Damsel if I Don't

Source: favim.com via Charity on Pinterest

It's a damn good thing I believe in happy endings and spend much of my time gazing through rose colored glasses, because when it comes to technology, I am pretty much a damsel in distress. I seem to lack that aptitude for technology, learning at a snail's pace, and retaining the knowledge begrudgingly. Technology seems to be the nasty fire-breathing dragon in my tale.

Why, just yesterday evening my own mother showed me what she had learned on her mini-me Mac and now this morning, the sun is shining and the birds are chirping and I can't remember anything she said. And by the way, in what crazy universe does a gal's mom have more computer skills than her daughter?? Well, truth be told, my mother really is quite amazing. She can also whip up a prom dress in less than 48 hours. True story. Long story, but true.

I guess when you're a romantic, you long to stay in that magical world where we can lock ourselves away in our towers and write in gilt-edged journals with Pilot pens and there is always a happy endings and the princess is always swept away by her prince. But what if we need to be rescued from ourselves?? If I am to be a writer in this modern-day kingdom, I must embrace technology. We must blog. Such a disgusting sounding word, blog is. The way I see it, blogging and blogging well are laying the groundwork for other writerly projects. It's the new way of "putting it out there," as they say. I have had this little blog for quite a while, but it could be so much more. I don't know more what, but I look at other people's blogs who are crappy writers and because they clearly know how to manipulate the blogosphere, they still look amazing.

So rescue myself I must. I don't think there's a computer-savvy prince about to burst through my door, armed with a shiny new Mac laptop, proclaiming he will set up my tumblr account and lay out my blog entries in a graphically interesting way, and monetize my blogger account, and entice me to Tweet, and teach me how to write captions on photos in that Pinterest-y way. Nope. This damsel must seek out experts who will teach me in a way I can understand so I can rescue myself from my own technological dragon of demise.

I guess I will be adding dragon slayer to my list of skills.

Writing Desk Dilemma

Source: citified.blogspot.com via Charity on Pinterest

I had a realization today. I can't sit at my desk to write. Or, at least I don't. Ever.

 I have a pretty white desk in the window of my living room. It's exactly where I wanted it. We changed the drawer pull from boring metal to sparkly cut glass. Didn't work. So I got a beautiful crystal lamp and put that on top. Nope. A headily scented Lollia candle, a Buddha statue and a potted orchid? Still no.

 I write on the sofa curled up in the left corner, or in my big, white bed late at night, or outside on the deck if the weather is favorable.

But the pretty desk is fantastically functional as a surface for my writerly vignettes. I arrange fresh flowers and framed photographs, or pile up beautiful books and then stack a china teacup on top, then I sip my tea whilst gazing out the window at my lilies, lavender and roses and daydreaming, but not writing. The desk seems to be some sort of symbolic furniture icon reminding me that I am, indeed, a writer. I can't not have a desk. Believe me, I considered this. That coveted spot under the window is also the perfect place for a vintage settee.

What I actually want is an even prettier desk to not write at. Perhaps some sexy contemporary desk, all glossy white lacquer with chrome details like a fashion editor might sit at, or maybe a romantic antique French desk with gilded edges and secret drawers that open with an intricately forged key which I would keep safely strung on a pale blue satin ribbon and one drawer would have a false bottom where I would stash secret letters from my lover. (Yes, I admit to imaginary furniture fantasies.)

Every writer needs a desk to write or not write at. Even if mine is more of multi-dimensional inspiration board, than an actual piece of office furniture, it has its purpose. So be it.

My name is Charity and I am a Pinaholic.

Last week, before summer arrived:

It's Sunday morning and I am coming down from a major Pinning bender. That's what happens when you are left home all weekend during a relentless torrential downpour while your husband works graveyards after just having restocked the wine fridge. Anyway, I digress.

It's no secret that I am an avid 'pinner' as we Pinterest junkies like to call ourselves. Pinterest provides the most awesome opportunity to escape from the sometimes mundane life of suburban mommyhood. In fact, Pinterest actually makes me feel excited about all the beautiful little details that make up the mundane. You can get truly excited over pantry labels (Thanks, Jen) and Lego storage, for example. Maybe one day I might actually drag myself away from my laptop and glasses of crisp white and actually execute one of those Pinterest-inspired plans.

Even better, if you need an escape from your escape you can pin all about your fantasies. For me, just a few of these fantasies include having a fabulous beach cottage, a farmhouse with a barn, being a yoga goddess, living in Paris or being able to shop for clothes without spiraling into some sort of a crazy hysterical fit about questioning one's self worth (but that's another whole blog post altogether) so I just pin the gorgeous outfits instead of shopping for them. Much less stressful and I get to stay home in my jammie pants. I hope my husband appreciates how much money I have saved him by not shopping for Christian Louboutins, couture clothing and French chandeliers, acquiring multiple luxury real estate investments, or by abandoning him and the kids to go become a yogini at some stunningly beautiful retreat in Indonesia.

Not surprisingly, my daughter has taken a shining to Pinterest as well, having inherited the daydreaming gene from me. Luckily, she did not get the curse of the procrastination gene, so while she's still high from her latest pinning extravaganza, she starts begging me to take her to places like Michael's and Dollarama so she can actually attempt a Pinteresting idea. It's exhausting being around a creative and motivated child sometimes. She gets that from her father. Clearly.

I should post some inspiring photos here, but like I said, I am exhausted. Instead, why don't you check out Pinterest for yourself... if you dare.

*P.S. Sometimes I also enjoy a glass of rich red wine while pinning, or I sip coffee or tea, but never, ever soft drinks. Thought I should clear that up.

White: Always Right

I have always been married to white. But I have sexy little love affairs with color. White is who I come home to; but color is who I sneak out with when white is out of town on business. White is who I bring to weddings and family barbeques; color is who I call up to go dancing with while wearing my highest heels and most risque dress. It's like wearing a lacy red bra and undies under a simple black dress or pale pink on your fingernails, but merlot on your toes. It doesn't take much, but you know it's there!

When it comes to renovating and decorating a home, color can become something of a self-inflicted psychological analysis. For example, I have a strict no-beige rule at our house, yet I recently read that pale grey, which I adore, is the new beige. Great, so now I am right on trend with the new boring? This makes me feel like doing something drastic like moving in with color, but I can't because white and I really are so happy together. Plus, I know perfectly well color only wants a good time. As soon as the party is over, color will be gone.

We do need pops of color to keep us alive, I think. Even whiteaholics like me. This can easily be accomplished with a few of my favorite things: books, flowers, art and obviously, toss cushions, aptly named so that when you tire of burnt orange or dusky rose, you can simply toss those past-their-prime pillows into storage. Not so easy to do with, say, a fire engine red sofa.

White and I will be together forever. White calms me down, refreshes me and understands when I need quiet time, while color demands so much attention, it can be exhausting.

I love you, white.

Source: houseofturquoise.com via Charity on Pinterest

The Wardrobe Experiment

I cannot lament having too many clothes. I am not a shopaholic or even a very good sport shopper. But I have enough to irritate me when I can't find what I'm looking for as I dig through piles of unworn stuff. I tend to wear favorites to death and then even a bit longer. I also gravitate toward things that are classically chic and then jazz them up with less-expensive trendy pieces. I think it is the formerly of-the-moment items and perhaps those unsuccessful 'maybe I should give this a try' pieces that are the culprits. Those are the ones that pile up and get in the way, remaining largely unworn, yet taking up valuable real estate in the closet.

Speaking of closets, I am currently living without an actual closet at the moment. I know, I know, I can hear you gasping in horror from across the cyber-universe. Let me explain. For some time now we have lived in our children's playroom while the master suite is slowly, almost painfully renovated. Don't get me wrong, the playroom is not such a bad place to be. It's 400 square feet, which is about the same size as many a city girl's apartment. It has a closet, but it is also the familial linen cupboard, as well as storage room to art supplies, games, legos, photo albums and other things you might expect to find in a playroom.

So in the midst of all that other stuff, our clothes are jammed in there too. It's an undignified jumble of paintbrushes, sweaters, boardgames and cameras. Sometimes I lay in bed and fantasize about having the perfect French antique armoire of my very own. Everything would fit and each morning I would throw open its doors and the perfect, effortlessly chic fashion combination would immediately present itself. This is how I came up with my idea for The Wardrobe Experiment. I am going to lug empty Rubbermaid totes upstairs to the playroom and ruthlessly pare down my clothing.  Anything unworn in the last year will be stored, sealed and dated in the totes. If I miss an item I have the freedom to go and dig it out, but if it remains forgotten, all will be donated by the time the New Dressing Room is unveiled.

Source: pinterest.com via Charity on Pinterest

 I have rarely regretted giving away clothing. I am kind of an out with the old and in with the new kind of gal. To a fault, really. I know which pieces are part of my fashion uniform. Jeans are a practical year-round choice for our climate. I do like crisp and white or cute and cropped in the summer though. I wear cardigans and pashminas all year round, flowy boho blouses in summer, cozy chunky sweaters in winter. There's a few sparkly pieces for going out and my work clothes which are, thankfully, classic black suiting. Throw in some yoga gear and that is pretty much me.

After this, all I will have left to do is sit back, relax and wait for our new closet to take shape. While it won't be Carrie and Big's Heaven on Fifth walk-in, it will be my own take on classic and glamorous with just a hint of boho and country girl to keep it authentic.

Carrie and Big's Heaven on Fifth walk-in. 

Source: organizingla.com via Jill on Pinterest

Ready for Barefoot Bluejean Nights

Source: bare-foot-blue-jean-princess.tumblr.com via Charity on Pinterest

As I have mentioned, I grew up in the country. I've known for a while that I would be 'going home' for a family reunion this July. At first I was a bit miffed at this forced holiday. We could have gone, you know, anywhere else for our summer vacation. But now, as the time draws near, I am getting more and more excited to show my children where I grew up. That would be a picturesque white farmhouse with green shutters on a rolling hill, a big red barn and, of course a treehouse. It was the real deal. We've just returned from an epic Californian theme park and Palm Springs adventure with our kids, so perhaps some grounding is in order.

Source: citified.blogspot.com via Charity on Pinterest

My heart is bursting at the thought of spending time with my beloved grandparents, catching up and eating lots of good old-fashioned prairie suppers with aunts, uncles, cousins and brand new baby second cousins, but more than anything, I am looking forward to the stunningly beautiful landscape. Vivid blue skies streaked with pure white clouds and enormous blazing summer sun and best of all, the big, fat moon overhead after a sunset so breathtaking it could be set to a symphony. I can't wait to sip wine with my best friend and laugh until we cry while our husbands get to know each other and our kids play together. I am excited to get my shiny new city car full of country dust driving down dirt roads, singing country songs at the top of our lungs.

Source: nowandthan.tumblr.com via Charity on Pinterest

Maybe I have romanticized my farmgirl upbringing, but I don't give a damn. Isn't it a bit like focusing on the positive? I can retrace every good memory of my childhood down to the last detail. I climbed trees and picked wildflowers as a little girl, then spent summer Saturday nights at tailgate parties basking in the glow of a blazing bonfire, trying to stay out of trouble, but not doing a very good job. 

It was a good way to grow up. I may be a West Coast girl now, but those Prairie roots run deep and they will always be a part of me. Mostly the part that likes cowboy boots and sundresses; men who can fix anything; driving around, but going nowhere and most of all wide, open spaces and hearts.

Source: wallpaperweb.org via Charity on Pinterest

How does your garden grow?

Source: mymindcravesnectar.tumblr.com via Charity on Pinterest

I can't call myself a gardener. Not really. Yet I find myself digging in the dirt, pulling weeds, puzzling over plantings and anticipating what is next to bloom. I suppose I am gardening, actually. But the difference between myself and the real gardeners is that I don't know what the hell I am doing most of the time. I just know I like it it. I pop in my earbuds (to drown out the sounds of my neighbors mowers, blowers and pressure washers) and put on my gardening gloves and drop to my knees. Suddenly two hours have gone by and I am strangely relaxed despite the backbreaking work I may have just done. I may not be a gardener yet, but I am so on to their dirty little secret. Gardening connects us to the Earth, which is a primal experience, giving us a bit of much needed balance. And that is something worth wrecking your manicure for. Pure bliss.