hummingbird kate! must drink half my weight in nectar!

There is a building up of things upon my head. I feel I am performing some kind of daring high wire act, juggling and balancing and almost dropping things that I want to hold onto. I have lots of projects, random projects that are really freebie freelance jobs. Then there are the potential paying projects that I just can't seem to get to. The freebies won't let me. Neither will the laundry, nor the dinner table, nor my day job. Then there are the fun things that I can't get to either. There are birds to attract and feed, there are flowers to plant and there are paintings to paint. And exercise! Fagettaboutit. Despite numerous list-making attempts I can't seem to get any one thing completely done. I just keep doing bits and pieces of everything so that nothing is neglected--but nothing is ever finished, not the way it should be.

On top of this, the puppy is coming. In 4 weeks we choose one from the litter. In 8 weeks we bring the pup home. I have to prepare the house for a sniffing, wandering, peeing, pooing, chewing machine. Not so easy, let me tell you. I am the leave-shoes-behind Queen.

I want to write about the hummingbirds that are on their way here from the south. If you look at this Hummingbird Migration Map you will see that the Ruby Throated Hummingbird migration is well underway. Early, even. A whole week or two earlier than last Spring. And I am so not prepared! The backyard is a big blank canvas and I have no time nor money nor energy to fill it with color! I desperately need some hummingbird attracting plants in there to replace what was ripped out. I do have a few feeders and they are not ready either. Hummingbirds are a very complicated but rewarding hobby.

And gosh, all these ideas popping up in my head like tulips! I can't seem to slow them down. What to do? I can't do anything. I am twisted up in a knot.

And all the emails, the wonderful emails that I so want to write and answer and all the blogs I want to visit but cannot! Not only is my private life busy but so is my 9 to 6 job (sometimes 9 to 7:30) where I am being closely monitored for doing non-work-related things. God forbid I sit in front of the computer for more than 2 minutes, I must be doing something diabolical.

Well that's all I have time for now. Time for lunch and returning 1000 phone calls that I can't make at work anymore, according to my review.

My Weekend, The Novel

Chapter One: The Wedding

Well, how do you go back to your everyday routine after spending 4 days in other wonderful fanciful places? The wedding, my dears, was incredible. Simply the most beautiful wedding I've ever attended. But although the location was idyllic, the flowers elegant, the dresses dazzling and the music divine, it was the people who really made this wedding special. The ongoing theme of the wedding was that of friendship; the bride and groom were marrying their own best friends. And you could see it and feel it in the way they looked at each other, beaming with joy and a sense of completion. Every part of the wedding reminded me of how important friendship is in a marriage. The sermon at the church touched me and caused me to reflect on the qualities that I love most about my husband and our relationship. We are truly best friends. We speak, laugh, play and even argue like best friends. There is a comfort level between us that cannot be compared to any other relationship I've hever had. But in addition to this friendship kind of love there is romantic love, affection and even a spiritual love. It is a feeling, a quality, a daily routine, a moment of knowing what the other is thinking and responding without words. As I watched our friends make their promises to one another I remembered my own to Andrew and made mental notes of ways that I can love him more.

Andrew sat with the bridal party in the church and so I couldn't squeeze his hand every time I felt the love surge through me, so instead I teared up a bit. I've never understood why people often cry at weddings but this time I did. It is just so beautiful. It is a simple promise that I truly believe in. I hope I never ever ever take it for granted.

Chapter Two: Monday Reflections

So back to the every day trials of my usual environment. Why do we spend so many hours at work? Why do we spend the best hours of our day so involved in making money? I guess that's a simple question with very complicated answers. But right now I cannot think of any good reasons to be inside when the sun is shining so gloriously and the daffodils are shining back.

Especially when the people in the next room are speaking the way they are right now. There is so much discontent, disrespect, malace and anxiety within these walls.

Chapter Three: The Escape

Getting back to the weekend. After all the wedding festivities were over we had Sunday to spend however we wanted. So instead of going right home from Long Island to our home full of to-do's, we drove straight to the shore and spent the night in Andrew's family's vacation home on the bay. I love the bay. We hadn't been there since September, I had been dying for a shore weekend for months, desperately in need of escape and refuge from the daily routine, and finally here I was. I looked out over the still waters with binoculars in search of early wading birds or late migratory visitors. I breathed the air in deep and slowly then let it all out again. I felt the soft breeze play with my hair in the light of the sunset. I felt peace.

I also explored the vacant lot next to the house that serves as a rookery for herons in the summer. I call these birds my babies. In late spring and early summer the tangle of trees is decked with large, prehistoric looking creatures called Yellow Crowned Night Herons. In 1999 Andrew's parents spotted one nesting couple outside their bedroom window. That couple had at least 4 babies. The next year there were 2 visible nests in the same tree. By 2003 there were 3 nests from our vantage point. In the summer it is difficult to see anything in the dense vegetation and I dare not explore it for fear of the Poison Ivy. But yesterday the trees were still bare from winter and the ivy was no where to be seen. I stumbled into the brush and counted... 1,2,3,4,5... six! Six empty nests, do you know what that means? Even if each nest held only 3 babies, that's 18 heron children plus 12 parents, not even counting the juveniles that didn't mate... well that's at least 30 herons according to my primitive calculations. But it seems that each nest averages about 5 young, so that my friends is a whopping ...um... {6 times 5 equals 30 babies, plus 12 parents equals...} 42 herons! If these 42 herons follow the trend of returning to the same rookery this year... my gosh, that is a lot of birds (no pun intended). And if even just half of those 42 mate this year and have 5 babies each... oh my, I must stop myself before I start maniacally giggling right here in the office.

When the birds return to their colony this season I will be there with my camera loaded, as usual. They seem to be accustomed to the activity of their human neighbors, and stare quietly at me in a tolerant sort of way when I take their picture. It is my agenda to protect them and the lot they inhabit. Anyone who dares to come near that lot and my babies will have a very angry, protective birder to contend with.

Chapter Four: Speaking of Babies

When we arrived home Sunday night I unpacked all the remnants of the weekend and checked my email. There in my inbox was a birth announcement. Can you guess who? Here's a hint: this new mommy had nonuplets. Six boys and three girls.

Woof woof! Howooooooooooooo...!!!

Photos to come soon.

TTFN, Ta Ta For Now

I managed to find some shoes last night that are black satin closed toe open heel, slightly pointy with a 2.5 inch heel. I think that's as good as it gets. I like the suggestion of the black ribbon with a black flower on it around the neck... very kitschy... I did see a really neat faux pearl necklace on a gauzy black ribbon at a store last week that might be perfect, the pearls are SUPERSIZED and the ribbon makes a nice little bow at the back or side of the neck.

We will be staying in a castle the night of the wedding... tell me you're not jealous! The Oheka Castle is the location of the reception. So we can stumble right up to our little castle suite when we're too sloppy to dance any longer.

My gosh, doesn't it seem that things always happen at once? That is the way this week goes. Look at this list:
1. Wedding of good friends in castle
2. With accompanying rehearsal dinner and festivities
3. Designing website #1
4. Possible website to design (#2)
5. My website design
6. Super cool website project
7. Job opportunity
8. Freelance opportunity #1
9. Freelance opportunity #2
10. Freelance opportunity #3
11. SCBWI Newsletter design
12. SANCCOB website relationship
13. Logo design for me
14. Blog redesign for me
15. Wedding Save the Dates design for inlaws
16. New freelance client meeting
17. Puppy to be born this month
18. Landscaping continues, needs additional plantings
19.
20.

I'm leaving the last 2 blank for the inevitable things that will come up in the next few days while doing one of the other 18. Oy!

Have a great weekend, enjoy the weather if it's anything like mine. If it's not, get out some crayons and draw.

logo development and shamrock kate

I worked on the logo with the swimming penguin in it and it morphed a bit into this.



I didn't like the penguin at the end of the words because the whole thing was rather long and would be hard to place in confined places. I'm not sure about this one, it doesn't say everything I want it to say. But it's a start. I'll try some new ideas tonight or tomorrow.

This week, thank the good lord, is a short week. Andrew and I are attending a wedding in Long Island this weekend so I have taken off Thursday and Friday. I am also supposed to have a long-procrastinated review this week but it hasn't happened yet. So I guess I'll have to wear my boxing gloves to work tomorrow.

This is the dress I'll be wearing to the wedding:



Can you guess which day I bought it last week? I'm not sure what kind of shoes to wear. It is still chilly around here and not really open-toe weather, but I am sans closed-toe dress shoes. I am going to take a trip to DSW today after work and see what they have. But any suggestions would be appreciated. And what color do I paint my nails? And what color eye shadow do I wear? And what do I do with my hair? It is a very "Charlotte" dress but I want to be more "Carrie" than prissy. Oh the pressure! And oh the challenges of a shamrock shake green dress!

Kate Hamilton Logo 1 ©2004 Catherine Erin Hamilton

the birth of a logo and how i always forget things

Sitting amongst the 1000 things on my big and scary imaginary "to do" list is the creation of a logo for myself. I've had one that I consider pretty weak for a while now. It is time for a change. And whatever incarnation this logo takes shall influence the look of my new site and all marketing materials henceforth. So it is an intimidating assignment.

When I design other people's logos it does not seem so daunting. I take what I feel is the core of their business offerings and come up with a few rough ideas for a symbol and type placement. I narrow these down to the strongest, then fully develop one or two or three of them for the client. The client then chooses their favorite for me to continue developing, or they send me back to the drawing board. When it comes to my own logo I get stuck at the drawing board.

Above are some thumbnail sketches I've doodled nonchalantly over the past month in my mini-sketchbook. (I've recently discovered that I do much better with a sketchbook or journal that has less than 100 pages because thicker ones never get filled. I have quite a few unfinished sketchbooks. I wonder if this means anything about me.) I feel like I keep getting stuck doing the same thing. None of these penguins are symbolic enough for a logo. Though with the swimming penguin... that's something a little new, I just drew her today. Usually I draw penguins out of water. But really, penguins are much more comfortable underwater--that's what their bodies are made for. I like the trail of bubbles they leave behind. Hmm, maybe I'll play with that one some more.

This week promises to be a doozy, what with a big fancy wedding in Long Island that requires two days off from work (yay!), shoe shopping, present shopping, mini-toiletry shopping and loads of film. I am a notoriously horrible packer--there's always, always something very important to remember that I inevitably forget. This necessity hindsight runs strong in my family. "Wait! Stop the car! I forgot the tickets! (directions! camera! my underwear! my make-up! the baby!)"

Time to actually write out some of those lists. I write lists all the time but never go back to them.

Penguin Logo Sketches ©2004 Catherine Erin Hamilton

More like Friday

Ok, if there's one way to put me in a better mood, be a bird and do something fascinating.

At lunch I went home and made a sandwich and sat quietly by myself. I inspected the progress of the yard (half the fence is up and it's awesome) and made a phone call. As I walked back to my car I heard two crows crowing on the top of their crow lungs. The kind of crow call that can get really annoying if you don't love crows. I looked up to see what all the fuss was about. As I suspected, the crows were harassing a hawk who was sitting at the top of a tree, trying to look all innocent and harmless. The crows know better. Not only does their marauding cry alarm all smaller creatures in the area of the hawk's presence, it also discourages the hawk from sticking around. The crows dive at him and peck at his head, getting louder and louder still. Bird folks call this behavior "mobbing." I think it's kind of neat because the crows are, in a way, protecting birds smaller than them in the neighborhood. This thought makes me like them. In a few moments the Red-Tailed Hawk has had enough of their pestering and takes off for a quieter roost. And the crows, apparently not satisfied yet, follow him.

I came back to work and I visited my favorite birding site and found quicktime movies of spooky looking Barn Owls mating and preening. Owls are so cool. I want one.

And then Megan sent me a link to a live Penguin Cam. There's a lone Gentoo Penguin there right now. I want ten of them. Ever read Mr. Popper's Penguins? I forgot to list that book the other day. Actually, I had never read it until a few years ago. Love it.


Snowbirds Sketch ©2004 Catherine Erin Hamilton

Closure

It snowed several days this week. One day it was 50 degrees in the morning, dipping down to 20 at night with 4 inches of snow by morning. Yesterday it was 2 inches in the morning then a later high temperature around 40. This morning there were a good 2 to 4 new inches of snow with blizzardy looking conditions outside my bedroom window. By the time I got to my car the snow was heavy with water as it melted off the trees in big clumps. Right now the sun is shining.

This is Meteorologist Kate Hamilton reporting for PenguinArt.com.

Anyway, the funeral was yesterday and I don’t think I’ll write much about it because it is sad and not comfortable to dwell on, and as the priest said, “God tells us to let it go.” He gave such a comforting homily. I hope that my cousins were able to absorb it. Kevin looked so very, very intensely in pain. You could read the regrets all over his face. It hurt to see him so caught in his thoughts. His eyes were heavy with tears and he kept their gaze down, fixated on something that no one else could see. I gave him a big, long hug. It was one of those hugs where the other person grabs the hug and holds on tight for a long time and you can feel the tears in their breath and the heartbreak in their ribs, a deep heaving so piercing that it moves right into your own body and you start to cry too. Alright I have to stop.

What was neat was seeing the photos of Uncle Jimmy’s life, from childhood up until last year. I had no idea he was so active. A skier, fisherman, boy scout, member of the Coast Guard. There were some really great photos that captured all the best parts of his personality.

I think this is the first funeral I've been to that made me think so much about the shortness of life and the value of family. The fact that I will bury close members of my own immediate family someday suddenly hit home. I’ve decided that I need to go before any of my siblings do. I am, after all, the oldest of six. I cannot imagine it any other way. I was amazed that my Mom was able to organize the Mass, the funeral arrangements and the post-funeral reception for her brother so beautifully. I think there must have been a lot of closure with Uncle Jimmy’s death. Everyone would agree that he is in a better place. He had a tough life, but was able to leave it in peace and absolution.

Look at me, dwelling when I said I wouldn’t. I can’t help it. I need to get these thoughts out. You can only talk about it so much with the people around you before they can't take it anymore and you have to honor them.

I think I will post again later when the heaviness has passed and Friday starts to kick in.

If you’re lucky enough to be Irish... you're lucky enough!

Dance as if no one were watching,
Sing as if no one were listening,
And live every day as if it were your last.

May misfortune follow you the rest of your life,
but never catch up.

May your glass be ever full.
May the roof over your head be always strong.
And may you be in heaven half an hour before the devil knows you’re dead.

More Irish Toasts and Blessings
"Celtic Melt" Irish Radio available on iTunes and Live 365
(If you have iTunes, go into the "Radio" list and look under "Americana."

ramblings of the right brain

Man. I got alot going on. My most important task is finishing the website for our landscaper. At this rate he'll have the entire backyard fenced and planted before I finish his site. He asked if I could have it done by the end of February. I thought I could. I really did!

I tend to take twice as long as I think I will with everything. It's a running joke between me and my husband. When I'm getting ready to go out he'll yell up the stairs, "How much longer, Kate?" and I'll reply, "Oh, 15 minutes at the most." He knows better than me. He knows that my 15 minutes equals 30 minutes normal time.

Andrew works with a few designers at his job. He says they are the same way. When he asks for a time estimate from a designer he takes what they say and doubles it. He proclaims this technique to be 100% accurate.

I have a few creative friends that I used to work with at a previous job. These girls and boys were some of the most talented eggs in the business. But damned if they didn't show up for work 30-45 minutes late every day... just like me. Which in my mind is really only 22.5 minutes late.

Why is this so? Is it the whole right vs. left brain theory? Andrew is a creative guy. I swear if he would just learn how to Photoshop and Illustrate he'd be a creative genius. But he's very content with his organizational duties, forming budgets and timelines and such. He's so much better at it than I could ever be. Believe me, I've tried. When I first took my present job my duties were to be 60% organizational and 40% creative. Bah! Humbug. God I hate Excel. Nothing bothers me more than a big, wide open empty spreadsheet. It is the antithesis to my way of thinking. Why can't I ever get those stupid things to print out right? Why can't they look nicer? Why can't I just create my spreadsheets in Illustrator? That's how I create my invoices. Illustrator is the bomb.

While we're talking about bothersome things, where did this belly come from? Do my 3 visits to the gym each month count for nothing? Maybe I need a gym spreadsheet. Actually, a big calendar with pretty pictures in it would be much better. My calendar at work has Beagles on every page. My calendar at home contains botannical prints.

This must be why I like picture books so much more than regular books. Pictures are so important! I remember reading picture books up to about 3rd grade. After that the books had alot more words than pictures. Such as the Cheerleader series of books. I wish there were more photos than just the ones on the covers. I needed to see more of what these people really looked like! And the book Seventeen. God I really wanted to see what that boy looked like. What was his name. Brad? I think there may have been an illustration on the cover the boy wasn't cute enough and the girl didn't look enough like me. ;)

Did you have a book club in school? Do you remember being handed a flimsy newspaper print catalog of all the newest titles and their order numbers? I can remember the smell of those catalogs and the feel of the newsprint. That's where I bought the Cheerleader series, Seventeen, The Karate Kid Part II and at least one Sweet Valley High. I didn't get into SVH like my friends who had to have every book in the series. The characters in those books seemed too snobby to me.

One of my favorite books in grade school was A Wrinkle In Time. That would be a great movie. I thought I heard something about that possibly becoming a movie soon. Maybe it was in my dreams. But when I was in 7th grade my favorite teacher would read a chapter of that book every day at 2:30. We could all put our heads down and just listen to her voice and imagine the surreal story and its characters in our minds. I can still remember hearing her read about the turkey dinner. The kids are given a hot turkey dinner by the "aliens." To one of them the dinner was simply delicious. To the main character it tasted like dry sand. I should read that book again. It will bring me back.

Other favorites from my childhood:
1. The Giving Tree - Shel Silverstein
2. Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret. - Judy Blume
3. Strawberry Shortcake (I don't remember the real title)
4. The Snowshoe Rabbit
5. The Sesame Street series of books that they sold at the supermarket which included the adventures of "Penelope"--aka Bert dressed like a lady to Ernie's amusement
6. Rapunzel
7. A big gigantic book of nursery rhymes with loads of illustrations
8. Barney the Beagle (I must have borrowed it from the school library 1000 times)
9. Morgan and Me - Stephen Cosgrove (A Serendipity Book)
10. Charlotte's Web - E.B. White

How about yours?

what is it about Mondays anyway?

President Bush is in Ardmore, PA today--just a few minutes away from where I work and live. I don't know if he'll be on television but if he is, you'll see a bit of my 'hood. I drove through the area a few minutes ago and there are scores of high school students holding signs, waiting excitedly for his arrival. The motorcade is said to be about half an hour away. If I was a Bush fan I'd be out there too, I guess. Taking pictures and whatnot. But I don't really care.

No other news today, other than the wonderful fact that CEO is out until Wednesday or Thursday. Thursday is the funeral so I will not be going to work that day. Rumor has it that Uncle Jimmy's funeral will have a St. Patrick's Day theme. I'm imagining the priest saying, "Family and friends are welcome to share in a beer and some Irish music at the firehouse following the burial." I hope there is a bagpiper.

they day after

Me and Mom did end up going to see Les Mis yesterday. I was glad that we went. We had lunch at a pub beforehand and talked about Uncle Jimmy and I learned things I never knew about him. We were terribly late due to really stupid traffic and were ushered to our seats in the dark theater by a man with a very dim flashlight. We had missed 4 songs or so. I had forgotten how much singing is involved in a musical. The lead had such a great voice, his range was fantastic. The costumes were incredibly detailed, right down to the knickers. The scenery amazed me. There were so few pieces of it, yet they moved and changed and made new pieces like an erector set. I liked the stars in the night scenes and the overhead light and sound effects in the sewer. There are some really creative people out there. It was inspiring in a way that made me feel the players' joy at being what they are, living their dream. I don't think anyone on that stage had "settled" for a crappy day job on broadway. The all wanted to be there more than anything and you could feel it and hear it and see it.

After the show we got stuck in traffic (again) as we drove back to my house. When Mom left I got ready to go back into the city (again) to meet up with my friends for the Irish Pub crawl. I got there much later than anticipated but had a good time regardless wearing my new shamrock t-shirt, shamrock antennae on my head and sticky shamrock gems on my face. After some pubbing we needed some grubbing so we for some reason went to a very fancy expensive seafood restaurant where our attire was probably not appreciated so much. Neither was our level of volume, the context of our toasts and stories, nor the screeching painfulness of my oh-so-authentic seagull bird call. We got kicked out. Then moved on to a fancy bar and got dirty looks and left. Then went to Megan's house and danced to silly pop songs and drank more beer. Eventually everyone started to pass out and go to bed. I could have gone partying on for another hour or so but Megan had been at it since 11. Eleven AM, that is. I spent the night at the foot of their bed and woke up to the kisses of their loveable dawg, Otter. Last night I taught Otter how to sing like Britney Spears (the high pitced parts of "Toxic," yes I love that song). Oh mi god, so cute. This morning she was following her burrowing dachchund instincts as she created a tunnel in the comforter next to me. I so can not wait for a dog.

So I'm a little hung over, a little froggy in the voice and foggy in the head today. I had a flat tire this morning so that was an ordeal, especially with the St. Patrick's Day Parade a block away. Called roadside assistance and they sent someone out to plug it up but it took forever for them to get there. As me and Megan waited for their arrival I got a call from Andrew saying that Uncle Jimmy had died overnight. Megan and I sat in my car and she let me talk about birds for like 45 minutes which I think is the best possible way to keep me from freaking out crying on days like this. When the tire was plugged and I finally got on the road I had to take all kinds of detours to escape the parade. I've never seen so many people wearing green. Plump old ladies wearing shamrock mardi-gras beads. Little kids in their Irish wool sweaters. Dads in their plaid. It was kind of neat. Uncle Jimmy would have liked it. I took my time and looked at all the faces of the strangers on the street that despite being strangers had something in common with me.

So now I am home and so so exhausted. I want to nap but I can't. It is one of those tired exhaustions where you are too restless to sleep but too sleepy to do anything else. So when Andrew turned on PlayStation I turned on the Powerbook and read all your comments since Friday. Thank you. Irish eyes are smiling.

Uncle Jimmy

So I've been feeling pretty good since about Tuesday or Wednesday. I started to get really psyched about our house and our yard and our dawg and the upcoming weekend. Then last night I spoke to my Mom.

Mom and I were supposed to go see Les Miserables this weekend at the Philadelphia Academy of Music. She got us orchestra pit seats to the show as a 30th birthday present for me. Last night she left a message for me saying that our plans might have to change. When I called to find out why, it was bad news. My Uncle Jimmy (Mom's older brother) is in the hospital for his cancer--again--but this time the outlook is not good. He was diagnosed not more than 5 months ago, but at that point the tumors were already everywhere. He didn't know; he hadn't been to a doctor in years. Now he might not make it through the weekend.

I've never known Uncle Jimmy all that well, not the way Andrew knows his uncles who are more like friends than elders. Uncle Jimmy is in his 60s and is father to Patrick and Kevin, my favorite cousins, Kevin being closest in age. When I was little I loved sleeping over their house and swinging on the tree swing and playing Star Wars in the woods with them. Uncle Jimmy has always been the big Irish uncle with the rosy red cheeks and the whiskey on his breath. Not coincidentally, he once had an Irish Setter named Whiskey. His voice is the loudest at any family party; whether it at Grandmom's house when I was little, or on recent holidays at my parents' place. I can never know for sure where he lives at any given time; he jumps around from a mysterious location on the Delaware River to my Aunt Peggy's house to the comforts of his truck with his latest stray dog. I remember he used to work for TWA when I was little and would bring all kinds of goodies from the airline to Grandmom's house--small, TWA monogramed flatware, little airline liquor bottles, freebies of all kinds. Me and my sister loved eating with those mini forks, knives and spoons; we thought they were so cool, just the right size for our little kid hands.

Mom used to tell me stories about Uncle Jimmy from their childhood. He was her big brother. 8 years older or so; he was just the right age to throw her on the back of his bike and go speeding down "devil's elbow," or take her for a daredevil drive in his brand new VW Beetle, spinning the car in tight circles at the local Bazaar parking lot. She also told me how sad he was as a kid; for some reason the nuns picked on him in school and made his life very difficult. Looking back now he probably had ADD. Back then I think ADD would be considered unholy, lazy or ill behavior and there were probably alot of ruler slaps involved. All I know is that he was shamed and ridiculed. Mom says he never got over it. Later in life he became prone to drinking and gambling and separated from Kevin's and Patrick's mother when I was pretty young. I've never talked to Kevin or Pat about how that impacted them. It happened when me and Kev were in our "ew! boys! and "ew! girls!" stage and didn't talk to each other at parties anymore.

Recently I've been seeing Kevin around more at family functions and we've talked here and there, but it's like we still have an awkwardness to overcome before we're good buddies like we were 20 years ago. Kevin is truly a good guy and is a bit of a drifter himself, not unlike his Dad. He moves out, changes career paths, and is now back living with his Mom. He came to my 30th birthday party and I was so suprirsed and happy to have him out with my friends. Now his dad is dying and my Mom says he taking it the hardest. I want to reach out to him in some way, say "hey, I'm here for you," but I don't know how. I left a voicemail at his mom's house today and said to let me know if they need anything. What else is there to do?

I didn't expect to be upset about the news yesterday, but as soon as Andrew said, "Are you upset about it?" I started to cry. And bawl. The thought of Uncle Jimmy dying is so sad. Knowing that his days are numbered, knowing that he is laying in a hospital bed, unable to speak or breathe on his own, depending on morphine to make it all a little easier... some of my siblings have gone and seen him and say he looks nothing like himself. I don't live quite as close and just found out yesterday, so I haven't been there yet but I feel like I should. With or without Les Mis, this weekend is going to be a bit crazy; Andrew will be away Saturday night and I'm sleeping over Megan's after doing some hardcore Irish barhopping on the "Erin Express," a league of shuttle buses full of Irish drunks sporting their green, jumping bar to Irish bar. I don't yet know if my Mom will keep our matinee show plans or not. It depends on how Uncle Jimmy is doing tonight. I want to call Kevin up and tell him to jump on the Irish Express too. I think his dad would be there with us in spirit. But it is probably all a bit too heavy for him right now to be partying. So I'll wear my green and "represent," remembering the good old days when Kevin, Patrick and I crawled under Grandmom's dining room table playing Baby Giant Hamsters, the Clancy Brothers and the Dubliners blaring in our ears from the giant record player speakers, Uncle Jimmy laughing loudly over it all with a glass of good ol' Irish whiskey in his hand. I'm pretty sure my Grandmom, Pop-Pop, Aunt Flossie, Uncle Woody and Uncle Happy have their noses pressed up against heaven's window, waiting for him to join in their party.

friday has arrived

Here are two more photos taken this morning by the boy. The deck and patio are close to completion. We are only 5 days into the backyard renovation. It is amazing how fast our landscaping friend works.



The Daquiri Deck


The Pina Colada Patio

:)

That's all for now, I'll be back after lunch. Lots on my mind.

a short history of the exterior of the Hamilton Rookery

Once upon a time, not a long, long time ago, a girl and a boy bought a house on Cherry Lane. The house was built in 1927 and hadn't been occupied for over 2 years. It once belonged to a grumpy old Irish man and his family. The grumpy old man liked lots of plants growing wild on his property. He also liked to smoke cigars and had a fear of drafts. Many of the windows in the house were sealed shut, and thermometers could be found outside almost every window and door.



The boy and the girl, recently married, had looked at half a dozen other houses but none seemed to be "the one." But when they walked into this house one chilly Sunday afternoon in March, they fell instantly in love with the house's old charm. They put a bid on it that evening and within 3 weeks they moved in.



They had a lot of work ahead of them.

As Spring arrived the dormant plants on the lot began to sprout up all over. Daffodils poked up all around the property. Azalea bushes and Rhododendrons bloomed white and pink. But the front lawn took on a complete life of its own.



The boy and the girl watched with fright as the plants grew completely out of control. The hostas and ferns, grasses and hollies looked like they had been growing there since the age of the dinosaurs. Ivy creeped up the pillars of the porch and split into wood and stone. Pacisandra snuck into windows and gutters. What was at first sort of humourous began to be embarrassing. The boy and girl had to do something before their new house disappeared altogether.



One balmy midsummer morning the boy saw an old Irish man trimming hedges on someone else's lawn down the street. The boy offered the man a job: the complete tilling and resodding of the disappearing dinosaur lawn. The man agreed and within a few days there was a crew of 5 men working on the lawn in 95 degree heat, tearing and shredding up all but a few salvaged shrubs. By the end of the weekend the house could breathe again.



The boy and girl then got to work on the backyard which was not quite as daunting as the front had been. Many flowers already bloomed in their beds. The girl added hummingbird plants and birdfeeders to invite her feathered friends to share their home. The house almost seemed to smile.



The following fall, winter and summer were wonderfully beautiful and the boy and girl grew to really love their house. Particularly the outside (other problems brewed within, a story for another time). Two years later the boy and the girl felt that the house needed something more. They decided it was missing something important. They decided to look for a dog.

In their days of dog searching they agreed that a Beagle would be the pup of their dreams. But Beagles are known for their intelligence and their wayward instincts. Beagles love to sniff, follow, hunt, trail, and consequently often wander far away from their homes without noticing. A fence is very important to have for a Beagle. So they approached a friend who was a landscape architect to come up with a plan for a new picket fence.

The plan included a deck.



And a patio, which required some gravel and stones.



Two tons of stones at 9 in the morning.

The early March days were wet and soggy, and so became the once beautiful blooming backyard. The girl watched in silent horror as her beds of flowers quickly vanished into a mountain of mud.



And puddles.

But the plan also called for flowers, lots of flowers. Roses and hollies and black-eyed-susans, muscari and whatever else her heart desired. So she started to think of plants that she would like to offer her hummingbirds this year. It would be a very long list.

To be continued...

our puppy family tree

Our breeder recently sent the following photos of our puppy's expecting family members.

Here is our pregnanty mommy, Jenny. She is just 3 weeks away from whelping (delivery). Which explains her rather distressed disposition.


Jenny

One of my favorite new Beagle books explains the whole 16 weeks of Beagle pregnancy in just enough detail. As delivery day approaches the mother begins "nesting," gathering wood chips, blankets, whatever soft things she can to create a soft landing ground for her pups. She acts very nervous, pacing her birthing space, panting, whimpering, knowing the day is coming soon. Her motherly instincts are raging.

Here are the boys, romping around in their waiting room. Cute, aren't they?


Hank and Jack

Tomorrow I will post pictures of the home that our puppy is no doubt dreaming about right now while in utero. I'll take some pictures of the puppy's posh bed and accessories tonight.

Sweet dreams, little puppies.

Top 3 puppy names that we've actually agreed upon and have come to love and use in conversation on a daily basis:

1. Slinky
2. Donut
3. Lego

I've told Andrew that he can call the puppy Killer when the dog is older, as an inside-joke nickname, but nothing more. It's all good.

my creek house brings all the birds to the yard

You know I've been thinking since yesterday (yes, quite a long time) that I could quite possibly achieve many of the things in my previously mentioned "dream house by the sea" right in my little home by the creek. I mean, why not? I already have quite a few things going for me... the fireplace (yes, Bianca, that is very important), the waterfront property (even if it is a very humble stream on sunny days), big windows in the living room and dining room, some prettily painted rooms (in robin's egg blue, a greenish yellow, strawberry red) and we're in the process of having the backyard completely relandscaped before summer (for the dog). All I'll need to add is the tree house (may need to wait a while, but there's an oak tree with potential out there) and a replanting of hummingbird-friendly flowers. I have a major pillow deficiency as well, and as every comfort queen knows, pillows are essential.

My secret hiding place could be my studio room, which is pretty small and rather uncozy right now and needs major improvement. I have been trying to figure out what it needs besides some new paint and a fuzzy rug. A big overstuffed chair would be nice but I don't think it will fit, maybe a beanbag chair will have to do. It's an odd room with oddly sized things in it... my gigantic antique drafting table that I won on ebay, a big white bookcase original to the house, a black vintage child-size desk and a cute but uncomfortable white cafe chair, and a closet stuffed full with art supplies, photos, samples, toys, paper and my wedding gown preserved in a box. The bookcase is likewise packed to the gills with books, photos, cds, frames, penguins and stuff. Oh, and then there's my little Eastern Box Turtle whose mossy tank takes up almost the entire length of the white radiator cover's surface. He is hibernating right now. Doesn't do much when he's not hibernating either. The windows are shaded with Roman blinds to keep the weird neighbors from snooping... or rather, to protect my eyes from accidentally catching glimpses of the weird noosy neighbors in their weird black fruit-of-the-looms.

So there isn't much coziness going on and I need some, preferably inexpensively. Any ideas?

I'm planning on painting the walls in there somewhere between lavender and periwinkle, or maybe even both on different walls. Then some touches of teal like our exterior window trim. Right now the walls and ceiling are a completely boring shade of almond. I have one framed picture on the wall, a giant penguin poster signed by the photographer. I have other things to hang but wait for the painting to be done. Another item on the neverending to do list.

We have a very nice remodeled kitchen now for baking. It took a whole entire year for its completion but we're in the home stretch. The walls have been painted red and the molding is complete and the deck is being constructed outside the back door. Just today I was home at lunch and caught a glimpse at what will be our new brick patio (surrounded by puddly mud). The deck and patio will essentially extend our eating and entertaining areas outdoors and consequently double our summer partying capacity. I cannot, can not wait to serve margaritas and pina coladas and daquiris outside in the warm air, creekside. We'll need some patio furniture and a big umbrella. Ducks quacking, hummingbirds humming, puppy dog howling, chickadees chickadeeing... The white picket fence will be lined with pink roses and purple sages and I plan on purchasing a big white martin house for the purple martins that so kindly catch mosquitos and other ickies that the creek attracts. The bats are welcome too... maybe I'll sneak a bat house out there somewhere. Andrew is afraid of bats, but not me. Love 'em. Ah, and I have to remember a pussywillow shrub (thanks Melanie). Never had one. Need one. Need to pet the branches. Niiiiice pussycat branches. None in my nose, thank you.

Ok, look how much happier I am in my musings today. Well you know it is Tuesday. One day better than Monday. At this rate I'll be all sh*ts and giggles by Friday.

And your comments have helped too. :)

Gee, yesterday's post was long winded.

You're right, I do sound depressed. I didn't see it in myself until today, rereading yesterday's post which is riddled with token expressions of depression. Being in the office today does not help. I will never be free to enjoy my life as long as I continue to waste 50 hours of it in this place week after week. All the anti-depressants in the world can't change that.

So the prospect of being flown outta here is a bittersweet mental escape. It would be more exciting were it a more "Kate" locale, such as a beach front office space in New England, Florida, California, Washington State, Vancouver... even a Great Lake front location. But there are rivers, streams and lakes in Minnesota. How desperate am I? That is the question.

What bare minimums and negative situations am I willing to accept or tolerate year after year before I realize that bare minimums are not long term solutions and resort to unhealthy forms of escape? What is my truely ideal place? What do I want out of life? I mean, I only get one. One that I know of. So why waste it doing half-ass things, constantly running away from the previous waste of time and energy, only to realize that I'm stuck in a new one, just packaged a little differently?

Ok. So let's paint a picture. Snowbird, I need your assistance. Ready?

"Ready."

Ok. If you could live anywhere right now, where would it be?

"On the beach."

If you could work anywhere right now, where would it be?

"At home. On the beach."

And what would you be doing?

"Drawing, painting, making a mess. Cutting out pictures and making collages. Making fun websites. Making birthday cards. Jumping rope. Playing with my doggie. Chasing waves. Taking a nap. Drawing a picture of the beach with me in it, happy."

What would your house look like?

"Pink and blue and purple and periwinkle and really really pretty. Lots of flowers and birdhouses and hummingbirds and a secret hiding place. A tree to climb and maybe some grape vines on an arbor. Like a house you would see in a picture book.

"There would be gigantuan windows that looked out onto the ocean. There would be big, soft pillows to sit on and read a book. There would be skylights and open lofty spaces and a big third floor that was meant to make messes in and be alone in. There would be music playing and a fireplace and a spot to sit with my dog and sing him songs. There would be a great big kitchen to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies and chocolate milk and pancakes. There would be a big king canopy bed with light, gauzy curtains falling all around like a princess would have. And it would all be really, really cozy."

Wow. That sounds wonderful. Tell me something. How are we going to afford this? How do you think we are going to get there while we are still working at this stupid day job? Do you think that the boss wants to see me have any of this? Is it in his best interest to make us happy? No. The answer is no. It won't work.

"Stop yelling at me and do something about it! It's not my fault."

Oh God, I'm sorry. I'm not getting anywhere taking this out on myself.

So let's try an exercise that Julia Cameron suggests for acquiring one's dream. Let's post a picture of our dream house somewhere that we'll see it every day to remind us of our goal. Let's meditate on it and believe that we can do it.



Why do I feel like Gollum when I talk to Snowbird? I guess Snowbird would be my Smeagol. In fact, while watching the Lord of the Rings series, I often nudged my husband during Gollum's monologues saying, "Look! That's me. That's me."

P.S. If I haven't been very present in emails lately, I promise I'll catch up soon. I still love all my emails. :)
P.P.S. Here's those LOTR links in case they didn't work above...
Gollum: http://www.geocities.com/wraithofsauron7/NOThatwouldKillUs.wav
and Smeagol: http://us.share.geocities.com/wraithofsauron5/SmeagolisFree.wav
They work when you copy and paste the address in a new window.

confessions of a mucous membrane

It is now my 7th day of sickness. I haven't been sick for this long a stretch in years. Last week was hell at work, and as a result I went in very late on Friday and came home early, completing a project from the comforts of my own studio. Nice, but not. It makes it seem so weird to be drawing something at home for someone else's profit. But whatever. Friday night was very low key, as was Saturday, and Saturday night was a beef and beer for a worthy cause. I wasn't a hundred percent Kate so it was a mediocre night. Today I was very unwilling to do anything whatsoever, but the in-laws (with grandparents) wanted to come over and see our newly painted kitchen and the beginnings of our new deck. We then went out to dinner (for free--yay!) at an Irish pub where I had fish 'n chips, mush, and a brownie sundae. So I do feel better right now than I have all week, but then there's the overshadowing fact that it is Sunday, and tomorrow is, alas, Monday.

Now, I know I was pretty dramatic and vague about certain things last week, and I am not going into true detail until I get more info. But the conversation came up at dinner tonight, and my mother-in-law was not happy when we started asking if father-in-law had ever been to Minnesota. Indeed he had and he had a pretty humorous impression of it. Mother-in-law changed the subject a few times in the sweetest ways she could (she is very sweet) because suddenly there is a remote possibility that I would wisp her 3rd son away far away from here for a somewhat interesting job opportunity. Now, this is not something I would ever consider if I were happier at the current day job. But relocating for a solidly better, career-building, important-sounding day job does have some alluring details... but also presents a double standard. I couldn't commit myself to such a move without sacrificing my Dream, could I? I mean, picking up your newly rooted life in your newly rennovated home with your newly puppy-to-be and newlywed husband is like--a Big Move. Guaranteed to be very life-consuming for months and months to follow. So it had better be worth it. Right? I mean, goDAMN it better be worth alot of g's. And alot of joy.

But see, I can't get more detailed about this yet because it is all so tentative right now. Like, I could get an email tomorrow that says, "nevermind, we're not interested, bad call. Sorry." So no reason to get all worked up in pipe dreams of fancy job titles, sign-on bonuses and give-me-waterfront-property-on-a-wildlife-reserve-with-lots-of-bears-and-moose-and-i-might-consider-your-wee-little-offer-because-that's-how-good-i-am-dammit rehearsals in front of the mirror. No need to get all worked up. No need. Don't want to warm up to the idea only to have it squooshed. Don't want to convince myself that I lived in Minneapolis in a former life only to find out that I have no reason to go there. And definitely don't want to fantasize about my last day at my current day job with a big dramatic once-in-a-lifetime exit stage right. So we'll just wait for an email or two and then I'll tell you more. And then we'll fantasize.

Ok, I've already said more than I planned to. I forgot to mention that I had two glasses of Pinot Grigio at dinner. In conjunction with some DayQuil earlier on. Oh bother.

What I was going to post about were the following things:

A. I had some pretty vivid dreams last night. The most vivid, painful one being where I had to go back to high school (the awful recurring nightmare) and this time I did find my locker with no problem. The catch was, I forgot to get dressed that day. In fact I was completely naked. Walking around school. Catholic, all girls lots of nuns school. Cupping my hands as a makeshift bra as if then no one would notice my nakedness. Walking into the administrative office to fill out a form confirming my change of address and my new married name. Freaky deaky. And no one really seemed to care that I was bare except for me.

B. I have noticed that my self-care in the physical department has been severely lacking. This inspired a mental list as I was cleaning the house today in preparation for the in-law visit:

Signs that you have been severely lacking in the physical self-care department.
1. Your toenails are longer than your fingernails.
2. Your leg hairs are longer than your toenails.
3. Is that a nose hair? Naaah...
4. You can't zip your favorite knee-high boots past your ankle. And the 4 year old knee-high boots desperately need new soles.
5. Split ends.
6. You have moved onto your emergency reserve of beauty products, such as last summer's heavy SPF 48 moisturizer in lieu of your favorite $40 dermatologist recommended moisturizer that feels light as air and smells like heaven.
7. Wait, back to the toenails... did I paint them that horrid shade of... yyyellow?
8. You have taught yourself to chew with the good side of your mouth.
9. Using the husband's shampoo and hair gel and learning to ignore your accompanying husband scent.
10. Might as well start wearing his clothes too because mine sure as hell don't fit like they used to. Is that my tummy?

I have been getting by on the bare minimum of health and beauty practices and it is starting to hurt, mentally and physically. Of course I have been sick so I can't really count the past 7 days, but it goes far past that. Once I got my last highlight touch-up and haircut (first week of January) I just let it all go. Part of it is strictly budget-oriented. The other 75% is a growing feeling of apathy towards things that I used to care more about. I don't know if they were important things or not, but right now I am feeling like a little Polish slug. I need a day at the spa. That, an extreme makeover, or a few queer eyes.

Public Wish for the Week: an unexpected opportunity for a free, decadent spa visit and an unlimited shopping spree.

no gnus is good gnus

Alright alright I guess that wasn't very fair, being so vague for my loyal friends yesterday. Unfortunately I still can't get into details. What I can say is this: I may be nearing a career crossroads. It is a very dangerous intersection. Judging from here it looks like one sign says, "Take 1000 giant steps to Minnesota," and the other says, "Stop! Do not pass go, do not collect $200." Right before me stands a road barrier reading "Under Construction." Wha??? I've always hated Monopoly. I suck at it. I also hate taking giant steps. I will probably be able to talk about it more next week. I'm sorry. Please don't be disappointed. Do not visit every 3 minutes looking for an update. Well I mean you are welcome to, I just think it might get boring after a while.

Speaking of not speaking, I've lost my voice. That little Tabasco monkey ball I had in my throat on Monday has gone crazy. When I cough it burns inside my lungs. I should have called out sick all week. But I am starting to get ultra paranoid at work. I don't know why. I mean I guess I do, it is most likely due to my daily doses of ultra paranoid people. It is definitely a contagious disorder.

Tomorrow is Friday and that is a good thing.

I'm running out of things to say.

Nothing seems quite important enough in the current context. Plus I am dozing in and out of a sleepy state at my desk. The murmur of office machinery numbs my mind like a satanic lullaby. Zzzzzzzzzzz...

where was i?

A very, very, very strange day.

Ever get an email that completely makes you evaluate where you are, what you're doing, where you are going? What is your goal? Why are you doing this and not that? Have you never thought of this?

I got one of those emails yesterday, and a follow-up phone call today, and now I am completely in a daze. Like, woah, did that just happen? Might my life as I know it completely change? Do I want it to change? Am I ready? Is it right?

It is hard to write coherently since I am so deep inside my own head. I don't want to get into details, it is too soon. I don't think I want advice from anyone. Not yet. I think I have to figure this one out on my own.

One thing I would like to know--does anyone know anything about life in Minnesota?

Crikey.

blossom of snow may you bloom and grow

Another weekend come and gone, and I am in my usual solemn Monday mood. I would put more effort into a happy mood today but my sore throat won't allow it. It seems like every Monday now I have some sort of ailment. Last week it was more of a "ladies days" ailment, the week before it was a stomach achy thing, and the previous to that I had a sore throat. The ailments usually start on Sunday and last through Tuesday. I hope this one goes away tomorrow. I feel like I have a golf ball covered in Tabasco stuck back there... how yummy.

March promises to be a very eventful month for the Hamiltons. We have a wedding in Long Island with all the traditional pre-parties and events (great excuses for a trip or two to Anthropologie!). My friend Megan has scored a great freelance client for the me to begin to impress, plus I must finish a new identity and website for a friend who is bartering landscape architecture services with me and Andrew. Which brings us back to the puppy story--my landscaping friend will install a picket fence, a deck and patio, and a little seating area at the back of our property overlooking the creek under a little arbor. Maybe not all at once but most definitely the fence will come first, designed to keep my future Beagle safe. Our breeder has stated that one of her b*tches is indeed pregnant and expecting a litter in late March. That's coming up quick! We will be able to visit and pick out a pup at the end of April to bring home in May. It seems like forever but it really is not far away.

I am also working on my website, a big project and unfortunately pushed back a little on my list of priorities. Paying jobs with deadlines always must come first. Especially when my dream goals rely so heavily on my income. At the same time, my website with any luck will generate its own income, but probably not quickly enough. I am also struggling to design a new logo for myself. It is very, very difficult for me to figure out a sum of all my services; a branded image of myself. I can do it for anyone else with much enthusiasm, but for me it is a more complicated story. I don't know how to say, "I am an illustrator who loves penguins, children's books, toys and home decor, birdwatching and nature plus I can design just about anything else I put my mind to, from magazine ads to CD covers," in one small logo. How do I communicate my diversity as an artist without looking like I'm scatterbrained and unfocused? Do I need a seperate logo for every kind of work I do? It is hard to conceive something new when it is all so close to me. Maybe I need to design my logo around who I really want to be?

That's alot for March but there is still more, comfortably unfolding in baby steps. Much like the Daffodils quietly peek their little green spears an inch above ground in my brown garden, I wait for the dangers of frost and snow to pass before I can place all of my positive energy into blooming and growing.

Here's to the promise of greener days ahead! (There now, that's better, Snowbird.)

Flower Sketches ©2004 Catherine Erin Hamilton. Pencil on watercolor paper, digitally colorized.