fall in love with everyone i meet. while i will agree that i do indeed have some very aquarian humanitarian traits that would lead one to construct such a paradigm, it’s more complicated than that. sigh. isn’t everyfuckingthing?

i’m recently single again after a couple of years of consistently having a beau in tow. it’s an interesting place to be. i do what i want. i wake up alone a lot. i eat what i want, when i want. i like it. for now. the truth is, i have always had this rather grand, idyllic idea of a Soul Mate/my Other Half…finding each other across the centuries, all that. is it hope? ridiculousness? does some magical destiny of fated love await me? god, i hope so. i’ve actually been quite lucky at love: really great men scatter my past. i’ve dated the most accomplished of musicians (hi my sweet benmont…i love you still!). real estate developers. rich kids with huge trust funds. architects. lawyers. i’ve loved each, i’ve loved every one. but now that i am alone (again) i have been pondering what makes a great love. a love great. do you know? have you had it? do you have it now? i recently came across some fantastic old romance novels at my fave thrift haunt. i was actually looking for a julia child cookbook, but as my fingers grazed across the bindings, they stopped–oddly–at a couple of harlequin romance novels. i have never been one to read these (i’m more of a carl sagan gal), but seeing them in the stark light of my newly found single-hood, gave me pause (freaked me out, really). all the questions i have about the world of dating/love/loss that i am, ahem, hesitantly re-entering flashed before me. does he like me? why hasn’t he called? will he call? do i even like him at all? will i ever meet anyone with whom i share a connection AGAIN?!?!?!?!?!?! these questions presented another, single, unnerving question: am i doomed at love? because, let’s be honest: all the best past beaus (and one ex-husband) aside, i’m single. again.

so i bought both of the books. i’m hoping to find within the pages some hope, some cheesy answers, some inspiration. some magic. something to hold onto as i march forth in search of love…of something i can’t see.

©littlebrownbutterfly

this blog was meant to be about something else entirely. about how i found a vintage crystal ashtray that said “united states senate” on it a few weeks back here in austin. about several other weird D.C. ‘coincidences’  that foreshadowed the week of 1 february 2010. about how i just started working for The Most Amazing Company with The Most Amazing People. and how, because my Most Amazing Company is headquartered in D.C., i was stranded there during the worst snowstorm  of modern times. (snowmaggedon!, snowpocolype! huge snowball fight in public park…everyone come!). and how i think that maybe my whole life has changed based on a certain person i met whilst stranded at the W Hotel during said storm. but that is for another blog, another time. this blog is about my new pair of glasses.

i’ve been looking for a new pair of glasses for a while now (i’m nearsighted). friends will attest to this. i’ve sent text photos via iPhone to both bonnie and amanda. i’ve gone to the hip, vintage optical place here in Austin (Gene Rogers Optical…amazing.). I’ve searched prada’s website. I’ve gone into ritzy frame shops. i’ve asked strangers in line at whole foods. i’ve given up. until…i found them. tonight. levon. xbox. with cathy (ramsay making record in LA). i’ve got two hours, plus trip to grocery store. must buy food. must remember to eat. the frame is made in france. sophia loren-esque. big. metal arms a bit scratched and faded. slightly awkward. clear, but sort of a pale yellow as well…99 cents. i will take them this weekend, back to the ritzy frame shop and i will have my own prescription put in. i will put them on and i will wear them and i will see my life and what i am making it and i will see good. and i will look east to the district of columbia and smile.

©littlebrownbutterfly.com 

i have fallen behind on writing my blog. i feel badly about this. i sometimes (read: very often) feel badly about a lot of things: not so stellar things that i have done in my past. things i have said that have hurt others. not taking my passat in to the volkswagon dealer to have the oil changed in a timely manner. not sending quickly enough the freshly-ground peanut butter that i buy at whole foods for my 86-year-old granddaddy grant in florida. not being patient enough with my son. not being nice enough to my ex-husband, who is so very very very nice to me. not visiting my family enough. not meditating enough. not making “enough” money. not making it in LA as an actress. not not not. i am a worrier, too. worry worry worry worry, that’s me! add this to my somewhat constant feeling shitty about stuff and i’m a walking, talking Bad-Feeling Worrier (Warrior?). for what? my birthday is next week and i’ve really been trying to put things such as worry and feeling badly into perspective. from where does all this stem? (i don’t have an answer on that yet, but i’m close to solving this fascinating riddle…) i don’t want my 40’s be consumed with bad. i want my life to be consumed with good. doing good things. helping people. feeling good about my good choices and leaving the rest behind. leave what belongs in the past. tonight i went to the goodwill near my house. my son wanted to go play xbox live at his dad’s and i had a little time to kill. i found a 60’s print of the desiderata. i went straight to it, as if it were put on the shelf for me. a sign? maybe. maybe not. a gentle reminder to be a little nicer to myself? absofuckinglutely.

(ps-the sun kil moon version of neverending math equation is DEFINITELY worth a listen or an itunes download…)

 ©littlebrownbutterfly

i sat down and had a little talk with myself today. about all the things that i have accumulated while thrifting that were cool, neat-o, rad and awesome at the time of find and purchase, but aren’t really serving a purpose in my life anymore. things such as: the haeger ashtray that was purchased only because it was a haeger, not because i smoke (i don’t), the impeccably tailored high-end women’s jacket with a collar that is just a little to clown-y, garish, looks-more-like-a-vintage-costume-than-a-cool-piece-of-clothing i can seamlessly integrate into my existing wardrobe. oh and let’s go on ahead and throw in all the negatron (that one’s for you, ted shuttleworth in New York!), thoughts and people and places and things that once served me, but just simply do not anymore. things that need to just go. bad thinking is a habit. toxic people become habits. i have a very good pal in la, who told me that he and his “friend” of 2+ years had finally, totally, once-and-for-all, absolutely this time lisa, ended things. he said that he was in excruciating emotional pain and that the truths he had to swallow about himself were hard hard hard to admit to, but that he knew he was better off without her. the right thing. goodbye ashtray. you are taking up room in my house. goodbye negative person, you are taking up precious room in my psyche. as humans, we have a lot of room for error, but not a lot of time to dilly dally and live with the constantly blinking-in-red error message once we know The Truth.

oh and also: the truth is there, always. right in front of you. that’s what i know. little signs, things everywhere leading you to what is right, what is true for you, what you REALLY want. our Subconscious Wildest Dreams are possible, even though–sigh, sniff, scream–we are not always awake enough to pay attention. i have been guilty of being asleep and not receiving the messages. it saddens me when i see others in this slumber.

spiritual beings, human experience.

it’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah. things don’t have to be so hard. just as hard as we make them. fact. fiction. your side, my side. the truth.

(the end is always the beginning.)

there is no escaping it. it is always present. it taunts the old and teases the young with it’s seeming forever-like quality. but it does not go on forever, not on this plane, anyway (new age-y much, lisa?). it has a name: time. and time is going by. my son turns 10 this new year and another birthday is upon me. i am on the precipice of something i do not know and time is part of the tomfoolery. manage it, waste it, pretend that it doesn’t really matter all that much. time is a verb and time is moving. fast. or slow, depending on your inclination. time is also a noun in the form of a commodity that we are constantly selling with recklessness and trying to buy back with remorse. what have i done with it all?

i found a rather nice vintage clock today. a phinney-walker. it’s collectible, worth upwards of $200 and i paid $11 for it. i have ‘clocks’ on several things in my house. three computers tell me the time. two (too many) cable boxes. iPhone. various watches. timepieces everywhere. time time ticking, ticking away…but here is the thing: the phinney-walker clock makes time and the passing of it seem so much…better. no digital reading. real hands. second hand. a very clear picture of 24 hours. the numbers on it are mesmerizing: some long-forgotten style of font that makes a harvey milk-toast numeral come to life and show you his Real Numeric Personality. but, to me, the most special thing about this clock is that someone else’s eyes have witnessed the passing of time on it as well. many eyes, maybe. a whole damned family. long before the digital/computer/wired revolution, someone else’s eyes have looked at this clock and gauged their life by it. measured out their lives with coffee spoons under it’s continuously moving hands. where did time take them? where is it taking me?

closer to what is real, closer to what is true…
the precipice is quite an interesting place, let me tell you. 

2010 is going to be an interesting year for all of us, this is my prediction. i think “fast and furious” would describe how i think it’s gonna be. i hear some of you now: why? why, lisa? what will make it so? i will enlighten you, but first i need to tell you about a song that i listen to every year at this time: same old lang syne. those of you that follow my blog will know that the angst-ridden, handsome, floppy-haired singer-songwriter’s from the 70’s touch my heart and get me all warm and fuzzy. and sentimental. and melancholy. this particular dan fogelberg song is no different. you see, when i was 11, my mother turned me on to this song. we would listen to it in the car on, on tape, whilst we travelled the day after xmas to the many many shopping malls just outside of our zip and area code (sales! specials! buy it and it will make you feel so much better about your plight on this earth for 10 minutes!). my mom and i shopped a lot. it was our activity. judy would be quite wistful as she listened to this song, but i was too young at the time to really understand why. but the way in which my mother changed when she heard the lyrics to this song made my 11-going-on-2000-year-old-soul very happy. this song touched her. i saw a side of her that i never got to see: the side that was real, that hurt, that wondered, “what if”. it is only now, as my 40th year runs to greet me and meet me (hellooooooooooo, lisa!) that i understand. i get it. each new year seems like a new start, does it not? yet often, we are plagued by our own self-doubt, our own inadequacies, the old bullshit that just keeps on talking to us despite how far we have come in so many other areas. this self-imposed doubt comes, i think, from the bazillions of choices and subsequent decisions each of us is tirelessly making, oh…every moment of our lives. “she said she married her an architect, who kept her warm and safe and dry. she would have liked to say she loved the man, but she didn’t like to lie”. dude. heavy. i know that my mom felt dissatisfied a lot of the time. and i know that this particular song helped her. helped her define her own particular brand of melancholia a bit. and here is the other part: as i recount this story to you, i understand only now, that as i sat next to her then in the front seat and was the sole observer of her taking in, singing along with and ultimately becoming a character in the song, that i was witnessing a sea change within my mother. a seedling of unhappiness, expressed in the very real emotional association with a song. the foreshadowing of a divorce from my father some 19 years in the making.

my point is that is NEVER too late. decide what to be and go be it. make 2010 your year. decisions, choices, whom to marry, whom to become, what to do with your time…it really is all up to you. “i said the years had been a friend to her…and that her eyes were still as blue, but in those eyes i wasn’t sure if i saw doubt or gratitude.” have the latter. gratitude. it’s an easy choice. look around you. be grateful. go forth. laugh. love. surrender to the Great Unknown. surrender to sappy, silly songs that make you remember what is you always wanted to be. or not be. do it. i will if you will. and 2010 will be our year. fast, furious and full of choices.

(dedicated to my mother.)

©littlebrownbutterfly

i have finally, after many, many attempts, MASTERED my great aunt margaret’s pound cake. seriously. it has the same taste, the same texture, the same color. margaret lives just across the, ahem, corn field from the house that my parents and i lived in. my dad is now remarried, his kitchen has gone through a complete remodel and the corn field is now gone, but when i lived there, i would RUN through this field every saturday in high anticipation of eating margaret’s pound cake and drinking some good sweet sweet sweet southern style iced tea. she’d cut me a nice sized slice and i always wanted another. sensory memories: they really are the best. i became slightly obsessed with mastering this recipe after my grandma sarah died, which is kind of weird since my grandma had some really good recipe’s herself. but margaret is my grandmother’s sister, an aquarius like me and although she was/still is a Super Duper Christian, i really related to her growing up. the same sweet soul my grandma had, she has. anyway, i’ve been looking for a really good piece of bakeware in which to make -to master- this pound cake and i finally found it. goodwill, at the bargain basement price of $2.99. it is perfect,  red flame colored. it seems have been used quite a bit already and used with love. it has a nice energy about it. but my thrifting adventures always lead me back to the question: why was it at goodwill? is this what will become of margaret’s things? of mine? of yours?

yesterday, i found out that a mutual friend of a friend died this weekend. her name was andrea. she was 40. two small kids. meningitis. quick and it was over. i don’t understand but i am trying to. although i did not really know her, i had seen her around. kind eyes. sweet smile. one of the good ones. i struggle with the idea of death daily (please refer back to my first blog post, entitled “pyrex and prufrock”). it’s all around us. and yet we go on smiling. we go on hurting. we go on working, playing, singing, dancing, pretending, being angry, being rude, being nice. being. i am realizing that i’ve always wanted to be somewhere else, no matter where i am. figuratively and literally. i’ve not been the most present person, you know? the look in my eyes has been described to me as “faraway”. ha. but andrea’s death has got me thinking. about life. about living. the moment. being in it. rolling around in life and getting dirty. about baking. about pound cake. about what margaret’s pound cake really means. it was her recipe and now it is mine and i will share it. i will pass it on. 

©littlebrownbutterfly