G C E A

There's a gypsy caravan parked in front of my house.

Guess what's been my dream since I was a little girl?

That's right. To live in a gypsy caravan. How did you know?

It'll be here until Thursday morning. You should come by and see it. Then you and I can talk about how romantic it is, and how all our lives we've dreamed of traveling light, playing wild music, and maybe selling a little snake oil on the side to fund our adventures.

It's very hard to sleep at night, knowing that bright, dreamy, hand-built, hand-carved, hand-painted caravan is out there. Not that I'm blaming my insomnia on my gypsy dream.

The people that came along with the caravan are not themselves actual gypsies, but are book artists Peter and Donna Thomas, and we are doing a broadside project with them. It's been a pleasure to spend time with these lovely new friends. They are making their way across the U.S., peddling wares, giving lectures, and making connections and art. Yesterday we drove all down to Thistle together and collected soil samples in a gorgeous rainbow of reds and browns. Today we sifted them to get at the fine particles that can work for making pigment. Ooooo! I'd like to know just who it is that thinks Utah is not a colorful state. You need to come over and play in the magic dirt with us—you'll certainly change your mind.

Last night I tried playing a few quick songs on one of their ukulele books. (Click the awesome link. Do it.) My most successful tune was "Rubber Duckie." Man, that's got satisfying chords!

So now I'm determined to get a ukulele.

And one day, if I'm very very lucky, my own gypsy caravan.

*sigh*

The stuff of Conference weekends: Friday

My book shipment finally arrived! This is part of my self-sufficiency plan—learning patternmaking. I am going to master this; I'm determined! And I'm also going to become a refashionista. Who wants to join me?



Another Tryst Press interview, a very short one, this time for a 2-minute KBYU piece. I sat this one out and let Rob do all the talking on-camera. My hands did make a cameo though, turning the pages of the Allegory of the Olive Tree. Good thing I took off my chipped-like-a-junior-high-schooler aubergine nail polish before the media team showed up. (I think the finished story will air on KBYU-TV/BYU Television this coming weekend . . . ?)



We don't usually mix our temple trips and date nights, but after a frazzling day, I requested that we make a mad dash to the temple early, before the usual Friday night crowd showed up. It turned out to be a good decision, and as I'd hoped, it helped me calm my mind and begin to ease into a listening mode to help me invest myself in the rest of the weekend—two days of General Conference.



After the temple, Rob and I went in search of a good burger (Rob's dream). We wanted to try Five Guys, but there was no available parking for about five miles, so we ended up at Coney's, where we thought we remembered having had decent food once upon a time. Our rating: two mehs. But we did get to enjoy this terrific appetizer, which the person before us left on the table instead of dropping it in the comment box on his way out. Delicious!

Homespun meets the glossies

Rob and I are among many featured LDS artists in the current issue of a new mag. You can read it online here.

TIPS:

If you want to leave a comment, read the regular web version of our article.

If you want to view the actual print layout of the article and see the photos full-size (including one which makes me look positively lumpy, but ask me if I care), read the PDF version.

(It's better with big pictures, I think.)

NieNie Day auction at Tryst Press

Please, friends and readers, forgive this cut-and-paste action, but I've been working hard today to get the following set up and ready to go, and it's after three o'clock and we still haven't eaten lunch. I'm going to share with you the letter I sent out just a little while ago to our Tryst Press mailing list so that maybe you can help spread the word and perhaps even drop some (more?) money the Nielsons' way this weekend. PLEASE READ!

And now, I must go and scrounge some food. I've got some serious shakes.

Dear friends and subscribers,

You heard from us last week when we updated our website. Now we invite you again to stop our website by for a visit, but this time for a philanthropic cause.

We have some friends who were horribly injured in a plane crash this month, and we are joining forces with a number of others who are trying to raise funds to help them and their family of four small children as they go embark on many months of intensive trauma treatments, surgeries, and recovery in a burn center in Phoenix. Please, visit our website to read about this situation, and to find out how you can help. Our first project is a short auction—of just one special broadside. The bidding begins tonight and continues through this Saturday. 100% of the winner's money will go to the Nielson Recovery Fund.

We are praying that you will want to get involved in this as well as other fundraising efforts for this beautiful family in need. Many auctions of crafts and services around the Web will begin tomorrow, Thursday, August 28th, 2008.

To read our post about the situation, click this link.
To look at our auction page, click this link.

We are so grateful to you for your patronage and interest in this and other Tryst Press projects.

Hug your family members a little more tightly tonight, and let them know you love them. We invite you to pray with us for the precious Nielsons and their extended families.

If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to email us.

Your friends at Tryst Press,
Rob and Georgia

Our first documentary

I spent today working on updates for the Tryst Press web page; those of you on our mailing list will soon receive your official heads-up. One of the fun things I'll be posting about on the Tryst Press blog is a five-minute film we made about the papermaking workshop that took place at our studio in the spring. After three unsuccessful attempts throughout the day to get the thing to upload, I finally had success and got most of the first-timer editing problems resolved before the stroke of midnight. I was really worried I might turn into a pumpkin—specifically, one of those really scary jack-o-lanterns with the nasty nasty teeth—if my fourth attempt didn't work. No sweet Cinderella stuff for me after wrassling with iMovie all day [razzbazz mutter mutter]. It was a close call.

But. Our documentar-ette is up and running, and I'd like to invite you to go and have a look, 'cause I know you're nice like that. I was going to just upload it here, but if you go to YouTube to see it, you'll have the option to watch in high quality, and believe me, it makes a difference. Plus, maybe you can leave some feedback there. 'Cause I know you're nice like that.

So without further ado, nice people, give it on up for TRYST PRESS' DOCUMENTARY DEBUT!

(Baby steps. Baby steps.)

Swift and slow

One of the benefits of being self-employed is that when we have our schedule in relative balance, Rob and I can enjoy most of our meals together. Granted, intrusions abound—a business call rings insistently, a client arrives to pick up work, UPS bangs on the door, ink which is drying on a press nags at the printer to hurry and chew—but we get more chances than most to share a brief visit while we eat. I try to be conscious of keeping mealtime discussions comfortable and free of stress; anxieties and pressures aren't good for digestion. Most mornings, once we've eaten, we read a scripture together and talk about it for a moment or two before we leave the breakfast table. It doesn't take long, and the practice infuses the day with a nice energy and thoughtfulness. I like our habit.

This morning, Rob suggested that at lunchtime we start sharing poems. Sounds like a great plan, I said. Rob's been reading a book from the 60s on children's literature, and so today he chose from that a poem by Elizabeth Coatsworth, which I like:

Swift things are beautiful:
Swallows and deer,
And lightning that falls
Bright-veined and clear,
River and meteors,
Wind in the wheat,
The strong-withered horse,
The runner's sure feet.

And slow things are beautiful:
The closing of day,
The pause of the wave
That curves downward to spray,
The ember that crumbles,
The opening flower,
And the ox that moves on
In the quiet of power.

I was glad to be reminded that slow things can be as beautiful as the swift ones, because I really do move and think and live at a snail's pace, and I tend to get down on myself over that. I'll train my meditations in a different direction now. That was a pretty satisfying lunch.

What things, swift or slow, are beautiful to you?

Equinox

e•qui•nox

noun
the time or date (twice each year) at which the sun crosses the celestial equator, when day and night are of equal length.

ORIGIN late Middle English : from Old French equinoxe or Latin aequinoctium, from aequi- 'equal' + nox, noct- 'night.'

My own definition: the balancing point between dark and light.

Since it's spring, the balance now tips in favor of light after today. Tomorrow a little more light will shine, then the next day a little more, and so on, till the summer solstice. Just what I've been waiting for.

What did the light bring me today?

• an electrician, who installed new outlets and a ceiling lamp in the living room—You see? It's true; light cleaveth to light!
• a reconnection with The Guppy, and a copy of her travel itinerary to Europe
• touching, smelling, and looking at books bound in beautiful olive wood
• Rob bringing me home the latest issue of this
• this community ed tip-off
• receiving a warm visit from my angelic Blogger Ward visiting teachers and excellent huggers, compulsive writer and b.
• decadent delectables from Kneaders delivered like revelation by aforementioned angels, with the solemn admonition to "eat and be merry"
• another surprise love visit, this time from The Coach, and a walk with her in the late afternoon sunshine
• finding this in the grass:



• making a great joke about Renaissance Man and Middle Age Woman (sorry, you had to be there)
• Rob getting my jokes even if nobody else does (see above)
• figuring out how to fix a computer problem
• talking with Gigi's new nursing home roommate
• the spotlight moon, hanging above the mountains and shining-singing into Gigi and Donna's room
• making a late-night trip to the OPL and checking out almost more books than I could carry
• a well-stocked vegetarian cookbook selection
• hydrogen peroxide

Getting down to business

So, I got sick. Then I got better. Then I didn't. Then I didn't some more. Then I did. Or, I'm working on it. And I've made lots of progress. It's amazing how this year's flu ravaged me in waves. Very strange.

But though I'm still hacking, I'm ready to leave off all matters of sickness now and get down to business: life on the verge of spring.

I have workmen in my living room at this very moment, making me a living room where once there was a great dark hole. Oh! You have no idea how glad this makes me.

Next, the bathroom, I think. We still have to negotiate that deal.

I have a feeling I'll be spring cleaning for the next few months. What started with last year's basement purge is now renewing itself and gaining strength. I am ready to oust furniture I hate, jewelry I don't wear, and projects I'll never finish even if I live to be Methuselah. Dust it off, snap a photo, post it to Craig's List. Unless, of course, any of you are in the market for le junque. (But don't give in to the urge; you don't need this stuff any more than I do.)

Last but not least in the news today, I have our Tryst Press web page updated. FI-NAL-LY. It's not what I'd envisioned—sadly, I discovered that my know-how as a web programmer is sorely lacking, and I ended up leaning on some handy Mac software to help me get the job done. That was limiting. When the construction dust clears, I hope to play the autodidact with an armload of library books and educate myself further on the subject of web design. Then eventually, I will (may) update again with a swankier look. But you know what? Right now, it's good enough. That's my new mantra.

There is something about the new web page about which I am practically shivering with excitement, and that is a new feature: a blog. Not just any blog, but a Morning Stories blog. Some of you may remember I talked about my volunteer work as a transcriber for my favorite radio show/podcast out of Boston. Well, the men who create the show were fishing around for ideas about how to make these transcripts more available to readers and open them up for public comment. I had myself a wee brainstorm, raised my hand, and said, in essence, Pick me! They were kind enough to agree to let me do my thing. So, would you like to know about my thing/their thing/our thing?

First of all, before I send you off to investigate, I want to encourage you to read and comment, and not only that, please avail yourselves of the fantastic opportunity to listen/subscribe to the podcast. You who enjoy visiting Bright Street I know will adore this show. Trust me on this one.

But please do go and check out this new venture, and leave your terrific, intelligent, heartening comments. You'll be the first real traffic there. You're the elite! I am rolling out the red carpet for you.

Here's the direct path to the Morning Stories Blog.

Here's the the starting point for the updated Tryst Press page (and don't miss the news and calendar page if you want to see a photo of Rob et moi at the Hertzog Award ceremony).

Some of you will be getting an official mailing today about the Tryst stuff. If you don't receive it but would like to, email me your request. By the same token, if you receive it but don't wish to, just send me a note and request to be unsubscribed from the mailing list, and soon you'll have one less piece of occasional email in your inbox. It's A-OK.

More on the Hertzog Award and other bits later.

Oh, P.S. The Morning Stories Blog will be growing daily as I post more and more of the archives, so keep checking back for more good stuff. I will post progress reports on the main MS Blog page.

xo

Happy trails to you till we meet again

Well, pardners, sure as shootin', it's gittin' about time fer us to bridle on up the horses an' ride off into the sunrise. See y'all next week. El Paso, here we come!

Love,
Saddle Sore Sally

The truth is

I've fallen and I can't get up! I mean, I am so far behind in reading my favorite bloggers that I'm afraid I may never catch up again. That possibility depresses me. What sort of phase is this I'm going through?

A while back I started wondering, as most bloggers do from time to time, if I ought to shut down my spot—move away from Bright Street. As 2007 reached its conclusion I received some strong impressions about the new year, and so I entered 2008 fully expecting that it would become a revelation of creativity and a year of at least a few long sought after hopes reaching fruition. Not that I know what any of that means yet; I'm still just going on feelings.

My energy is different this year. Sometimes it crosses the line into seriously manic territory, and that's not so good for me, but when I'm not at that agitated extreme, I am filled with ideas and feel a huge sense of urgency about a number of projects, a few of which are necessarily time-sensitive because they are for the press, and we have some deadlines. Others are just pressing down on me because I'm crazy, I guess. Or possibly inspired. But probably just crazy.

So in this flurry of aught-eight activity, my connection with the beloved blog world seems to be weakening. I said I had new energy, but the trouble is I'm no more fast or efficient because of it. I've run on one speed all my life: S-L-O-W. It's true. I was usually the kid in P.E. finishing up laps around the track in the highly uncoveted position of last. I type slowly. I read slowly. I don't think slowly—my brain moves recklessly fast at times—and sometimes my heart races when I'm stressed, but really, that's about it for me and speed. It takes forever to write one measly blog post, and it takes me longer to mull over what friends write and formulate my comments. I could be a gold medalist in the Slow Olympics. I do housework (if at all) slowly. I walk slowly. Give me any job to do; I can make it stretch beyond the limits of good judgement. I used to want to beat myself up for this kind of pokiness; I thought I should force myself to change and keep up with the world. Then I made friends with a woman from Jamaica who made me look like Speedy Gonzalez and eventually I realized that some folks just naturally move in their own separate time, and that's okay.

But. Warm fuzzy self-acceptance aside, sometimes I get so aggravated with the restraints of my own inborn speed, of time and energy reserves, and of the need for sleep. After the introduction of a bundle of new projects and ideas, my life has begun playing out like Rock, Scissors, Paper; something significant gets trumped in every round. Blargh!

I'm not going to abandon Bright Street and I'm also not going to abandon reading other blogs, but my habits have to change. They've already had to. Thank heaven for Google Reader; it keeps me in the know about just how far behind I really am. That's painful but helpful. For example, I see that I am now 36 posts behind on i i eee's blog. And the rest of you are also in that sad queue. Can you feel my pain?

(By the way, I just went to i i eee's place to nab that URL, and found she's posted one of my favorite giddy Bjork videos. To my great amusement, it pretty well sums up my gut feelings about 2008—"Something important is about to happen" and "It takes courage to enjoy it.")

Oof.

Well, enough of that. Here's something else. I am still using Sitemeter to track some of the ways random people are finding my blog. This is called Free Entertainment. Here are some of the roads that apparently intersect with Bright Street:

how much is lortab on the street [this came from someone in a neighboring town]
lionel you have been hurt that much is clear who hurt you
surviving the applewhites:about the book [Korea]
"annual history" ward lds
talking to my friend about his terminal cancer
can you grow avocados in georgia
nigel wadner
Living Snow Globe
names for Grandmamas
foot pedal transcription+honolulu
The Proclaimers
zina.nibley.petersen
wgbh
back on the change gang lyrics [Peru]
Camp Mia Shalom
agnes mae [Netherlands]
praised redemmer bring welcome lyrics
brian kershisnik woman walking dog
bright street pictures
"zone 3" "gang"
Miss you love letters to husband [UK]
when the earth begins to tremble
chair chicken wire paper mache [UK]

I am also keeping a tally of the special areas where Bright Street ranks #1 in the search engines:

"UNFINISHED BUSINESS "" OUT OF MY HAND" blogspot [Japan]
epiphany snow globe
"hudson's geese" recording [the ONLY result on Google]
bed bath and beyond azucar
goofy sweater
What is Yammit?
daffodils safe sheep

And what would this list be without the perennial global favorites:

street pee
street thong

(I kid you not, these two referrals turn up all the time on Sitemeter, from a dozen and a half different countries. I am convinced there is some kind of club out there that I don't want to know about.)

And to clear that pleasant thought from the air, I will give you a quick list of 3 Beautiful Things and then wish you a grand day of finding your own small beauties.

1. I looked out the kitchen window this morning and saw shining fairy dust floating slowly downward all around the fig tree. I called Rob to come and look and he said, "This only happens when it's very very very cold." I'm not the princess sort, but I swear the stuff was magical and I was completely enchanted. I stood at the window and watched it sparkle and float till the sun shifted and stopped making the wet air gleam.

2. Yesterday in the doctor's office, another woman and I were waiting for our appointments. A third woman who'd just finished with the doctor unsteadily joined us on the couches while her able-bodied daughter paid her bill at the counter and made follow-up arrangements for her ailing mother. A young nurse stepped into the room and called, "Donna?" And the third woman responded with surprise while the one who was still waiting for her appointment caught her breath and looked up, also puzzled. Turns out both the women were Donnas. We all shared a laugh and Donna Ready for Attention went back to the examination room with the nurse. Donna Finished turned to me and asked, "Are you a Donna too?" I answered regretfully that I wasn't, but wouldn't it be perfect if I was? "It would be perfect!" the cheerful but very uncomfortable Donna Finished replied. When she left, I said, "Goodbye, Donna!" With a beaming smile, she asked me my name and said, "Goodbye, Georgia!"

3. I was at Macey's buying groceries two mornings ago. While I was unloading my cart, the bagger walked all the way up the counter to quietly slip in behind me and ask, "Paper or plastic?" "Paper, please," I said. I didn't see her name tag, but I recognized her. She is a thin, pale, older middle-aged lady who seems very shy, even mousy. She was slow with her work, but was painstakingly careful about the way she bagged my food; I noticed the way she deliberated and rearranged. I thought to myself, I could be here a while, but at least I won't go home with banged-up produce, as I sometimes do. (This is one of my pet peeves.) She seems like a person who feels embarrassed as a rule, and to let her know I was okay with her pace and style, I said, "I'm so glad you're being so careful with your bagging. I appreciate that." She stopped and looked up at me with a shocked face and went back to work, muttering a little self-consciously about the cheese and the eggs. A bag or two later, she looked up at me again and said with what seemed like a little unaccustomed pride wobbling in her voice, "Well, I've had this job for nine years. I guess I ought to know how to do it by now!" and she smiled like it was a new experience. We passed a few small pleasantries, I promised to look for her next time I came shopping, and as I left the store I was overcome with unexpected emotion and a sense of that woman's worth. Several phrases turned around and around in my mind: "A daughter of God just bagged my groceries!" "Someone very important just bagged by groceries!" "Someone noble, someone royal, someone divine just bagged my groceries!" It was astonishing. The feeling stayed with me a long while.

I do have a few goals, honest I do

I enjoyed a very friendly lunch today with the local bloggity babes, to honor both the birthday of honey b. and the visit of the great and powerful bek. I inadvertently told sue-donym, who has devised a great plan for weekly resolutions this year, that so far I'd set none for myself beyond spending the first part of my year figuring out what resolution to make. Now that I think of it, that's not true. There actually are a few goals I'm already aiming at with some degree of clarity and purpose, if not the traditional new year's rigidity. But I wouldn't go so far as to call them resolutions. That word gives me the heebeegeebees anymore. Gunshy, I guess. So how about:

seven to nine pounds of me gone by El Paso time
shoot a photo (or more) a day, for fun
journal every day (journalling ≠ blogging)
put my face in some scriptures every day, no minimum time requirement
some kind of enjoyable exercise daily—no imposed structure, just shaking it up a little
I'm leaning in the direction of simple health-ifying habits as a general focus for 2008. I feel the need to put my life into better order without being hard on myself. Can it be done? Watch me.

There are some big projects that I must tackle in this first month of the year that are going to take a goodly chunk of my time for as long as it takes me to get them finished. But they are time-sensitive. First, I must compile, edit, and prepare the annual history for my ward, or church congregation. This will be the fourth year in a row I've done this. It's a little like herding cats, trying to persuade and direct a dozen and a half people to turn in histories of their individual quorums and auxiliaries, but I've learned to do it more or less without stress. Second, I have to shoot extensive photos of the entire inventory of Tryst Press books. We just got a new camera, not the tricked-out new Nikon of our dreams, but a decent and affordable D40 that will do the job nicely enough. I'm going to have to set up a little makeshift picture studio to tackle this project. Third, I'll be completely overhauling our fine press web page—it's going to be totally different, and much more focused on our books. I've got about a week to finish #1, and then the other two need to be done yesterday, basically. Rob's been working on designing new letterhead, and as soon as he's done with that, I'm off and running with the web stuff. I will heave such a happy sigh of relief when these jobs are done. I anticipate enjoying each process, but boy oh boy, what a tight schedule for a while. Maybe if I just let myself get lost in this work, some of those extra pounds I want to jettison will naturally fall away. (Oh, don't I wish.)

I almost forgot to mention my new pet project, which is only for pleasure and the sake of volunteerism. I've done my first transcription for a favorite podcast: WGBH Morning Stories. And I intend to do more. Morning Stories is a consistently terrific podcast; if you're not familiar with it, I highly recommend you give it a listen. It's the sort of thing that gets me very excited about radio, about documentary, about personal essays and stories, about all things media-related, about writing, about sharing, about people. It's the good stuff, truly. And recently, a request for people willing to transcribe episodes was sent out to the grateful masses, and I couldn't resist. Like I have time for another thing right now. But it didn't matter; I just couldn't stop myself from raising my hand and saying, "Pick me!" And anyway, it felt right, and who can argue with that? If you also enjoy such stuff as this, maybe you'd like to contribute a little time as well. If you're interested, contact me, and I can tell you where to start. But do try the podcast on for size at least.

I ordered a foot pedal to go with some free transcription software I downloaded to help with this WGBH thing. I know, totally overboard. But maybe not really. I have tapes of my grandmother that need to be transcribed. I have other ideas. Project inspirations. A buzzing brain. Manic thoughts. Get me a prescription, somebody. Help!

I'll tell you what's a lot more like herding cats than motivating ward members to write a few pages of history, and that is reigning in my own impulsive nature. Fluffy bits of me are forever running here and there, scratching, spitting, hacking up fur balls.

Goodnight.

January 11 (photoshoot)

I was on my way to bed, when . . .

What? You need those photos done tonight? Ohhhhhhh noooooooo.

I was up hours into tomorrow, but I got them done. And happily, they were just right for the travelling presentation. It'll be good exposure for the press. So feeling raunchy the next day was worth it, right?