tollipop

silent auction #1: the apology

2013-06-17T13:29:01-07:00

Something a little different today than the usual tea party, dear reader: I'm hosting a series of silent auctions for a friend, Josh Gates, who is currently using Kickstarter to raise funds for a film he wrote and will shortly direct.

To the serious art collector who may be questioning the market value of my work: darling, let's not trifle ourselves with the fine print...(cue glittering, coloratura laughter)...that's what the attorneys are for! True, Tollipop watercolors have never been slated for sale at Sotheby's, nor any of the great auction houses of the world. But I ask you, who can put a premium on penitent rabbits, girls who wear masks, melancholy revelers, and inseparable friends?

More to the point, who can put a premium on someone in pursuit of a lifelong dream? Whenever I see that happening, I want to jump to my feet and start clapping...before I've seen the performance, before I've seen the result.

I just want to applaud for that.

Thank you for your support of this endeavor. You can help spread the word by telling your friends or by liking this post on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, or the vast plethora of social networks which currently stream through our universe.

Details of the auction are as follows:

1. This is an original watercolor, one of a kind, painted on soft, buttery Italian paper measuring 6x8" in size.

2. You may bid for this piece by leaving a comment at the bottom of this post.

3. The auction will stay open until the end of the week, let's say Friday, June 21st, around noon-ish (though don't be surprised if I forget when that is).

4. The winner will then be notified and sent an invoice via Paypal. Once I have received payment, the artwork will be shipped (without charge) to its happy new home. I will donate 100% of the proceeds to Josh's Kickstarter campaign.

silent auction #2: come along

2013-06-17T13:28:40-07:00

I just want to applaud for that.

Details of the auction are as follows:

1. This is an original watercolor, one of a kind, painted on soft, buttery Italian paper measuring 6x8" in size.

2. You may bid for this piece by leaving a comment at the bottom of this post.

3. The auction will stay open until the end of the week, let's say Friday, June 21st, around noon-ish (though don't be surprised if I forget when that is).

silent auction #3: party girl

2013-06-17T13:27:33-07:00

I just want to applaud for that.

Details of the auction are as follows:

1. This is an original watercolor, one of a kind, painted on soft, buttery Italian paper measuring 6x8" in size.

2. You may bid for this piece by leaving a comment at the bottom of this post.

3. The auction will stay open until the end of the week, let's say Friday, June 21st, around noon-ish (though don't be surprised if I forget when that is).

silent auction #4: les copines

2013-06-17T13:25:37-07:00

I just want to applaud for that.

Details of the auction are as follows:

1. This is an original watercolor, one of a kind, painted on soft, buttery Italian paper measuring 6x8" in size.

2. You may bid for this piece by leaving a comment at the bottom of this post.

3. The auction will stay open until the end of the week, let's say Friday, June 21st, around noon-ish (though don't be surprised if I forget when that is).

how to get in good with the guys

2013-06-12T08:11:00-07:00

Dear reader, before this thing goes viral, perhaps I should narrow down the demographic up front: by guys, I'm referring to the subset between the ages of 5 and 10...sorry if anyone got unnecessarily interested this early in the morning.

At any rate, the other day I received a text from a friend wanting to know if I recommended any bugs as pets for her 6 year old son, Noah. My ego took off like a hot air balloon: I didn't realize my reputation preceded me as an expert in the field!

First off I asked if she had an aversion to fresh poop, which immediately ruled out the possibility of dung beetles. We discussed other options and then I thought of a creature I often encounter out on my trail runs: the desert darkling beetle. I told her to ask Noah if he'd like me to bring him a beetle who can do handstands and the answer was a resounding YES.

The next time I went for a run, I found just such a fellow and scooped him up. When I brought him over to Noah's house later that day, his friend Ethan greeted me at the door looking like someone had rained on his parade.

Take it from me, dear reader: standing in front of two little boys holding only one beetle? Is not a feel good moment.

The next day I ran into Ethan's mom and before she could open her mouth I said, "I already know what you're going to say and the answer is yes."

She was all (stricken expression): He won't talk about anything else!

And I was all: Don't worry, it's perfectly normal...probably a sign of genius. By the way, do you happen to have an aversion to fresh poop?

She assured me she did, so it was another desert darkling beetle for Ethan.

I'd like to think I've started a little bit of a club, dear reader. Anyone can join. I think Izzy wants in. The boys promised to keep field notes and let me know how Sticky and Chop Chop are doing.

Who knows? I think I just made two new friends. Maybe we'll get together over the summer, eat gummi worms, and compare our findings. Then I'll show them Tin Lizzie and they can laugh their heads off whenever someone says poop.

paper treasures

2013-06-11T10:39:37-07:00

Dear reader, there are about five different things I'm supposed to be doing right now and several minutes ago I was doing one of them, but then Sophie came downstairs uttering the phrase which captivates me every time: Do you want to see what I just made?

Yes. I would much rather do that.

As the girls get older, it's interesting to note how the dynamics shift in our relationship. I'm still the mum, I still need smelling salts when I pass through their rooms, but there is also a certain shyness I feel as I watch them catapult through life, as if I wished I was cool enough to be a part of their circle.

We are dear friends but sometimes they also feel a bit foreign to me...can a mother admit that? They are so offbeat, fun, talented, and...sophisticated. It seems as if they simply shot through the proverbial awkward stage while I feel, in many ways, as if I never left it behind.

Perhaps that's to be expected when you grow up on a small farm near a small town with no internet to inform you how painfully off the mark you are...then go on to raise daughters in the bastion of refinement we call Las Vegas.

Izzy made this. She has a zillion drawings of betta fish tucked around the house these days, all on small scraps of paper. I think I purposely failed to inform you our betta fish tally has reached six...you can chalk it up to her love of animals and my love of pretty colors.

While I'm on the topic...last night I dreamed I left the lid off my terrarium and all my rainbow scarabs flew away. I was heartbroken. Then I discovered a new beetle whose exterior resembled a thousand beaded gems and kept changing colors in the sunlight. Still, though...I was devastated by the loss of my scarabs.

This is by Caroline. I could gaze at it for hours.

I'm all over the place with this post, possibly due to a lingering sense of bereavement from my dream, but what I was trying to express is that as I look at my girls' artwork, I feel a sense of...recognition. However different our lives may be, however varied our experiences, I see something familiar in the things they create. Something which resonates in a wordless way and manifests, in my heart, evidence of an intangible bond.

It makes me happy.

on getting together

2013-06-10T12:36:18-07:00

Over the weekend my sister and her kids came to spend a few days with us.

The first thing out of my nephew's mouth, as he came through the door, was to ask about my rainbow scarabs. So we dispatched with the hugs and I combed through dung, fishing out Tin Lizzie and placing her in his hands.

I'm not trying to vaunt myself or put on airs, dear reader. But I do believe there are precious few aunties out there who keep beetle-filled piles of dung on hand for just such an occasion.

Perhaps that's as it should be.

It was a fun weekend...several outings, lots of movie parties, late night swims.

There was a birthday boy, his helper...

and cupcakes galore.

A steady stream of guests dropped by, always a lovely surprise. My friend came over and her boys listened to my girls demonstrate the cello, violin, and piano, since her youngest can't decide which instrument he would like to learn first.

He plans to learn them all, by the way.

There were little cousins helping big cousins, counting out knives and forks in sweet, chirpy voices.

Pretty tables,

And a bounteous harvest.

As the weekend wore on, it grew difficult to keep track of how many cousins were actually in the house...a blur of little ones running about, establishing pecking orders, squirrelled away in bedrooms, lurking in the shadows, plotting a coup.

I think Stripes would agree it was a little crazy.

Good crazy, but definitely crazy.

stripes

2013-06-07T20:42:51-07:00

kirsten

school's out for summer

2013-06-06T08:10:10-07:00

I told the girls they could sleep in as long as they wanted this morning and...they are still sleeping.

This summer is going to be hot, dear reader. There will be music camps, volleyball camps, copious amounts of shaved ice, and perhaps the odd getaway to the beach or mountains. My sisters and their families will come to visit and hopefully a brother or two, as well. Lots of nieces and nephews...the best part of all.

I have a small list of things I'd like to do. I want to pickle something. Does anyone know of a good produce farm within a hundred mile radius of Las Vegas? Do I need to cast that net a bit wider? Do I need to include Missouri as well? I just want to find some amazing cucumbers to pickle. I'd like to preserve some salsas and relish, too. But I want to use food that grew out of good, rich soil...and I'm here in the midst of a deadly furnace.

I wish someone would teach me to crochet. Yes, I know there are instructional books out there and videos galore. But I want to sit down with someone who really knows what she's doing and pass cicada-filled evenings together, making pretty things and sipping something nice and cold.

I hope I finish my story...not because I think it's especially good. I have a buried hope it will be good but the navigation has been rough going, which causes me to doubt. At this point I just want to make it complete, to stand back and feel every word got arranged exactly as I wanted it.

Beyond that I want to read a few books, catch a few snakes, keep my rainbow scarabs alive, and take in some glorious, evening runs. I hope to read lots of bedtime stories to the girls, hang out at the library, have movie parties with popcorn, and possibly compose some music.

Mainly, though, I'm looking forward to not forgetting carpool.

These next few days will be busy. We have family coming into town: mischievous nephews, a darling niece, and possibly their kitten named Stripes.

Typically, announcing a blogging break is the one time you may actually rely upon me blogging like a fiend...I don't know why that is...but in case I really don't find my way back here for the next little while, I wanted to excuse myself from the table and wish you the loveliest beginning of summertime.

I hope to see you soon.

what i know

2013-06-04T10:37:24-07:00

Yesterday, as we were driving home from school, Izzy turned to me and said, "Lately I've been thinking about how life is so...fragile."

I looked at my middle daughter, the one who is so hip and funny, yet who often comes to me pondering the weightier questions of the universe. I knew what she meant. While I have my own deeply held belief that life goes on infinitely and is anything but fragile, I remember my first experiences of trying to fathom death, the sudden incomprehension of how someone could be here one moment and gone the next.

I swear I'm not trying to bring down the mood, dear reader. But I think about these things often. I think about the significance, meaning, and beauty there is to be made by the difference of one life.

Yesterday I went for a run in the desert and came across, as I'm sure you already suspect, a little old man. Not the one I told you about before. A different one. I oddly feel as if I've become some sort of expert in tracking down this most delightful of demographics.

Anyway, we visited for awhile. His name is Sherman and he calls me the Canadian, since he can't pronounce (or possibly remember) my name. He told me things about this area from the turn of the century and let me tell you, when you're talking to a guy like Sherman, that means two turns ago. As we were about to part, he asked why I wasn't carrying any water. I assured him I was well hydrated, but he refused to let me go until he'd rummaged through his fanny pack and given me an extra bottle of his own.

I skipped off feeling happier than I think it's possible to feel. Just so touched by his kindness and concern.

This past week my heart has been weighed down by painfully sobering trials which have come into the lives of family and friends. I see that the universe allows for this. Sometimes in spades. Sometimes with no apparent rhyme or reason.

It rattles me, I'm not going to lie. It's awful to watch the suffering of those you love.

I don't have answers for a lot of it. I have my faith, which allows for a deep, sustaining peace but does not dismiss the necessary pain and sorrow of the moment. It does not magically dispel confusion nor provide complete understanding.

I look at life and see, as my daughter is seeing, how fleeting it all seems. I look at what I can't change regarding the impact of suffering and am left to feel, more stubbornly than ever, that while the difference may be small, I want to counteract these things with my own touch.

I want to leave kindness in my wake, every day. I want people to see my smile and feel my arms around them. I want my friends and family to know how much I love them. I want to help others, both openly and in secret. I want to stop and talk to people, to look into their eyes and feel less alone on this planet. I hope I help people recognize the best in themselves, feel better about things, see the beauty around them.

I'll stop effusing now because I'm making myself dizzy with the air up here, like Maria spinning on the Alps, singing about how the hills are alive and she's going to marry some smoking hot Austrian.

But I'm dead serious. I mean this stuff. I am the furthest thing from perfect. Some days I can't even fight my way out of a paper bag. On those days I might need a guy like Sherman to appear out of nowhere and offer me a bottle of water. But on the other days, I want to offer the bottle of water. I want to cross paths with you and hope you skip off feeling happier than you thought it was possible to feel.

Maybe it doesn't fix the universe. But don't underestimate it, either.