Line

There are lines you say because you are trying to say what is right according to everyone and the rules of society around you. Then of course, there is "the line" which is the thing you always wanted to say or do and it's the most authentic thing because you sincerely mean it, even if it's just something cheesy you say to break the ice. There's a lot of things people don't say when they get the chance. Someone asks me why? I don't know.  Human nature is really an interesting thing.

A quick digression...  I heard a story many years ago about a man that spent many years almost saying something to a woman he adored, but he would back out every time it would look as though he might. The man was someone rarely at a loss for words, yet he would get tongue tied and walk away. I'm not sure what he was afraid of. But I always wondered if he'd say the words. In my imagination she adored the man and felt the same so just maybe he'd say how he felt. Well when I began this idea, it started very differently and remained unwritten for quite a while... until now.

Yes, I've been writing and editing again, in character, which is really crazy & fun because there is a lot of light-hearted in addition to a lot of darkness. I'd like to release some books this summer and more this year. Maybe even this one, it's from Unwritten...

Enjoy!
Kisses, m.

Line

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he says. After waiting nearly an hour from across the midsummer garden, he managed the courage to approach me.

With a smile and giggle, I nod encouraging him to speak but he seems discouraged.

“That didn’t work, did it?” Putting his head down, he starts to leave.

“Oh, but it did. You have my attention." I smile and reach for him to stay.

“You have no idea how long I've wanted to say that to you.”

“Really. Were you were afraid?”

“Yes, I was afraid.”

“Afraid of me? Or what I might say?”

“Afraid of us and what we could become. Or that you’d laugh at me because you’d think it was just a line to get to you.”

“I did laugh. What does it matter if I think it is a line? Maybe I do.”

“You think I’m being insincere.”

“That’s not what I said. There is nothing wrong with telling a girl a line. It's as though you are knocking on her door or calling on the phone.”

Leaning in, he curiously asks, “Well, are you inviting me in? Or taking my call?”

Whispering in his ear, “I haven’t hung up or sent you away. Sit with me.” I motion him to sit with me on a bench.

“You’ve given me more than I could have expected.” He says blissfully as he sits next to me.

“Is this how you hoped it would go?”

“I couldn’t hope. To have any would have been to assume there was a possibility. I could only dream of such a thing.”

“To dream of possibility can be risky...” I wink and touch his hand.

Touching my hand back, he looks into my eyes and pauses before starting again. “The only danger in my dreams was that you might break my heart. These dreams I have are filled with a world where your eyes are the stars that guide me through the darkness and the people worship nightly when they twinkle.”

"My devoted admirer, you must be careful of placing me on a pedestal too high. You may never be able to reach me."

“You have my heart and you are my stars. I’ll find a way to reach you; Learn how to fly to be with you. What do you say?”

“Stay, I’ve always felt the same about you. Please tell me more.”

It’s not what you see, it’s how you see it. Barbie knows that if you don’t love what you see in the mirror you’ll always be comparing yourself to others. Here’s a dream house that lets its beauty speak for itself. 

Mirrorhouse by XTEN Architecture

The Mirrorhouse is located in Beverly Hills, California with a stunning view that extends from Downtown LA to the Pacific Ocean. The architectures wanted to design “a simple, rational house that accentuates and amplifies the connection to the exterior” while complimenting the lifestyle that makes the LA are unique.

Do you see the beauty reflected by this dream house?

Barbie does. 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Love Songs

_{Writing love based things seems so far removed from who and where I currently am... although I’m sure that there’s more in me. I’m currently writing something new and quite dark between editing. It’s been a minute but from what I recall, relationships are tricky things.}

_{I love to see love and do my best to avoid seeing cheap imitations of it, as opposed to wishing it could be unseen. I’m happy for my favorite kens & dolls who are involved as much as when I’m involved. Typically I’m very protective of love affairs because it takes a small amount of interference to break things apart. Quite possibly there’s always a different plan for your life if you don’t end up with a certain person... there are other things to focus on that may lead you to the right person, if you let it happen.} 

Do you ever assume your story or a chapter in your life is over when ends up different than you imagined? It’s a foreign concept because it’s not something I ever pondered. It would require never moving on to learn or have new experiences. To me, life is Unwritten... Which is oddly enough the title of my next series/book. 

_{Its been a couple years and I still don’t miss the musicians but I do miss my friends, the music & finding more time to create with words... so I wrote something about sharing those songs we love.} 

_Enjoy!

_{Kisses, m.} 

The Mixtape 

Click, wiss, whir, whin. Chipmunk voices. Click. Repeat.

I don’t how the cassette deck in this car still works but it does. 

It doesn’t sound like the most humane thing but somewhere between the desert and the San Jacinto Mountains we lost the radio and phone signals. 

“Can you believe they still make these?” he says pulling the cassette out of the cars deck. The label is pulling off the corner and I can just make out the words ‘Day Mix’ before he sets it down.

“I can’t believe you kept some mixtapes. I thought they were…”

“All playlists or mix CDs. Nah, some of these had the best night music.” 

Quickly rifling through the tape case he grabs one labeled ‘love songs’ and shakes it at me, before pushing it into the deck. “This one here is the best for driving at night.”

The otherworldly falsetto of an Antony and the Johnsons track fills the warm air of the night. Our two headlights are the brightest thing on the horizon while the color blue blankets the hills around our small car. 

“So you still…”

“Make mixtapes? I was waiting for you to catch that. Mostly mix CDs and transfer them to cassette sometimes. It gets harder to find the tapes.”

“It’s nice to be here, with you like this. The last time we were together...”

“I’m always too busy. I’d apologize but…”

“You don’t have to, we’re here now. Do you have that one song on here?” 

“You remember?”

“Yes. You stuck it on all your “love mixes.” 

Click, wiss, whir, whin. Click. wiss, whir, whin. Click.

“Crying… over you…” Roy Orbison echoes out into the night. 

“We don’t have to listen to this.” 

“Oh we have to listen to something.”

Shaking the case, I tell him, “Dealer’s Choice.”

The TWA Hotel inside of the JFK Airport terminal by Eero Saarinen

Barbie lives for all thing repurposed especially when it’s one of her favorite architects. Here’s a dream hotel that’s given a new life to renowned piece of mud-century modern architecture, the JFK Airport terminal by Eero Saarinen.

The TWA Hotel inside of the JFK Airport terminal by Eero Saarinen 

The TWA Hotel located in the mid-century modern structure that was originally completed by Eero Saarinen for TWA at JFK. Unable to support modern aircraft the terminal was shut down in 2001. The renovation has overhauled the original building and is historically the first hotel to be located in an airport terminal on site at an airport. 

The guests rooms are housed in two new curved buildings placed behind the original Saarinen's structure. The accommodations feature seven panes and have a very thick curtain-wall construction, to block out runway noise but allow views of the tarmac.

The decor of rooms and living spaces have been designed to capture the history of the space, with elements giving homage to the origins 1960s design. 

Amenities include a rooftop pool & observation bar among their many restaurants, bars and lounges.

Would you book a stay in this updated classic? 
Barbie would!
Enjoy!
Kisses, m.

Do Nothing

Ever just live? Enjoy the moment? Do absolutely nothing? To be just be in the moment with your thoughts or engaging others for no other purpose than to enjoy their company can be incredibly therapeutic for the mind, body and soul.

If you haven’t, why not? It’s counter productive to always be going. It leads to higher risk of burnout and failure. Which often leads back to... doing nothing. There’s zen and stillness in enjoying “doing nothing”

It took many years to realize for myself that from all the "going going going," I must do nothing to maintain emotional and physical equilibrium with proper self-care. Between the periods of busy try a little bit of nothing. 

Not to mention, theres a great deal of joy in missing out on things you'd rather not do and places you'd rather not be. It's not unkind to decline or to support yourself before supporting others.

Here’s an old story about doing nothing but enjoying the universe around us. 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

What do you see?

(9-4-2010)

“What do you see?” He asks.

“I’ll tell you what I see if you tell me first,” he insists.

He tells me to go first to see what I’ll say. Always like a challenge wanting to be answered. It was his version of a psychologist’s test to gauge the mental processes with the imaginings of the eye. There was nothing analytical about it.

 “It’s a clipper ship,” I say and smile while running my hand through his hair. “With great white sails that dance in the wind.”

“Really, I think that it’s just smoke.” He points to a line breaking across the horizon and through the middle of the mast of the ship and smirks with a hint of laughter. The funny part is that he always says the same thing. Even though he knows it’s not true it’s always the same thing.

“No there, look it’s a handful of feathers pouring out of an overstuffed pillow.” His eyes light up when I contradict him.

“And above the pillow there’s a head of hair waving.” He joins in.

“How about there?” I motion toward a new formation.

“It’s white gloved fingers pointing in the direction of the wind.”

“No, it’s a cat with a wide-toothed smile larger than the top of his head.”

The birds are dancing through the teeth of the great big cat that knows a secret he refuses to share and I know this just one of those games that we love to play. It’s never just smoke in the sky. Clouds are but a dream away from the touch of a hand as we lay back and watch the sky.

“Is this a dream?” I ask him.

“But what is a dream?”

“Something the mind sees and makes real.”

“Clouds are a dream.” He tells me while reaching over and brushing the leaves from my hair. “That’s what my mother used to tell me when I was a child.” It’s a conversation that we had a thousand times and the same story never grew old. He tells me about this story with a small smile in his eyes. After the story it’s always the same.

“What were the clouds like when you were growing up?”

“They were big and fluffy and had the most beautiful colors.”

“What kind of clouds were they?”

“Big white ones like today, sometimes small streaking ones, and occasionally there were the rainclouds.”

“Tell me about the rainclouds.”

“Oh, the rainclouds brought the most amazing thunderstorms with them. The grays and purples among the colors of the breaking daylight…”

“Really?”

“The most amazing storms came and went. Reaching across the landscape. Those Arizona plains slightly dampened. Like hands dropping water through them upon a dry scene. It is nothing like today. ”

Today is different. The transition of colors moves and shifts against the clear blue backdrop. Slowly grows the grays and purples mixing in with the white. Creating a multicolored oversized version of a Rorschach puzzle that awaits our interpretation.

“How so? How is it different?”

“The clouds aren’t one, they are many and look there’s a man with a hat holding a dagger made of cotton sticking out of it.”

“You’re right the sky is different. But he isn’t holding a dagger it’s a pair of scissors with a feather in the hat.”

The colors are growing darker and the shapes keep intensifying deeper and fuller. He asks me “What do you see?” again and again and I tell him there’s a million things that are creeping across the newly coated blanket of gray against blue. He tells me that its not a million things. I tell him its now a slow climbing a black balloon with a white diamond in its eye that watches our movements. He laughs and agrees that it’s rising and rising to overcome it all. The birds are still dancing through the white upon blue, in and out of the gray-black in the corners.

“Maybe it’s just smoke.” I tell him.

“Is that what you think?”

“Maybe I’m inclined to agree?”

“Then smoke it is?”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“It’s not just smoke.”

“Well, before it starts raining and the clouds lose their shapes and colors, tell me…What do you see?”