Thursday, January 7, 2010

"Sometime in the near future, when I am not working, volunteering, or otherwise pre-occupied with stuff, I am going to go through every room in the house and purge.
If we haven't used it, touched it, or tripped over it in the last year, out it goes. "

This blog article was so inspiring...I have spent the last week reorganizing my "office". I did not go so far as to PURGE, but I did get like kind with like kind. I can't believe how much stuff it takes to make me happy! *ah*ha*ha*.

But with that, it is crippling if it's not organized into it's own little destination spots, club bead, club yarn, club button, club paint and the neon lights almost blind me there are so many clubs.
Maybe something wonderful will come to fruition when it's all done.

This is not my armoire... one can only dream.
I am having a hard time being done with this project. It's just impossible to start something new now until it's all done. It's just not done dag nab it! I 'm longing for neat little rows, with nice big labels to identify stuff.

(Martha Stewart's idea above)
But the end looms large still, There's just more and more. You may never see me again. It does remind me of the closet in Narnia, open to another world.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Happy Confusion

This is not MY Zazzle shop, it is owned by Flying Mule Studio. Now you may be confused, 'why am I posting this Zazzle shop?'

For your enjoyment of course! These stamps and prints are the artwork of the unbelievably talented Sharon England

(who by some happy coincidence lives in ENGLAND. . . I do take some delight in these small synchronicities...)

View more personalized gifts from Zazzle.

I had the great fortune of winning a piece of her talent in a blog contest that I entered.
I wish I could tell you just how neat this piece is, I have it framed in a rustic wood frame. It is a shelf sitter for me, just hanging with some wrought iron candle sticks and our big pendulum clock on the mantle above the fireplace.

Here is her Etsy shop header:
*He who has a merry heart, has a continual feast. -Pr. 15:15*
I would like to welcome you to the Etsy home of the Flying Mule. Here you will find joyful art to decorate your life. From grinning foxes to dancing cats, there is sure to be the perfect bit of whimsy for your home. So come on, give your inner child a piece of candy! In case you're wondering, I do take commissions. Please contact me for guidelines.

Take a fast trip over, and see what merry heart art looks like! She is just wonderful.

Click into her Zazzle shop, you will be delighted at her whimsy style and likely to find a piece that will suite a spot in your home for some lovely enhancement!

These lyrics just take me right back to the day. 1968.

Wow I have lived a good long time, and how music has served to remind me of that fact, marking the decades and the attudes that I my self tuded, or lived in the company of.

I love this version of the song. I don't know if the lyrics were intended to be a metaphor, but they really speak to me. Maybe it's the music, or Paul Simon's caress of a voice. OR maybe we all hear what we want to hear and disregard the rest.

Simon And Garfunkel — The Boxer

I am just a poor boy
Though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocket full of mumbles such are promises
All lies and jests
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest

When I left my home and my family
I was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers
In the quiet of the railway station running scared
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters
Where the ragged people go
Looking for the places only they would know

Lie la lie ...

Asking only workman's wages
I come looking for a job
But I get no offers,
Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue
I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there

Lie la lie ...

Now the years are rolling by me,
they are rocking evenly.
I am older than I once was,
but younger than I'll be.
That's not unusual.
No, it isn't strange,
After changes upon changes,
we are more or less the same.
After changes we are more or less the same.

Then I'm laying out my winter clothes
And wishing I was gone
Going home
Where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me
Bleeding me, going home

In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that layed him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains

Lie la lie ...


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