Put it on the 'made up projects' setting

Recently my friend and I had a discussion about 'made up projects.' I will claim this badge of honor with pride. 

I regularly 'make up' projects to do around my house that occupy my attention and dollars. I build flower beds. I paint -- then re-paint -- rooms. I love to move around the furniture and my art work cycles through each room. I remove and replace light fixtures. I spackle rotted spots on my house and paint them. I caulk. I organize. I spay paint. I know no other way. 

To me these aren't made up projects, they are just projects. I like my home very much. Some projects are maintenance and must be done. Most are superficial and bring me joy upon conclusion. 

I think it also speaks volumes about my ability to find satisfaction in the every day. Planting and growing a small flower bed that I water every hot night through the summer is my non-vacationing, suburban version of lying on a warm beach. 

I also interpret this to mean I'm not adverse to change. What is more changeable than your very home? Your safest space? I change. I experiment. I grow my brain. I create new projects. 

So this weekend I'm making up a project to paint my living room. I'll take volunteers. Must be prepared to grow your brain and watch change happen before your very eyes.  

I will pay you in bourbon. 

One list, two list, me and you list

I believe art comes in many forms -- writing, painting, music and photography to name of few.

For me, art is the perfect playlist.

I have arranged and rearranged my playlists from the first day I had my steely blue iPod. (Still the best gift ever.)

Before the iPod, it was the ever-appreciated mixed CD. I mixed and mashed my CDs and gave them away like candy. For me, that’s the other indisputable quality of art: It gives. Peace, joy, sadness, love, whatever suits you, it gives again and again.

Because the ball of fire and I like to bebop around the house sans TV, I always have music playing. When we are home, I have to use my BOF-appropriate playlists. For the longest time it was Aretha Franklin, then the Love album remix of the Beatles, lately Nora Jones.

This week I started one called the Lullaby League. Slow, sweet, mostly blues, heavy on the guitar and long on love. Blue Jean Blues by the Jeff Healey Band, Daydream by Robin Trower, some Sarah McLachlan, Nora (always), Starlight by Slash. And then a little John Mayer.

Because in our little world, lullabies are never just about babies in tree tops.

Splendor and bendy

The call of the artist knows no bounds. An unused medium is no hinderance for the creative mind.

Behold! Mommy as seen through Bendaroos!

Andy with boxers

I'm dabbling with my own art gallery. Inspired by my friend's sweet little boxer, Cayenne, and Andy Warhol.

Jack's big music show

Stumbled across a little piece in Rolling Stone today about one of Jack White's favorite side projects, The Raconteurs and their new album.

Jack is so damn clever, it drives me crazy. I hadn't even heard about this album, and apparently neither had no one else.

Jack White and Brendon Benson shocked everyone on Tuesday when they released the second album from their band the Raconteurs after announcing its existence just one week ago.

Brilliant! I'm sure it stems from Jack's experience with a quick-draw DJ who played all of "Icky Thump" before it was released last May.

Thankfully Rolling Stone linked to one of the first reviews, which is pretty favorable. Jack touches on a theme that I believe compels me most as a music lover -- story telling. My favorite artists tell stories, beautiful, haunting, enigmatic stories that make you listen to them over and over again until you finally sluice away the mystery in the chords. And you realize that Dave Grohl is actually singing to me when he croons, "and I wonder when I sing along with you, if everything could ever feel this real forever..."

"When you call yourself a musician," the White Stripes leader said when he teamed up with singer-songwriter Brendan Benson, bassist Jack Lawrence and drummer Patrick Keeler in 2005, "you join that family of storytellers."

And it so happened that they released their first video on the same day as the album. So smartly designed was this coup, that it makes me love Jack all that much more.

Prarie home campanion

Dooce, for all her annoying use of ALL CAPITAL LETTERS, does find some fun shit on the Internet. I wish my job was to surf the Web all day. Oh wait ....

Those of you who know me well will recognize this saying as one of my personal favorites. In fact, in some cases, it may be the first thing out of my mouth when we meet (Ken).

Everyone is a critic

He: "Momma, I made some pictures for you to help you feel better."

Me: "That's great, son. What are they?"

He: "The blue one is for the big bruises on your belly."

Me: "Oh. Ok. What about the red one?"

He: "That's your yucky gross owie (scar)."

Me: "Yikes! That is gross. Want to see it again?"

He: "Noo, no way! You're disgusting and I want to throw up!"

Me: "Wow, that's really not nice."

He: "I know!"

Questing, questing, questing

I have snobby taste in home decor. It's taken a while to get the hubby used to it, but he's slowly coming around.

I don't have a lot of family photos on the wall at my house. Instead I prefer to hang art on the walls. We have some original chalk drawings from an artist we met in Italy. A cottage scene sent from my aunt when she lived in England. I have two of my paintings on the wall. The ball of fire has his own little gallery. And my friend Farly has a place of honor.

I also have two gorgeous photos of my sister taken by my very talented brother-in-law.

Lately I've been on the hunt for something in particular. There is an amazing painting in the remake of The Thomas Crown Affair that hangs over his bed. It's a group of voluptuous women looking at their reflections in a pool. I cannot find the name of this piece.

I will start to search, become disgruntled and stop for a while. This week, I had renewed enthusiasm. I didn't find it. But I did stumble onto some new photographers that piqued my interest.

The hubby and I have this ongoing debate about whether nude art is approrpiate in a house that has small children. I say yes, if tastefully done. He tends to disagree.

I found a few on this site that would make a great collection for the wall behind my bed. And then a few that may reveal a tad too much.

The debate rages on.

Summer dreamin'

It was 72 degrees in Kansas City on Tuesday. Today it is 31. I live in the Midwest, so I have no illusions of great weather all year long. However, it still takes me by surprise at how damn cold it can get. I'm freezing my ass off!

But thanks to the genius of Crayola, I can open the back door and see green trees, sun-dappled flowers and a flowing stream. All in bright, washable, non-toxic colors!