The gallery was all abuzz with activity yesterday. Randy is still painting, but making great progress. The main room is finished, the counter area is 90 percent finished, which leaves only the my office, the hallway, restroom and kitchen. All of which he says he’ll knock out today.
Aga, who cleans our house, is coming to the gallery today to tackle the workroom, since we aren’t painting it. It needs a very thorough ceiling to floor cleaning since that is where we will store new product, Doug may frame paintings, we’ll put prints and mattes together, etc. Thursday I’ll have the carpets cleaned and then we can start moving things in. Yesterday we also got our phone, internet and alarm service set up.
Today I will tackle the decisions on the lighting, and try once again to get ahold of the sign company, who is the only cog in the wheel, since they aren’t returning any phone calls and were the ones who did the sign originally.
A couple of artists stopped by yesterday for us to review their work. Two were solicited by us, the other wasn’t. The second artist was a painter, and I have to say I didn’t care for his work, but was completely out of my element in reviewing it and responding. Doug gave me some directives as to what to do, but I pushed him to come and help me. He was great. He took right over, properly reviewed the work, ask appropriate questions and then wrapped it up by saying we’d keep his materials and photos of his work on file for future reference.
With the two that were solicited, he did equally well in his review. He is much more of an art critic than I am and that is how it should be. I know immediately if I think something is appropriate for the gallery and whether I think it will sell or not. But when you get down to how the artist will grow while at the gallery, what there goals for their art are, directions they plan to go in, what further training they’re getting or learning they’re doing . . . along with what their original training has been and how they’ve expanded it through the years, their approach, etc. Doug was brilliant. I was sincerely proud and in a little bit of awe of him.
When we were talking with the third and final artist, Doug talked about me a little bit. He told her that I was very, very organized, and very driven. Both good things, except when what you’d really like to do is just sit in a lawn chair and relax. Ummm, okay. I guess that was a compliment and a reminder at the same time.
I suppose I’ve always been an “as-soon-as-I girl.” As soon as I finish this or that I’ll relax. Gotta work on that.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Monday, January 29, 2007
Gallery, Store, Market?
I go back and forth, sometimes calling Second Street Art Market the gallery and sometimes the store. Neither seem to be right. Market wouldn’t sound right either. When someone asks what we’re doing, I hesitate, because I don’t know whether to say we’re opening a gallery or store, because again, neither seem exactly right. I don’t want to say we’re opening an art store, because that sounds like we sell art supplies.
Regardless, I am anxious to spend the day there today, getting some things set up. The painter is still painting, but we aren’t painting the workroom, or the supply closet, and there are certainly things I can get put away into drawers, file cabinets, kitchen cabinets, etc. Our phones and internet access get set up today, which will make working there much easier.
This weekend Doug and I did a lot of driving. Saturday we went south, looking for office supply stuff. We checked out a couple of used office supply places only to find that OfficeMax was half the price of the used stuff. By the time we got to OfficeMax the boys were tired and cranky. Frank didn’t feel good and Beckett was in serious need of a nap. We got what we needed anyway, so at least we accomplished something. Sometimes finding out a place doesn’t have something is as much of an accomplishment, because at least you won’t go back again.
Yesterday we went north. We stopped in Castle Rock at the Barn and I picked up a couple of great things for display/merchandising. There is certainly an abundance of that type of thing there. I could probably get just about everything I need, with the exception of jewelry cases, at the Barn, but it may make more sense to check out places like Goodwill or Salvation Army first and see if I can save some money.
We also went up to Park Meadow and visited Anthropologie and Urban Outfitters, both for display ideas. Walking around the mall, we got further ideas, or solidified ideas based on things Restoration Hardware, Williams Sonoma, etc. did with their displays. As a woman, who has wanted to open a store for a very long time, I have paid attention to displays and merchandising for an equally long amount of time. This trip’s main purpose was for Doug to see what types of things would work, and how simple it was. He was thinking we would have to go to more of a pre-fab commercial look with racks and shelves, etc.
Today my main focus, other than organizing the office, will be to set further appointments with local artists, and then contact artists whose information I picked up last Friday. When I did a verbal checklist with Doug about what types of products I had found vendors for, I was very pleasantly surprised at how extensive the list was.
I’m hoping Doug will make extensive progress on the logo today, and that tomorrow I can get a splash page up at least for the . . . um . . . gallery? store? market?
Regardless, I am anxious to spend the day there today, getting some things set up. The painter is still painting, but we aren’t painting the workroom, or the supply closet, and there are certainly things I can get put away into drawers, file cabinets, kitchen cabinets, etc. Our phones and internet access get set up today, which will make working there much easier.
This weekend Doug and I did a lot of driving. Saturday we went south, looking for office supply stuff. We checked out a couple of used office supply places only to find that OfficeMax was half the price of the used stuff. By the time we got to OfficeMax the boys were tired and cranky. Frank didn’t feel good and Beckett was in serious need of a nap. We got what we needed anyway, so at least we accomplished something. Sometimes finding out a place doesn’t have something is as much of an accomplishment, because at least you won’t go back again.
Yesterday we went north. We stopped in Castle Rock at the Barn and I picked up a couple of great things for display/merchandising. There is certainly an abundance of that type of thing there. I could probably get just about everything I need, with the exception of jewelry cases, at the Barn, but it may make more sense to check out places like Goodwill or Salvation Army first and see if I can save some money.
We also went up to Park Meadow and visited Anthropologie and Urban Outfitters, both for display ideas. Walking around the mall, we got further ideas, or solidified ideas based on things Restoration Hardware, Williams Sonoma, etc. did with their displays. As a woman, who has wanted to open a store for a very long time, I have paid attention to displays and merchandising for an equally long amount of time. This trip’s main purpose was for Doug to see what types of things would work, and how simple it was. He was thinking we would have to go to more of a pre-fab commercial look with racks and shelves, etc.
Today my main focus, other than organizing the office, will be to set further appointments with local artists, and then contact artists whose information I picked up last Friday. When I did a verbal checklist with Doug about what types of products I had found vendors for, I was very pleasantly surprised at how extensive the list was.
I’m hoping Doug will make extensive progress on the logo today, and that tomorrow I can get a splash page up at least for the . . . um . . . gallery? store? market?
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Weeding Out
I am working hard to do away with feeling compelled to work twenty hours a day. If I’m not accomplishing something, I feel as though I should be. My kids know I’m good at “getting things done.” But do they know anything else about me? It isn’t a question I really want to ponder at the end of the day when I’m tired.
Today was one of those days of getting things done, or trying to. We spent far more time driving to and from places that didn’t have what we were looking for than anything else.
Friday I let go of a project I should’ve let go of a long time ago. Such a relief. It was a project I never really wanted to work on, but accepted just because I would’ve felt guilty not doing so. Today I said a resounding NO to an author who would continue to make changes to her book until the day she died and never get it to print, but would somehow find a way to convince herself it wasn’t her doing so she felt better about it. This is someone who talked me into doing her book for a cut-rate and then proceeded to continue on with changes that should have cost her five-times what she was paying. Her book went to the printer (after nine months) last Wednesday and I’ve never been happier to see something go. She wanted to add yet another few paragraphs so I suggested she ask the printer to do it for her or find someone else willing to. I am a magnet for authors like her. Either that or I’ve always been the only one they could find willing to put up with their nonsense.
I have one book in final stages before galley, one in edit, another slated to start layout (very short and sweet), and one on its way supposedly, but I am in no hurry to get it. I long for the day I can decline to work on them if I want to. I’m not certain at what point I’ll feel secure enough to not work twenty hours a day. I hope it happens eventually.
I had an artist stop by the gallery today when we were there to drop something off. He was in town from California and wanted me to review his work for consideration to put it in. I started to, and then asked if he could come back Monday morning, which he gladly agreed to. I doubt I will have trouble finding enough artists, more likely it will be hard to choose which ones.
Today was one of those days of getting things done, or trying to. We spent far more time driving to and from places that didn’t have what we were looking for than anything else.
Friday I let go of a project I should’ve let go of a long time ago. Such a relief. It was a project I never really wanted to work on, but accepted just because I would’ve felt guilty not doing so. Today I said a resounding NO to an author who would continue to make changes to her book until the day she died and never get it to print, but would somehow find a way to convince herself it wasn’t her doing so she felt better about it. This is someone who talked me into doing her book for a cut-rate and then proceeded to continue on with changes that should have cost her five-times what she was paying. Her book went to the printer (after nine months) last Wednesday and I’ve never been happier to see something go. She wanted to add yet another few paragraphs so I suggested she ask the printer to do it for her or find someone else willing to. I am a magnet for authors like her. Either that or I’ve always been the only one they could find willing to put up with their nonsense.
I have one book in final stages before galley, one in edit, another slated to start layout (very short and sweet), and one on its way supposedly, but I am in no hurry to get it. I long for the day I can decline to work on them if I want to. I’m not certain at what point I’ll feel secure enough to not work twenty hours a day. I hope it happens eventually.
I had an artist stop by the gallery today when we were there to drop something off. He was in town from California and wanted me to review his work for consideration to put it in. I started to, and then asked if he could come back Monday morning, which he gladly agreed to. I doubt I will have trouble finding enough artists, more likely it will be hard to choose which ones.
Friday, January 26, 2007
What is really only ten days ago?
I just scrolled down the blog and couldn’t be happier that I am keeping track of this process. I cannot believe it was ten days ago that I wrote to check back in two weeks, that we might be gallery owners. Holy smokes.
Following Along
This week has been much like last week was. Whatever force is guiding me, I feel as though I am merely following along. Ideas come to me from out of nowhere, things are put in front of me that make no sense, and then five minutes or two hours later, something will dawn on me and I’ll remember what it was I just saw and pay attention.
The painters begin painting today. Two of them, two completely different directions. Randy the painter will begin painting the gallery, and Doug is set up to start painting in his studio. He has also set up an area in the garage with his flat files and an easel so he has a place to paint larger watercolors.
He is inspired by the potential of collaberation. Years of ideas are flowing out of him. Doug has always been committed to lifelong learning. He loves to learn. He listens to the artists we’re interviewing and he is filled with ideas about things he wants to do or try or learn about. He walks around our house and says, “you know, things like this. We could . . .”
I spent yesterday with Micki, who has worked in the gallery in it’s former iteration for fifteen years. And years of ideas are flowing from her as well. She is cautious, I think holding back so as not to overstep what she considers her bounds. But from time to time she’ll get very enthusiastic about something and let on that she has wanted to do something like this for so long, or she always thought something would be a good idea.
I become more and more inspired by the input I’m getting and also by the name. The possibilities for marketing are endless. Second Street Art Market fits the image I have in my mind of the space like a glove—who I want us to be in the community, how I want people to respond to us. The possibilities for merchandising are likewise endless. In the summer there is a farmer’s market on Saturdays a block away from us on Second Street. In front of the gallery there is a garden with a grassy area, benches and some sculpture. We could set up the tent Doug has used for art shows and not only have artists outside to draw attention, but make it an event. The artists could be working and doing demonstrations, have projects for kids to work on—it will be as necessary to stop at the art market as it is to visit the farmer’s market on Saturday morning.
I was sitting here imaging a beautiful summer Saturday, with all of this taking place. In my mind, there is an artist—a recording artist—set up like Syd and Patrick were at our house this summer, playing guitar and singing, signing and selling their CDs. Thad, a potter, has a potting wheel set up where kids can watch and maybe even get a little messy. Doug is painting Mt. Hermann which we have a picture perfect view of.
And then . . . I actually laugh out loud because I imagine what I will be doing. As emotional as I get about things, I’ll probably be walking around crying. I guess people will get used to it. “There she goes again,” they’ll say. Strangers will say, “Why is she crying?” And someone will answer, “This is her dream, she gets a little emotional about it.” Or people will simply think I’m batty. I should probably try not to walk around crying.
The painters begin painting today. Two of them, two completely different directions. Randy the painter will begin painting the gallery, and Doug is set up to start painting in his studio. He has also set up an area in the garage with his flat files and an easel so he has a place to paint larger watercolors.
He is inspired by the potential of collaberation. Years of ideas are flowing out of him. Doug has always been committed to lifelong learning. He loves to learn. He listens to the artists we’re interviewing and he is filled with ideas about things he wants to do or try or learn about. He walks around our house and says, “you know, things like this. We could . . .”
I spent yesterday with Micki, who has worked in the gallery in it’s former iteration for fifteen years. And years of ideas are flowing from her as well. She is cautious, I think holding back so as not to overstep what she considers her bounds. But from time to time she’ll get very enthusiastic about something and let on that she has wanted to do something like this for so long, or she always thought something would be a good idea.
I become more and more inspired by the input I’m getting and also by the name. The possibilities for marketing are endless. Second Street Art Market fits the image I have in my mind of the space like a glove—who I want us to be in the community, how I want people to respond to us. The possibilities for merchandising are likewise endless. In the summer there is a farmer’s market on Saturdays a block away from us on Second Street. In front of the gallery there is a garden with a grassy area, benches and some sculpture. We could set up the tent Doug has used for art shows and not only have artists outside to draw attention, but make it an event. The artists could be working and doing demonstrations, have projects for kids to work on—it will be as necessary to stop at the art market as it is to visit the farmer’s market on Saturday morning.
I was sitting here imaging a beautiful summer Saturday, with all of this taking place. In my mind, there is an artist—a recording artist—set up like Syd and Patrick were at our house this summer, playing guitar and singing, signing and selling their CDs. Thad, a potter, has a potting wheel set up where kids can watch and maybe even get a little messy. Doug is painting Mt. Hermann which we have a picture perfect view of.
And then . . . I actually laugh out loud because I imagine what I will be doing. As emotional as I get about things, I’ll probably be walking around crying. I guess people will get used to it. “There she goes again,” they’ll say. Strangers will say, “Why is she crying?” And someone will answer, “This is her dream, she gets a little emotional about it.” Or people will simply think I’m batty. I should probably try not to walk around crying.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
The First Day of the Rest of Our Lives
On Sunday afternoon Doug said to Frank, “Tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of our lives.” And I guess it always is. Frank wanted to know what Doug meant and he explained that as of Monday, we would be starting a new chapter, one that would define the next five years for us at least, and maybe longer.
Yesterday ended up being a day pretty much like any other. It was a snow day, although for the life of me, I have no idea why. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining and when I looked out the window at 7:00am, everything had a beautiful pink glow. Beckett went to preschool, but we let Frank stay home one more day in order to combat his cough.
I went to the gallery in the morning to get keys, transfer utilities, do a final wrap-up of sorts. It was very hectic with things being moved out. I recognized the frenetic pace of someone needing to get everything they possibly could done before leaving for two weeks, because nothing could wait until they got back. I reassured them that whatever wasn’t finished could in fact wait until they got back and they were appreciative.
I had an interview of sorts with Micki, who will stay on with us at the gallery and is very excited to do so. With fifteen years of experience, she will be invaluable to me. She is excited to learn more about Doug’s style of watercolor and anxious to see him paint, learn about his technique so she is better able to sell his work.
I spent the weekend moving my office out of my office and setting up a studio for Doug. He has the nicest space to paint in, by far, that he’s had in all the years I’ve known him. He is poised to let his creativity flow, and has whatever he needs to do so at his fingertips.
For me, today is the first day of the rest of our lives. After I drop the boys off at school, I’ll take my moving boxes and set up my office at the gallery. From today on, I will work there. Which means at least for the time being, I won’t be working at 3:40 in the morning.
Today I will start contacting artists and setting up times for Doug and I to review their work. I’ll nail down my operating business plan as best I can so we have a road map to follow, at least for now. I’ll start our first budget and work on our website. And I’ll do my best to finish up some of the other projects I have going right now, even though I have little interest in doing so. However, I am up at this ridiculous hour in order to, so I suppose there still is hope for me, or not. Hard to say whether it’s a good thing or bad.
Fingers crossed. Lots of prayers. Today is the first day of the rest of our lives.
Yesterday ended up being a day pretty much like any other. It was a snow day, although for the life of me, I have no idea why. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining and when I looked out the window at 7:00am, everything had a beautiful pink glow. Beckett went to preschool, but we let Frank stay home one more day in order to combat his cough.
I went to the gallery in the morning to get keys, transfer utilities, do a final wrap-up of sorts. It was very hectic with things being moved out. I recognized the frenetic pace of someone needing to get everything they possibly could done before leaving for two weeks, because nothing could wait until they got back. I reassured them that whatever wasn’t finished could in fact wait until they got back and they were appreciative.
I had an interview of sorts with Micki, who will stay on with us at the gallery and is very excited to do so. With fifteen years of experience, she will be invaluable to me. She is excited to learn more about Doug’s style of watercolor and anxious to see him paint, learn about his technique so she is better able to sell his work.
I spent the weekend moving my office out of my office and setting up a studio for Doug. He has the nicest space to paint in, by far, that he’s had in all the years I’ve known him. He is poised to let his creativity flow, and has whatever he needs to do so at his fingertips.
For me, today is the first day of the rest of our lives. After I drop the boys off at school, I’ll take my moving boxes and set up my office at the gallery. From today on, I will work there. Which means at least for the time being, I won’t be working at 3:40 in the morning.
Today I will start contacting artists and setting up times for Doug and I to review their work. I’ll nail down my operating business plan as best I can so we have a road map to follow, at least for now. I’ll start our first budget and work on our website. And I’ll do my best to finish up some of the other projects I have going right now, even though I have little interest in doing so. However, I am up at this ridiculous hour in order to, so I suppose there still is hope for me, or not. Hard to say whether it’s a good thing or bad.
Fingers crossed. Lots of prayers. Today is the first day of the rest of our lives.
Monday, January 22, 2007
The Quiet Woman
I remember my friends Sean and Lynne telling stories about the days and weeks right after they purchased the Quiet Woman restaurant in the early 1990s. The restaurant had been in business for a number of years when they bought it, and while I don’t remember what they paid for it, I do remember that to me, it was a staggering amount of money.
Sean said he rarely slept in those first few days and weeks, constantly waking Lynne to ask her what they had done, how would they make it work, what tragedies were on the road ahead of them. I don’t think Lynne ever said what it was she said when he asked those questions, perhaps all she did was listen and reassure him that they had made the decision they had for a reason, that all indicators pointed in the direction of success, and that she believed they would do well. If they hadn’t, I cannot say what I think would have happened to their marriage, it may be that they would have worked through it and been just fine, or at least made it through.
They never had to cross that bridge however, because the restaurant remained wildly successful, and profitable. I know they were able to remodel their house, then buy a new and better one, buy an airplane, buy a large yacht with which they took, the last I knew, at least two or three years off and sailed around the world. Lynne would fly back from whatever port they were in from time to time as she was needed, but they and their two children have had adventures I can only imagine, and some perhaps I cannot.
This venture we are about to undertake will be a roller coaster for Doug and I. I am an eternal optimist. I wake up every morning excited about the possibilties in the day ahead. Doug is the opposite. He’s a little Charlie Brown-ish. Got some Eyore in him. There is always a little black cloud he can’t seem to wave away. Getting through the worry that every business owner faces will be hard for him. He’s working through it by working on things, which I always find helps. Put one foot in front of the other and forge ahead, and then I always feel better.
I don’t have blinders on, I know how much work this is going to be. And when I say I know, believe me, I know. I have been in business for myself since I was twenty-five years old. I have had to make my own way all those years, rarely with any safety net, and that includes the time since I’ve been married. And in all those years, I have had a business based on service alone, nothing tangible. If my brain wasn’t cooperating, there was no one to fall back on. If I didn’t feel like working and instead wanted to spend my days reading the paper, surfing the web, hanging out, not doing much of anything, I would’ve paid dearly for it.
I haven’t heard from Sean and Lynne this year, I usually get a Christmas card from them. And I haven’t been in their restaurant in more than five years. My restaurant-going ways changed considerably when I became a mother, as do everyone’s. I would imagine the Quiet Woman still enjoys the success it always has, maybe not. There are probably good years and bad, good months and bad, good days and bad. But regardless, I believe it has been mostly good, and they have reaped the rewards of it being so.
Sean said he rarely slept in those first few days and weeks, constantly waking Lynne to ask her what they had done, how would they make it work, what tragedies were on the road ahead of them. I don’t think Lynne ever said what it was she said when he asked those questions, perhaps all she did was listen and reassure him that they had made the decision they had for a reason, that all indicators pointed in the direction of success, and that she believed they would do well. If they hadn’t, I cannot say what I think would have happened to their marriage, it may be that they would have worked through it and been just fine, or at least made it through.
They never had to cross that bridge however, because the restaurant remained wildly successful, and profitable. I know they were able to remodel their house, then buy a new and better one, buy an airplane, buy a large yacht with which they took, the last I knew, at least two or three years off and sailed around the world. Lynne would fly back from whatever port they were in from time to time as she was needed, but they and their two children have had adventures I can only imagine, and some perhaps I cannot.
This venture we are about to undertake will be a roller coaster for Doug and I. I am an eternal optimist. I wake up every morning excited about the possibilties in the day ahead. Doug is the opposite. He’s a little Charlie Brown-ish. Got some Eyore in him. There is always a little black cloud he can’t seem to wave away. Getting through the worry that every business owner faces will be hard for him. He’s working through it by working on things, which I always find helps. Put one foot in front of the other and forge ahead, and then I always feel better.
I don’t have blinders on, I know how much work this is going to be. And when I say I know, believe me, I know. I have been in business for myself since I was twenty-five years old. I have had to make my own way all those years, rarely with any safety net, and that includes the time since I’ve been married. And in all those years, I have had a business based on service alone, nothing tangible. If my brain wasn’t cooperating, there was no one to fall back on. If I didn’t feel like working and instead wanted to spend my days reading the paper, surfing the web, hanging out, not doing much of anything, I would’ve paid dearly for it.
I haven’t heard from Sean and Lynne this year, I usually get a Christmas card from them. And I haven’t been in their restaurant in more than five years. My restaurant-going ways changed considerably when I became a mother, as do everyone’s. I would imagine the Quiet Woman still enjoys the success it always has, maybe not. There are probably good years and bad, good months and bad, good days and bad. But regardless, I believe it has been mostly good, and they have reaped the rewards of it being so.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
The Painted Veil
We saw the Painted Veil last night with our neighbors. Naomi Watts and Edward Norton’s acting was exemplary. A little slow, predictable and somewhat dark, but good.
Birth Announcement
We are pleased and proud to announce that we have officially signed the lease and will take possession of the gallery in Monument tomorrow. It will be called Second Street Arts.
We signed the lease on Friday, and I, of course, would periodically get very emotional. In the past twelve years, Doug and I have often done business together, but not officially. We’ve worked on projects together, I’ve helped him with art shows, he’s helped me with book covers. But this is something different entirely.
Ten years ago, Doug and I were in Paso Robles for the annual wine festival. We decided, serendipitously, that Cambria really meant something to us and we would go over and see if we thought Cambria Pines Lodge would be a good place for us to get married.
Driving on Highway 46 over the rolling hills with the panaromic view of the ocean (yes, there are some things I miss about California), Doug out of the blue said, “I think we should open a store in San Luis Obispo. We could sell my watercolors, garden art, music, all the things you love. We could have college students work in the afternoons, evenings and weekends so you could be with the kids [we didn’t yet have any at the time]. You could run the store and I could create art for it.” I closed my eyes and it all sounded like heaven to me. I’ve never forgotten that conversation, and I’ve never let go of the dream to make it a reality.
And here we are. It’s not in San Luis Obispo, it’s in Monument, but otherwise the dream remains the same.
When planning the move to Colorado Springs, having a store was certainly a goal for me. I brought it up constantly, but getting it set up and going was daunting, and the capital required to do it was more daunting. Or vice versa, both may be equally daunting.
I heard about the gallery closing. I brought it up to Doug casually. He heard me but didn’t have much of a response. I drove by on Monday, called the real estate agent listed on their sign, talked to him about the lease a little bit, went home and talked to Doug. Again he heard me but didn’t have much of a response. I called my neighbor and she and I went over to the gallery. I talked to the owner, expressed some interest, and went home and talked to Doug again. Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday I spent a great deal of time talking to Doug, and doing research, and talking to our accountant, and lawyer, and parents. And with all the stars in perfect alignment, all the ducks in a row, all economic and logical indicators pointing in the right direction, or some force driving us—we agreed to take the leap of faith and do this thing. (See the posts on January 16th—this all is truly amazing.)
Friday as we were walking around the gallery talking to artists, painters, handymen, friends, realtors, former owners and employees, I would look over and catch Doug’s eye. We both had silly grins on our faces, and I would get tears in my eyes. Tears of happiness of course. And pride. I am so proud of my husband. He is wildly creative and talented. This thing we’re doing was his inspiration initially. He saw something in me all those years ago and knew how good of a fit this would be. There is no question that this is outside of his comfort zone. Doug is not a risk-taker, at all. But he believes this is one worth taking, and I am especially proud of him for believing in himself and in me.
The absolute best part is that this is ours. His and mine. And it is something we will do together, each with our individual roles, but relying on one other as sounding board and partner.
We signed the lease on Friday, and I, of course, would periodically get very emotional. In the past twelve years, Doug and I have often done business together, but not officially. We’ve worked on projects together, I’ve helped him with art shows, he’s helped me with book covers. But this is something different entirely.
Ten years ago, Doug and I were in Paso Robles for the annual wine festival. We decided, serendipitously, that Cambria really meant something to us and we would go over and see if we thought Cambria Pines Lodge would be a good place for us to get married.
Driving on Highway 46 over the rolling hills with the panaromic view of the ocean (yes, there are some things I miss about California), Doug out of the blue said, “I think we should open a store in San Luis Obispo. We could sell my watercolors, garden art, music, all the things you love. We could have college students work in the afternoons, evenings and weekends so you could be with the kids [we didn’t yet have any at the time]. You could run the store and I could create art for it.” I closed my eyes and it all sounded like heaven to me. I’ve never forgotten that conversation, and I’ve never let go of the dream to make it a reality.
And here we are. It’s not in San Luis Obispo, it’s in Monument, but otherwise the dream remains the same.
When planning the move to Colorado Springs, having a store was certainly a goal for me. I brought it up constantly, but getting it set up and going was daunting, and the capital required to do it was more daunting. Or vice versa, both may be equally daunting.
I heard about the gallery closing. I brought it up to Doug casually. He heard me but didn’t have much of a response. I drove by on Monday, called the real estate agent listed on their sign, talked to him about the lease a little bit, went home and talked to Doug. Again he heard me but didn’t have much of a response. I called my neighbor and she and I went over to the gallery. I talked to the owner, expressed some interest, and went home and talked to Doug again. Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday I spent a great deal of time talking to Doug, and doing research, and talking to our accountant, and lawyer, and parents. And with all the stars in perfect alignment, all the ducks in a row, all economic and logical indicators pointing in the right direction, or some force driving us—we agreed to take the leap of faith and do this thing. (See the posts on January 16th—this all is truly amazing.)
Friday as we were walking around the gallery talking to artists, painters, handymen, friends, realtors, former owners and employees, I would look over and catch Doug’s eye. We both had silly grins on our faces, and I would get tears in my eyes. Tears of happiness of course. And pride. I am so proud of my husband. He is wildly creative and talented. This thing we’re doing was his inspiration initially. He saw something in me all those years ago and knew how good of a fit this would be. There is no question that this is outside of his comfort zone. Doug is not a risk-taker, at all. But he believes this is one worth taking, and I am especially proud of him for believing in himself and in me.
The absolute best part is that this is ours. His and mine. And it is something we will do together, each with our individual roles, but relying on one other as sounding board and partner.
Snow on Snow
The doyens of public relations in the Colorado Springs area have two things they regularly tout. The first is there are 395 sunny days per year in Colorado Springs, and that remains close to true. Second, it never snows on snow. This year has thrown number two straight out the window.
(High: 23°F / Low: 5°F with light snow)
(High: 23°F / Low: 5°F with light snow)
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Envy
My how I envy the talent of my friend Shelly Strazis. And so enjoy getting glimpses of some of our friends and their children on her website. It seems to me that Monument, Colorado would be an excellent place for her to visit and photograph.
Stop, Look and Listen
Beckett quotes “stop, look and listen” frequently from what he hears at school. The hand movements he uses along with it are probably close to what his teacher does, although he points to the top of his head when he gets to “listen” rather than his ear.
When Frank was about Beckett’s age or a little younger, I scolded him for something. His big brown eyes filled with tears and I immediately said, “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings,” tossled his hair and rubbed the top of his head. I think to this day whenever Frank says, “That hurt my feelings,” he rubs the top of his head.
Today stop, look and listen refers to the fact that I’ve updated my “I’m listening to . . .” and “I’m reading . . .” blogrolls. Once I get the URLs for my recent iMix posts I’ll add those too. There’s some great music on the blogroll, check it out!
When Frank was about Beckett’s age or a little younger, I scolded him for something. His big brown eyes filled with tears and I immediately said, “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings,” tossled his hair and rubbed the top of his head. I think to this day whenever Frank says, “That hurt my feelings,” he rubs the top of his head.
Today stop, look and listen refers to the fact that I’ve updated my “I’m listening to . . .” and “I’m reading . . .” blogrolls. Once I get the URLs for my recent iMix posts I’ll add those too. There’s some great music on the blogroll, check it out!
Camp Intents
Yesterday around noon we sent a letter of intent on the art gallery. We should hear a response today. We asked for a wide variety of exceptions to their boilerplate lease, mainly in the form of fiduciary considerations. We shall see what today brings, but I expect the outcome to be positive.
And that is why I am up this early, not instead to do billing.
(High: 31° F / Low: 3° F, fair)
And that is why I am up this early, not instead to do billing.
(High: 31° F / Low: 3° F, fair)
Billing
The woes of being in business for oneself include billing, and unfortunately sometimes clients try to manipulate billing in the form of very creative math.
It is a good thing I started out as a bookkeeper and then subsequent accounting major in college before the advertising director at the sailboat company I worked for got ahold of me and talked me into switching my emphasis.
Billing is not the kind of stuff I really want to be doing at this early hour. Although I have found it always best to do the stuff first that I want to do the least and get it out of the way.
It is a good thing I started out as a bookkeeper and then subsequent accounting major in college before the advertising director at the sailboat company I worked for got ahold of me and talked me into switching my emphasis.
Billing is not the kind of stuff I really want to be doing at this early hour. Although I have found it always best to do the stuff first that I want to do the least and get it out of the way.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Where are the bees?
I used to have two little bees on either side of the header of this blog, but now I don’t see them. I wonder what happened to my bees?
(High: 35° / Low: 6° mostly sunny)
(High: 35° / Low: 6° mostly sunny)
Happy Birthday!
Happy birthday Grandma Charlotte! We’re thinking of you and wish we could be there with you today. (And we can’t wait to see you next month!)
I Your Friend
Beckett has developed such an adorable personality. It is so interesting to see how alike yet how different two little boys can be. He hasn’t quite grasped the concept that you can be friends with more than one person, so I am his friend more often than Daddy and Frank are. He’ll get really snuggly, give me a hug and say, “I your friend Mommy, I your friend.” Conversely, when he is upset with me about something he’ll say, “I not your friend Mommy, not ever, ever, ever, ever.” Fortunately I am his friend more often than I’m not.
The first time he said it was a few weeks ago. I was in a pretty lousy mood—tired, emotional, etc. I was putting the boys to bed and Frank said something that brought tears to my eyes. I was in Beck’s bed trying to get him to sleep and he noticed I was crying. He started to rub my back, which isn’t an easy thing for a two-year-old to do from a coordination standpoint, and kept saying over and over again, “I your friend Mommy, I your friend.” I cried all the more, but tears of pure joy for my sweet, sensitive, loving little boy.
The first time he said it was a few weeks ago. I was in a pretty lousy mood—tired, emotional, etc. I was putting the boys to bed and Frank said something that brought tears to my eyes. I was in Beck’s bed trying to get him to sleep and he noticed I was crying. He started to rub my back, which isn’t an easy thing for a two-year-old to do from a coordination standpoint, and kept saying over and over again, “I your friend Mommy, I your friend.” I cried all the more, but tears of pure joy for my sweet, sensitive, loving little boy.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
This is just TOO much
I get a daily OM delivered to me via email. This is today’s:
January 16, 2007
Making It Happen
Go for It
There are times in our lives when all the signs seem to be pointing us in a particular direction. Our thoughts and dreams are echoed in the songs and stories we hear and the media we see. Maybe the message we are getting from the universe doesn’t even make sense in the “real” world, but somewhere inside, these urges feel right. Maybe you feel you are being told to move to a new city although your life where you are is just fine. Or maybe you feel the desire to pursue a new direction in your career when it never really interested you before. When we spend time getting in touch with our higher selves, our intuition sends us directives to lead us to become our best and most fulfilled selves. And when we are open and listening, the next step is to take action and go for it.
Once we make the decision to pursue our inner urgings, the universe sets into motion the means for all sorts of details to fall into place. A sense of peace will come over us, because we know that any questions will no longer make us wonder if our dreams are possible, but how to make them happen. Instead of deterring us from our goal, these questions only serve to clarify our focus to move us forward. We need not throw caution to the wind to follow our dream. The positive shift in our energy affects everything around us. Like a rush of water, it goes ahead to clear debris from our path so that we can go forward. Our new attitude also attracts likeminded people. Sometimes even the most unlikely angels arrive to help us along our way with the information and support we need.
Wherever your dreams are pointing you today, take a step. Take action and manifest your inner urges and soul whisperings.
So you wanted to open an art gallery? And what is your third wish?
Doug and I have often talked about opening a store. It would be an art gallery first and foremost for his artwork. We would also sell other “home” type things, other art such as garden art, music, wine—general stuff that would have more of a draw than a typical art gallery alone might have. It’s been more than something we’ve talked about, it’s really been a plan.
Well—that plan may turn into a reality MUCH faster than we ever imagined.
There is an art gallery in Monument, a perfect location. I can’t tell you the number of times we’ve driven by it and I’ve said, “THAT is the perfect location, but they got it first.” Well they are retiring. After thirty years in business, they’re retiring. They actually own the building and have made a nice life for themselves and their family, and now want to spend more time traveling and enjoying their family. It is a husband and wife team, he’s the artist (sculpture), she’s the business person. There are other artists in the gallery, with work on consignment.
Things will move quickly if we continue to move forward with this. We’re in the midst of negotiating, due diligence, all of that. Check back in two weeks. We may be gallery owners.
Well—that plan may turn into a reality MUCH faster than we ever imagined.
There is an art gallery in Monument, a perfect location. I can’t tell you the number of times we’ve driven by it and I’ve said, “THAT is the perfect location, but they got it first.” Well they are retiring. After thirty years in business, they’re retiring. They actually own the building and have made a nice life for themselves and their family, and now want to spend more time traveling and enjoying their family. It is a husband and wife team, he’s the artist (sculpture), she’s the business person. There are other artists in the gallery, with work on consignment.
Things will move quickly if we continue to move forward with this. We’re in the midst of negotiating, due diligence, all of that. Check back in two weeks. We may be gallery owners.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Snow Day!
Well, not officially since it isn’t a school day, but it’s blizzardy and blustery outside, so a GREAT day to stay inside and do nothing. Which, when you’re a mom, means a list a thousand items long of what I could “get done” today.
(High: 11 °F / Low: -7 °F with light snow)
(High: 11 °F / Low: -7 °F with light snow)
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Hurt is hard
Frank has the biggest brown eyes I’ve every seen, with the exception of his father’s. And when he gets sad and those big brown eyes fill up with tears, my heart breaks. It happens with Beckett too, but Beckett’s hurts right now are much more superficial than Frank’s are, because Beckett will likely not remember, and Frank will. Frank is very sensitive, which means he’ll remember more than Beck ever will anyway.
We’re going through something right now with an adult, a non-relative, who has disappointed Frank. It really isn’t that big of a disappointment, but it is something Frank just doesn’t understand. And not wanting to say anything negative about this person, I can’t explain in a way that would make it easier for me.
I want to protect him, explain that it doesn’t have anything to do with him, it is something to do with the other person. I feel a little bit like the person who says, “It isn’t personal, it’s business.” The person on the receiving end of that line never thinks it’s business, they always think it’s personal.
Which leads me to think about something that happened here recently. We read about a basketball coach at the local charter school who was brought up on 26 different charges relating to children. Evidently the culmination was when one of the basketball players had to have corrective surgery due to injuries sustained by the actions of this coach. So many things came to mind for me, beginning with how did this go on past the first occurrence ? And finally with—what would I do if something like this happened to Frank? I cannot even let myself imagine how I would feel or react.
I know there will be countless times Frank will face hurt in his life, and it is my job as a parent to help him learn how to work through that hurt and come out the other side a stronger person. But I can tell you that regardless of what hurt I’ve faced in my life, NOTHING compares to how much the core of me hurts when my child is hurt.
We’re going through something right now with an adult, a non-relative, who has disappointed Frank. It really isn’t that big of a disappointment, but it is something Frank just doesn’t understand. And not wanting to say anything negative about this person, I can’t explain in a way that would make it easier for me.
I want to protect him, explain that it doesn’t have anything to do with him, it is something to do with the other person. I feel a little bit like the person who says, “It isn’t personal, it’s business.” The person on the receiving end of that line never thinks it’s business, they always think it’s personal.
Which leads me to think about something that happened here recently. We read about a basketball coach at the local charter school who was brought up on 26 different charges relating to children. Evidently the culmination was when one of the basketball players had to have corrective surgery due to injuries sustained by the actions of this coach. So many things came to mind for me, beginning with how did this go on past the first occurrence ? And finally with—what would I do if something like this happened to Frank? I cannot even let myself imagine how I would feel or react.
I know there will be countless times Frank will face hurt in his life, and it is my job as a parent to help him learn how to work through that hurt and come out the other side a stronger person. But I can tell you that regardless of what hurt I’ve faced in my life, NOTHING compares to how much the core of me hurts when my child is hurt.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Hey It’s Cold Outside
The sun in shining, there’s a slight dusting of snow on the trees—it’s breathtakingly beautiful here in Monument today—even if it is only 3 degrees outside! And it’s Friday, which means that it’s a play day for me. I took the boys to school, stopped at the grocery store, picked up a cinnamon dolce latte for me and a cappuccino for Doug, and now I am a homemaker (or it is housewife? or stay-at-home mom?), whatever you want to call it, it is the best feeling there could be.
Doug and I have a date tonight and I have a “date” today with my next door neighbor. She and her husband are two of the younger people in the gated community we live in. I think she was happy when we moved in since we at least appeared to be closer to their age. I spent the next two months working almost around the clock, so I was surely a disappointment as a new neighbor, but with my new-found freedom, it’s a different story entirely.
We have lots of plans, or plans to make plans anyway. Maybe take cooking lessons in Denver, a women’s lecture series, play tennis in the summer . . . Next Saturday night she and her husband and Doug and I are going to go to dinner, a movie at a funky old movie house in downtown Colorado Springs and maybe listen to music at Jack Quinn. Her husband likes microbreweries, and hiking. I don’t think he and Doug will have any trouble finding something to talk about. That is, of course, if they can get a word in edgewise between she and I, who talk almost non-stop whenever we’re together or on the phone.
I’ve heard about people who made friends with their neighbors, not just acquaintances, but friends. I’ve rarely experienced the true-friend part with a neighbor per se, I have more so with women I met through the MOMS Club or school, although I’ve always wanted to. You know, the thing you used to see on tv, where the two women hung out, had coffee, played tennis or went out to lunch during the day. Yep, having a neighbor to become friends with, one of those other things I love about living here.
Doug and I have a date tonight and I have a “date” today with my next door neighbor. She and her husband are two of the younger people in the gated community we live in. I think she was happy when we moved in since we at least appeared to be closer to their age. I spent the next two months working almost around the clock, so I was surely a disappointment as a new neighbor, but with my new-found freedom, it’s a different story entirely.
We have lots of plans, or plans to make plans anyway. Maybe take cooking lessons in Denver, a women’s lecture series, play tennis in the summer . . . Next Saturday night she and her husband and Doug and I are going to go to dinner, a movie at a funky old movie house in downtown Colorado Springs and maybe listen to music at Jack Quinn. Her husband likes microbreweries, and hiking. I don’t think he and Doug will have any trouble finding something to talk about. That is, of course, if they can get a word in edgewise between she and I, who talk almost non-stop whenever we’re together or on the phone.
I’ve heard about people who made friends with their neighbors, not just acquaintances, but friends. I’ve rarely experienced the true-friend part with a neighbor per se, I have more so with women I met through the MOMS Club or school, although I’ve always wanted to. You know, the thing you used to see on tv, where the two women hung out, had coffee, played tennis or went out to lunch during the day. Yep, having a neighbor to become friends with, one of those other things I love about living here.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
I love this place
So when I couldn’t wait to write, the thing I wanted to write about was how much I love it here.
Tonight Frank and I went to the library—the Monument Branch Library—which is right across the road from where we live. (And I cannot tell you how good it feels to write “road” instead of street.) Walking through the library I noticed things similar to the Mesa Verde library we used to go to. But it was so different at the same time.
I stopped going to the Mesa Verde library because it simply depressed me too much. It was the perfect example of “budget cuts”—and apathy. I took Frank into the childrens’ room, ignored completely by the single librarian who seemed more bothered by our visit than excited to see someone who was teaching her young child about her love of books. And then I noticed how dusty it was. Really dusty. The tops of the shelves were filthy, as though no one had dusted for a year or more. And there were gigantic stuffed animals, also filthy. My heart hurt. My heart hurt because there was no one who cared enough to do anything about it. And my heart hurt because my son would never know the love and excitement of the library that I remembered from my youth.
There were other solutions of course. We tried the downtown library in Costa Mesa. It was better, but still had no heart. We tried the brand new Corona del Mar library that Daddy always went to for any books he needed or wanted to look at. Granted it was beautiful, but again, it wasn’t “our” library. It was a library we had to drive to. And again, I didn’t feel a warmth or welcoming or heart in this library. It seemed more like the library at Cal State Long Beach to me, kind of sterile and official.
The Monument library is in a funky strip mall that has lots of vacancies. It shows the same signs of budget cuts. So what was different? When we walked in there were four people who clamored to greet us. When I explained that we were unable to find Frank’s library card, a lovely (and clearly on her way out) woman with a charming English accent told Frank very seriously that she would be happy to replace his library card, but there would be a fee. It would cost him $1. She showed him his options, Garden of the Gods or General Palmer (there was one other that I cannot recall), and he chose General Palmer without hesitation. She prepared his card, corrected our address, and then gave Frank his card and showed him where to sign it, “with his very, very best penmanship.” He took his time and signed his library card, and then proudly presented it to her for her inspection. She very properly told him “it would do.”
She then asked if she could help us find anything special and he explained we were there to find Civil War on Sunday, his current book club pick. All copies were checked out, but she went back to ask one of the other librarians to find out if Palmer Lake or Briargate had any copies, and bid us a good night.
Frank wanted to double-check himself, so sorted through each and every one of the Tree House books to be certain she hadn’t missed it. Sure enough, all checked out. Another librarian, seemingly a teenager, although far too polite and interested in her job to be a teenager, came and confirmed that Palmer Lake and Briargate were out as well, but she would be happy to put it on hold for him. He and I agreed that it would be a book worth buying, and agreed to take that tack tomorrow. The teenager excitely asked Frank if he was interested in the Civil War because next weekend there would be an event at the library featuring a man who wrote a book about it and would be in an authentic Civil War uniform and would bring other artifacts, weapons, etc. Frank told her that his grandfather was a veteran of World War II, and she responded that he must be very proud of his grandfather.
Walking around the library, it was clean. Spotless. It shows its age no question, but more importantly it showed the signs of respect for books that the library in Mesa Verde didn’t seem to. Rather than disinterest, we were met with enthusiasm for our presence. Another thing, the library was busy. It is Thursday, we were there between 6:30 and 7:00 pm. They have a weekly newsletter, clearly done in-house, and events for every age group, babies to adults. The sign-up sheets for every event were full of signatures. There are workshops to learn about geneology, a book blasters book club for Frank’s age and every weekday at 10:00 and 11:15 there are activities for Beck’s age group among many other activities.
Frank chose another book to check out and we approached the counter. An older man who turned out to have a security guard badge on hurried over to the computer to invite us to check out. He looked at Frank’s card and said, “Congratulations young man, you have a brand new library card.” Frank sheepishly told him that it was merely a replacement for a lost card. The man bent down and said, “my boy, it matters not that this is a replacement, it matters much that you care enough to come and get another card.”
We left the library hand-in-hand, got in the car, drove back across the road and home. On our way Frank said, “Mom, is this why you love living here so much?” Yep. One of many reasons my son. Many, many reasons.
Tonight Frank and I went to the library—the Monument Branch Library—which is right across the road from where we live. (And I cannot tell you how good it feels to write “road” instead of street.) Walking through the library I noticed things similar to the Mesa Verde library we used to go to. But it was so different at the same time.
I stopped going to the Mesa Verde library because it simply depressed me too much. It was the perfect example of “budget cuts”—and apathy. I took Frank into the childrens’ room, ignored completely by the single librarian who seemed more bothered by our visit than excited to see someone who was teaching her young child about her love of books. And then I noticed how dusty it was. Really dusty. The tops of the shelves were filthy, as though no one had dusted for a year or more. And there were gigantic stuffed animals, also filthy. My heart hurt. My heart hurt because there was no one who cared enough to do anything about it. And my heart hurt because my son would never know the love and excitement of the library that I remembered from my youth.
There were other solutions of course. We tried the downtown library in Costa Mesa. It was better, but still had no heart. We tried the brand new Corona del Mar library that Daddy always went to for any books he needed or wanted to look at. Granted it was beautiful, but again, it wasn’t “our” library. It was a library we had to drive to. And again, I didn’t feel a warmth or welcoming or heart in this library. It seemed more like the library at Cal State Long Beach to me, kind of sterile and official.
The Monument library is in a funky strip mall that has lots of vacancies. It shows the same signs of budget cuts. So what was different? When we walked in there were four people who clamored to greet us. When I explained that we were unable to find Frank’s library card, a lovely (and clearly on her way out) woman with a charming English accent told Frank very seriously that she would be happy to replace his library card, but there would be a fee. It would cost him $1. She showed him his options, Garden of the Gods or General Palmer (there was one other that I cannot recall), and he chose General Palmer without hesitation. She prepared his card, corrected our address, and then gave Frank his card and showed him where to sign it, “with his very, very best penmanship.” He took his time and signed his library card, and then proudly presented it to her for her inspection. She very properly told him “it would do.”
She then asked if she could help us find anything special and he explained we were there to find Civil War on Sunday, his current book club pick. All copies were checked out, but she went back to ask one of the other librarians to find out if Palmer Lake or Briargate had any copies, and bid us a good night.
Frank wanted to double-check himself, so sorted through each and every one of the Tree House books to be certain she hadn’t missed it. Sure enough, all checked out. Another librarian, seemingly a teenager, although far too polite and interested in her job to be a teenager, came and confirmed that Palmer Lake and Briargate were out as well, but she would be happy to put it on hold for him. He and I agreed that it would be a book worth buying, and agreed to take that tack tomorrow. The teenager excitely asked Frank if he was interested in the Civil War because next weekend there would be an event at the library featuring a man who wrote a book about it and would be in an authentic Civil War uniform and would bring other artifacts, weapons, etc. Frank told her that his grandfather was a veteran of World War II, and she responded that he must be very proud of his grandfather.
Walking around the library, it was clean. Spotless. It shows its age no question, but more importantly it showed the signs of respect for books that the library in Mesa Verde didn’t seem to. Rather than disinterest, we were met with enthusiasm for our presence. Another thing, the library was busy. It is Thursday, we were there between 6:30 and 7:00 pm. They have a weekly newsletter, clearly done in-house, and events for every age group, babies to adults. The sign-up sheets for every event were full of signatures. There are workshops to learn about geneology, a book blasters book club for Frank’s age and every weekday at 10:00 and 11:15 there are activities for Beck’s age group among many other activities.
Frank chose another book to check out and we approached the counter. An older man who turned out to have a security guard badge on hurried over to the computer to invite us to check out. He looked at Frank’s card and said, “Congratulations young man, you have a brand new library card.” Frank sheepishly told him that it was merely a replacement for a lost card. The man bent down and said, “my boy, it matters not that this is a replacement, it matters much that you care enough to come and get another card.”
We left the library hand-in-hand, got in the car, drove back across the road and home. On our way Frank said, “Mom, is this why you love living here so much?” Yep. One of many reasons my son. Many, many reasons.
Too long gone
I have missed this more than I can ever say. There are times I yearn to write something. I know exactly what I’m going to say. And then, I fall into my same old pattern of everything having to be perfect.
I start to think through how much updating there is to do, all the photographs to post, all of the news, events and thoughts I haven’t written about. And then I make myself a promise to start writing again “tomorrow.”
It has been months since I started promising myself to write tomorrow. And tonight, rather than waiting until tomorrow, I got up and am here—writing.
It feels so good.
I start to think through how much updating there is to do, all the photographs to post, all of the news, events and thoughts I haven’t written about. And then I make myself a promise to start writing again “tomorrow.”
It has been months since I started promising myself to write tomorrow. And tonight, rather than waiting until tomorrow, I got up and am here—writing.
It feels so good.
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