Tag Archives: creativity

Boot Camp!

Snowy days, reflections & free time

yield memories of things outgrown

SusanCaba
The Resale Evangelista

Housebound by snowstorm Stella and disinclined to wield a shovel against the cold confection piled like meringue across her driveway, poet Sarah Freligh chose, instead, to fight the weather with words.

She challenged fellow writers on Facebook to a Snow Day Boot Camp: “Make a list of things you’ve outgrown,” she wrote. “Start with concrete objects like jeans, bras, and pencil skirts, then move to the more abstract—mean friends, bad habits, worrying about how your hair looks in Wegmans. Then write a poem/flash fiction or nonfiction that follows your list—what you’ve outgrown, what you can feel yourself outgrowing.”

To add aerobic intensity, Sarah set a deadline—30 minutes. Other than shoveling snow, there’s nothing like a deadline to get the heart pounding.

The challenge—things you’ve outgrown or are outgrowing—was a natural for Resale Evangelista. We’re all about simplifying and clarifying to create a more artful life. Most of the time, that means recognizing what is no longer needed and throwing it overboard. Sounds simple, but it’s not.

Little girls across the ages experience First Communion

The author and her mother, each after their First Communion, 50 years apart.

I tuned in late, so had nothing to contribute. But many others did, and the results were striking—fond farewells to everything from patent leather First Communion shoes to grateful goodbyes to the miseries of youth, like this from Julie Mellen Damerell:

submerged in snow, remembering
white patent leather shoes I wore for my First Communion
the day Grandma gave me the gold watch I lost in a year

that tan and white shift with matching coat I wore to Easter mass
not knowing Grandma’s money would not buy Sunday dress again

those three-inch heels I wore to prom and the sprained ankle

red and white checked bell bottoms I sweated in at the pool party
too embarrassed by my thirteen year old body in a bathing suit

buried in all that white, fear that I would not have a thirteen-yea old body
or hope that heels, a matching coat, or bell bottoms would make me
good enough

Outgrowing the angst as well as the ankle socks

Sarah Freligh is the award-winning author of two books of poetry, Sort of Gone (2008, Turning Point Books) and Sad Math (2015, Moon City Press), winner of—among other accolades—the 2015 Moon City Poetry Award. She’s a former sportswriter and colleague of mine at the Philadelphia Inquirer, now teaching creative writing at St. John Fisher College in Rochester, N.Y.—a city which is always a contender in the annual ranking of snowiest U.S. cities. One learns that the necessities of life in Rochester include lap-cats, wine or hot chocolate (depending on whether it’s before noon or not), and something to keep the mind from slipping into a snow-glare  daze. Hence, Sarah’s impromptu Boot Camp for writers. She was feeling magnanimous, so she extended the usual 12 minutes to a full half-hour.

The great thing about this snow day concept—Things I’ve Outgrown—is its acknowledgment of emotional as well as physical mementos of the past. The parallels to editing our surroundings are inescapable. There are emotional costs and benefits—sometimes both—when you decide, or are forced, to pitch a bit of history: furniture imbued with fond memories, valued or valuable detritus from failed relationships, books associated with a certain time of life, a treasured tidbit from childhood.

Poet Jessica Cuello, author of Pricking (2016, Tiger Bark Press) and Hunt, winner of the 2016 Washington Prize from The Word Works (as well as other prizes, awards and fellowships), captured that mix of things and emotions lost or outgrown, starting from childhood.

Little Lulu with the stitches
where my brother bit her foot off,
the banana seat bike.
The Little Nutshell Library: “There once was a boy
named Pierre who only would say I don’t care.”
The key to the 4th grade diary. The diary.
The cut out obituaries.
The track ribbons. The letters
back and forth where I lost my best friend (No,
not those yet.) The journals from each year—
shame written in them.
The nursing pump, The Boppy, the kids’ art pieces
that must be thrown out secretly.
My appendix, mole on my breast,
my windpipe, esophagus,
left hand from grading, dinner with my mother,
mortgage, teaching roster,
responsibilities, body.

 Speed-writing lets hidden feelings leak

One of my favorite quotes (not to mention one of the few I can remember) is from Douglas Adams, author of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Universe:  “I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.” I bring it up because, as I said, I appreciate the forced-march nature of a deadline. You have to think fast, but not too deep. Paradoxically, the speed sometimes uncovers a thought or feeling you couldn’t capture if you were thinking too much or too long. There’s always time to refine later.

This may sound crazy, but you could take the same approach to your linen closet or tee-shirt drawer. Fifteen minutes, no stopping to consider whether the excess towels should be saved for summer beach visits, or if the shirt from the first Rolling Stones retirement tour really is a piece of history. Pitch it, move on. Unlike the snow day writing assignment, you could have a buddy on hand to intervene when you hesitate over the well-worn baseball cap that reminds you of your first love.

Another striking thing about the flash-art that came out of the Snow Day Boot Camp is the sense of place and time evoked by the writers. Sarah Cedeño has lived in Brockport, N.Y., her whole life. She described her childhood in an interview with the Missouri Review: “I spent a lot of time in my parents’ back yard growing up, digging up potato bugs and playing with poisonous berries.  We didn’t vacation.  I didn’t do summer camp.  I made friends with two girls who went to the church across the street from my parents’ house when I got bored of my best friend, who lived next door.”

I so remember that kind of childhood. I don’t know how she managed, in 30 minutes, to convey both the placid beauty of that small town life and the occasional frustrating limitations, in this, her Boot Camp memory:

I’d outgrown my childhood playhouse years before. I watched it dismantled when I was in college: my father, with a hammer, while my cousin’s husband and his twin daughters watched, ready to rebuild in their own yard. Me, I was up the hill at the kitchen window—counting it all: the plywood, the shingles, the sign that said “Sarah’s Place” in rainbow font, the rainbow font like a fantasy.

I’ve outgrown a toy chest I used to hide in on the front porch with Hulk Hogan and Godzilla, Barbie and Gumby, the crayons I wrote my name with above our doorbell, that humid, screened-in space between home and not. And my sister’s hand-me-downs, shrunken and pale with too many washings. Wine coolers in flavors like raspberry dazzle and chillin’ cherry. I’ve outgrown beer that isn’t pretentious.

I’ve outgrown straightening my hair on the regular, dying my hair lighter or darker or red, fingernail polish in any shade. I’ve outgrown time like I have (outgrown)  four identical pairs of leather boots and about a million dreams, I’ve outgrown silence and a well-placed smile over my open mouth.

My skin has become tight, and whoever said you grow into yourself is full of shit— I grew through my own skin, and some mornings I want to rip and run out of it, but the sidewalks are too short and the road too long.

I didn’t start out to compare the process of a writing boot camp with the process of simplifying and clarifying life through the act of decluttering or downsizing—I thought this post would be all about the content. But it seems a natural fit. And I’m not the only one who noticed. One of the last comments on Sarah’s FB post came from Barbara Hammon.

“OMG!!,” she wrote. “I’m too late to play, but only because I was cleaning out my pantry and disposing of homemade pickles from ’02, cans of soup my past boyfriend bought (I don’t eat canned soup and he’s been gone almost 3 years), and multiple unrecognizable stuff. My pantry is cleaned and reorganized and ready to face the next decade. One room at a time.”

“So,” Sarah replied. “You did do the prompt.”

The Resale Evangelista is simplifying, clarifying and trying to live a more artful life. That often requires recognizing what you’ve outgrown and need to pitch, to make room for something else–maybe even just space! I’d love to hear what you’ve decided you’ve outgrown. Or maybe there’s something you suspect you may never outgrow? 

DIY bathroom morphs from drab to bright

Creativity transforms gray days & beige bathroom

By Susan Caba
The Resale Evangelista

The half-bath was serviceable but ugly, tucked as it was into a former closet and cloaked in beige from linoleum floor to slanted ceiling. My spirits suffered from the same condition, the comedown from my son’s wedding, a scarcity of work and congestive car failure.

The bathroom needed to be tackled–not to mention, spackled.

20161120_162918

The too-beige half-bath

The Lowe’s team came in and installed a new  floor, in a pattern woven of gray, black and white ceramic tiles. They took away the yellow toilet (with a cushioned seat, no less) and hung a tiny sink. The rest, dear readers, was up to me and my sidekick, homeowner and slave-driver Susan Rowe.

Now, this would seem to be a post about faux painting and DIY bathroom decoration. And it is, on one level. But it occurred to me, when the project was complete, that it’s also about the restorative power of creativity to lift the spirit when times are bleak. More about that in a little bit. Now back to the bathroom project.

I wrested the old toilet paper holder off the wall, crumbling some of the plaster down to the lath. No amount of patching and spackling–at least no amount I was willing to undertake–would smooth away the age lines of the roughened walls. And there was a lot of wall for such a small space, just 3 feet wide and 8 feet deep, with tall ceilings. The walls were divided horizontally by a chair rail.

We decided on a gray for the lower half of the walls. The Lowe’s guy, a former painter, suggested “Popular Gray” or “Amazing Gray” by Sherwin Williams. You gotta love those names, so easy to remember. Going for a classic color combo, we agreed on sunshine-y yellow for the upper walls and bright white for the trim.

But what about those wall scars, especially on the lower half? And gray? With 32 square feet of wall space on each side, the result could resemble a dimly lit air raid shelter. The solution popped into my head as I fell asleep that night—texture, we needed texture. That would break up the expansiveness of the walls and hide the roughness.

snr-bathroom-sponge-detail

Is this an improvement? Maybe not!

Susan and I decided to single-handedly revive the apparently dying trend of faux painting. (We assume it’s a dying art because the clerk at the Sherwin Williams store tartly informed us that “We don’t do faux painting,” when we inquired about supplies. And even Lowe’s didn’t have the array of sponges and glazes that were typical until recently.)

We eschewed professional tools and made do with Saran Wrap for the sponging and regular eggshell latex paint for the surface color. (I won’t go into technique—check YouTube here and especially here for better instructions than I could give—but don’t use cling wrap. It goes limp too quickly.) We also decided against shades of gray (50 or otherwise) for the colors—too cold, too monotonous. We chose light putty, a medium green, a dark gravel color and the yellow from the upper half.

A day later, the lower walls resembled camouflage. Even after patting on the final layer of green, I had serious doubts about the outcome. The undercoats didn’t seem to be showing through the top layer—“We should have used glaze,” I thought. Susan, though, was enthusiastic. “It looks like expensive wallpaper,” she declared. (Susan is from Georgia, she’s entitled to “declare.”) When the top coat dried, I saw she was right—the layers beneath peeked through just enough to look like distressed  plaster.

The trim went quickly. The mirror was hung, the new toilet paper holder attached, towels and artwork went up and—voila—the ugly half-bath had morphed into a cheery little jewel box. Susan and I took turns exclaiming how great it looked. The best reaction came later, when her twenty-something son—unaware of our efforts—opened the door. From the kitchen, we heard “Whoa! What happened here?” Oh no, something must have fallen!  But he was just taken aback by the transformation. His “whoa!” was high praise from someone not often inclined to offer effusive praise.

20161122_141055

Transformation complete!

The real value to me occurred a few mornings later, when I woke up feeling blue about a lack of work and worried about the slow expiration of my faithful Subaru. My psyche was a pastiche of Popular Gray and Amazing Gray, streaked with shades of Charcoal. The world was not a sunny place for someone as untalented and powerless as I felt.

But then I thought about the bathroom. It came out pretty near perfect, because I focused on making it so. That’s what Resale Evangelista is about—creating beauty and value, even when resources are slim. I got out of bed with a little more faith in my creativity.

Ah-ha, I thought, so that’s what hobbies can be about—exercising the creativity muscle for the sole pleasure of accomplishment. That’s a thought I’m going to remember, and put into operation more often and not just when I need to chase away the gray and beige.

The Resale Evangelista is simplifying, clarifying and trying to live a more artful life. Sometimes that requires cutting through the fog to see the light behind the clouds. 

 

The “good enough” DIY garage and garden renovation

Perfection: A worthy goal…sometimes

Perfection: A worthy goal...sometimes

By Susan Caba
The Resale Evangelista

Work on my friend Susan’s garden and garage is almost finished. The garage is painted, the shade garden is an oasis of hostas and ferns, the yews are lacy shadows of their former selves, while new azaleas, rhododendron and hydrangeas are positioned to put down roots.

The result is a 1,000-percent improvement, a restful environment under the spreading limbs of a maple tree. But it is by no means perfect–and we didn’t aim for perfection. This is a garden project accomplished within the limits of time, energy, money and ambition of two working women of a certain age.

It’s the good-enough garden restoration, which fits into my philosophy of incremental improvement. Sure, we could have gone for perfection. If we had, we probably would never have gotten started, let alone finished.

An Imperfect--but

We painted Susan’s garage a mossy blue-green, to complement the shade garden to the right.

This isn’t a philosophy that comes to me naturally. Incremental improvement, in this case in the garden, means waiting until next year for the hostas and ferns–dug from the gardens of friends and neighbors–to reach their full potential. A good-enough paint job meant we didn’t reset every popped nail in the garage siding.

Ambersand Before

I have friends who are true craftsmen when it comes to building projects, gardening or handiwork. They might be appalled by the unfilled nail holes or the fact that we planted the hostas in the middle of July, rather than in spring or fall. My thought is, you gotta start somewhere. I’ve never painted a garage before–next time, I’ll probably get it done with a little more finesse.

I’m not saying you should do a sloppy job–some corners shouldn’t be cut, no matter what the task. Be realistic about your resources, then accomplish what you can within those limits.

So, if there’s something you’re waiting to do until you can “do it right,” consider plunging in and doing a good enough job for the time being. You can always go back and make it better.

The good-enough garage paint job

The garage before a good-enough paint job.

The Resale Evangelista is dedicated to simplifying, clarifying and creating a more artful life. Sometimes that means going for what works for the moment and planning to circle back later for more improvements. Just because you can’t have it all doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have some of it–whatever “it” is!



Saving “brown furniture”

Don’t hold back–color it bright!

Susan Caba
Resale Evangelista

painted furniture, red paintA formerly ugly wooden dresser, now glitzy red

Thrift shops and resale stores are filled with solid wood furniture, most of it brown.

Brown as in natural wood, often with fairly glossy finishes. I’ve never looked at the potential for painting this furniture and therefore bringing it up to date, for two reasons.

painted wood furnitureFirst, I started buying furniture in the Eighties, a time when original finishes were sacrosanct. You just didn’t paint golden oak or walnut or mahogany. Second, I thought painting these finished pieces would be a pain–that they had to be sanded or scuffed up in order to take the paint.

Well, I was wrong. I still wouldn’t paint a beautiful piece of golden oak or walnut or cherry. But you know, a lot of the furniture from the second half of the last century is so boring, not to mention ugly. And any life to the wood is buried beneath the finish–it’s depressing.

Recently, I’ve seen several pieces of this type of furniture painted in rich colors. It looks great. And I’ve learned it’s not that big a deal to prepare the surfaces for painting, even if they are somewhat glossy.

That brown dresser in the photo? It’s the same one pictured at the top of this post, painted a glamorous, glossy red. I found it on TheResplendentCrow.com, where Sucheta gives tips on turning ugly, boring brown furniture into pieces to be proud of. For example, she used Tulip Red by Fine Paints of Europe to get this gorgeous, rich red with a high shine. Generally, she said, “it takes 13 million coats of red paint” to achieve that finish. This job took only two coats of the Tulip Red.

“Red pigment is very transparent. Not only that, red also tends to be very dull, lackluster, meh…you get my point,” she says. “I won’t be exaggerating if I said this is the most vibrant red I have gotten my hands on.”

painted wood furnitureAs for sanding and other preparation for painting previously unpainted furniture, there are plenty of websites offering advice. They tend to be of two schools.

Traditionalists argue for thoroughly sanding the furniture before painting. Modernists (in my view) say that isn’t necessary–a coat of Kilz or primer should make the finish coat adhere just fine. If you want a flat finish, you can either use “chalk” paint, or just regular flat paint.

Ipainted desk‘m not going to offer any particular advice, since I don’t have much experience. Check out these sites or others. LiveLoveDIY.com or CentsationalGirl.com.

What I will say is: Go for it! Glamorize a desk, a dresser or a bookshelf. Change the hardware, add legs or take ’em off. Follow Sucheta’s lead: Transform that ugly brown furniture and make it yours. The world will thank you.

The Resale Evangelista is dedicated to simplifying, clarifying and creating a more artful life by getting rid of stuff she doesn’t need and making the rest more useful and beautiful.

The artful life has its complexities

“Simplicity is the most difficult thing to secure in this world; it is the last limit of experience and the last effort of genius.”

George Sand

By Mike Hess

I have a very slight headache.

Yesterday it would have been from trying to solder a brass light switch knob on the back of a Malaysian coin for use as a sealing wax stamp. The torch would not operate well and the combination of burning flux, asbestos siding, fiberglass mat and—despite all this protection I put down—the laminate counter top, made a haze that I happily left for 7 hours.

Today, it’s possible that the fumes from the acetone are at fault even though I did the bulk of the cleaning of the torch tips outside. There will be more acetone to clean the goo off the big wood bowl I bought.

Acetone is not a friendly solvent. Goes right through one’s skin, I’m pretty sure, like DMSO. Certainly it dissolved the plastic of the torch handle. That surprised me. Yesterday I wore gloves (though acetone will dissolve nitrile gloves, I discovered). Today I just planned on not touching acetone, but the dissolved handle ended up on my fingers and no amount of soap will remove the black splotches. I suppose I could clean them off with acetone…

The Fresnel lens is the coolest thing. Every broken projection TV has one. Not to mention a huge trapezoid front surface mirror.

I cut up a stainless steel bed frame. Those parts are ready to be cut to length for the frame I’m building for a Fresnel lens. Perhaps I will put a metal cutting blade on the band saw in my living room. The Eastlake hall tree is completely reassembled after the disassembly of moving it from Seattle. Well, the disassembly caused by the gardening tools landing on it during the move from Seattle. The Eastlake dresser is close to being done. I need to reinforce the candle shelf where the screw head pulled straight through.

The Resale Evangelista tells me all this sounds like “simplifying and focusing to make a more artful life.” Artful perhaps, but believe me, if you were here just now, simplified is not the word that would come to mind. I am encouraged that for the most part, I follow through on all these projects. Right now I’m about to measure the oak from a headboard to build the case of a Jacob’s Ladder I made.

Things that have lost their utility are encumbrances. No need to mourn their loss—they are literally more trouble than they’re worth.

Every once in awhile, I find I’m holding on to a thing or have a fix that’s been stalled mid-operation for a long time. Over by the kitchen door are the remains of a floor lamp someone offered up by the dumpster of an apartment building. Turns out the only part left undamaged on it is the part I hopelessly bent on my own. Instead of the excitement of something for nothing or making an improvement, it’s become an annoyance—a visual and mental stumbling block, the drag on emotion of a thing unfinished. Worse it may become invisible to me.

I always wanted a roll-top desk, but the one I bought needed help here and there. I fixed a drawer and a pigeon hole, but the roll never did work properly and it bugged me every time I opened it.  Got rid of that desk and I never wanted another.

Usually, I’m able to introduce these materials to the dumpster myself, either on the sunny corner on the outside, or into the dark interior. I’ve a motto that if you can’t find it, it’s not doing you any good. Things that have lost their utility are encumbrances. No need to mourn their loss—they are literally more trouble than they’re worth.

Mike Hess is my go-to friend for anything technical, for pithy quotes, opinions on dust, movie recommendations and weird words, like chingadera. Look it up.

Small town haven just up the road a bit…

Tiny town of Hillsborough attracts writers

Susan Caba
Resale Evangelista

The Wooden Nickel Pub is a cozy gathering place with a killer Kobe hamburger, garlic fries that will keep vampires (and probably others) at bay for weeks on end, and a menu of locally crafted beers to please any aficionado. I  keep meaning to try some of the other restaurants on Hillsborough’s main street but the Kobe burger usually proves irresistible.

The Nickel is just one of the attractions of Hillsborough, a tiny burg about 10 miles from my abode near Chapel Hill. I’m also fond of the Dual Supply Company, the old-fashioned hardware store around the corner from the pub. In late summer, locally grown tomatoes for $1 a pound filled bushel baskets outside the door. In the fall, the tomatoes were replaced by local apples.

Over the past year, I’ve realized that community is essential to living a focused and artful life. That sense of community is one of Hillsborough’s main attractions.

Hillsborough is no sleepy little town, though it has a population of only about 6,000. The town was featured earlier this year on the front of the Wall Street Journal, in an article touting Hillsborough as America’s Little Literary Town.” About two dozen well-known writers live there, including Frances Mayes, author of “Under the Tuscan Sun.”

Why so many writers? Novelist Allan Gurganus told the WSJ it’s the welcoming community.

“Community is such that you start buying band candy from people and you hire kids to cut your grass and neighbors bring you pies. Before you know it, you’re pulled into the life of the community and it’s magical that way.”

There’s a coffee shop across from the hardware store, Cup A Joe, which is the gathering place for the local writers. However, they gather there at 6:30 in the morning, so I doubt I’ll ever see them! They have killer salted chocolate chip cookies, a good incentive for sitting there and writing.

I can’t talk about the friendliness of the town without mentioning the Saratoga Grill, a second-story restaurant on the main drag. A friend and I stopped there at 3 p.m. one afternoon, just when owner Kevin St. John was closing to get ready for the dinner shift. The dining room was empty.

“Come on in,” he said. “I’m sure I can find something for you! I don’t like to turn anyone away.”

Hillsborough is a leading finalist to be named Budget Travel’s “Coolest Small Town” in 2015. The town has already taken home the awards for “Great Main Street,” “Best Literary Small Town” and a “Distinctive Destination.” The town has a rich history, stretching back before the Revolutionary war. You can read about it at Matt Barrett’s North Carolina Travels.

If you get to Hillsborough before the end of April, look for me at the Wooden Nickel–I’ll be the one scarfing down a Kobe burger.

The Resale Evangelista is dedicated to simplifying, clarifying and creating a more artful life.

Reinventing Self

Joy of Life

Joy of Life

“There is no answer. Pursue it lovingly.”

SusanCaba
Resale Evangelista

I just placed an order with Amazon. Within two business days, I will receive these items:

  • The 10-Day Green Smoothie Diet, which promises me clearer eyes, more energy, dewier skin, reduced cravings and improved intestinal health within 10 days–not to mention a substantial weight loss.
  • Hardwiring Happiness: The New Brain Science of Contentment, Calm and Confidence. The benefits are spelled out right in the title.
  • Meditations to Change Your Brain, a 3-CD set of instructions for implementing the lessons of Hardwiring Happiness. When I’m finished listening, I will have mastered specific practices for making positive changes in my body and mind, strengthened my meditative abilities, and healed and nourished my relationships. I will have increased my capacity for joy, love and spiritual bliss.

In 10 days (all right, maybe as long as two weeks), I will be able to report that I am dewier, more blissful, slimmer and living with a newly energized sense of serenity. The cost? A mere $55, with free shipping.

I am a sucker for self-help books. When it comes to self-improvement, I want a road map–a guide, a course or a workbook–to get me to my goal of the moment.

My current project is to redefine myself, to myself. That’s a pretty fuzzy aspiration. The parameters are still evolving. As I wrote in a post last week, I didn’t start with a clearly articulated goal other than discovering a permanent place to live. But my thoughts are starting to gel along the lines of creating a sense of belonging for myself.

So I sold my house in St. Louis and embarked on a year of serial house sitting. In the course of this odyssey of restlessness, I would “change my story, change my brain and change my life.” But how? I needed a workbook, which is why I turned to Amazon.

(I would have gone to an independent bookstore, because Amazon is currently holding its own customers hostage as pawns in a business battle with the Hachette Book group. But I had an Amazon gift card. So much for values.)

As it happens, one of my favorite websites–BrainPickings.org–led with an article this week titled: The Psychology of Your Future Self and How Your Present Illusions Hinder Your Future Happiness, about a Ted Talk by Harvard psychologist Daniel Gilbert. He’s the author of the 2006 book “Stumbling on Happiness.”

In his Ted Talk, Gilbert says: “Human beings are works in progress that mistakenly think they’re finished. The person you are right now is as transient, as fleeting and as temporary as all the people you’re ever been. The one constant in our lives is change.”

By following links on the page, I came to Maria Popova’s list of 7 Essential Books on the Art and Science of Happiness. The me of grandiose ambitions would announce a study group that would read these books to glean their wisdom. Ain’t gonna happen–that much I know. But even just reading the synopsis of each book raised interesting, difficult questions about our sense of self and happiness.

There are TED Talks embedded in the list. They, too, are provocative–and, at times,, funny. I recommend two of them. I’m not going to attempt to summarize them, because that would trivialize their rather profound messages.

The first is by French scientist-turned-Buddhist monk Mattieu Ricard, talking about the habits of happiness. Ricard is the author of Happiness: A Guide to Developing Life’s Most Important Skill. (Hey! I just knew there was a guide out there someplace!)

My favorite was Brené Brown, talking about the power of vulnerability. Brown’s books include The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are and Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead. Both were New York Times’ bestsellers. Her TED Talk is one of the most popular ever, with more than 15 million views.

Despite titles that imply pop-culture psychology, these books–and these people–are exploring the common aspiration of humans: The pursuit of well-being and the end of suffering. Most of us don’t have the time, or don’t take the time, to pursue these questions are our own. I’m grateful for the guidance and that I do have the time, at least for the moment.

In the meantime, I’ll let you know in a couple of weeks whether I’m slimmer, dewier, more serene, more energetic, healed, nourished, content and calm. Let’s hope so!

The Resale Evangelista is on a quest for clarity and simplicity, in order to create a more focused, creative life.

Stuck in the Denver Airport…

…waiting to see if the plane can be “fixed”

SusanCaba
The Resale Evangelista

A man’s real life is that accorded to him in the thoughts of other men, by reason of respect or natural love. 
Joseph Conrad 
My friend Mike received an email chain-letter (remember those?) which was kind of interesting. So, rather than sending it right to spam, he followed the instructions, which were:
Send an favorite religious/spiritual text/verse/motivational poem/prayer/meditation that has lifted you when you were experiencing challenging times.
What, you may be asking, does this have to do with resale or creating a simple, artful life? Stick with me: A good quote is like a pre-owned car–properly used (and attributed), you can still get a lot of mileage out of it.
Here’s what Mike came up with:
“I have a huge collection of quotes I’ve gathered over the years, and it was fun to read through them in this context.
“Conrad’s quotes are almost always dark, and most of them inappropriate. I was tempted with “Facing it, always facing it, that’s the way to get through. Face it,”  though oddly, I’m not sure I believe that anymore.
“I often reflect on The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness,”  though it is arguably an anti-spiritual thought; though constructive, it is with difficulty described as uplifting. 
“I didn’t even bother looking at the Samuel Clemens quotes. The thoughts of Samuel Johnson (lexicographer, 1709-1784), while especially insightful and wise, were also rarely “spiritual” though I can say"The true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do him absolutely no good" often crosses my mind.”
Good quotes are truisms that haven’t become clichés. I use them like exclamation points in my writing. (Mike sent me the quotes he used, but here’s a site I like: Brainy Quote.)

It’s like using a thesaurus–you actually have to know the nuances of the words you are perusing, in order to select the perfect option. I think of a thesaurus as a mind-jog: “Oh yeah, that’s the word that’s escaping me.”
Using quotes judiciously is similar. You really have to know the sentiment you want to express. A quote that sums it up in a pithy way reinforces your message and adds another voice to your writing. If you use quotes properly, they are the condiments that enhance the flavor of your concoction.
As for the chain-letter challenge, I received Mike’s email in about third or fourth hour of a wait in the Denver airport, while the plane was being “fixed.” At that moment, the best I could muster was: “This, too, shall pass.”

 

Want to get a quote a day? There are several sources, but here’s one I like: Wiser One’ Quotes.

 

The sharing economy

Resale Evangelista gets restless & embarks on adventure

By Susan Caba

Exciting news, Evangelisti–my year of living restlessly is developing nicely.

At the end of the month, my 10-week sojourn near Washington, D.C. will draw to a close. I’ll be on my way to six weeks in Santa Barbara.

And after that? Chapel Hill, N.C., an unfamiliar part of the country for me. I recently agreed to house-sit for a family off on an adventure of its own, six months to a year in Rajasthan, India. The homeowners, Mark and Shari, have a business in Jaipur and will home school their  children there, to familiarize them with the culture their parents love.

That’s right, I’ll be in North Carolina for six months and possibly more. The brick house, with a wide, wraparound porch–part of it screened, is surrounded by trees on three acres just outside town. Sunlight flows in through big windows; a wood-burning stove will stave off the chill of winter (in what may be the greatest gift, Mark is stocking the wood shed to the eves with fuel enough for a full season). Company will be provided–at least until I meet some humans–by Dot, a Jack Russell terrier, and three cats. There is nothing like a dog and a drift of cats to keep things cozy.

I’m looking forward to settling in, exploring the happenings at the University of North Carolina, getting some writing done and embarking on my year of changing my “story,” my brain and my life while indulging my restless nature.

The Restless — er, Resale–Evangelista sold her house earlier this year and is exploring the country (and other locations) by house-sitting. It dawned on her (while listening to NPR, of course) that’s she’s become part of the new “sharing economy.” Not sure yet exactly what that means, but the Evangelista will keep you posted as the situation clarifies!

 

My Bad….

I shouldn’t have…but I did!

Susan Caba
The Resale Evangelista

bowler2

What can I say?

As I’ve mentioned before, a friend with a store–A.J. Brewington (it’s her fault!)– often had a top hat, a bowler and a short top hat displayed in her late, lamented store in the Central West End. I always thought it was cool, so Magritte.

Matt Musial, dressed for the Oscars in top hat and T shirt

I succumbed to the urge to buy a top hat when I saw one at Rung.

Last week, I was visiting another resale shop–more about it in another post, later–when I saw a bowler. Now, how often does one come across a bowler? Especially at the bargain price of $35?

If for no other reason, I had to buy it as a means of price-averaging the cost of the top hat!

Anyway, I can only exercise so much restraint. It’s not my biggest strength.