The Ultimate Jitterbug.

Gran. Her name is actually Martha Goodsell, but everyone called her Gran. And for those that knew my Gran, know that she took great pride in calling herself a jitterbug. She would shake her fanny and wave her finger singing "Doot doot doot." Her life motto was to never let the grass grow beneath her feet. Safe to say that in her 80 some years of life, that was truly the case. She walked 3 miles everyday (even after a serious accident in which she was struck by a car). She was always riding her bike all over town to deliver the church bulletin and some flowers to those that were sick or living alone. Gran had this heart of gold making everyone around her feel like a treasure. 

It was one of the greatest gifts of my life to live by her and Poppa. They were such fixtures in our daily lives, that I often yearn for those days we could run through the gate to the back door to see what treats she had on the kitchen table or what pies had been baked that day. Gran's sweet tooth ran deeeeeep. She always had the good stuff. 

It is a rare gem to find people like Gran. Her heart was always for others. She spent countless hours on the phone for the church prayer chain. She was always making some kind of pom pom bear or craft for the church bizarre (basically a craft fair). Gran (and Poppa) made Sunday dinners feel like an experience. She had this knack for being able to create this safe space of love with an ear quick to listen. Gran was always at every event from our school concerts, sports events, art shows, you name it. She was there with bells on (or so it seemed). 

Throughout high school and college, Gran was also notorious for slipping me a bit of "coke money." She always had a stash of cash in her china cabinet tea cups. Whenever I had a bad day and was telling her about it at her dining room table where she often sat (the same dining table I now have and spend countless hours with my own family and now serves as my remote office), the conversation would end with her sweet words and a bit of coke money. She was always telling me to go buy a soda or a sweet treat. When I would tell her that sodas didn't cost $20, she would tell me to buy a few or to buy one for a friend. That was Gran to her core. Always looking for ways to make me (and countless others) smile. 

When I was living on campus during college, Gran would call my dorm room often, She would leave these messages saying it was Gran (as if I would forget) and that she loved me. If my roommate answered, she would tell them the same. I must admit that I often took those calls for granted. Looking back, I am amazed at her constant dedication to make those calls so often. And that I was always on her mind. What a gift not only to me but also to my roommates who still recall those calls with Gran. 

As I get older, I find myself striving to be more like her. I am nowhere close. She set the bar so high but one worthy of trying to reach. I want a faith like Gran. I want to have the same heart for others. Her unwavering sense of spirit, witty humor and pizazz for life are definitely an inspiration. 

I hope someday I can be Gran to my grandchildren. I hope that I can share the contagious zest for life that she had on the ready. I hope that I can look fear in the face and keep going as she so often did. We all need a bit of Gran. Grab an extra dessert. Send a friend some coke (or coffee) money just because. Or better yet, go share that treat with them and remind them how much they are truly loved in (and out of) this world. 

Where Are The Bodies Buried?

Do you have those friends that know where the bodies are buried? Of course I don't mean that literally, but who knows all of the tea in your life? I am not talking about the "What do you want to be when you grow up?" kind of conversations. I am talking about the hard stuff. Like "Do you want to be buried or cremated?" and "Who will be guardian of your kids should something happen?" Are you having those hard conversations with anyone? They are uncomfortable, awkward, and often painful, but they need to be had. 

I have had these conversations a lot more recently. There were (and are) a lot of tears. It has been painful, but surprisingly, somewhat therapeutic. It becomes less awkward as we talk and it spurs on all kinds of interesting things to be learned from each other. It is almost like we should have parties at each others' houses to say this is where I keep the checkbook, this is where the passwords are, and this is what  I want when _______ (you fill in the blank). 

It is also a reminder that there is so much value to living in community. As we have all been living in such isolation for the year, that community has become fragmented and distanced. I am guilty of it for sure. I get lost in the land of plastic toys and bubble machines in our backyard, trying to get through the day without worrying if one of us contracted COVID-19 and what our jobs will look like tomorrow. I have been guilty of not leaving voicemails. Preferring a text over a phone call. And email over Zoom. But I have been stopped in my tracks. I am making the phone calls to say the things I mean. I am writing the longer messages to tell people that they are on my heart and mind. I am asking people to come help us care for our son so that we are not always walking in that alone. There is such beauty in the fellowship and also such release from all of the pressures being able to share in those precious moments of life. The other night I asked my mother-in-law and sister-in-law to come help me with Thomas' dinner and night routine. It turned out to be a memory forever etched in my brain as we sat in his room and sang songs. He loved the audience and I loved that he was able to see that there are so many people caring for him and loving him. 

So many times I have found myself saying we need to pause and say what is on our hearts. We need to share where the "bodies are buried." Life is hard enough that we shouldn't be walking it alone. 

Rest Required.

So I am now in the cancer recovery zone from my surgery and barrage of doctor appointments. With an unexpected turn of being put on disability, I have been forced to rest from Dr. K for a few weeks. With skyrocketing blood pressure and the reopening of two incisions, I am now taking in the doctor's orders and find myself now at home most days, watching Netflix and writing, but also pouring my energies into resurrecting my need to create, draw, and paint. Alas, the birth of Paper Velveteen.

On a few attempts, I have tried to pursue my dreams to be an illustrator and children's author, but it always seemed as though life got in the way. Though that dream has evolved some, I am allowing my brush to do work once again. My new space has also been inspiring to do so along with the undivided time to devote. My work desk sits under two windows which gives so much natural light. As well, I find myself having dreams of new ideas, which is welcomed after weeks of restless sleep due to incisions, stress, and other such worries. (Still feels strange though not being in the office each day.)


It feels good to be back in my creative element. To listen to the still, small voice telling me that I can do this. That I can create something from nothing. That dreams come true with some ingenuity and hard work. And they aren't to be ignored.

So with that being said, I am in need of prayer as there are still some changes that need to be made. Some healing that is still underway. And a small dream starting to ignite into something quite undefined at this point.

Looking forward to this next chapter once again. After all, isn't this to be the year of adventure?!

p.s. If you are not yet following, give @papervelveteen some love. And please, tell your friends! There is more to come!

{The epic logo of Paper Velveteen was designed by the one and only @hat_daddy. Thanks, homie.}

Did You Know?

In recent weeks, I have been cleaning out my computer, and came across a document I created in the heart of my cancer journey just nights before my surgery. I had this overwhelming fear that I was not going to wake from the surgery and so, as morbid as it sounds, I had written letters to people.

I am not here to share those letters, but it got me to thinking about who I am. Where I was. Where I am. And who I have become. We spend countless hours creating our online profiles whether it be for social media or online dating and we don't always get a chance to know the heart of the person unless they are a dear friend. And though I straddle the line between sharing vulnerabilities through my blog/journal and keeping other details private, I consider myself to be an open book that grants access to certain chapters. And as I am asked to describe myself often, I have different things that come to mind.

With that being said, here are a few random facts that perhaps you didn't know... 

1. I have an overwhelming fear of needles. This is not a secret to those that have walked my cancer journey or have ever known me to have a doctor visit. My fear is so intense, I can't really even talk about it as it makes my arms hurt to just talk about it. 

2. My dream has been to be a published author and artist. My mind thinks in chapters and illustrations. Bucket list dreams. 

3. I have always wanted to play the tambourine in a band. Perhaps this is due to my lack of musical talent, but I just think it would be rad. Like more cowbell, but with a tambourine. 

4. I sleep with the TV on. It has been about 10 years now. I am working on the reasons as to why I do this, but it happens. Sadly, it has interrupted my dreams.

5. My shoe collection is absurd. And well, so is my closet which is equivalent to a boutique of too much. 

6. My guilty pleasure besides trashy reality TV is getting my nails done. Nail art is my jam.

7. There was a moment when I was a synchronized swimmer. Get me in a pool and I will show you a few signature moves. It is gold.

8. In college, there was this one time, I fell out of my loft bed. And I thought I was dying from a blood clot as I got a nasty goose egg on my shin. Ask my best friend, Jolie. It is how she became my best friend. Little did she know what she signed up for that night.

9. I used to work in Yosemite. And I would give anything to go back to those days. I love sleeping under stars and being on the water. Being outside is where I find peace.

10. I give to a fault. Especially of my time. It is an area in which I need better boundaries as some prey on it while others ignore what I give. Rarely I come across the few that appreciate it for what it is.

11. I am guilty of screenshotting my sister and my nieces in FaceTime conversations. It is my favorite. Unfortunately, the feeling goes both ways. So embrace that double chin and the bad hair days.

12. I don't travel enough. I need to take time to see more things and more places.

13. I used to want to chop my legs off at my knees as I was self-conscious of my height. I have learned to embrace it, but it takes a confident man to embrace it too.

14. Claustrophobia.

15. Vershas. My nieces. Sure, the word versha is made up, but my nieces are quite real and really the loves of my life besides a puppy.

16. Stella may or may not dress up for holidays. I don't know how she does it.

17. I live and function in lists.

18. I work too much, but it is a place I love with people I adore.

19. I have 100 things I want to do in 1,000 days.

There you have it. For now... 

Black.

The dreaded commercialism filled holiday has come and gone yet again. I absolutely hate the day. In fact, I wear black each year as a tribute to our dear friend, Julie Irene Nichol (a.k.a. Penny). Rest in peace, friend. She hated the holiday and boycotted it each year, so it was only fitting to wear black once again in her memory. But also this year, being single for the first time in years, it was all the more reason. Not as a scorned woman, but as a woman empowered. Screw you, capitalist holiday that creates crowded restaurants, overpriced goods, and pressure to need someone. Nope. Not having it. Instead, I spent the day doing things for myself. I went shopping. Ate a delicious meal. Got a pedicure. Met up with a friend. Had a few glasses of wine. And stayed up way too late texting Good Suit. It was exactly the way I wanted to spend the day.

In fact, days like that seem few and far between right now. I have been running on empty with all that my schedule has been packed with these days. I had Jane for 10 days. I have been working weekends doing merchandising and other projects. I moved finally. Again. (And HALLELUJAH!). And I have been trying to catch up with friends and maintain some semblance of a social life. I love the busy-ness of it all, but it is not so good for the time I need to myself. To think. Draw. Paint. Read. Sleep. Reflect. Pray. So as we have entered the season of Lent, I have decided that rather than give up my indulgences or vices like wine, shopping, eating out, sweets, coffee, etc., I am taking back. I am going to start saying no. It is unfortunate, but I have taken a few valuable pages from the book of the boss man. He has empowered me and reminded me to do so. In fact, in recent conversations, he has also shed light on other aspects of my life. Amazing how he is not only an amazing creature as a boss, but speaks such wisdom and demonstrates such care for me as a human. He is one of my Top 10 favorite men I will know in this life.

Recent conversation with boss man led me to finally surrender my "key." Months ago, I took a key during a series at church about the "Key to..." I had been holding on to the key until I could forgive. Trust me, I was white knuckle fisted around this situation of hurt. I had been struggling to forgive someone for years and that also ultimately led to a struggle to forgive myself. And after talking with boss man, he said that the last 12 years of my life, pain and all, have led me to this place where the pieces have all fit. He said that all he sees in me is joy. And rather than hold on to the hurt, I should be thanking that person for freeing me to be where I am now. Ding. Ding. Ding. I have let it go (Go ahead, sing the Frozen version). But truly, I have been able to let the walls down and realize that it is all part of the journey. I am done hurting. I am done harboring. I genuinely miss you. Wish the best for you. And hope our paths cross from time to time. But I am riding the Tsunami of Awesome instead. So thank you. And, for what it is worth, I forgive you. But more importantly, I forgive me.

I am enjoying this new chapter with the Daughter Girl. Suit. Jitana. Deeder. Lita Pita. Inked Writer. Hot Nutz. Gusband Bestest. Spirit Animal. Listen Linda. The Mister. Ronny Tornado. And all of the other people that make my life so colorful.

So, Valentine's Day, you are dumb. You will always be a holiday to wear black. Again, Let's Be Rad. 2015.

Creating Within.

In this transition of life, I am just barely tapping in to my creative side. Some people know my artistic roots, but not everyone knows how much my art is part of me. In the past, it was a way to communicate. It allowed me to escape. To dream. To create. And to be honest, in recent years, I can see how I stuffed my creativity to live the status quo. The dreams were just that too. Status quo and definitely on hold. I don't know if it can be attributed to the circumstances of life or the people with which I chose to have in my intimate circles. Somehow, I still let remnants of that crap still linger. Grrrr.

Anyhow, as I venture in this new chapter and in this year to thrive, I know that the creative stirring needs attention. I long to put pen to paper, brush to canvas, cloth to machine, party to planning. And to channel my energy into the avenues of making this a profession to become a possibility, which will turn the crud into creativity.

In having tea with a friend the other day, it became apparent through my confessions to her that I may have a fear of actually succeeding with anything creative, but with that also comes the accompanied anxiety of some forms of potential rejection. I don't think that it is really the rejection that scares me, but more of navigating through an unknown, though that seems to be such a strong reoccurring theme for me in this stage. For so long, I had chosen what was safe, expected, and what seemed the most convenient. I am beyond exhausted with that kind of living, but this fog isn't any more clear to me. Sometimes I feel like a zombie walking and we all know my gravitation towards zombies and monsters (not all of which are healthy).

All this to say, I suppose I journal these things in my blog to keep me accountable. To remind me that I need to use this time as a springboard to more creativity. And I am also promising to continue to step out of the mundane. The things that haunt my nights and storm my days will soon be defeated. I will not let the things of the past define what will be my future. There are things that I know are better left behind. Time to dream. To hope. To dust off the sewing machine and get all of my art supplies out. The visions are reviving. Characters are being born. Stories are being written. I am surrounded by those that celebrate with me and give me moments and space to think and design. There are those that believe so strongly in me that it gives me the strength and courage to do this. Some even provide the outlets. And so let the creating begin.