Last night, on RuPaul’s Drag Race, the really creepy Sharin’….. Oh. Wait. Wrong post. I really must stop having that last piece of super late night pizza so close to bed time because weird things happen. One night I dreampt I was Kelly Cutrone’s spaceplanner (Let’s just say she’s much nicer in person than she appears on TV). Another night I was staring at people through glass vases in Nigeria (though it looked surprisingly like the Carlsbad coast).
No. I’m not straight trippin’ boo.
This message is brought to you by the National Drug Council.
You didn’t pop ’round here to read about my weird and insanely improbable dreams or to find out the winner of last night’s RuPaul. You came by to relish in stories of grandmotherly love. I think.
To be perfectly honest, I’ve pondered the Let’s Blog Off topic for the last few days and couldn’t quite put my finger on a specific story or tale or sage bit of advice from an elderly woman in a June Carter-esque apron (though I do have one of those myself, the apron that is). I never had much of a relationship with my paternal grandmother. To the detriment of my father she wasn’t the role model type and it wasn’t until just shortly before her death that she even became part of the conversation.
My maternal grandmother, on the other hand, had always been a staple in the lives of myself, my sister, and our many cousins (I kid you not we’d have given any decent Catholic extended family a run for their money…Trojan was not going to be sponsoring us anytime soon). I recall that it was my grandparents who gave me my first set of LEGO’s (addiction much?). Whenever thoughts turn to my grandmother, who left us two years ago, I always remember that she was the first of my extended family members to recognize Steve as my husband. She always referred to him as her grandson long before the others even considered him a part of the family. Talk about walking an unconditional walk.
That little moment, coupled with thoughts on the recent recession (so we weren’t cashing in worthless stock and standing in bread lines but….) had me thinking. As designers (and architects, bloggers, etc.) I think we fall into a mode of complacency from time to time. Call it a super busy schedule. Blame it on a lack of hours in the day. Maybe it’s just laziness. I know I get there from time to time. We are engrossed in talking the talk but often times we forget that there IS an accompanying walk. Listen, before you throw Big Stones (odd reference to blog search terms) at me, I admit to being in those same shoes. When times were super great who didn’t talk about Being Green while climbing into their Hummer to drive to the corner store. It happens and if you know me you know I don’t judge. I’ll use it as a humorous aside in my blog posts but I won’t judge. Ok, maybe just a little.
Anyway, the whole idea of taking a stance and following one’s own advice has had me on a bit of a mission this year. Call them resolutions (though if you read my resolutions post right after the new year you’ll know I had no resolutions) but I wanted to be better about eating what I was dishing up.
So I cut Television out of my daily schedule. Gasp! No Guiding Light? No VMA commentary? How will I ever get over Rachel Zoe? I want to tell you, you can’t make an easy transition. This isn’t like smoking where you tape on a patch and call it a day. No sir. I had to cut the cable to make this one happen. Ouch. That hurt. A 30 year old umbilical cord. Surprisingly, I spend more time with my other half, have a better relationship with 1,500 followers, and manage to get to bed at a decent time (sometimes… that one is still pending certification by a third party).
I’m also lessening my dependence on my vehicle. I’m not doing it to bring the Troops home. It isn’t a political boycott of foreign oil. And by golly it isn’t because I’m afraid to be seen in my car. I live in a great little community just north-east of downtown San Diego. We’re still San Diego but not quite the proper part (fits me well doesn’t it?). Northpark has seen quite a resurgence as what were once super affordable neighborhoods gentrify and become havens of hipster and family goodness. The result is we’re walkable. I can hit the drycleaners, grocery store, bank, and even the place that develops my Black & Whites (George’s Camera on 30th… stop in, you will be amazed) within a mile’s walk of my house. My legs look better (even without the heels) and it forces me to see my immediate surroundings in a completely different light. So much so that it also means that I’ve been suckered in to helping with the development of a Street Level Development Guideline with a neighboring community. HA!
And of course, after years of telling clients to add some color to their lives I’ve finally done it myself. My office, the little haven where my writing gets done (no, not the room with the bed), where I produce the awesome goodness that is a D.Coop design…. it is now black. I don’t mean ecru with black pops. I mean that all four walls are now Olympic Paint’s “Black Magic”. Yep. I committed to a color. I know. Shut. Up.
I’m trying to walk the walk. It’s a stumble (have you seen the state of San Diego sidewalks?!) but I’m trying.
WordPress says I’m at 1,019 words so I should probably shut up now.
Oh, and by the way…. the winner of RuPaul’s Drag Race is….. joking. I’m not that mean.
This blog post is just one of the dozens of super-excellent blogs participating in this week’s theme “My Grandmother Said…”. To see the other great blogger’s take, click here to take you to the Let’s Blog Off page.