I’m always seeking feminine role models: Women who laugh in the face of conformity; who are self-aware and courageous. I found one last night – Sharron Matthews, a vivacious cabaret chanteuse with oodles of experience and capacious confidence.
She broke the fourth wall and every standard of the contemporary comedienne. She didn’t whine or carp about her husband. She didn’t dress in black, and chop off her hair. She was feminine, fun and flirty. Most importantly, she let her talent speak for itself without apology. You go girl!
Her repertoire ranged from Kiss to Garland, with stops in between to frolic with Frosty and Rudolph. As solo female artists often do, she told stories about her career – touching or funny – touching and funny.
My least favourite aspect of cabaret occurs when the artist draws upon audience members to participate. Makes me cringe every time. Kudos to Bruno and Danny for being good sports, and their wives for supporting them. Ms. Matthews plays well with others. The dislike of the “bit” is decades old and includes performances by Hugh Jackman and Patti LuPone. You are in great company, Ms. Matthews.
Should you see Sharron Matthews name on a marquee. Buy a ticket. You’ll have great fun and hear some fine singing.
Spring Battles Winter Selfishly
My dream to be a full-time artisan will never come true, because I lack a vital quality, selfishness. I do not mean to imply a holier than thou character. I am capable of selfishness. What I lack is the mega dose of selfishness that sets the truly creative apart from the rest of us.
To create requires the ability to completely ignore wordly things like the care and feeding of the resident octogenarian, or two-year old or cat. Creation takes time and concentration. Extended periods of both. Missing meals and regular walks in order to honor the muse that has taken over your life are habits of the truly creative. Letting the mundane interrupt the drive to create will maintain the amateur status of a Sunday painter.
I will never be a professional artisan because I do not put my desire to create first. I have no one to blame but myself.
The right and left brain battle it out for supremacy every day. Your job may demand more from your left brain than your right. Or vice versa. Family demands can keep your left brain overpowering your right too.
My work around – or should I say my integration – of the left vs right brain challenge is to work on a right brain project while pondering a left brain problem. That’s why I enjoy making jewellery. My hands are occupied. My designer’s brain is satisfied. That lets the pragmatic me ponder my way to a solution.
Last night’s epiphany, however, was the result of the whole brain. I was at the store leading a class in knotting. That’s macrame for the 21st century. Instead of making 3 foot plant pot holders that suspend from the ceiling like I did in the 70s, I make hipster bracelets for the androgynous.
Not anymore…last night I finally figured out how to make a bootlet. I’ve been wanting to dress up my plain black knee boots. I can’t leave well enough alone.
Now that I have the design figured out. I made a prototype which will be on display at the store. I’m going to build a wardrobe of bootlets, so I’m ready for the week the temperature hovers around 12C every afternoon. That’s the week I’ll break out the boot polish and the boot jewellery.
Image via Wikipedia
#JackieRichardson was the number one keyword search that brought new readers to this blog. The irreplaceable Ms. Jackie has lost the top spot to two searches that indicate trending issues.
People Seeking Information about Tumblr
I’m not the only one who had problems with tumblr’s email confirmation. Based on the number of people who drop by my site to read that post, the problem is ongoing. Note to tumblr’s boffins – your to-do list is missing an item.
People, you must trust polarprisca on this…HRH was not in Antarctica this year. He was in the Arctic. Harry didn’t tell his grandmother he was going to walk part way to the North Pole, because he didn’t want to worry her. Thoughtful lad.
I met an octogenarian when I sailed to the North Pole who hadn’t told the management of his senior’s home where he was going, for exactly the same reason. True story.
An extra hit of adrenalin
Some people ride roller-coasters, jump out of airplanes, or travel to war zones for an extra hit of adrenaline. My personal choice are the polar regions – the Arctic and Antarctica. Because the danger is basic – humankind against the elements.
Image via Wikipedia
I’m working on the final family history book – number 9, to be exact. My mother’s book captures her past, and somethings she never knew until I uncovered them. The effort has been a personal and poignant journey, as I stop to ask her questions about family stories that I find are backed by government documents.
Mother lost 2 uncles and 2 aunts with one bomb during the Blitz in London in 1940. That was the family story. I found the death registration page – they all shared the same last name – last names, first names, middle initials, age, and the county – simple. Just 4 names on a long list of names. Asking Mother about the people listed, so much more emerged.
Uncle Cec never spoke of his middle name – Eve – not good for a man. His mother’s maiden name was Eve, but no man should have to explain his name. Uncle Hubert B…he was Uncle Bert – I had no idea his name was Hubert. He was 42 when he died, leaving, so mother says – a wife and daughter. Uncle Bert had stayed in London to work. He had evacuated his family. While in London, he stayed with his unmarried siblings, and he died with them.
The human details are in the telling. I regret not asking my father’s aunt, for I knew her briefly when I was a single digit – about my grandfather, her brother. Even more I regret not knowing why their father died by his own hand in his 50s.
Talk to your Old Folk before it is too late, please!