my friend ramona gave me a really rad housewarming gift a few months ago. a container of groovy colors and sections that holds the following: popcorn, chips, pretzels and nuts. but i don’t use it for that. i use it as a catch-all thingy in my kitchen. i am compulsively neat 
(read: slightly ocd) and don’t like little bits of stuff all over my house. so this container — with it’s separate compartments — makes my life a little more neat, a little more tidy…a little more manageable. sigh, sigh, sigh, oy vey. if only all things in our lives were this easy to organize, devise, compartmentalize, categorize. but you and i both know dear reader, that this is just not the case. there is no rest for the wicked, no way to stop the constant flow of endless little bits of one’s life: bills, relationships, jobs, children, friends, ups, downs, et cetera. until recently, i have tried in vain to make everything fit into a myriad of aptly named little categories of which only i know the definitions. tried to keep everything separate. tried to keep everything together. keep it all in it’s place — for me, for everyone else. FAIL. it’s a set up for failure. all things are connected. loosely, tightly, and every tension in between. i see my heightened neurosis* in this regard. it’s where i get stuck. i think that maybe liberation and freedom come from letting it all go. letting it all just come undone. bleed together. i am learning (EVER so slowly, ahem-) that nothing in this life really belongs in a box, within a compartment. i may like to keep my house a certain way, but out here in the real world, keeping everything in line -from running together- is a fruitless effort and to keep on trying just seems like going against the natural flow of life. the only thing i can really do is to keep my side of the street clean. be honest. be gracious. fearless and in the moment. no separation necessary. 

the chips and the pretzels cannot stay apart for long.

©littlebrownbutterfly

* from a lecture by pema chödrön

if there is one single item in my house that could sum up the majority of my thrift store experiences ‘til now, it would be my 1950’s, double bullet gooseneck floor lamp that i found at a catholic charity thrift store. very hard to find the originals of these types of lamps while thrifting, but reproductions at stores like restoration hardware and ikea are everywhere. there are two lights on this particular lamp: both can be on at the same time or each light can be turned on separately. it is the first light i turn on when i come into my house at night. i depend on it to light the darkness, to allow me see so i don’t trip and fall over everything (i’m kinda clumsy anyway to begin with-). light travels and takes away darkness at the speed of 186,282 miles per second. nice to know when in need of it. it’s fast. lately, i’ve been feeling a little more like the dark of my house at night, instead of the light of my lovely lamp, which, as my true friends can attest, is typically not the case with me. i am a positive person most of the time. i see the good in people most of the time. i can find the bright side of any situation most of the time. i can laugh at myself and my many many mistakes most of the time. but lately, i have been heavy-hearted. too serious. dare i say depressed? uneasy about some of the choices i have made. ugh. i know i am not unique. i know that others get down about their lives from time to time. i know that we all don’t have/get the Perfect This or the Perfect That. sometimes, we are all just trudging the road of happy destiny, stumbling in the dark, looking for the light. it’s an uncomfortable place to be. scary. black. i’m currently trying to remind myself that the fix i need is actually a fairly simple one. a light switch. a decision. when i’m lost in the darkness of my own particular vacuum, all i really have to do is flip a switch, and in 0.000005 seconds or less the darkness will dissipate and i’ll be able to see yet again.

 ©littlebrownbutterfly

*thanks to bruce springsteen and his amazing record ‘darkness on the edge of town’ that i listened to repeatedly while writing this blog-

when i lived in the city of angels, i would go antique shopping with my dear friend elizabeth mellor. not thrift store shopping mind you. antique shopping. completely and totally different animals. those who do either (or both) know: thrifting is a hunt, an art — it’s work. antique shopping is looking in lovely shops for beautiful, curated things. things already chosen. see la différance, dear reader? except of course in the case of this painting. summer house. painted in 1972 by a lady named waldrip taylor. not much is known about this painter. i have done a fair amount of research on her and there is just not too much to find. so…i was with elizabeth this day and there we were — in LA, antiquing on a saturday afternoon, la brea avenue. although it is long gone and i cannot recall the name, i do remember there were two parts to this particular store. the inside part with all the really fancy stuff — and outside — where all the shit that nobody wanted lived. and THAT is where i found summer house. outside, hiding conspicuously behind 27 other pieces of art haphazardly collected and leaning against the back wall. and there we were. my friend elizabeth inside, deciding on THIS 18th century couch or THAT 19th century side table, and i outside looking through the seeming rubbish. summer house was my taste. it was my style. it had to be mine. i bargained with the shop owner…” i mean, come ON, man…it’s OUTSIDE for crying out loud!”. after much back and forth, he reluctantly agreed to accept my price. it was mine. summer house has been with me since my s-s-s-single days in LA and has seen me through the all the other things that happens in one’s life…marriage, child, divorce, a move to another state, et cetera, et cetera.

the interesting thing about this painting is how it changes for me, how it evolves, how it continually transforms into something other than what i initially saw that day long ago on la brea avenue. or maybe it’s me who changes. the person i was when i bought summer house 15 years ago is gone. my eyes have seen so many different things since then. my heart broken, healed and broken again. my being has travelled far and wide. my feet have walked on lots of different soil. my mind more open now. yada yada. i feel like i’ve made it to the proverbial ‘other side’. full circle, kinda. summer house. birds. two. in the center. (they are my favorites-) one. near the top. looking and waiting for the friend in flight to join. to become two. sigh. someone very close me used this painting as album art for an EP his band just released. how could i have known then that it would inspire someone in my present life as it inspired me in my (not so) distant past life? the answer is that i could never have known. the tricky part about this little life we get to have is that none of us ever really know anything. we just do it. we buy art. thrift store shop. fall in love. look loneliness in the eye. travel. take risks. be a good friend. listen to music. take care of our families. with regard to summer house, the circle back from some antique store in LA circa 1995 to album art in 2010 makes me really happy. it reminds me that sometimes the path taken from point a to point b is not a straight shot, but a winding, lovely road lined with birds and the brightest color green you’ve ever seen.

©littlebrownbutterfly

photo courtesy of amanda panda elmore

so i recently had the misfortune of reading some very shitty things about myself. someone else’s opinion of me. via email. nastiness all the way around. this particular perpetrator had an agenda of course, and as i scanned her hateful words (it was, frankly, too venomous to read all the way through-), i wondered why any of us would take the time to try and crucify — by hearsay — another human being on this planet. why? jealousy? envy? fear? ugh. what terrible motivators. i mean, REALLY. don’t you have better things to do with your day? or hey! here’s a good one — The Golden Rule. oh you know, Jesus, Bible, Book of Matthew? ringin’ any bells? no? i guess not. the irony of this is that i really really really try to be a kind person. i do. i would never go after another in such a way. yeah. i have better things to do with my time.

one of my favorite all time records is Rumours, by Fleetwoood Mac. breakup inflicted, Rumours captures five people going through some pretty heavy and tumultuous times. he said, she said, they said. the title of the record says it all. rumours…could be true, could not be true…all rumours. the thing about these rumours, about hearsay is that 10 times out of 10, the victim, the object of the lies has no way of defending oneself from the ugliness, the opinions, the untruths. defenseless. i am not an innocent. from my mouth have fallen not so nice things about others. i am not proud of admitting this, dear reader, but we have all done it. we think we know things about other people and take the liberty of speaking when we probably should not. words hurt people, sometimes. this little incident (with me being the object of the lies, the rumours, the hearsay-) has given me pause. about hurting others. with my words. getting caught up in the lives of others. why? what is the point? most of the time when we drum up drama, it is to make ourselves feel better in some way. lay blame elsewhere. pass the buck. the next time i feel the need to speak ill of another human being, i will put down the magnifying glass and i will pick up the mirror. life is messy and people are not perfect. emotion rules and sometimes wins. but i think that there is a better way. i have not quite forgiven this little circle of people who felt the need to defame my character, but i will. you see, it is better to forgive than the live in anger and hate and hostility. they win, then. i will forgive, but i will not forget. i know them for what they are and it saddens me. oh well. it is better to be the bigger person and move on. i know who i am and now, i now who they really are. i win.

…listen to the wind blow, down comes the night…run in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies.

©littlebrownbutterfly

i was in new york city recently, and i was on a mission to find myself a vintage purse. not just any ‘ole vintage purse. it needed to be big, so that i could carry lots of stuff in case i need to carry lots of stuff. the truth is, i don’t really carry too much in my purses, but i do like to have the extra room, just in case. i sought out the best vintage shops in the city. i dragged my man (hi k!) to several of them, and so patient he was with me whilst on my quest to find it. eventually — and after schlepping back and forth amongst the city, i found it…at a lovely store on the lower east side called edith machinist. a fendi bag from the early 80’s. perfect in size and exactly what i was looking for, with plenty of space to carry all of my little sundry items should i choose to. pristine, oversized — almost like a perfect little piece of luggage. after proudly making this this bag my primary one and transferring my goods into it, i got to (oh no…here she goes…) thinking about the things we each carry around with us. in our hearts, in our heads, in our lives. one of my all time favorite lyrics is from — guess! a bob dylan song from the bootlegged record, blood on the tapes. (if you aren’t familiar with blood on the tapes, you should be. outtakes from blood on the tracks. find it. get it. listen to it over and over and over until it is ingrained in you.) anyway, the line goes like this: i noticed at the ceremony that you left all your bags behind/the driver came in after you left/he gave them all to me and then he resigned. and so it is. in life, we carry our things, our own little bits of baggage and sometimes we are left holding things that belong to others. whether heavy in nature or light in weight, what we pick up and choose to carry around daily can weigh us down or at the very least, make us stop and realize that we need to lighten the load a bit. for now, my fendi is rather sparsely furnished. my wallet, a make-up bag, my iphone. i like to keep it light.

©littlebrownbutterfly

in addition to all other simply fascinating things that i am, i am a runner. certainly not the fastest, and i’m not always the most diligent about my little feel good hobby — and that’s okay with me. i cut myself some slack. i run. i do it. i’ve been running for several years now and my runs are sacred to me. it’s the time i take for myself. i process stuff. or i just listen to my tunes and zone out…way out. which is good for me since my brain is usually on a perpetual spin cycle of “what do i do about this situation/how could i have done that thing better/why does my cat merlin follow me to my mailbox like he is a dog/what the fuck am i doing with my life…and the Big and Daunting, what are we all doing on this pale blue dot anyway?” i exhaust myself with my thoughts. you get the point. sometimes during my runs i have little epiphanies, little insights that i take with me into my day, into my life. on my run today, for example, i thought more about the esoteric and abstract nature of my chosen sport. i have run away from a lot of things in my life: shit gets hard, i bail, i run. i simply run away. lisa has left the building. mary chapin carpenter says it nicely in one of her songs:  “i have run from the arms of lovers, i’ve run from the eyes of friends, i have run from the hands of kindness, i’ve run just because I can…”. but the act of running does not always lead anywhere. sometimes running is counterproductive. if i am running away from a particular person, let’s say, i have probably not dealt with the issues that probably, quite possibly, most likely– would cause me put down the magnifying glass and pick up the mirror. evaluate. reevaluate. look at my part. we are drawn to certain people because we need them. we need the experiences and the lessons that perhaps only they can teach us. so i have become very conscious of my tendencies with regard to bailing out on people. choosing the easier path. running. most of the time it is the easier, softer way. but you know what? i’m not really interested in the easiest route out these days. i want the 10 miler that is hard, that sometimes hurts a little…the run that may be kind of arduous to get through. because, at the end of each mile — at the end of each little step — is a lesson that is taking me to exactly where i am supposed to be. it feels good to run for sure, but it feels really really really good to stay and to learn. so stay awhile, would ya? my vintage nike roadrunners would like that.

©littlebrownbutterfly

the painting associated with this blog is what my bed faces, so i look at it often, ponder those two unfinished horses a lot — it is one of my favorite pieces of art. i purchased it at a hipster/groovester estate sale and fell in love the moment i laid eyes on it as well. i don’t know the title, but in an ode to the stones i call it “wild horses”. i’ve always been a bit of a wild horse myself: here (but not really), seemingly grounded (kinda), and ready for flight (rather than a fight) at any given moment in time. but something has happened to me this go-round, with this love. i’m not scared. i’m prepared to fight for it. i want to. this is worth it. but love is a complicated, wild beast itself and sometimes there is a bit of taming to do: the past always seems much closer than it really is, the heart sometimes longs for the familiar and oftentimes the beast wins and the drag backward is the easier than the forward motion of the new, the light, the love. if we are lucky, we all must come face t0 face with the decision to let go and to love at some point in our lives. some of us will win, some of us will lose. but the ones that try are my heroes. those who say, ‘fuck it’ and go forth into the dangerous battle of the unknown are the brave ones. they know that love — true love — is worth the good fight any day. because sometimes, it really does work out. people stay together. sometimes the heart knows and understands what the head does not: that only love is real…not fear, not the pain of the past. love.

wild horses couldn’t drag me away-

©littlebrownbutterfly

©littlebrownbutterfly

“That’s one thing that’s always, like, been a difference between, like, the performing arts, and being a painter, you know. A painter does a painting, and he paints it, and that’s it, you know. He has the joy of creating it, it hangs on a wall, and somebody buys it, and maybe somebody buys it again, or maybe nobody buys it and it sits up in a loft somewhere until he dies. But he never, you know, nobody ever, nobody ever said to Van Gogh, ‘Paint a Starry Night again, man!’ You know? He painted it and that was it.” Joni Mitchell,
Miles of Aisles (1974)

i love art. okay. not true. i love some art. and i can’t stand most art. admittedly, i am probably the least well-versed person on the subject that i know. i find it compelling (read: irksome) that many people talk ad nauseam about artists, the famous and not so famous among them and that they can speak intelligently about sub genres (are there even such things as sub genres? i just made that shit up. see..?) and stylistic differences. contemporary art. modern art. abstract impressionism. pop art. aboriginal art. art madi. ugh. i typically check out (waaaayyy out-) and stop listening when such conversations begin.

all i know is what i like.

on saturday, at goodwill, i found the kind of art that i like, though. i hung it in my bedroom. i have absolutely no way of knowing anything of the provenance, but it doesn’t really matter. it speaks to me in a way i cannot describe. like a song. when i look at it from my Big Brass Bed, this painting –this piece of discarded art– makes me really happy. it grounds me with it’s shades of brown, with the moon that is placed and painted so perfectly. when i look upon it, i feel settled. i’ve, um, not been feeling so settled as of late. i’ve been spending quite a lot of time alone, by myself, with me. it’s been a couple of years since i have been so unattached and so untethered. it’s an interesting feeling. kind of like when you are a kid and you get separated from your ‘rents at a big department store. alone. left wondering where the hell the important people in your life have gone. (down another aisle? to the bathroom? to another city? to another person?) yeah. like that. i am an aquarius and being completely and totally grounded is not really in my nature. i like to float around city to city, friend to friend, goodwill to goodwill. BUT sometimes even i need a little grounding…and sometimes, my untrained eye finds something created by someone i’ll never know that helps me feel just a little less lost, both feet on the ground. what i like.

 ©littlebrownbutterfly