On the Art of Layering

And awaaAAAAaaayyy you go!

Welcome to Dovely Estates

I'm crushing hard on my new home.

We packed up and moved out on Saturday, in the intermittent rain storms that thundered across the Seattle skies. Hauling boxes between rain drops, heaving furniture through historically tiny doorways, BC and I were soaked through by the time we finished emptying the truck around midnight. We were ravenously hungry, the house was a mad tangle of belongings and cardboard, the kitty boys were throughly traumatized and sleep was still a ways off. And I, well, I was so excited and optimistic it was rather ridiculous. I'm taking that as a sign that this is where we're supposed to be at the time we're supposed to be here. It just feels right. I feel right.

I'm also crushing hard on my new little town.

Monday night I went for my first run. Out the back door, through the back yard, up on the levy, down to the main trail, back into town and along the base of Mt. Si. I was breathing easy, long slow gulps of crisp pine-scented air, marveling at the shocking fall foliage (Vermillion! Crimson! Saffron! Persimmon!), listening to the dull thud of my trainers on packed dirt when I saw her. She was glossy and fat on her spindly legs, huge ears flicking towards me, great deep eyes watching carefully.

Friends,

I was running with the deer.

I cannot even begin to tell you all the reasons this feels right.

It's love at first sight.

I've come home.

Other Important Things I Do (besides pack)

Yeah. We pick up the moving truck in 12 hours (so please excuse the mess!) but CLEARLY playing kitty bumper cars - which Thai is a glutton for - was the best choice I could make.

T-Minus Three Days

The move is quite official at this point; BC and I have already eaten two pizzas and all my strutting shoes are packed so that has to count for something.

I fear I look like a boozer. All my belongings carefully wrapped in tequila boxes and tucked into vodka crates. Makes me want a G&T. But, as it's only 11 am, I think I'll have another cup of Irish breakfast tea with a splash of milk and a dash of sugar in one of the [only two] mugs still unpacked.

So while I'm packing (or avoiding packing - I spend equal amounts of time on both) I'm asking myself these questions:

1. Where in my new home can I set up a little vignette with loads of gourds like this (found here, from Miss Nancy McKay)?

2. How on earth will I store my, eh hem, clothing collection? As a point of quirkiness, the house has one small closet. Period. I'm looking at wardrobes, but to be honest, I'll need a few. Any suggestions?

3. What color should I paint? I JUST painted our apartment in the warmest, wombiest (yeah, not a real word) pale camel shade - Boston Tea Party to be exact - and I've been given carte blanc to wield a roller in the new home.

4. Where can I find these little side tables (found here)? I want them ALL but especially that little turquoise number - I know, surprise surprise!

5. Can I justify purchasing this fabulous, scrumptious cowl or this beanie I've been lusting after for the last year? After all it will be considerably colder (and a touch snowier) out East and up the mountainside and a gal needs knits!

Well, signing off with a smart salute and dragging my heels to never-ending box-land,

- Umber

I love the not-so-subliminal messages...

Just a little announcement

I'm not sure if you've noticed, but this Dove has been pining (and occasionally gnashing-of-the-teeth) for a little more space and a lot more green and the scent of western white pine and the sound of the river rushing and the feel of rich soil between her toes and a place to plant those seeds she's been saving and seeing the new moon unobstructed by the city lights and a new studio, a studio close enough she can walk to (minus the current three miles of hills I traverse to the studio). It's been a long while coming, but the news is finally official.

WE'RE MOVING.

Followed quickly by

"Sweet Jesus. There is so much to do in the next 10 days."

Not too far (after all, I do have shows upcoming and gallery events to attend) but we're leaving the bright lights of Seattle. And soon. There will be so much more to come (including photos - all I'll say is 1920's Craftsman home) but I just couldn't stand the suspense and therefore had to let you know. So please, pray for tireless hands and strong packing tape!

The Friday Confessional October 2nd

Confession Number 87: I am a 29 year old female living in the city, with a love for [quirky] fashion; big heels, bigger jewelry and wearing dresses to the grocery store. I do not own a single tube of lipstick. FREAKISH, I KNOW. My reasoning (which, as always, is solid as a rock) balances between the fear that if I start wearing lipstick, I will soon reach the point in life where I have consumed 8 pounds of the rouge (so not an urban legend). Somehow my obsessive-compulsive application of chap-stick and "natural moisturizing lip-glosses" falls out of this fear range (but if I though long and hard about it, I've probably doubled that consumption rate in beeswax - GROSS!). The other half of it is a long-standing knowledge that I have a large mouth and really, how much more do I need to accentuate it? I kid you not: Apparently when I was born and opened my whopper for that initial wail, the doctor's first words were "Wow, this kid has a BIG mouth!" So you just go with it. And win marshmallow eating contests. And smile big. And, 29 years later, still debate over wether or not to give into the kisser and paint it up.