words with friends (Yard Art Day)

More than 200 "yardists" from all over Charlotte and as far away as California, turned their front yards and porches into galleries for the first annual Yard Art Day on Sept. 3, 2012. This event, envisioned by Charlotte artist and photographer Deborah Tripplett, was a way to show the world what a vibrant arts community we have here in Charlotte. www.yardartday.org

We invited friends to stop by and share their favorite word with us. Top picks were: "kerfuffle," "crepuscular," "tomfoolery," "serendipity," and "spork."

“auto-larynx-blog-o-phobia,” or fear of talking to oneself on one’s blog

I used to keep a journal, the old school kind with a lock and hiding place. I’d write nonstop for days like I was Robinson Crusoe documenting everything that happened to me from dawn to dusk. Then a day would go by and I’d forget to write. Then two days, then a month or even a year.  The next time I’d pick it up and see those sad, empty pages staring up at me, I’d spend paragraphs apologizing for my neglect.

Here we go again. This blog has had no new entries since April. It’s now August. In the marketing business, every day that goes by without a post, tweet or virtual shout out, is like an empty billboard on a well-traveled highway. Worse, it can be a one-way ticket to the city of irrelevance. If you fall off the radar and no one hears the blip, did you really fall?

I have no problem sharing my goofy observations and personal adventures in a Facebook post. But blogging about what I’m doing professionally feels strange, as if the work stuff is somehow more private. I admire those that can do it well, with just the right blend of self-promotion, altruism and humility. I’m interested in what those people have going on. I’m even happy for them. So, why is the sound of my own “voice” so hard to hear? Is it because I’m a low-talker? Because I'm writing about me writing? It’s all so… meta.

bring back the boo-boo lip

Sometimes, despite your best efforts to live in the good juju, the world decides to go all cold and prickly and smack its gum in your face.

Two friends and a very cool middle schooler I know have been having a string of bad days. It’s nothing they can’t handle or emerge triumphant from, but still. I feel helpless to cheer them up. Then my friend Christine showed me this picture, and it got me thinking about the essential nature of comfort and how that concept changes as we get older. 

Return with me to that time before we were grownups with bills, bosses, and errant moles. Even before we were teenagers. Do you remember what it felt like to be upset back then? Your face would get red and you’d take those three-inhale-deep breaths before your eyes filled with tears. The slow, satisfying outward curl of the boo-boo lip.

Were you a thumb-sucker, blanket-gripper, hair-twirler, doll-dragger, nail-biter or
behind-your-mom’s skirt-hider? Maybe you were a fan of the comfort foods. We were all about Jell-O parfaits and chocolate milk at our house. I can remember stirring 3 or 4 spoonfuls of Nestlé's Quik into the glass and watching the undissolved bubbles rise to the top. Waiting for the powder inside them to break on my tongue. Now that’s comfort. When the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days hit back then, we had a plan.

It’s harder now. The problems are bigger and our go-to comforts aren't always quite so wholesome or accessible (not talking to you, yoga-doers and triathletes). We’re often too busy to wait for the good to return and reveal itself. There’s homework, work-work and, unlike when we were were little, people expect stuff from us. We take the time to figure out why we feel bad, but we rarely give ourselves the gift of just being in the badness. What if we stopped trying to soldier on so much and just named the badness, stood under the storm cloud and let it rain down for a minute, an hour, a day? Wouldn't the very act of standing still there, sucking that boo-boo lip in and blowing it back out again, be a comfort? Maybe to us, but I bet the storm cloud would get bored and move on.

sweet talk

When creative queen Colleen Taylor of TAYLOR'd asked for help concepting/copywriting a series of new ads for Sunflour Baking Company (recently named "Charlotte's Best Bakery" by about.com), my sweet tooth and I happily got to work. Together with Colleen's talented go-to designer friend, Elizabeth Schussler, the three of us came up with a series of neighborhood-specific ads that would promote the range of Sunflour's fresh, hand-crafted baked goods. Each ad captures imagined (sweet, semi-sweet or unsweet) conversations that relate to the featured menu item. And, since the ads were so much fun, we signed on for a few other delicious projects, coming soon to a browser near you....

translation elation

After my family, friends, health and peace of mind, there are two things I cannot do without: Italy and movies. (I won't judge your slightly clichéd obsessions if you won't judge mine.) Imagine, then, the quiver of my upper lip when coffee with my friend and former Italian professor led to a request for translation help with a manuscript. I about molto bene'd myself silly, conveniently forgetting that I haven't practiced my Italian in about ten years. Happily, she's in no rush. We'll work a little each week, paragraph by paragraph, page by page, to ensure that someone else's inspiring story gets told in more than one language. If only I could remember how to say the sweet life in Italian....