What did you learn today?

These situations would have enlivened oldSunshine. I would have eagerly stepped up to solve these problems. NewSunshine has too much to do. NewSunshine is too busy seeing the beauty in everything.

I’ve been oohing and ahhing at the trees, singing in the rain and working very, very hard. I feel stronger.

And I can tell I’m learning something because I’m better able to articulate musical ideas, which has effectively made my music better. And today, finally, I had the time to work on a few paintings that had been on my easel for a while. Finally, Christine hangs. This series is almost finished and Super Plaid’s first album is almost finished and then—BOOM! It’s on.

Can’t wait.

We found this idea in the Big-Ass Book of Crafts and decided to make it happen.

Supplies: clean glass plates, spray adhesive, several colors of spray paint as well as a clear coat, a few fat quarters of lace, and undying enthusiasm!

affix your lace with spray adhesive and tuck under. if you're patient you can cut it down

add some spray paint (in a well ventilated area)

remove lace and spray with background color

add several layers of clear coat, then let dry and voila!

even the next morning they were a bit sticky. give em plenty of time to dry

Many thanks to Jeri Mack for company and inspiration, as always.

“No, sup?”

“This is the first time I’ve gone camping as an adult, by myself, without my family.”

“Do you feel like a grown up?”

“Yes, I do. Feels good.”

My hero is right. It does feel good. We packed up the tent and ditched the city in search of the great Pacific Ocean. Actually, I wasn’t so much in it for the ocean ’cause I knew it would be cold, I was firstly looking forward to legitimate, soft sand. 

We were up at 7am and gone by 10am. We made damn good time, too,  except we missed an important highway turnoff that would’ve led us directly to Twin Harbors State Park. Instead we arrived at Long Beach which is maybe 50 miles south. In this way, we were able to work together to pinpoint exactly where we’d gotten off track and problem solve ourselves into a new plan. And that’s just what we did.

Our campsite wasn’t one of the deluxe ones with its own spigot, but it did feature a fire pit, picnic table and a nice clearing for a tent. The website for campground reservations is pretty accurate which made it easy to find the most secluded spot possible. We had our own little trail that led up to the woods and no one else to the right or left.

The beach was about a mile hike with a sweet trail that winds through trees, up a hill, down a hill and up again until the pathway clears, then there’s ocean and nothing but ocean for miles and miles.

I don’t think I’ll ever get over a cold beach. It just processes as an error in my mind. Living in Orlando, FL meant I could drive for 45 minutes and swim in the warm ocean if I had a headache. If you had that option, wouldn’t you say, F#ck Tylenol?! I know you would. I used to do it all the time. Here, the ocean is a commodity. You drive 3 or 4 (or 7 hours if you get lost like us) hours to arrive at a cold ass beach. Ouch Pacific. But Super Plaid ain’t no punks (and I didn’t bring a purple plaid bikini to leave it in a bag) so we went out in the chilly waters. It never got comfortable enough to go waist deep, but after a while my legs acclimated enough to find comfort.

My favorite beach pastime is just to walk out into it, towards a swell of sizable waves until the ocean tries to eject you out again and to just stand there until the water recedes and the sand escapes from underfoot. Sort of feels like you’ve fought something, and you’ve won and lost at the same time. It teaches my body something about picking battles, but I can’t really put a finger on it.

Back at base camp we built a fire and roasted some hot dogs over it. Wieners and white wine out of beer bottles.

Keepin classy, y’all.

We saved the s’mores for breakfast the next morning. The single best s’mores I’ve ever had, by the way. They were so good there was no time for photographs. They just didn’t last that long. It’s all in the chocolate. We used Chocolove’s Sea Salt & Almond Dark Chocolate. Do it. You need it. Right now.

After a quick jog on the beach with Honeybee we headed back to camp to pack it all up again. It takes a special man to make a lady feel like a princess in the forest.

The only downside to using this album as therapy (for only $13.99, who needs insurance?!) is that now I think about my divorce when I hear it and, therefore, do not listen to it often. But I’ve been thinking about transforming lately. Partially because Honeybee and I went to see Michael Bay‘s sploogefest, Transformers 3: Dark of the Moon at Seattle Center last night. It was our first IMAX experience. Is anyone else freaked out that the screen in 6 stories high?! And what about that hypnotic (read: hella dope) song they played for a solid ten minutes that’s only lyrics are, “television rules the world.” Does anyone else find that strange?

[If I start itching to watch tv I'm gonna know it was subliminal. Just sayin'.]

It was a jolly good time, though. I dig the tie-ins with the NASA’s mission to the moon back in 1969 and, you know, all the explosions. ’Cause, really, I know what I came for. But I’ve also been thinking about transforming in less Shia Labouf intensive ways. Seems like everyone in my life is becoming something else. I mean, we always are. Our noses and feet don’t stop growing. Technology comes and goes and, really, so do we. No matter how much notice I seem to get it all feels so sudden, not in a bad way, though. I’m spending a lot more time saying, “wow” lately. That mystified, awestruck, breathy sort of, wow.

I’m transforming.

Right now, even. I can feel my eyes opening, but some what I’ve seen isn’t so great. There are patterns and attitudes I don’t need to take on. And the realization that there’s so much muckymuck out there makes my heart flinch to close. How am I supposed to be Sunshine if I can’t storm? I’m much more interested in building bridges than walls, but why build a bridge I don’t want to cross?

I went back to St. Elsewhere and found this:

Wow.

No. I’m quite well.

Went jogging with my buddy, Smalls, which is big deal for me. I’m not into working out in groups. For me, the fight for fitness is in one’s own mind. It’s personal. Or so I thought. After the jog we sat on faded chairs in the yard and just talked for a while. I was telling Smalls the reasoning behind some of my [jogging] habits since he’s new to the practice. At some point my own point eluded me and I was just babbling and out spills my truth. I don’t like working out with people because of two specific incidents growing up. Each of them was humiliating in their own way, but entirely based on what the adults around me were going through. Not my fault. Somehow putting that together just then made all the excuses I might use as to why I wouldn’t work out with a buddy evaporate. And who knows what I’ll do now. Kayaking in Lake Union en masse? Level 10 hiking trails up Ranier en masse? Sky’s the limit.

And that’s not all. I’ve also recently found a yogurt that I like. It’s a big deal because yogurt, like tea, is one of those things that I wanted to like but just couldn’t at first. And I’m certainly not into foods that say Low Fat on them. Feels too chemical. I’d rather just a carrot. I was so hyped on having changed my mentality on working out with friends that I bought Tillamook French Vanilla Bean yogurt completely randomly. It was on sale for 66 cents. Seemed like the right thing to do. Turns out it was. Eat it and see. (Note: not the same as their regular Vanilla Bean which I haven’t tried, definitely French.)

nomnomnomnomnomnomnom

 

Let’s see. What else? What else? Ah yes, the bangbangclangalang of construction at the Burrow. The sort of construction that starts out hopeful with an easy goal like new windows and siding and then, reveals from up its sleeve a massive dry rot problem that exponentially changes things. It’s loud. Pretty damn loud. And it’ll be going on for a month at least. But the guys are really cool. Manuel even helped fix my laptop’s wonky charger. Actually, I rather enjoy saw buzz, ham-hammering. I like to watch them work. People everywhere like to watch people constructing things, breaking down, building up, changing. But it’s more than that. I looked through the gaping hole in the upstairs wall where a nameless old window had been and a bright white Cascade window would be and it occurred to me just how dangerous it is to see into the skeleton of my home. I’d been counting on this wall and that wall to stand tall, not ever considering the dry rot just beneath the surface, spreading like an idea. Among other things, it made me thankful for the Manuels, manually making houses homes.

So, yeah, I haven’t been around much, but I’ve been growing. I learned I’m not just under construction, I’m also over it.

I was of the opinion
Anyone wearing an “I’m with stupid” t-shirt
Is really the stupid one logically;
Is probably in a relationship with an equally matched partner
Probably wouldn’t think that proudly proclaiming their choosing of a daft lover screams
“I’m stupid and I have a t-shirt to prove it!”

But is there more to it?
Could the Stupids have a language of their own understanding woven into the seams of their stupid shirts?

I’m not sure anymore since I fell in love with a lonely island of a man
His heart is a secret weapon hidden in fine sand
He’s my Mr. Blue Sky
The one I cling, fling, sing to
When the world seems more mean
Than it probably means to imply

What would I put on a shirt for you, Honeybee, “I’m with home,” “I’m with true,” I’m with the guy who makes grey skies blue?”
A vague sketch of the castles we built?
All the music we’ve made, adventures we’ve had?
What adjective is good enough to epitomize that way you have of doing everything you do?
How many shirts would I go through?
How small would the print have to be to fit thoughtful, neat, charming and sweet, giving, attentive, inventive, discreet, random, handsome, master of courtesy, patience and quality parenthetically?
Can’t forget goofy, crazy, giggle-fit funny.
Anything less would wouldn’t be the whole truth.

To be wearing a shirt bearing I’m with stupid with the arrow pointed right at you isn’t something I ever wanted to do, but every time I see one I think of you

I think of what it might be like to have one in my dresser, folded ever so neatly
And when asked if I’ve ever been in love I can blurt,
“Been there. Done that. Got the t-shirt.”

My Mr. Blue Sky

If you know your Sunshine, you know I love birthdays (‘specially mine) , presents and surprises. For the past 25 years I’ve been blessed enough to celebrate February 15th for a week or even a month and this year is  no exception. Mama Sunshine sent me a lovely bouquet, cookies, a Literati and my Aunt sent lotions and nail polish and the sweetest argyle sweater ever. Hell yeah, hell yeah! And as for me, I got myself a fire opal ring with hearts on each side of the stone and a sexy skirt from H&M to wear at dinner tonight.

But, really, if I ruled the world birthdays would be individual Mother’s Days. Sure, I was the little swimmer sperm that could, but Mama Sunshine did all the work. She carried me and when I was born with complications, watched me rolled away in a bubble and waited patiently until I could breathe on my own. And that was just the beginning! Nothing makes me more thankful than thinking of Mama’s cookin’, or when she taught me how to grow tomatoes or when she was my girl scout troop leader. Everything I needed and almost all I wanted I had because she loved me.

Alas, I do not rule the world. So I’ll have to celebrate my birthday the way society forces me to–having drinks with my friends and singing karaoke like a maniac.

But, thanks Mama.

<3 Sunshine