Sleeping Single in a Double Bed

Very recently I have been asked repeatedly "Why are you Single?".  Why am I single?  Its not an easy question to answer nor should it be.  I pull my shirt to smell my pits for untimely scents.  I check my nose for shipwrecks or old bats.  I even practice not having a "tone" when I compliment someone or react to a compliment given to me by someone else.  Its funny, really.  Is being single a curse or a blessing?  And, why are people constantly in pity of your relationship status.  I'll tell you how I see and feel it.  Sleeping single in a double bed definitely has its perks which many a married couple or simply a dating couple would envy.  There is always the room to stretch and the peace of a snore-less night.  Also, whats better than getting in and out of bed from both sides as often as you want without reference to any excusable exit plan.  More so, getting up in the middle of the night because you have to make cookies because you can, or cuing up the television with you favorite late night news show without having to tap the mute button or hand mix as not to be "too loud" using electric mixers is a liberating and satisfying moment you can call all your own.
Honestly, I don't sit and ponder why I am single or choose to be single.  After all, I have dated off and on since I was 18, some good, some bad, some ugly, some sane.  Its always after my dating status changes from "attached" to "unattached" that I reflect and, frankly, revel in the organic nature of going it alone.  Selfishly, I don't have to include anyone in my daily plans.  I can come and go as I please.  Spend what I want on what I don't need.  Cook without worrying about food aversions or allergies or diets.  If I forget to flush the toilet, oops, I forget to flush the toilet (shit, that reminds me!).  Single is the most unforced natural status that I can think of today.  Dating, is a force of many things society wants of you.  Right? Well, maybe.  To date is to reposition yourself from sleep to wake to routine to relaxing.   Being single only means I am responsible for me, just me, no one but me.
Being single, I believe, helps someone grow more into who they are with a better understanding of who they are and for what they are capable and what your limits are.  I have always said; people shouldn't get married until their late 30's or 40's because they need to become who they ultimately can be without distraction. Being single isn't a bad or sad thing.  No worries friends and family, I'm okay and really am enjoying my time with myself (wink, wink).  With my boundaries set and my heart open, I am a better person to date.
I was recently asked what the perfect guy would be for me, to date or marry.  I have now processed it a bit more since the question came up a few days ago and my answer goes something like this:   My perfect match would have my back and likewise.  My perfect match would be his authentic self; an independent, driven spirit who at the end of the day will find me, notice me and acknowledge me. Honestly, my perfect match would be much like myself.  I figure if I hold those standards high to my own self, then a likewise person would be my long term partner.  I am not looking for a carbon copy, don't get me wrong, that would be creepy.  The best for me is only as deep as the best I can offer back.
So, I will continue, for now, to enjoy my nights of peaceful slumber in my bed with an occasional need to bake a batch of cookies or watch the news at 2am or fly off to somewhere for the weekend or to just sit with myself.

Neat and Interesting

Two words that jolt my swagger; Neat and Interesting.  I know exactly why, but I'll get to that in a minute.  I didn't want to support the truce of uttering "I'm not sure why I dislike these words..blah,blah".  Okay, so, as recent as I can remember, well, Friday, I had a client tell me this looked "Neat":

Her left eyebrow was lifted and her right eye squinted as she smiled blurting the word.  Now, I'll give it to her, she was only looking at a picture and lets face it, a picture doesn't do something tangible justice.  On another occasion recently I was looked at in a squint with lips pursed and told by a man that an installation of mine was "interesting" and thanked me whole heartedly.  Admittedly, I too have used both words to describe things that I really wasn't either interested in or disliked wholeheartedly.  Thus, the reason I don't like these two words to be used as adjectives towards my work or thoughts.  You know the times you are with someone and you are telling them all about this experience you had and they are nodding and smiling as if they are listening intently to your every word. Then, in response to your story they exclaim "wow, that is so interesting!".  Guess what?  They either weren't listening as intently as it appeared they were and/or they just thought the whole thing was a boring mess.  Would it have been better if they would have said "wow, that was so UN-interesting."?  I use the word "neat" when I need to tidy up.  You know,  keep things neat and organized.   But, much like "interesting", "neat" gets used in place of "gosh darn I really find that unappealing and rather appalling!".   Do you see what I mean? And, how many times have you used these words just because there were no other ways to kindly let someone down without them knowing?

In defense of the "neat" and "interesting" users, perhaps they are being, or at least trying to be gracious and complementary.  They may genuinely feel as those the neatest and most interesting things are just a grasp away and everything to them finds place in each category.  Then again maybe not.  A dead giveaway when someone says either word is their tone.  It usually goes down at the end of the word or stays constant with a contrived inflection at the end.  Practice with me: Neat! (inflect upward at the end)  Interesting! (inflect downward at the end).  Good Job!! Now do it in the mirror and let your face do the talking.  No need to practice.  I have begun to think that its our natural way for which we were born to communicate, um, nicely?

So, be mindful the next time you describe something as "neat" or "interesting" unless of course you are genuinely interested, then, try to find another word like "Wowwzza" or "Shazam!!"  

Nadia Comanechi

Tonight, as I attempted to lay me down to sleep, I realized that it wasn't the need of sleep that was attempting to lay me down.  Ironically, it was my lack of sleep that has laid me down,however to not sleep,but rather to  think.  Continuous and jumbled thoughts of flowers dance in my head as I prepare for a presentation amongst Mother's Day orders, weekly orders, parties and personals.  I was asked to prepare a new look, a new beginning for a floral program at a well revered space in Chicago.  After working with them for the past 8 years, the challenge is to reinvent the flowers as they are doing within their own environment.  Usually this isn't a big deal to me, meaning, I always feel in my gut I have it licked.  I can come up with a million ideas and whittle each of them down to a grand solution, a finale.  This time, I'm stuck.  I'm stuck within myself and my lack of ideas.  When do you start reinventing and when is it all okay just the way it is?  I guess, perhaps, I may be stuck within myself.  What I mean is, I may be afraid to let the big idea rip its way out of my gut and let it just happen.  I get that, but I can't find that "big idea"...it must be embedded very deep.  I've searched for it. I dashed to NYC for inspiration knowing that trip has never failed me before and yet, this time, it didn't produce the same effect I have come to trust from that entangled city.  Work is very important to  me because its what I love to do.  I love working with flowers as my medium.  I love seeing reaction and feeling accomplished in my designs and client relationships.  At the same time, I combat the stress of keeping this fresh, no pun intended.  I struggle with maintaining the quality and experience people have to come to love and respect about my work.  I agree to evolve is natural, but I fight the evolution of a constant changing society of perceptions and worth. 

Being creative is a challenge and a curse, a joy and a gift and a realization that it will never become complacent because of the "what ifs" and the "what else's".   Tonight I struggle with my creativeness and forward thinking.  What am I missing?  What else is there that hasn't been done before?  Where can I get what I need before I need it?  Its funny as I lay here typing recalling all the times I have told clients, staff, etc to calm down, "its only flowers".  Clearly, I am not living that at the moment.  The passion to create something magical and timeless is so much harder than creating something obnoxious, explosive and/or ordinary.  I have always relied on my gut, as I have said before, and I have become great friends with procrastination and last minute brilliance.  This time, I am lost. Maybe it is because I have been moving too fast as of late.  The more I can get done, the more I can do and the more I can add on to an already fast moving schedule.  So many people have told me to slow down, so I try.  But, as I slow down, my world around me seems to speed up and I surely don't want to be left behind to catch up later.  This past week I have slipped on loose leafs, tulip heads and rose petals as they lay in wait on the floor of my studio.  They were stalking me waiting for the perfect time to find themselves under my shoe and catapult me across the room.  I have good balance and am very used to the scraps on the floor.  But, on Thursday,  it happened.  A stray tulip leaf lay resting on the floor right outside my office.  It must have hobo'd a ride on my boot or sleeve. As I left the office in yet another hurry, my boot met the tulip leaf with direct contact.  It was a BIG slip.  However, I must admit, I felt much like Nadia Comanechi on the high beam.  With elegance and grace, I did the Chinese splits that would absolutely garner a perfect 10.    Painful, yes.  Embarrassing, not really (I was the only one at the studio at the time).  Humbled, of course. 
Its moments like that when I hear my dad telling me that  "moments like that mean you need to take a moment and slow down".  Something divine is telling you you are moving too fast, take a moment and smell the roses...blah, blah.  Anyway, I am challenged tonight and hope for a moment of sleep.  I will rely on my gut.  I will rely on my knowledge, my know-how and my will.  I, at the moment I am typing this, will acknowledge my vulnerability to surrender and persevere.  At the end of the day, it may be just flowers, but its also my passion and guts for which I will not lay down.  

Its a Pooh Thing

Recently I was reading my facebook stream and a good friend of mine posted a quote from Winnie the Pooh to another friend.  This quote was and is my all time favorite quote and I had over the years forgot about it, well, put it this way, its been stored in my mind bank collecting dust for too many years.

Christopher Robbins to Pooh: "there is something you must always remember...you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think"..."


Day by day, our lives change, no doubt.  Sometimes they are dramatic times, sometimes they are good times and sometimes they are times which pass us by without us even realizing what just happened.  Do we take the best of times for granted and dwell too much on the hard times?  Perhaps.  I often think as to why those hard times take so much of our energy to process and disclaim.  Its the good times we look forward to and what make us happiest, yet we tend to let them fizzle out of our core too quickly.  


So, after being reminded of the words of Christopher Robbins last night, the first thing that came to my mind, frankly, was being a child and dandelions.  I had friends when was I was just a kid, many of them.  We were all about the same age and lived only steps away from each other.  We had the best block in town!  Everyday after school we gathered around a light post in the corner of Vincent's yard and gathered our teams together for a game of flashlight tag or hide and seek.  We played until our parents stood at the end of the driveways and yelled for us to come in for dinner.  After dinner, we were right back at that light post to resume where we left off.  


On the weekends, it seemed, there were less of us around to congregate into enough teams to get any sort of game going, so I would venture off on my own into the woods, fields and swamps.  I had great adventures trekking through thick brush and tracking Bigfoot.  I would build forts to hide out in knowing I would be camouflaged from the world outside of the forest.  It was so much fun jumping from odd humps in the swamp as to avoid falling into the murky, smelly water.  I would rescue rabbits from snares, albeit they were already dead, but nonetheless, they were "rescued".  Picking cattails and yellow swamp flowers became a gathering expedition and tearing off Springs giant pussy willow branches from the enormous trees for which they grew all in order to bring them home for my mom.  If I recall correctly, she would make me leave them outside - bugs and all.  Frogs would lay huge puddles of eggs wrapped in clear, jello-like casings.  These would be the great find and after gathering them in ice cream buckets I would take them to the garage and watch them hatch into tadpoles.  Now that I think about it, I'm not sure where they disappeared to after they were tadpoles.  I guess its one of those things that parents take care of for you without making much fuss.  Put it this way; I was carefree, without worry and always dirty.  


 Like I said, dandelions were part of my childhood and I am sure I share this with each and everyone of you reading this.  Taking over all the lawns on the block, dandelions were this dreaded weed that every homeowner acknowledged in horror when they began to bloom.  However, as kids, we would relish them as a pretty flower for which we could use to play games.  One such game was called "Mommy had a baby and  her head popped off!".  We would take the dandelion in the palm of one hand with the bloom nestled on the fatty part of our hand between the thumb and index finger.  Then, using our thumb, we would recite "Mommy had a baby and her head popped off" and when we got to "off" we would pop the bloom from its stem...and laugh and laugh.  Another game, if you will, would be taking a dandelion and holding it under a friends chin.  Asking each other if "you like butter".  If the dandelion reflected yellow on your chin's bottom, then YES!! you liked butter.  Um, yeah, it always reflected yellow.  Simple times.  When the dandelion flowers turned into a fragile puff of white seeds, it was time to use them for something much more meaningful.  You know what I'm talking about don't you?  We would use the flowers in there last state of bloom to make wishes.  Crazy wishes like; "I want a horse" and "I want a pair of Lee jeans" and "I wish for 5 bucks so I can buy 20 packs of Charlie's Angels trading cards".  Wishes, simple wishes. 

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So, going back to the words of Christopher Robbins to Pooh;  As a child I was very brave, brave enough to hang out in the woods wishing to catch a glimpse of the unseen Saskquatch, braver than I believed.  Also, I was much stronger as I seemed when I climbed those grand trees to pluck the best lilac and pussy willow I could find.  Even more so,  I was much smarter than I thought, as I would have the best hiding places during hide and seek (most often lying flat on rooftops, where bravery and strength both came in handy).  As a child I made wishes for only what I knew as a child.  As an adult, with spring upon us, its hard to walk past a dandelion without reaching down and blowing it with a wish in mind.  Our adult wishes are a bit  more complex, but they are still wishes, beliefs, strengths and smarts.  


In case you were wondering:   I never did see a Bigfoot, but I believed it to be real.  

Love It..Hate it..Can('t) live without it

There are things I notice, things I love, things I hate and things I can't live without.  I thought, pondered and even stewed about letting in a bit of mixed culture into my home and life, you know, to stir things up a bit and create new vignettes and moments into my everyday life.  I have thought hard and deep and realize that those things that I like, even love, have no place in my home or work life.  For instance, I love when great photos are perfectly framed and hung cluttered on walls.  I especially love when photos are clustered on walls from floor to ceiling.  However, I just don't like it in my home, at all.  Perhaps its the clutter?  Perhaps its the daunting task of the actual act of hanging them all.  But, in thinking hard and deep and even laying out a perfect plan to hang the collected works of photography and art, I happen to realize that I just don't like pictures.  I have one photo picture of an old French, 1930's mannequin set upon my mantle at a resting tilt.  That is my extreme of photos.  No friends and family pictures clutter my tables or walls either. I find them to be freaky and weird as they stare at me in the same gaze day after day, so they all have been edited to a box in the closet.  Thus, I love a good wall of pictures hung in perfect harmony in someones home, work or hotel, but I will never allow such wall covering in my home.

Green Walls!!! I LOVE them! When the color green is the perfect blend of depth and vibrancy, magic happens and life begins. Again, not in my home please.  I have admired walls like these since, well, I think I was a teenager.  I love the guts it takes to take a white wall to big levels. This boldness acts as the walls make-up.  Its like that daring green eyeshadow I have seen only a select few women wear..and it works for them.  I prefer a muted color palette in my home and I go as bold and deep as warm charcoal Grey.  I have often collected deep, bright paint swatches and hung them in all rooms in my home thinking I would jump off the pantone bridge.  I always come back to and realize my daily waking, occasional lounging and peaceful slumber requires paint colors of timelessness and understated composer. 

My all time favorite, as a guest in a home or hotel, is white furniture. Clean, bright, aloft...white furniture is, to me, an all time F you to commitment.   I get it, yes, some love to live a life of bright white and void of color, much like those who choose black as their safety zone.  I, on the other hand, prefer, again, muted colors or textures like Belgian linen and colors like coffee, grey, taupe and dove.   I was once told that the color white is the beginning of making decisions, a non-commitment, the start of moving forward or changing.   Could it be that the homes of white and  hotels of the same decor are places of rejuvenation and self-discovery?  Not sure about that, but I do know its not right for my home and I will admire it from afar.  Side note: I love white sheets if that matters.

Finally, flowers.  Okay, about a decade ago the trend to tilt flowers en mass from the tops of vases became all the rage and still, to this day, I have noticed that many of my colleagues still choose this design to create "edgy" and "big statement" event decor.  HAAAAAAAA!!! I laugh at them all.  A couple things before I digress into dogging the competition: First, I love the was this flower design looks at the George V in Paris.  Its truly amazing and a must see on anyone's visit to the City of Lights.  Why it looks good there?  Because of the generous budget. Also, I like Jeff, the designer behind the global trend.  Here, hotels/floral designers, copy the "look" halfheartedly.   How boring to walk into a hotel and see the same flowers as the competing hotel around the corner...ahh, yawn. They clearly don't have the budgets to perform a ballet of en mass "tippy" flowers, thus losing the impact and "wow".   Same goes for weddings and events, if you're going to do it at all, do it right or leave it in the pages of a book.  I don't even attempt this design for the main reason of not copying someone's signature design.   I choose to create a style of flowers that are more beautiful and just as interesting.  So, again, although I admire the work of Jeff Leatham, I won't tip my flowers. 

I sometimes wish I could paint a room grass green and load the walls with pictures and paintings and fill it with blank faced furniture and red roses bundled and tipped to one side out of a vase on the coffee table, but as I look around my environments, I take pride in my solace and simplicity.  In fact, because I have a muted private world for which I live and work, I am more creative, more ambitious and more focused.  Those are the integrated "who I am's" that I can't live without. 

Wait a Moment

Lately I have been asked what defines my style and outlook when creating either interiors or floral sculpture/designs.  I respond slowly, trying to find the quickest,easiest translation without trying to sound pompous or overly descriptive.   Its a task of organizing, in my head, the correct response without spewing out contradictory points of creative, pointed arrival.  I have finally found my response: My thoughts and designs are composed in "Moments".

Now, let me take a moment to explain the moment of conception and throughput.   My second job was when I was 15 and I had crossed the street to work at McDonald's (my first being at Hardee's where I was fired for "not being cut out as a burger flipper").   While at McDonald's,one of my jobs, if you will, was working the drive-thru.  We were told that when we told a customer "please hold a moment", that meant we had exactly 1.5 minutes or less to return to that customer for service.  The Old English "moment" was 1/40th of a minute and today's modern "moment" is any express time limit - I call it quickedness.  I never loved the process of interior design because it took too long to come to fruition and then, at that point of arrival, something would fail and minds would change.  Therefore; I found complete satisfaction in the moments created when I design with flowers.  The flowers are bought fresh in the morning, designed soon after and sent out for exhibit immediately after completion.  I don't believe in or have coolers for this exact reason.  Nothing prolonged, nothing over thought, nothing left for debate; just a guttural response to my medium.   

I have never been one to like the confusion of walls, corners, floors and ceilings being cluttered with "stuff" to fill in the blanks.  I design for creating moments.  In a home, for example, we take for granted our space and walk by many of our possessions because we forget to stop and admire their beauty or story.  Empty walls with a single great piece for furniture that hold a simple vase of a single Japanese maple branch lit like a work of art: is a moment....to stop what you are doing, look at it and continue with your day.  More compulsive would be a stone dish holding a topple of goats milk soap set next to your tub waiting for its dip into a hot bath of inviting water.  Yes, I have that stone dish at the ready for my next bath.  And, admittedly, it is compulsive and obsessive, but it makes me happy while I scroll it over my limbs into cleanliness.    

Its a simple way of living when life is racing around you.  My dad always said that when I trip or stub my toe or fall down when rushing, its life's way of telling me to slow down for just a moment and "smell the roses".  As life gets faster and people walk quicker and cars race frantically and media bombards us with chatter, why not take those moments, less than a minute, of each of our days to stop and look at what makes our living so great.  I have always said: I don't care if people love or hate my flower designs.  What is important to me it that they stopped and looked at it.   I have created moments in my home that make me happy when I glance at them.  I love the way a floor lamp in my dining room stands proud at the tables end and the way the ghost chairs surrounding  my table float as if they aren't really there.   The charcoal walls and the grain of the table play off each other like a leaf to a tree.  And I love the odd, teardrop shape of the matte white vase that holds a single giant leaf.  Nothing cluttered, nothing overly thought, just plain simplicity which slows down my always tumbling thoughts, for just a moment.

                                                     photo courtesy of: Dries Van Noten

My favorite designer of his fashion shows is Dries Van Noten - simple moments with lasting impressions.  That is life!! That is living!! Sounds simple. Because it is simple.  I urge you to take a moment of each of your days and enjoy it.  Find those things you forgot to look at yesterday and within less than a minute of your time, you may just change the outlook of  your entire day.

Midnight Snack. Snack?

Its one in the morning and I am awakened by the grumbling in my stomach and the screaming of my taste buds.  I am definitely having a snack craving.  We've all been there.  Its an occasional yearning for me and it never seems to happen when I go to bed hungry, rather, it happens when I have eaten my fair share of food for the day.  Last night I woke up at 11pm.  I had only been sleeping an hour or so when the urge to stumble squinty eyed into the kitchen and ravage the fridge and pantry for a remedy to cure my food craving. Earlier in the evening I had a great salad and a filling protein drink. I had made Snickerdoodle cookies, only 3 so I wouldn't gorge myself and I froze the remaining dough for later indulgences.  However, my cravings were stronger than the cookie which stared up at me, lonely and single on the plate for which it rested.  I needed something  more, something, well, satisfying.  I kept opening the fridge thinking something would appear magically, you know what I'm talking about.  I only clicked the overhead light of the stove for my late night scurrying.   My contacts were taking there time getting adjusted to my sudden leap out of bed.  I have a few favorites for these moments.  A few food finds that I try to keep stocked in case such an emergency should arise.  The first is ice cream, preferably coffee ice cream.  After opening the freezer door no less than 3 times, it became reality that I had not stocked that option.  I needed more anyway.  I needed salt!

I had some 2 day old Brioche left over from a way too greedy shopping spree at the bakery.  I knew I had cheese but wasn't sure of its pasture.  Digging through the fridge in search of a perfect cheese combo to complete my ingredients for a grilled cheese sandwich, eyes squinted, I only came up with bleu and swiss cheese.  Nope, neither were appetizing this late.  The time clicked by during my search and 11:30pm was now upon me.  A midnight snack was closely reporting for duty.   My craving for a grilled cheese had consumed my mind and for a mere moment, I almost got dressed and ran to the grocery store for the right cheese.   I love my grilled cheese with Gruyere and/or white cheddar and mustard.  I couldn't justify a lazy approach to curb my pangs by using Swiss cheese.  I shut the fridge door, then opened it quickly just to see if perhaps I missed anything.  Nope.  The wilted fennel was still there...alongside eggs...hmmmm, eggs. 

Eureka!!! I love scrambled eggs as a midnight snack.  (Sidenote:  The best eggs on the market are Phil's, unbelievable flavor and the brightest orange/yellow yolk ever.  No, I am not being paid by Phil's to say that, yet).  I pulled the eggs, one at a time, out of their snuggled up, cold container being careful not to drop one.  My cravings were to too strong for a splattered egg on the floor.  I grabbed the milk, some herbs; parsley, thyme and tarragon and the remaining "dash" of grated Romano cheese all out of the fridge and I was set!!.  Ahhh, herbed scrambled eggs, perfect.  I heated my non-stick fry pan, dabbed in a little butter and began to assemble my eggs and herbs.  My eyes had lifted by now.  I scrambled the 3 eggs in a bowl, added salt,pepper and the chopped herbs and a dash of milk.  Ready, set, go!!! Into the  hot pan, the smell immediately filling my nose, mind and stomach.   I prefer my scrambled eggs a bit on the runny side, not soupy, just creamy.  I stirred them as if they were going to be my last meal, ever so careful to create the large sized scrambles I love so much.  Ahhh, the smell.  12am on the dot, I plated my eggs.  Leaning against the kitchen counter I ate with restrain savoring every mouthful.  I was satisfied.  Midnight craving subdued, I headed back to bed.  I tossed and turned until I finally gave in, again, and got up.  I made my coffee, checked my mail, watched the news and sat frustrated that I couldn't get that sleepy feeling back.  At 5am, I thought to myself; "I wonder how many more eggs and herbs are available in my refrigerated section of my kitchen?" And, without much thought, I marched right back and made myself another healthy portion.  So started my day.