Dylusions ink spray, Scrap FX chipboard AND a GREAT story- (no really!)

Happy hump day folks!

Yesterday was a whirl wind of activity for me.
I took my first driver's permit test and promptly failed it.
You will NEVER ever guess why.

This page was meant mean how I felt about my move but how very
pertinent is that highway photo now? I'll have to take another one like it.
Materials: Scrap FX fancy arrows and graffiti alphabet chipboard. Dylusions ink
in black (LOVE!!!!), A Flair For Buttons clock flair, a 25 cent alphabet stencil
from the dime store, chalk marker to paint the chipboard and MT neon pink washi.

I cheated.
WAIT! Not on purpose.
"Who cheats without knowing they cheated???" You might ask bewildered-like.
Me- the dumbass over here.

See I was told by a very helpful family member who shall remain nameless that it would be an OPEN BOOK TEST.
They were quite insistent and jolly about it.
Other family members agreed.
I was also told this test would be SO EASY.

It's NOT.

The DMV guy who took my 15 dollars probably told me not to open my book but by the end of my paper work processing he was Mr. Mumbles.
All I heard was" "Don't use your cell phone"
I thought to myself- why can't I use my cell phone during an open book test? Are they worried I'll talk too loud?"
But I didn't ask- I didn't want to look stupid.
Smack me right now.

CORNY!!! It should read: I'm totally incompetent- I'm surprised I haven't been killed
by my own folly yet but I'm your Mom- you better follow the rules of the road! LOL.

Proof! There are NO STUPID QUESTIONS.
Only bad listeners and assumptions with consequences.

I SHOULD have said "What?" or "I'm sorry I didn't catch anything after 'Take This Form"
But I was excited and I wanted to prove to myself I could HANDLE THIS.

After question 14 (answered while sitting right next to 5 other people ALL USING HANDBOOKS)
I pulled out my book thinking "I guess I'll put pride aside and use the book too."
I was worried about seeming proud.
GAH! The stupidity of it all!!!!

WHY does Utah allow some people to use their handbooks during the test?
Are these folks renewing their license?
They all looked around 15 (another reason I wanted to spare using the book)
Are teenagers allowed to take a test with a book?
NO answers from the DMV.

Suddenly a burly and smirking matron LOOMED above me and said
"COME WITH ME."
And I KNEW my ass was TOAST- I recognized that tone from grade school.
I just didn't know why I was in trouble.
And she never told me.
My book was rudely snatched away and I was told I had to wait 30 days to retake the test.
No further explanation- I tried to ask why but was given THE LOOK.
SHAME! DEEP all encompassing SHAME!
Why would I try to explain stupidity?

Anyway there you have it- me in my true glory- tripping through life and kicking my own ass.

Whenever you feel bad about yourself just say- well at least I didn't just pull a Michelle.

Lola is gonna LOVE this story.
Just you WAIT Missy!

Michelle.

Happy Belated Mother's Day. A card and a short story

Hello!
Sunday could have been fun.
I had scheduled fun all morning with some projects and a quick Mother's Day Card for my Mom.

Photo Window card.
I used some of the bits on my scrap table including that super cute
Crate Paper flower die cut which has so far proven too large for any layout.

Card interior. This is my favorite family photo right now.

This is the story.
We decided to go to our favorite casual restaurant since we KNEW everything would be totally crazy with Mother's Day crowds.
But the line was kinda long so we decided- hey Joann's!
I wanted to find this super cute Deer stamp for my December Daily Album (still unfinished)
As I looked through the stamp baskets and my husband right next to Lola
She tripped right over her left Crock
Fell
and cracked her head open on the useless and empty shopping cart I had pulled over to the side.

Our first ambulance ride ever. I've told Lola that ambulances are places where heros work.
She loves watching them pass by. I could have lived happily the
rest of my life imagining ambulances looked like they do in the show ER.

Such is the stuff of a million "what if's".

Mine:
If I had only used a shopping basket instead of a cart.
If I had just put on her Mary Jane's instead of the easy "Crocks"
I'll never forgive myself for saying- ah these are easier than chasing her around the apartment to get her to wear her shoes.
If I had put her into the cart as I always do but she was SO HAPPY walking around...

My husband's:
If I hadn't walked to the end of the aisle.
If I hadn't pulled away the shopping cart so she hit the wheel edge.
If I had just insisted "Let's eat first."

Ok so apparently there is now this analgesic gel that you can apply
to cuts and totally numbs the area after 30 minutes? Dude- she didn't feel a thing.
We had to hold her head in place because she kept trying to see the needle at work!

None of this would have happened.
And naturally there are the obnoxious questions from certain family members who insist we are crazy for not suing the store.
Wait- how is Joann's responsible for my daughter tripping over her shoes?
The floor was clean.
Till her blood spilled on it.

I think if I can or should blame anyone I should go after Crocks.
Which SUCK.
PLEEEASE don't buy these shoes for your little ones.
Lola has tripped on them before but we figured it would be ok- we're going to a paper store.
What's the worst that can happen?

Lola is fine now.

The floor is clean.

She's got bare feet.

She's got 6 stitches and some gnarly looking paste on the outside so the scarring is minimal.

Lessons in motherhood.

• You might not get there in time.
• You are accountable for everything that happens to your your kiddo. That's a good thing.
• People will stress that they hope your GIRL doesn't scar in her FACE. Because permanent brain injury not as important.
• The injuries can and will happen right in front of you as your child is running to you. 
• You will have to take charge because everyone else will be yelling, talking to each other, handing over a maxi pad (uhm yes this happened- and I was grateful- at least SOMEONE did something useful) running the other way or giving totally irrelevant advice.

So that was my Mother's Day.

I'm ok now. 

I was feeling major guilt and utterly incompetent.

I was freaking out about concussions. 

Even the scarring thing started to worry me. 

Then I remembered my sister Leticia, my sister Melissa, my brother Guarionex and my nephews Kaine and Marcus.

What the hell- forehead scars are a family tradition.

Just don't let that *%#@ happen again Mom, capisce?

Chelle's out.

Explaining yourself. Don't do it.

Now that I'm on Pinterest I see thousands of awesomely designed meme quotes.
Apparently these have been around for a while.
I just wasn't plugged into Tumblr or other digi spaces where graphic designers get open on quotes and make them into fun bits you can share.

Here's one:

And another:

A run-in with a friend this week has taught me- when someone steps in the crap...
Call them.
Tell them they stepped in the crap.
Listen. listen. listen.
If they get huffy just say you will call them back and go away for a while.

DON'T- DO. NOT. try to explain why you are angry over email.
Don't do it three times.
Most people- friends, family, your kids, your co-workers- humans in general- will not read the email the way you intended it.
They will read this: "You suck. much. suckage. lots. you. forever."
You could be the most eloquent.
The MOST fair.
The MOST righteous.
But being right isn't the point in a relationship- especially a long term one.

And perhaps you (me- always me- me me me) are in an altered state due to whatever stuff you managed to dredge up from the bottomless depths.
This "stuff" is great for creativity and originality but also puts the "crazy" in
"That (Colloquial Feminine Term) is (Out)house rat KEE RAY RAY!"

You might not have an idea how angry you are until someone (your sister. who reads Shakespeare. who knows all about people who think in poison daggers)
This person of truth says:
"DUUUDE- you're like- AGGRO. all. the. time. these days!"
To this you say- "WHAAAAT? Insert LAAAME-O excuse here!"
Add another one for good measure: "Lameity, lame, lame!!"
The lady doth protest too much.

You thought you were happy. ????? You tell everyone you are SO. HAPPY!
Diane Keaton in "First Wives Club" SO. HAAAPPYYY!!!!

"Doing GREAT! Couldn't be BETTER!!!"

What. is. up?
You take mental inventory:
"On my (BLEEEP!) list..."
Holy COW!
EVERYONE!!!!

You (remember- ME- I mean ME) get into a MAJOR tiff with someone you love and want to keep around because they are generally awesome if a bit judgey pants (but only sometimes).... (and only because they care).... (and because they value different things)
Which is WHY these different type people are valued and loved and appreciated.
 (silently apparently???).
So that "tiff" turns into a nasty fight.
And before you know it.
No more friend.

So the question is- how many times does this happen before you realize the problem is you?
You could blame the friend (or the family member or the co-worker)
You could get all huffy and post emo FB statuses that put-off EVERYONE.
You could say you are trying to stay real and only want people around who really appreciate you.
But in the end, you are alone.
REAL, but alone.

Balance and perspective.
That is what is required.
You make that call.
You make the obligatory apology.
Then you wait and hope the offended party..
 (who admittedly started the whole thing but really, who's counting? You ARE 38, right? Not 8! You wish you were 8. 8 would mean it's still socially acceptable to throw a tantrum. Tantrums are ALL the awesome sauce- but only when YOU do it. If someone throws a tantrum and you happen to be around, it's ALL the suck)
...hope the offended party comes back.

Did you learn from this experience?
Will it happen again?
You have a toddler.
Will you let it happen when she's 10? When she's 15?
When she's 21?
You have a husband.
He said do not write emails.
He said do not go on Facebook.
He said look! SQUIRREL!
But you did not go chase the squirrel.
You let the dogs out and they pooped all over your friendship.
Pick up the pieces.
pieces pieces pieces.
Put them back together again.
paste paste paste.
Oh no! I see the cracks!
But in some circles, that's called texture.
It adds character to the work.
Your life.

Two sides to everything. Two sides.

MuChos SmOoChEs!
Michelle

Funny story. WHY HAMBLY??? WHY? And also, SWAG!

A card made with Gauche Alchemy's Neon Color Kit.

Happy Monday folks!
The plan was to get all emo with my latest dramz but all that has to be pushed aside because frankly- who the heck wants to hear all that nonsense, right?
We ALL have trials and tribulations.
I was in the subway yesterday and this dude was asking for money and his story reached "The Iliad"proportions so I gave him a dollar and a smile.

I usually avoid the smiles when I had over the duckets (that's a link to the Urban dictionary- read definition number 5 and laugh yer tail right off)
Smiling signifies an approachable nature and before you know it, you are listening to a smelly dude talk about space aliens zapping people to make them compliant.
TRUE. STORY.

By the way- were you one of the lucky ones who got to see the partial solar eclipse yesterday?
LUCKY YOU!!!!!!
Am I gonna get to see a photo?
LINK IT UUUUP, YO!

Nasa' s "projection" of what you got to see if you lived in
the western part of the US. I won't hate on you TOO much.

Anyway, back to my story...
So about a year ago, this smelly homeless guy sits next to me as Lola and I rode the subway to Central Park. He talks very closely and  intensely about aliens and their culinary particulars for 4 entire stations. (The equivalent of an eternity in terms of nasal comfort).
All because MISS LOLA was all cute and cuddly and smiled at him and said "GOOO!"
BETRAYED by my toddler!
I managed a hasty: excusemeIgottagothanksfortheveryinterestinginformationbutthisismystop...
as I got up and rammed our cheap 35 dollar Chicco stroller into a random pair of ankles in my NEED to expeditiously extricate myself from said conversation.
BING BONG! Slam! went the subway car doors behind me.
Whew! SAFE!
MISS LOLA! NO MORE STARING AT DUDES ON THE SUBWAY!

The smile that attracts thousands- not MINE! Hers!

So I don't smile.
I wear the dog face.
Luckily, the new and improved terrible Twos Lola (or LOLZ 2.0) is more interested in screaming at the top of her lungs that she MUST walk around the subway car and impersonate a human pin ball right this very SECOND! NOW! NOW!! NOW!!!
Which does WONDERS for magically rendering subway seats empty and cancels out the yammering of alien tale-tellers (but not the smell- alas).

So I give up the goods if someone impresses me with their personal version of Paul Bunyan's flap jacks.
Some people would say I'm a fool to encourage that behavior.
Well, I love me a good story and this guy had a major brain disease, Iraq War veteran status, 3 hungry kids (WHY always 3? ALWAYS!) and an electric bill to pay. (electric bill? POINTS FOR RANDOM!)
But WAIT that's NOT all!
He had gotten stabbed several times and was showing the wounds to anyone interested.
HELLO! Positively Homer-rific!
So I paid up.
It's what you do when you live in the city.

By now you are all "I've lost 10 minutes of my scrap blog reading time! WTG MICHELLE!"
Sorry guys.
Maybe you are all: "Why all the emo, Chellster?"
(You can call me that- it would make me happy)

Hambly has decided to call it quits.
If I can't get emo about that I don't know WHAT is worth a good cry.
I've heard rumors that Art Director Allison Kreft Abad is now teaming up with Echo Park so it's not ALL ruin and devastation.
If you can confirm this piece of news for me I would GREATLY appreciate it.
AS IF Echo Park could possibly get MORE awesome!

Also this (which cancels most of the regularly scheduled emo):

I KNOW! Right?
Totes SWAGADOCIOUS!
(NOPE! I did NOT make that up- you can look it up in the Urban Dictionary- my source of choice)

I went to the Keith Haring exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum last weekend.
If you have the chance you should go. 

MuChoS SmOoChEs!
Michelle

Bullies and such- True stories from the parent hood

I'm a bully.
I will put it right there out in the open.
I used to think I was a "victim" of bullies but I've been monitoring my communications lately and I've decided I'm a gosh darned e-bully.
I don't call people names or spread nasty rumors about them but I argue with people on Facebook and tell them their viewpoints are "disingenuous" (let's be real- I use other words too- especially if it's family and I feel all comfy and privileged)
I've caught myself saying that I feel sorry for someone for having a certain viewpoint- to their FACE even!
There's a word for me.
Obnoxious.
Who made me the Facebook communications police?
Anytime someone posts something I think is "wrong" I feel the need to start a tete a tete over it.
Now that I have "timeline" I'm all- EWWWW! I said that????? Someone slap me!
I would like to say I can't help it but yes I most certainly can!
So NO more of THAT, please!
I have a tiny human to raise.
This one.

Do I want her running around calling people names when she doesn't agree with them?
No!!!
Yet I'm more focused on how other children treat HER and forget that every single process for change STARTS WITH ME.

A story.
I took Miss Thang to Brooklyn Bridge Park.
There are these posts that turn and have rubber handles which kids LOVE to hold on to as they get dragged mercilessly round and round and ROUND on the floor.
FUUUUN! Right?
I hate them but Lola is obsessed and wants to use them all the time.
So did this little 5 or 6 year old girl who shoved Lola several times until she tripped and fell.
The playground floor has 3 inches of light colored rubber material on it.
Lola bounced.

I LOST IT.

NO NO NO! Bad! Very bad! NO PUSHING!

Ok before you object at my yelling at some one else's (EVIL) small child I would like to add that I used my "Dixie voice". Dixie was the family German Shepherd who loved kids so much she would jump on their shoulders and lick their terrified screaming faces- she was SO FRIENDLY in that wonderful Godzilla sort of way.

The little girl jumped up in surprise and looked at her Dad who was standing 5 feet away with this HUH? look on his face.
Reminding me why I married him- Dave stepped in and explained as I was about to open the proverbial can of whoop on the dude.
The father hadn't been paying attention.
He was texting and missed the whole thing.
I walked away with my crying baby and felt guilty for having yelled at a small (EVIL) human and raving internally at parents who mentally check out at the playground.
A mother approached me.

I'll admit it. I cringed.
I'm all sass and attitude in digiland but in real life I avoid conflict.
Mostly because I'm scared I'll get that slap I asked for previously.

The Mom told me that the little girl had no playmates because she had been shoving kids all day.
Her Dad hadn't been paying attention or speaking to her after each incident.
She said she was glad my husband was speaking to the dude and showed me her 3 year old son's scratched up face.
I had no words.

I realized I better FIND a way to speak to parents calmly after a conflict because
1- I didn't want to be the googly-eyed yelly parent in the playground
or
2- the parent who has to apologize after her kid shoves another in the playground.

Which I was 2 days in a row this week.

Because Lola has started throwing hissy fits whenever she decides some other kid's toy is hers.

She shoves kids!
She hits them in the face!!!!
Right in front of me!
As I yell NO! NO HITTING OTHER KIDS! Say you are sorry! (that last part has GOT to be the stupidest thing I will ever say)

So I get the beady eyeball from other Moms.
I HATE the beady eyeball.
And the angry huff.
I HATE the huff!!!
And the pulling kids away from my demon spawn problem child.
This one:

It hurts me so much to see Lola standing alone and having no idea why her "playmates" left.
What if Lola is the school recluse who thinks shoving kids is proper social interaction?
It's all my fault!
I yell too much!
I snatch things. (like scissors... open dirty diapers.... the broom she was using to bash the brand new Blue-Ray player Dave finally saved enough money to buy)
I baby her too much.
I don't hug her enough.
I hug her too much.
She has no other playmates.
She's bored. She's tired. She's hungry.
SHE'S TWO!!!!!! (and a half)
But still!
Where did she learn shoving and kicking and slapping faces is the way to get what she wants?
I don't do that!

I called my Mom kinda late (10pm) last week to discuss this.
Lola wakes up and starts making the absolute MOST ANNOYING SOUND IN THE KNOWN UNIVERSE:

wwheee haaawwwww
EEEEEEHHH  HAAAAAAAAWWWWW
wah waaah EEEEEW HAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!

Yes it's JUST as grating in person!
She sounds JUST LIKE the donkey we heard in the hills of Napoli as we walked around looking for pizza that didn't cost 18 US dollars a slice.
Yeah you think I'm kidding but I'm NOT.
You're in Ravello now, cheapo American!

Do you hear the donkeys braying Clarice? Ravello.

Except Lola's version is not REMOTELY this romantic. Even at a distance.

Us in Ravello.  Remind me to tell you how my Mom reacts to romantic bus rides
through long and twisty roads with no railing and fearless moped traffic.
 FUN. TIMES. 

So my Mom starts up.
"Michelle you really need to lay the law down with that baby or she will EAT YOU ALIVE before she hits 14."
(Insert mental image of Lola at 14 here.)  (Shivers!!!!)
"You don't have to yell or spank her. You have to be firm! BE FIRM Michelle!
You baby that child too much! She's almost 3!
Which reminds me..."
She launches into amusingly HORRID death and dismemberment story she read from random Puerto Rican news paper which is meant as a modern latinized Grim's Fairy Tales of parenting.

Her intention is to SHOCK and AWE me into correct parenting practices with this latest tale of death and/or parental incompetence.  (Which usually ends in said parents getting locked up.)
I'm tired, frazzled and scared crapless.

I'm FAILING AS A PARENT!
My child is going to hell in a hand basket and I'm the delivery person!!!

Everyone goes to bed. (but I stay awake several hours trying to figure out how to stop the donkey brays and the constant face slapping of fellow playground denizens)

The next day grandma visits.
YAY! We love grandma visits!!
Really!
I very much love my Mom. Grimm's Cuentitos De Adas Muertas aside- she's freaking awesome.
Lola starts the donkey braying. Again.
This time because I snatched away a screw driver my husband had left out (This is very RARE. The Mr is very good at putting tools away but I'd been "instructing" him on "proper air conditioner installation" and he got distracted.)
Lola had been trying valiantly to insert said screw driver into her left eye socket when I realized- AHA! A perfect moment to implement proper parental discipline practices!

"No Lola!"
"Give me that RIGHT NOW!"
"NOOOO!!!! Do NOT put it in your EYE!!!!!"
"AAAIIEEEEE!!! "
(this is all me by the way)

snatch!

"wwheee haaawwwww

EEEEEEHHH  HAAAAAAAAWWWWW!!!!!!!!!"

Feeling terrible and getting down to her level:
"Stop braying! I mean... I'm sorry honey- here- have this BLUNT PLASTIC TOY instead."

"wwheeeeeee haaawwwww

EEEEEEHHH  HAAAAAAAAWWWWW" 

Only LOUDER and with more accent on the "eeee" bit.

"Awww!" (much hugging and piercing of my eardrums with WHEEE AAAWWWs) 

Then my Mom adds, curiously:
"You really can't stand to hear her crying, can't you? What's wrong with letting her show her emotions?"

No she didn't get her own subscription- this is a recycled box.

MuChOS SmOoChEs!
Michelle

Wordless Wednesday- NOT!

words words WORDS!!!
I've been thinking about the process and ramifications of sharing personal details.
I LOVE talking- just give me the floor and I will tell you EVERYTHING.
I even tell job interviewers everything.
They don't appreciate it.
Don't they know it's easier to work with someone who will flat out tell you they made a mistake?
NOPE.
They want you to LIE.
They also want you to say "I've always wanted to work just for you!" My greatest life ambition- receipt check girl at Costco.
I don't lie.
Seriously- I don't lie.
Just ask my family- they will tell you hundreds of stories of how I made myself look bad just to stick to the truth.
Here's why- I care what you think and I want you around but telling the truth is easier.
If you break out because you don't like me that makes my life easier too.
It WiLL HuRT- but in the end it's easier.
I'm a lazy person who likes things EASY.
It's that simple.

Why am I showing you this? It's just what I worked on last night. I'm thinking about making a minibook
 about my summer vacation. This is 8 by 11- too big for a mini. I like that the mist got all over my photos.
It's transgressive- like I'm saying "Photos? MEMORIES? Who CARES! It's the PROCESS, BABY! That's
what MATTERS!"  Don't quote me on that- been getting lots of flack about my viewpoints on art lately.

I love hearing other people's stories.
I love telling truth even if it means I get my toches handed to me on a stick.
Several male family members have a strict tell 'em nothing policy that I like to subvert whenever possible.
They believe it means no one has enough info to judge them but what it really means is no one knows them. What's worst? In the absence of real details, people make shiz up.
The stories they make up are worst. Those stories serve them- not you.
Take control of your story. YOU HAVE THE POWER. YOU ARE IN CONTROL.
It's your life.

It's best to have this open door policy when others have it as well. If you are explaining where you are coming from and the other person is using everything they learn to mess you up then you are the problem. This is what people mean when they say: You are awesome- you just need to get out of your own way.

My cousin posted this randomly yesterday. So true in some many ways but also false.
Sometimes your best friend is the one that DEMANDS answers.

Not that this happened to me this week. I actually got something much more interesting. A nasty conversation that sprung up from my telling too much then turned into a deeper experience.
The lesson?
Try not to avoid pain- you learn from pain.
Sometimes you are wrong and there are certain people in your life who will point it out- in public- stridently.
Ouch!
But it's gonna be ok. Because do you really need a toady? A lackey? a cheerleader? Are you a WOMAN or a mouse?

Don't get me wrong. Negative people that make you feel awful all the time are not awesome. They bring nothing to the table. I'm not talking about them.
Challenging people are where it's at.
They bring IT- the thing you don't want to hear- the thing you have been running from. They have that innate bullcrap sensor.
Perhaps they smell it. Blood in the water.
And they show IT to you.
AAAACK!
Let me tell you a story.
Wait!- you exclaim- weren't you already in the middle of a looong story?
BAH!
It was 1998- I think. I was serving as an Americorp NCCC member in Oklahoma City where a tornado had laid waste to half the city- or close to that- you can look it up- it was bad.
I'm telling a story and it will have hyperbole but I ain't lying- just avoiding having to google half my life 'cause my memory sucks.
Anyway I was working in a warehouse for donations- sorting everything into boxes to be trucked to people who needed it directly.

Street poets, street truths

First of all, you will NOT BELIEVE the crap people send when asked for donations. Do homeless, traumatized folks need your half full bottle of shampoo? Your used lipstick? Your dog bed with hair still attached? For REALZ! That's what I was sorting through!
Normally I would let that slide but can you imagine having to separate those items from millions of other items?
How much it costs the charity to dispose of those items because they aren't sanitary to distribute?
When you give- be giving. New and unopened toiletries. Gently used clothes you have laundered. Coats in winter. Short sleeved shirts in summer.
Don't make it an occasion for getting rid of the contents of your problem closet.

Dave and the mask from "V for Vendetta" separated at birth??? 

A.NY.WAY. My team took a break. We sat down to eat with some missionaries that had come down from- I forget the city. I was sitting in front of a dark skinned boy with a BEAUTIFUL sing song accent- I couldn't stop listening- I wanted MORE.
Where are you from? I asked.
Somalia.
OOO Somalis are hot! Sorry, I was 19.
He was 15 so I wasn't about to start flirting but I wanted to know more. At the time Somalia had people running around with machetes, chopping other people up.
He told me his story.
He was 13. He watched his whole family and village die around him. He ran away with his sister. She later died as well. He was angry. He wanted to go back and kill himself some Tutsies. He was very eloquent about the differences between the two groups and started to talk about what he saw.
That's when my team mate told him she didn't want to hear what he had to say!
Yo, WHAT?
I went off on her.
This may be the first and ONLY time you get to hear about this war from a person who's actually experienced it!!!!! This is happening- RIGHT NOW- if you don't like it why don't you get up and go sit somewhere else!!!
There was silence from everyone.
She stayed put. And the boy shut up for the rest of the meal.
I never got to hear how he survived. How he made his way to the embassy. How he now lives with a family who loves him. How he deals with real pain- real sorrow- real injustice.
I STILL wanna slap my former team-mate for being such a jerk!
What's worst- she treated me badly for the rest of our service year together- because I made her "look bad" in Oklahoma City.
What. A. Putz.

Make it. Take it. 

So it's up to you.

Do you own up to your mistakes?
Do you grow from the experience?
Or do you retreat to "I'M HURT" status and stop sharing?
This is when you fall into the trap.
You lose a valuable experience and you stop growing.

What do you think?

MuChOs SmOoChEs!

Remembering 10 years ago today

I assume everyone remembers where they were this time 10 years ago. My story is simple. I was never in any real danger although I felt a such at the time.

I was home having just lost my job two days before. I was depressed and reading Tom Clancy's "The Sum of All Fears". If you've read the book you know how completely awful a choice it was.  My boyfriend (now promoted to The Hubster) called around 8am and started talking- quickly and quietly. All I heard was "Towers" and "turn on the TV".

Here's the thing- I didn't have a tv. I rented tv shows on DVD from Blockbuster and went to the library to check out movies. I didn't listen to the news or have internet as I didn't have a computer- all that came later- after I realized just how isolated and vulnerable I was.

David slowed down and said- Michelle an airplane just crashed into the World Trade Center. I can see the smoke from here!! We are on red alert. No one is allowed to leave." At the time David worked as a Communications Department assistant in a hospital near the Williamsburg Bridge- one of the closest hospitals to Ground Zero. During times of emergency it's all hands on deck.

I blurted out- "HA hahaha- That's not funny." I thought it was a joke- it HAD to be a joke- it was impossible an airplane could swing into the tallest building in NYC- impossible.

"Michelle"- he said- "all those people..." and his voice broke.

Dave had to go so I turned on the radio- Z-100- the top 40 music and and silly talk station I sometimes listened to was broadcasting CBS news coverage. I listen as newscasters try to speak to the reporters on the street but the wail of sirens is drowning all other sound. The newscaster sounds scared- the reporter on the street is unintelligible and there is screaming in the background.

While searching for clearer signal I hear a second plane has hit the second tower. A second plane? What the hell is going on? I tried to call Dave but he couldn't talk- phone lines to the hospital now had to be free for fire and police to co-ordinate emergency services.
My Mom called- "Michelle get over here now. I'm leaving work and I want you home by the time I get there."
You don't ignore a direct command from the Mom.
My brother Guarionex was stationed in a Army base in Germany with his family. My sister Leticia was in Japan teaching english. Melissa was already at Mom's house and waiting for me. She wanted us all home right NOW.

I put on my jeans and go wait for the bus. I notice that every single person on the street has the same stunned look. Behind the bus stop there is a laundromat.  Two muslim women are sitting near the entrance and waiting for their clothes to dry. They watch the tv along with everyone else. CNN is broadcasting that this may have been an act of terrorism.  Briefly, a photo of Osama Bin Laden flashes on screen as part of a montage of known terrorists. Who where these monsters? It was the first time I had ever heard of any of them. I rarely paid attention to the news as it just stressed me out. I knew about the bombing of some UN buildings in Africa but had never bothered to find out who did it or why it was important. Safety from acts of war was something I took for granted.

I look at the two women slowly folding their laundry and carefully avoiding the glares now trained on them. I see the same fear I feel in their eyes, their eyes being the only thing not covered. I got out of there- I was confused and angry and I wanted to be with family.

In the Parkchester section of the Bronx where I lived at the time,  the Pakistani and Eastern European Muslim population is large and very visible. I shopped in "their" super markets as the produce is fresher, the staff friendlier and the prices fairer. I walked in the park and saw how well the families stuck together and how polite the children were. I washed clothes and picked up my mail right alongside them- they were simply my neighbors. Now I was scared and suspicious.

On the bus half way to my Mom's house a man listening to headphones suddenly curses in spanish and sits down. When asked what was wrong he tells everyone the first tower is falling. How does such a large building fall? Did everyone get out? What are they saying" He was silent- he had no answers. I could see he is trying not to show any emotion but his eyes are red.

A woman to the front of the bus starts to cry- her husband works in a restaurant at the World Trade Center she says.  The subways aren't running and she needs to get to Manhattan to see if he's ok. When no one answers her she starts to weep but slowly works herself into a full screaming fit. Can't the bus go any faster? Why are the subways all closed? Why are the phones not working? No ones answers. The bus driver stops the bus and tries to calm her down. Finally, the bus driver tells her she will have to get off if she keeps yelling- she is scaring everyone. She calms down and we resume our ride in total silence. No one's cell phones are working. Those with radios are listening to their earphones- there isn't a laptop or ipod in sight.

On reaching my Mother's house my sister opens the door. She is on her way out. She wants to see the news and her friend Danny has satellite tv service. She will call us if she hears any news. My Mom calls- Pito is fine but his base is on full alert status. We are not to call him or worry- he will email us when he can.

I watch the news. Only the CBS station is visible- the others ones are off air since most have antenna's on World Trade Center Tower 1. My Mom doesn't have cable or a fancy antenna. A newsman is in front of a hospital interviewing some dude on the street who warns there might be a biological or nuclear aspect to this attack so we all need to stay indoors. The reporter is hanging on to every word but the interview gets cut off to show video of the Pentagon attack and people in Washington DC evacuating into the streets- senators and janitors alike- all are vulnerable- all are scared. The reporter comes on to say there are still several planes up in the air and that they have lost contact with a few. Charts of what's currently still in flight are shown, there is speculation on how many more planes could hit major cities.

I turn the tv off. My Mom is finally home- she was one of the last people to be allowed across a bridge from Manhattan in a car. She works uptown so she never saw a thing but when she got to the Willis Avenue bridge the police were inspecting cars and the bridge was already full of people fleeing Manhattan into the comfort and safety of the South Bronx. Irony.

We hug and spend the rest of the afternoon watching the tv and crying- people choosing to jump 20 floors rather than burn, hospital emergency room entrances completely empty or too full, footage of the actual planes hitting the buildings, the buildings falling, people running from grey clouds of dust, people covered in white dust, police cars crushed by huge iron pillars, people crossing the bridges on foot, people finally reaching home 20 miles away from Manhattan and collapsing in their yards to cry. There is much speculation, chatter, rumor but no real information yet. We now live in fear. We are now a nation at war.

10 years later, the site of the World Trade Center is a tourist attraction. I avoid it but I understand why people feel the need to visit- to touch base- to remember and to witness for themselves. When the new building goes up I plan to visit regularly- the design is beautiful and the memorial pools in the footprints of the towers promise to be one of the most beautiful sights in New York.

I will never forget what I felt that day and I will never take for granted my safety or stop thanking the policemen, the firefighters, the engineers, the construction workers and the EMS specialists who gave months of their time and many, their very lives, to help in the rescue and rebuilding efforts. I bow my head and I give thanks- thank you. Thank you.
Thank you.

A story- How I got started

Lift from a painting on Etsy. Used paint sample chips and tissue paper.

I'm still away having fun in Salt Lake City but I refuse to leave ya'll hanging for 2 weeks. Please feel free to leave love as I am still reading my email.
Below- a story.

I was watching "Shaun The Sheep" today for like the 80th time this week- if you have some time and a Netflix account you need to check it out- it's so clever!!

Anyway, so I was watching this show and something triggered my memory on how I got started scraping. I have a heart rending story about Lola's troubled first nine months and how I needed a distraction from the emotional turmoil- it's a great story- but it's not the WHOLE story.

Botanical Garden- sweaty but having fun

I got started scrapbooking because I was bored and I couldn't draw to save my life. I wish I had a photo of my first DIY project for Lola's room. It was supposed to be a flying bird but it wasn't remotely recognizable. That's when I started looking for "help".

Favorite strawberry outfit

Lola is named after a bird- a Puerto Rican bird- or so I was told by my Mom who insisted an "Alondra" was the national bird of Puerto Rico and a very brave, strong and resourceful bird at that.
It's not- on all points.

An Alondra is a Meadow Lark and they are common to North and South America. There are many varieties within the genus but mostly it's a brown bird with hints of yellow. They are not known for anything specific but the National Audobon society has recorded the call of the North American Meadow Lark which is actually rather beautiful. Maybe this is why Lola can wail for hours on end?

Honking at Geese

She could have been Isabel but it's too common in NYC. If you yell out "ISABEL! WHAT ARE YOU DOING???" 30 little girls will suddenly freeze, turn and give you THE LOOK. I could have named her Diana (after the Goddess), Aurora as she is my new beginning or even Malia (you KNOW why!!!) but I chose Alondra because it RANG in my head. Frankly, my Mom had already ran through about 2000 names and was frustrated that I hadn't picked one of "her names". I was obviously mentally deficient. Everyone KNOWS Abuela gets to name the child.

So this is why Lola's room is full of birds- some made by me (sad SAD things) and some made by what appears to be American Craft's Silhouette or Provo Craft's Cricut- both which can apparently cut adhesive vinyl. I don't have either machine as both cost at least a leg and take up the exact same amount of room.

Second painting lift- I used paint chips and Target dollar bin embellies on this.

I also have some early paper piecing "lifts" from Etsy paintings I felt I could not "afford". Looking at how much money I've spent the last 2 years on scrap crap I should have gone ahead and sprung for those original paintings. Who knew I would embark on a journey and enjoy it so much?

I've always wanted to "be a writer"- here I am writing! I always wanted to use my photo degree- here I am learning new photo techniques every day and going places just to get a great photo- this didn't happen when I was single and "had more time". How grateful I am to Lola- to Miss Alondra- for allowing me to be her Mom but also develop as an "artist". It's been a great ride and when I see her smile- I know I'm in for loads more fun.

Sunset from K-Mart parking lot in Queens.

MuChoS SmOoChEs!
Michelle