laundry room…

Every so often something happens to make me smile at the whimsy of the universe; those serendipitous things that drop in our laps and change everything. I’ve been thinking about that, and wondering: chicken or egg? Do we just notice and respond because we’re in tune to them, or are these events really some magical, synergistic response from the world at large to the cues we’ve been sending out? Or, more simply- are they just the final happy accidents that come from effort expended?

Not sure, but all seems to be coming into alignment in my little world. The harbinger of happiness came in the form of, of all things, a laundry room. Hardly the “call to arms” one would expect to signal the end of a long, dark and challenging time, but there it is: the dirty socks of positivity, in darks, lights and delicates.

The story started with a surprise phone call about a month ago from a woman who had my card and didn't know how she'd gotten it; she sounded slightly desperate. Debbie Raia introduced herself and asked me if I'd be interested in participating in the Stately Homes showhouse, an elaborate fundraiser for the Visiting Nurse Association of Central Jersey that happens every two years in the posh provinces of Monmouth County. Hmmm.

For those who have no knowledge of showhouses, it’s not unlike a designer’s version of putting on a play; broken down into “scenes” (rooms), multiple designers are given a space to showcase what they can do, no holds barred. A very generous, good natured and slightly crazy homeowner hands over her large and elegant home for this purpose, and the results are staggering. Glamour abounds- elegance, colour, drama, crystal and really great design. The work is inspiring, the commitment and creativity is astounding, and it’s a great honor to be included in any regard. Interested? Absolutely!

So, off I go to meet Debbie, who is frantically scrambling to find someone to take on lost corners of the house. In particular… the Laundry Room. A dank, dark cave at the bottom of the stairs, subject to seepage, with water stained peastone walls, it was an unwanted and forlorn mess. I, foolish me, thought: HOW FUN! Cleaning up the muddy and mundane? Right up my alley: a space to be saved! A homespun home of clothespins, steamers and a plethora of wrinkles unraveled. In my mind's eye I saw a strange sort of domestic poetry composing itself. But- wisdom prevailed; I'd need massive help to make it happen. Because from my head to finished product there was clearly much work, little time and no money.

My first calls were to my favorite miracle workers: a team of three men whom I may marry. I could dream anything, but who was going to get this sucker built, by donation and in a month? I needed, and got, my Dream Team: George Weston, contractor extraordinaire, perfect skeptic, never satisfied with “good enough”; he will rip it out and redo rather than settle for just "OK", always with a smile and a sarcastic joke; Tom Casale, cabinetmaker to the stars, who stayed up nights and weekends, worked through illness and his 15th wedding anniversary (I am so sorry, Alisa!) to put together way more and better than I hoped; and Patrick Marando, master of artful applications, whose icing on the cake and gilding on the lily makes the space sing in layers, tangents, and a few little gemstones. All three gladly (hah, if they only knew) volunteered their time, talents and pocketbooks to put together my little attempt as whimsy in the cave.

This is my first showhouse and I am awed by the process- by the incredible talent and energy of the VNA women putting this together; by the creative energy of the designers, painters, carpenters, electricians, landscapers, artists, and on and on and on… The planning is extraordinary and the VNA committee runs it with the organizational skills of a small corporation, the patience of kindergarten teachers and the goodwill of concierges in grand hotels. They are masters in the great art of cajoling, problem solving, cleaning up, dishing out and getting it done- all with a smile. I am impressed, and proud to be part of the process.

But the best outcome of this process, as always, is creating something from nothing- meeting people, meeting deadlines and making this dark little space smile. And doing so with some pretty extraordinary people. I loved it, every minute of it- the schlepping and painting and sanding and scrubbing and coaxing; the ridiculous deadlines, the playful banter on site, the slight panic when I realized we had (not even) days left. I’m surprised by just how much FUN it actually was. I feel like I just went through the spin cycle and am hanging out to dry.

I’m thinking, this is design at its heart: with the right mindset, the right people in our lives and a little openness to the universe, even something as mundane as the basement laundry room can become…magic.

My little pea-stone lined corner of the world, decked out in Tropicana Cabana, will be open for public viewing on May 3. Come visit! It’s down from the kitchen, first door on your right. You can’t miss it, look for the clothespins.

For those interested in visiting this Wonder on the Navesink, visit the website for information:

http://statelyhomesbythesea.com/

Reality Check…

I’ve had a particularly busy day today, one which started with me standing on the edge of the ocean, pondering the past year. It’s my birthday, and I think birthdays are a great time to tally up the psychic spreadsheet. Today’s turned out to be particularly poignant.

I woke up feeling extraordinarily lucky- my little slice of world in “order”; business regenerating, health excellent, friends and family in harmony; I realized my schedule was tight but wanted those ten minutes to drink a cup of coffee by the beach, as rivers of good wishes poured into my life. I took a picture of a decidedly turbulent, translucent sky melting into frenzied waves to share with my well-wishers on Facebook, a soft and misty start to my day. Lucky woman.

As the news of the day unfolded, I realized just how lucky I am, and perspective came clear as the world watched earthquake devastation in Japan and braced for its aftermath around the entire Pacific Rim; force of nature on a scale hard for me to wrap my mind around. In my own small world, it is a reminder that life is fragile, what we build can fall down, who we love can go away and, that at the end of the day, every day- not just birthdays- we need to stop and celebrate the good in our lives.

Corny? Yes. But I think back on that angry ocean in Long Branch this morning, and realize just how tame it was compared to the quiet, sunlit, deadly tidal surges on other shores; aftermath of an earthquake so relentless that its energy made its way under water to our coast and wreaked havoc half the earth and an ocean away from its birthplace.

Today I was on a job site as the contractor tore out a room and we debated what stayed, what we would salvage and what would go in the dumpster. I love that moment in a project- it’s all about possibilities: getting rid of what doesn’t work, preparing for the new. Building, whether physical or psychic, is part of the fabric of my life, and rebirth and reconstruction an inherently creative expression of life at large.

In the coming days the people of Japan will move from shock and turmoil; they will mourn, clear away debris and rebuild. They, in particular, are a nation accustomed to nature’s devastation and have lived with- and built for- this precarious place that is their home. And those of us who are not adjacent will watch the films in dismay, perhaps send a check or say a prayer, and then get back to our lives, mostly untouched by this tragedy.

So I end this day with gratitude for what I have; and with a clear sense that my own choices reverberate in the world at large, through conscientious interconnection; whether its on a job site, or a yoga mat, with friends or in the parking lot at Trader Joes on a Saturday afternoon in spring. Tsunamis of a smaller sort can change the tone of how we work and live.

My thoughts and prayers go to those who are suffering today, particularly in Japan but elsewhere in the world, as I am blessed with such a wealth of love, warmth and safety in my life, and the opportunity to continue to build.

Faith…

Not a word that rests easily on this “lapsed Catholic” girl’s lips, but one that came up recently in a much different context from my childhood catechism classes.

Last weekend I went to a yoga “Inversion Workshop” with my teachers, Christian and Tim. If anyone was going to help me slam through this particularly frustrating wall, they would- they are amazing, and have been immeasurably supportive to me in the months since my surgery. I was absolutely certain that this was it: this was the day, the time and the place where I would wrestle the twin demons of forearm and hand stands to the ground and emerge triumphant, joyous and…independent.

Hah. Not to be.

Seems the Universe at Large had a bigger lesson for me; one involving things more intrinsic to my growth in all regards than whether I stand upside down with ease. Because, as Christian pointed out at the start of the workshop: the opposite of “fear” is “faith”, and in that I am quite shaky at times. This isn’t about strength, or courage or direction- or even confidence. I have oodles of those. This is a quiet core that simply…believes.

The last couple of years I’ve journeyed through a professional “whiteout” that left me questioning just about everything. Not a bad thing, but it upset (as in: turned over for examination) my sense of equilibrium. Where there had always been a steady development in both accomplishment and direction, here was a crash of major magnitude that pushed me to reexamine my definition of “success”. Hard to find faith when the phone doesn’t ring and there’s nary a client corroborating my professional “fabulousness.”

Fortunately, into the fray fell a few special projects and- more critically- remarkable people who added to my world and challenged my growth at exactly the right moments, in just the right ways. A time for personal expression and expansion, of small victories and celebrations, and of simple accomplishments; it was also a time to realize that “support” is not a sin, that sometimes leaning against a wall is actually a good thing, and that the (right) people in our lives can change everything.

I’m quite happy about how the seeds of these last three years are coming to fruit. The phone is ringing again and life’s pace picks up. The kind of projects that are finding their way to me are challenging, and the people a pleasure to design for. But I’m also plagued by a slight sense of panic: can I do it? Can I make it all work? Have I forgotten how to….manage? I’m finding a fundamental fear of shift, of losing my “balance”, of holding onto this central clarity as life’s demands once again intrude into my calmer being. And the biggest lesson I’ve learned: lean. Just a little, perhaps, but just enough.

As I look back on the lessons of these years, I’m conscious of a heightened ability to question my own preconceptions; from what makes my work have value and what makes a real difference for those to whom I am responsible personally and professionally, to the central story of what makes my life satisfying and complete. I’m seeking “faith” in myself and my sense of direction, “faith” that I will manage the disparate pieces; “faith” that the most important part of my life- always and forever- is the relationships I forge, bridges built across the span of my life; “faith” that I will do my best to make it all work. And “faith” that while I don’t have all the answers, there will be someone to help me find that balance- on my head or in my heart. And I am fundamentally aware that the only way to “faith” is through “trust”.

One day, perhaps, I’ll get into that handstand, all by myself, in the center of the room. For now, I finally see that those walls I diligently tried to ignore are perfectly placed for my support.

I’ll just lean a little longer.

Full Light...

I have a thing for skies.

Since my hip surgery, I’ve started a new routine, one that the universe timed perfectly for me. It’s remarkable how that happens; just as I was stricken from the mat, a channel opened up for me and, in the way that a shift of simple routine can do, it is having profound impact in my life.

Most mornings I leave my house before dawn for a morning meditation and yoga class not too far from home. It starts with a short, magical journey through towns along the river and ocean. I drive through darkness, across bridges that sluice the space where water and sky intersect; each day varies by the quality of light being born. Midwinter it’s a silent purple black, stars bright and water brooding. As the days get perceptibly longer, the first hint is of a deep orange pulling up the horizon, splicing the intersection with a brilliant hint of washed light.

That connection of water and sky pulls me. Like lovers of the most dramatic kind, they have varied faces. On some mornings, when the weather is most assertive, the sky is wildly erratic, the water an angry gray green and the two are clearly in combat. On softer days, when the sun won’t show itself and the sky is saturated, there seems to be no distinction between the two; the edge evaporates and it’s impossible to discern where air and water begin and end. On those days I know to expect a gentle bath of rain or snow. And today was my favorite kind- a day coming that was to be clear and calm and beautiful, each distinct in its place in the world, dancing together with great harmony; the ocean deep and crisp, the sky softly awakening, clear and calm.

There’s something very grounding for me in the routine of this, and I start to see the subtle variations in life. Not grand, not dramatic, but little shifts that tell the story, that speak of what is my life. It’s about paying attention.

And I was thinking about that today, as I was in this meditative mindset. I’ve been trained to look at the details; my eye is quickly drawn to the interruptions, the cracks and imperfections; the pulls in the sweater, the paint splotch on the floor. My job has been to detect the 1/2” variation and the out of level counter. It’s a part of what I do in all situations, from finishing a canvas to reviewing a job site. My children have noted with irritation that I see the flaws too easily…and that is very true.

Of late I’m accepting that I must be a very bad designer, because those little imperfections are the moments I love best and where I find the most pleasure-they are human and endearing. Of course, I’m not talking about lack of care, but the things we can't help but make imperfectly; the flaws that make them sing of who we are- of the creator, the maker. It’s the reason we still make things by hand…

And while I can be exacting where need be in my business, I am finding tenderness in my life for those things imperfect, like the sunrise over the ocean on my way to sit in darkness with my eyes closed, knowing that when I open them again it will be full light…

new day.

Solstice...

My son and I put up the tree last night, Vince Guaraldi heralding angels in the background; the solstice and full moon- an amazing confluence made even more magical by a full lunar eclipse. Longest night of the year and the brightest; clear and brilliant view of this rare alignment. A remarkable end to a challenging but…marvelous…year.

They all are, really- if we pay attention. But this one has been particularly special for me for some strange reason. Honestly? If I pull out my “spreadsheet” nothing “grand” happened; my life has been blessed with a few bumps, all negotiable. But those small shifts seem to have brought me to a very different place.

I’ve been “blogging” my way through this recession with the mantra that money is not so important. And I stand by that. We’ve all learned to do with less, to be more thoughtful in our decisions and our purchases and focus on things in life that resonate, that last, that make it matter.

I was at my usual semester’s end architectural juries this week, and one of the words that kept coming up regarding decision-making was “determination”. Great word- simple, cogent. Apt for the design process. Make a commitment, a choice and run with it- whether it seems reasonable or not. Most great ideas seemed a bit sketchy at the onset, didn’t they?

One has to be a little crazy- and a risk taker- to work in a creative field, design or architecture for certain. In the best of economies we do not get rich, and are much blown by economic vagaries. And sitting there last night with my co-creative types- some less employed than myself, others only slightly more- I’m struck by a common thread that continues to weave through our warped minds. We are passionate, single minded and appreciative; we believe that spaces impact how people live in a fundamental way, and we have genuine concern for the process of building. That seems unchanged even when our most exciting recent project was a utility garage. Every one of us there still cares about the process. And that gives me great hope.

Yes, well. There is that silly little nagging and annoying concern about business development. Someone once said, “if you build it they will come”. Hah. I haven’t exactly sat on my hands this year, but there was scant building being done. So? I focused elsewhere and built in other regards. And as we approach the end of 2010 and go into the next decade (really? another already?) I do believe that we are coming through this recession. Changed, yes. And probably for the better. We will prevail. We always do.

A new year approaches, and as it does I consider what I want the coming year to bring. This isn’t about “resolutions”, which always seem to be about fixing something we perceive as negative in ourselves. This is a clear intent about what I want to do, to manifest, to create this year. I’ve found that it actually works- if one lets go of the past and the future and focuses on the possible, all else changes.

So. I am thinking about my “intent” for the coming year. This year was about expanding my little circle- in business and in life, and it actually, remarkably, worked. Healing broken wings, mending, patching, hanging on- and building in other directions. I think I’ll just keep the goals simple and see what unfolds in 2011. Yes, this year is all about that: unfolding. Origami style. Let’s see what can happen if we let life just… be.

To all my friends; far, wide and close by- much love, a merry Christmas, and joy and abundance in the coming year…

and to all, a good night…

Focus…

It’s a couple of months since I’ve posted, and here we all are, my friends; another full circle on the calendar, the holidays with us yet again. This is always, always my very favorite time of year- it’s magic, and if there’s a lack of that in your universe, just call me. There’s always room for another plate at the table, and plenty for us all.

Frankly, magic was not much on my mind the last few months and so it’s reappearance is quite welcome. I’ve been “inside” for a bit- working through the complexities of life, love and necessity, which made more room for work than inspiration. The good news is that all of the pragmatic processes of the past year are coming to fruition quite nicely, and I think 2010 will be a good vintage: Life is sweet, those nearest and dearest intact and blooming. Fruition and harvest with great bounty, as always anticipated but not always managed. And a little real magic: I am standing on my head once again, through the real miracle of modern technology. Hip healed, life moving on. So. Maybe time for the intangible again…?

I was hunkered down with tasks at hand when a bit of “design esoterica” made me look up, in the form of a blog post by an architect whose many, many talents I highly respect. He was questioning: In the midst of the massive devastation to the design community from the present economic conditions, from whence comes “inspiration”? Are we, have we, in our quest for creativity, focused on all the wrong things? Is design school thinking and teaching, as presently structured, relevant?

Hah- I thought. Leave it to architects to second guess their own creative impetus. I kind of felt like telling him to go size a beam, please. The rest of us have such a firm grip on confidence in this economy, right? But my less flippant response: if school isn’t the place for dreams, then what is? If we can't stretch the sense of the possible there, when will we? Soon enough we deal with the pragmatism of everyday work- and life. We need the dreams to sustain us when our days are filled with tasks at hand, when our lives and careers hit those inevitable, death defying bumps in the road.

There are times of inspiration and others for perspiration. We "creative types" know that better than most, but here it is: in these times we need to (and do) pull the proverbial hood up, hunker down and get the work done. That is the grownup way to deal, and must be. But when your work is based in creative thinking, and one can’t count on inspiration to lead the way through difficult times, what exactly do we do to get the job done? Because our work, when we have it, is grounded not only in pragmatism but in some semblance of creative vision.

Well, here it is: the answer from the gods at large, a proverbial “Fountain of Creative Youth”: Stop focusing on it. Stop thinking about what isn’t, what doesn’t work, what’s broken or stuck; and build on what is, what does work, what is fluid and whole. Creativity, and life, will come full circle in ways most unexpected. Or so it seems; I’ll let you know next year…

Simple, yes? I’ll hold to that thought and squeeze it. Cause next week that elusive thing called clarity will have slid/ slipped away. Yet again. And I’ll be back in the conundrum of life. But hopefully I'll be following that moment of…inspiration...to something new.

Today, for now, let me just say: I’ve stopped thinking about what doesn’t work and turned my attention to what does. I’m taking care of business and not worrying about what I can’t control, or what doesn’t come to me. And after more than half a century of massive confusion about what is or isn’t important, what I should or shouldn’t be doing, it’s been that incredibly simple. Do the work, the rest will follow.

For the last couple of months my attention has been on things tangible and fundamental- making my leg work and paying bills have had star billing in the show of life. The rest seems to be taking care of itself. Thank you, Universe.

Inspiration is a slippery thing. Seems if you try to follow it, it will lead you down blind alleys and through twists and turns that seem insurmountable. But if you just do the work, it all does come together. Maybe not in ways you expected. Maybe even better.

Right now, I can’t do many of the things that worked for me in the past. But this is the time to push past the things that don’t work with the impetus of the things that do. And inspiration is coming from turning my head slightly. It’s just a matter of focus.

Of course, new reading glasses help.

To all my friends: a most magical Thanksgiving. Call me if you’re hungry, for magic or the more mundane… dinner’s at three.

Bridges…

Or, in the words of Dinah Washington:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OmBxVfQTuvI

On September 8 my life changed completely. I knew it would, one way or another.

So, in the month preceding it, I prepared- and I played. I went inside, drew my thoughts together, went into “training”. I decided that preparation was what would make this life-changing event as successful as possible. After years of avoidance, I was getting a new hip. I knew it would be the last time I’d be independently mobile for some time, and decided that in preparation for the inevitable– and presumably very temporary- detachment, I would gather all the best of my world- people, places and things- to take with me into the process of regeneration that was about to begin.

Like my favorite children’s book, “Fredrick the Mouse”, I gathered color and beauty to me for my cave. I spent floating steamy August afternoons sitting on the beach soaking in light and air, flew a kite in Pt. Pleasant crosswinds, ate waffles and ice cream on the boardwalk, jumped through and over waves surprisingly free of jellyfish, dug my toes into the sand and turned my face to the sun. Awesome. Sultry evenings eating crab and mussels with sticky fingers; mojitos and meandering conversations with good friends.

On Labor Day, two days before my surgery, I drove into a deserted NYC for the day. Parked by Central Park, went to MoMA and visited old friends- Cezanne, Brancusi, Miro, Pollack, Motherwell, Diebenkorn and- my personal favorite- Matisse. (see the show- it’s lovely). I went into the garden, a serene space gently walled from the intense frenzy of the city and the museum itself. The fountain is my favorite- a rectangular reflecting pool bridged by a simple slab of white marble. I stood in the middle of the bridge and threw a coin into the water. "A Wish for Wings that Work."

In a last inspired act of self-kindness (and to my daughter’s great amusement), I filled my IPod shuffle with “The Sounds of Anesthesia”- music to inspire, elevate, dream and make me smile through the process- “Spaced Out”, Comfortably Numb”, “Dreaming Tree”…”I Will”. Hah, of course I will. Was there ever a question?

We live in a society where the value of things intangible is questioned. I’ve run into that repeatedly in my life from those who doubt the possibility of building a life doing things that bring pleasure and beauty- art, music, words. My own family, marvelous and grounded pragmatists that they are, have always looked at me a bit askance as the “odd duck” in a pond of productive beavers. Go do something practical. So I did. All practical- including the gathering of light and laughter. Most important for healing.

Certainly, I worked too- put all ducks in rows so that the process would be as smooth as possible and my electric would still be on. Saw clients, sent emails, cleaned house, set up, worked out extra hard. Because, quite frankly, I had no idea what would be on the other side of the bridge… and If I stopped to think about it, I was pretty scared. This was major surgery, after all- and things go wrong all the time.

Fear is a terrible thing- it pushes us to avoid taking the steps in our lives that will bring us to the place we most want to go. Truth is, what we avoid and flinch over settles into the joints; we become more and more inhibited by the restrictions we’ve created- by the narrow range of movement in our lives, whether they be physical or otherwise.

The stamina to take risks; to forge through and across the bridges of life takes resources- psychic Sherpas so to speak to put oneself at the end of the proverbial bungee cord.

My new leg and I are fast becoming best friends. I find myself amazingly, miraculously stronger every day. Partly preparation, partly luck and good genes, and very much the skill and care of the talented people who took apart my broken wing and put it back together. It took a team of dreamers (the inventors of my miracle hip socket) and pragmatists (the PT who kicked my terrified ass into moving) to get me here. And, most critical, the supportive cushion of loving people that I am so very fortunate to have around me. And I won’t discount the power of Pink Floyd.

Of course, all this great insight could be the result of the excellent cocktail of drugs I was blessed to ingest this last week. Don’t think so, this is the result of a year of mindful preparation- designing my life.

In a cool twist, I have new clients who are doing a major renovation and are very focused on disability design- something that all of us Aging Boomers need to keep at the front of our minds, whether for loved ones or our own eventual falls and failings. I am now familiar first-hand with what it means to get to the bathroom at 2 AM when your legs don’t work- and am a much better designer for the experience. Events in our lives aren’t discrete- they interweave, interconnect, inform and reverberate in and through each other- and that’s a good thing.

From the other side of the bridge? I do believe that wish will come true…

A couple of children’s books that inspire me still:

A Wish for Wings That Work: An Opus Christmas Story; Berkeley Breathed

Frederick the Mouse; Leo Leonni