In The News

I woke up this morning to discover one of my necklaces featured in the Cleveland Plain Dealer. The necklace, Hula, is at the bottom of the picture. What a lovely way to start the day.

Talking to Myself

There are days, in fact most days, the bulk of the conversations I carry on are with myself. Sounds crazy but true.

Working from home, especially when home is a farm without neighbors close by, makes it really easy to be a hermit. I actually don't mind it most of the time. I have hours undisturbed to work on my jewelry. There are days when the ideas are flowing and time will sail by. I will mutter to myself if things aren't working well or if I misplaced a tool. (Jewelry tools disappear just like the scissors or tape when you are wrapping Christmas presents. You know they are there, you just can't see them. Or is this something that only happens to me? See, there I go again....) I will remark if something turns out better than planned. The cat, Jack, who seems to enjoy watching me in my creative endeavors from his perch on the chair next to the work table will often lift his head as to say, "Are you talking to me?"

I find this talking to myself humorous. It reminds me of a conversation I had with a customer at my first show. He was an older gentleman who had worked in business. He was giving me tips on how to make my business successful. His key tip - staff meetings. Well, when you are a business of one, I guess that means you have to talk to yourself. That reminds me, I need to hold a staff meeting....

Play Ball

One of the great loves of my life (family, friends, being creative are at the top of the list) is the game of baseball. My love affair started when I was a kid. Daily in the summer, a pick up game could be found in the backyard of the Morrison's house. The rules were simple - everyone got to play. Kids of all ages could be found there and girls were included. It was magical.

My love affair continued as I got older. A childhood friend was drafted by the Dodgers when we graduated from high school. I took great delight in that since I once caught one of his hits in the outfield in the Morrison's field. In college, I would watch my school's team and was impressed by one of the pitchers. He went out to have an outstanding career in the major leagues. It was fun to think I saw him before he was famous.

My pro team has always been the Cleveland Indians. They have broken my heart more times than I care to count but I am loyal. There is nothing better than sitting in the bleachers at Jacob's Field (sorry, it will never be Progressive to me) on a warm, sunny afternoon. It is to me heaven. I often joke that my religion is baseball.

Today is Opening Day. One of my favorite days of the year. The day of optimism and hope. For us Indians fans, today IS next year.

Play Ball........

Spring Has Sprung

The last remaining bits of snow have finally melted. The ground is starting to turn green, and the tree branches have noticeable buds. Sweet peas have been planted. The birds are singing, and the teens are once again flocking to the barn. After enduring a cruel winter, it is finally spring. At least for now...who knows what tomorrow will bring...

Turquoise Love

When I was about five or six, my mother gave me a turquoise ring that had been hers as a child. The ring looked like a flower - sterling silver petals with a green turquoise stone in the center. I remember thinking it was the prettiest thing I had ever seen. I guess my love affair with turquoise began then.

I love the organic quality of turquoise. The veining gives it character. I like seeing it used in different ways. I recently had a bride contact me about a turquoise necklace I had in my shop. She thought it would be perfect with her wedding dress. The thought of a white wedding dress and that turquoise necklace makes me smile. That is the perfect untraditional use for the stone.

I have been playing a lot with turquoise of late. I am drawn to the color especially after dealing with the white of winter. I like the way turquoise works with other stones. I also like to let it be the star every now and then. My favorite piece so far is this cuff bracelet I call O'Keefe.

Green acres is the place for me....

The Front Garden
Originally uploaded by simpleelementsdesign

I was at lunch the other day with a friend, her mother and a friend of her mother. My friend was explaining to the other ladies my adventures of living on the family farm. She finds my life most amusing. Looking back, it was.

When we first moved here, thirteen years ago, the house was scary. My mother-in-law sat on the back steps and sobbed that her grandsons would be living in a slum. Mind you, my mother-in-law had played landlord for fifty years for the place and hadn't thought to keep tabs on it so that too, made her cry. We laugh about that now. The house had NO electrical outlets on the second floor and a grand total of FIVE in the house. Two were in the kitchen, two in the living room and one in the downstairs bedroom. Please note, NONE in the bathroom. Hello, I have curly hair and my flat iron is my best friend. Within several weeks of moving in, the house had been totally rewired and the house thankfully had outlets everywhere. Oh and switches, too! No more pulling the chain to get the lights on. I think the reason it was done so quickly was because hubby was tired of me calling him at work, singing him the "Green Acres" theme song whenever there was a problem. And there were lots of them.

Being an interior design major in college, I kept waiting to make the house cute. But of course, I had to put up with the electrical issues, plumbing issues, a new furnace and new roof. I kept asking "When do I do cute?" No one, and I mean no one - okay, maybe guys - wants to see a new furnace or electrical box (did I mention they are located in a creepy basement that causes hubby and I to do rock, paper, scissors to determine who goes down there?). Finally, after three years I got to do cute. It was then I learned the old saying "Be careful what you wish for."

We found a contractor who liked working on old houses to do our kitchen remodel. The guy and I bumped heads from day one. His vision wasn't my vision and he didn't like it. He showed up to demo the place and then didn't return for days. This saga went on for months until he finally just never showed up again. We were living with our "kitchen" in the dining room and our only sink was a tiny one in the bathroom or the big claw foot tub. We ate out just once a week and the rest of the time, I cooked using hot plates, electric skillets and a microwave. Looking back, I don't know how I did it without losing my sanity. I finally took over the job and got the walls done and painted (and let me give a shout out to the local paint store who failed to tell me that a tinted primer would be best for the color red I used. Yep, six coats of paint later and I got the color I wanted) and the floor laid. During my tenure as contractor, I found a valuable resource in a fellow old house dweller who worked at the local hardware. I would walk in and look for him and describe my predicament in my own unique language - this do-hickey does this and the thingamajig does that - and he knew what I meant. Finally, after nine long months - the kitchen was done. I was so happy, I actually sent out birth announcements.

Just like childbirth, one forgets the pain and trauma involved in remodeling and you decide to do it again. This time, it was the back porch. The open, gaping hole that allowed critters to visit was the determining factor for that job. I thought this job would be easy without the impact on us that the kitchen had presented. The porch would finally allow me to have the washer and dryer in the house. No more driving to the next town to the laundry. Yeah, right. Needless to say, the porch was finished - no washer and dryer because of something called pitch (maybe because of the fit I pitched upon learning of the news)- and the contractor took it upon himself to finish the ceiling without talking with me. Starbursts weren't not discussed. Nothing was done as I had envisioned.

The third time was the charm. We tackled the only bathroom we had. We found a contractor who understood me and was adorable. That helped to make the whole ordeal more pleasant. I had the support of friends who would show up regularly to watch him work. Their nickname for him, Eye Candy. He understood the one rule during this whole process - there must be a working toilet at night. Unlike the males here, I refused to do my business outside. The same friends who came over to offer "support", opened up their bathrooms to us so we could shower. The contractor even found a way to put in a tiny laundry area in the tiny bathroom. He was my hero. He even understood hubby's desire to save the huge, heavy cast iron tub (which now is fondly referred to as my West Virginia garden and resides on the patio). He and his workers would laugh at my sagas of previous remodels. They called me "Laura Ingells" and would laugh that their wives/girlfriends wouldn't put up with the things I had. (Another class I missed along the way - along with nagging, creating honey do lists, etc)

These are just a few of the adventures I have had living in an old house. I haven't touched on the frozen pipes, the art of the shim or the creative uses of newspaper for insulation that I have dealt with. Those are for another day.

As trying as it has all been, green acres is the place for me.

My Barn

I love barns. I have had a life long fascination with them. I remember telling my mother I was going to live in one when I grew up. I didn't achieve that goal but I do have one in the backyard. I think she is special.

She was built by my husband's ancestors around 1817. The barn is entirely pegged and has tree trunks for posts. The first floor has stalls that over the years served cows and then horses. Now it is often filled with the laughter of teenagers.

The exterior is sided in walnut that no doubt was found on the property. My father-in-law thinks I should paint her but I love the worn color she is. There is a quiet elegance to it. I just don't think she'd look the same painted red or white.

The barn serves as storage for the large collection of two wheeled vehicles (bicycles and two motorcycles) that my husband is so fond of. He often jokes that a bike shop might be nice in the shed end of the barn.

The second floor of the barn is special. It is the sanctuary for my sons and their many friends. Living in an affluent town, the barn is something most kids don't have and the boys love that. They are picky about who is welcome. Only a select group has access to it - something else they love. In the summer, you can hear the laughter emanating from the open doors of the second floor. It has served as a concert venue (for shows aptly called Night in the Loft), a theatre (thanks to the projector) and club house. It will be bittersweet this summer to see many of them scatter, leaving the barn just a bit lonely.

I can't help but think that the ancestors would appreciate the fact their hard work is still being appreciated after all these years.