Friday, November 21, 2008


The time has finally arrived when romantics of all ages are flocking to the movie theaters to get their first look at the romance vampire movie of the decade. We've all been taken a little with the dark side of romance and passion; from the old dracula novels to Ann Rice and now the Twlight fans can't read enough of Stephenie Meyer and her teenage drama of love and horror. I was approached by one of those lovely etsy people to feature a bracelet on her blog:

If you are a fan, I'd visit there and follow her blogsite as I am giving away my $90 bracelet there as she's a huge fan and has been doing a daily countdown to the romance. My son's half minded girlfriend spent an overnight at the local mall last weekend looking to meet the dashing star and have him sign a poster or two. I am a big fan of anything that will bring younger people to a book and of course after reading the book, how could you NOT see the movie? I am hoping to make my way to the movie this weekend to get a little peek at Daniel Craig. I have been watching Casino Royale on cable this month and he's caught my eye big time. He's Bond, James Bond. I hadn't really noticed Craig before his Bond appearance and was so taken with him that I went over to feebay and purchased a few old movies of his. I will let you know what I think in future posts.

I have a bunch of Twilight jewelry in my etsy store and could make anything custom for a Christmas gift, from your favorite movie, to my version of your favorite poem on your wrist, to just a single pendant with someone you love wrapped in a heart. You can find my art at and you can email me at I also ordered some more hearts for the Paris Blues Bracelet that was featured on Yahoo Shine, so if you missed that huge promotion, you can find a bracelet in the store for you. Sorry I ran out. Take care and thanks for spending this time with me. Carrie.

Monday, November 17, 2008

Ring Around The Rosie

Why give me a ring
when you own my heart?
When I feel your love I want to
throw my arms in the air and twirl
in circles and just maybe
one of those circles
would turn into a ring
you could wear on your finger
and look down and know
little pieces of of my heart
are in every turn

I LOVE LOVE LOVE to make rings. I love the wire, the idea that even when I just figured out how to put a whole world of fun on a bracelet, that even smaller I could put it on your finger. I made a little globe ring with an elephant dancing over the top under an umbrella. Oh what an afternoon of whimsy and delight. I even found a way to put the photo charms on rings with the back of typewriter keys working as the perfect little steampunk frames. When I went to the pumpkin farm with family people would stop and say, "is that a little circus ring?" ha. I am working on a book of rings, different styles, a do it yourself little zine. I have been working on it for months and I so get sidetracked. Being the be all end all of your own business sounds like fun until 40 people want something and you realize you have two hands, a worthless child and the phone is ringing. Fuck me. So things get put aside but I am making Christmas cookies this year, two kinds, a few dozen, some kolachky to take to Best Friend and that's it.

It snowed last night. It didn't just dust, it really snowed, enough snow so that this morning I could see a thousand little animal footprints in the driveway. Summer's done. The fall, just a few more days and that's over. We'll be all done eating turkey soon and it's on to the remainder of the Holiday season. If you'd like me to make you a funky scarf (I've been known to make the longest scarves in the world) drop me a note and I'd be glad to get it started. I have a new store on etsy called Hersteria and there are some offerings there. Hersteria is from an Eliot poem about love and laughter and fun. Did I mention how much I miss Best Friend this time of the year? I will get to see her soon and all will be good with the world. I am traveling to visit family for a little weekend (if I can get myself away) and that will be my holiday treat to myself.

I am working on bracelets for Marshall Fields, Suzy Snowflake and Frosty The Snowman. Do you have some Christmas treasure of your heart you'd like to see on a bracelet? I'd love to design something just for you. You can find my art at and on feebay at Poetsummer. You can always email me at Thanks for spending this time with me and take care of yourself, pamper yourself a little and 20 minutes a day at least for a little meditation, prayer and thanks. You will be better for it. Carrie.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008


This has been an exciting week, I must say. First let's start with how much I love etsy. I was working late last week when I get an email from Courtney Love, yes the Love girl herself telling me she needs something unique made and I may be the girl for her. She buys a bunch of my jewelry and get this..she's nice. She's as down to earth as anyone you'd know and chats me up in emails like she's been a long time girlfriend. If you don't know Courtney and her work, it's time to check her out,

We all get our glory
Our little bit of fame
But there's no truth at the heart of any of it
Just the brilliance and the passion
And the bitterness remains

Hold on to me
Hold on to me
Hold on to me
Hold on to me

She's sad and settled and girlie and fun and interesting and her blog is fascinating. So I start working on some really personal stuff, stuff that touches me and my heart and I get an email from another etsy person telling me I've made Courtney's blog, you have to check this out, I almost crapped my pants:

Yeah. I was freaking out. Not only is courtney going to be wearing a globload of my jewelry but she thinks I'm a genius. How fucking cool is this? No she's not some washed out vampire writer, she's not a blue haired nut stalking me on ebay, she's courtney fucking the coolest of love. I am still thrilled. When I am working on a piece I want her to see I feel a little special and I start thinking about the THOUSANDS of other really wonderful people who have purchased my jewelry and I feel a little oogie inside wondering about their lives and wanting to be there to watch them flip their wrist this way and that way showing off my work.


Then Friday I am packing boxes and notice a bunch of the sales are local and email one of my patrons asking her where she found my art. She found it here...

Yahoo shine puts my little etsy store up as a great place to holiday shop and I was so overwhelmed with new sales that I needed to take a few hours this weekend and just breathe a little. I feel so freaking great and excited about having new people notice my work but I wanted to take a moment to throw a shout out to those chickies who are always so supportive...

I couldn't even begin to list all the treasuries as there are hundreds. How do I thank you all for your constant support and inspiration? Other than to tell you how much you all mean to me. My art and my work doesn't feel like work when I get to share it with you. I expect support from my family and my friends because they love me and that's what family and friends do but when that support comes from a stranger who just loves my work, well it's an unexpected surprise and I feel overwhelmed with happy. This was certainly a week of a perfect storm and I am swamped with jewelry, piles everywhere of this and that to do and mixed in with the beads and the photos and the charms is love. My cup over flows. The support from other artists on etsy has been the glue that keeps me there, creating and in awe of what they create. I am going to start featuring more of those artists here and sharing their work with you and I hope that you check out their stores and their blogs and their lives. If you have an interest in my art, I would hope that you'd look for me at or email me at as I'd love to hear from you. Take care yourself and reach out to love another. I've been reached by all of you and am better for it. Carrie.

My Favorite Things

Moon Struck Magic

It's that time of the year again where we anticipate what others will love and what we want to share of ourselves. I make it a practice that when I sell something on Etsy I try to give back to the community of artists there and make a purchase of supplies or something for myself. So I find this peppermint foot cream and the cool part about it? It's in a tube that you roll on like deodorant. No more greasy hands when you are trying to make your feet nice and soft. I was so excited when the mail arrived and my treasure way to treat myself was at my house I could barely stand myself.

The funny thing about how we treat ourselves is that we tend to just "get used to" the products we buy from the market and seldom think about the time and energy we put into the joy we have in our daily lives using those products. I am a victim of this circumstance myself. I tend to just do what is easiest and fastest so I can get on with the taking care of business part of my life. What a shame. Then I get this little package in the mail from one of my new favorite sellers. If you haven't check this out yet, you can find her here... Along with my very wonderful minty foot cream that makes my feet fell oh so good was this little bag with a sample of New York spa soap. I was working when I opened the package and I kept stopping what I was doing to stop and sniff the little bag with a sliver of soap that smells like a little vanilla, a little mango and loads of goodness. I was hooked. I kept asking myself, "Why haven't I been pampering myself with this goodness before now?" It's because we don't think of pampering ourselves in even the most basic aspects of our lives. My life is moving too fast. That's what I gained from this little find, that piece of information.

The maker of this wonderful goodness? She's a single mom an inspiration, a healer. She doesn't use detergents or harmful dyes and her healing hands create something that makes our lives better. What a wonderful thought. This handmilled soap, made in someone's kitchen in New York (the beginning of everything wonderful in the world.) and when I am taking a bath or a shower I have a piece of her there in my tub taking care of me. What a great job. I stop and tell everyone I see that they should try this soap. So this holiday season when things are overwhelming, when you have packages to wrap and cookies to bake, when your children are being snotty and the focus of the entire season seems out of whack and you just need a little time where it's warm away from all the white noise, be prepared. Have a little stash of magic hidden in your vanity waiting for you to sink into a tub and take care of yourself. I love to rub the back of the soap bar on my skin because it has oats in it and it just takes away the bad stuff and makes me feel soft and pink again. You'll be a new person ready to tackle a trip to the mall when there is no parking and grumpy relatives.

Thanks for spending this time with me. If you have an interest in my art you can find me at and of course you can always email me at Take care you and yours and enjoy the holidays as they pass by so fast. Remember, if you are buying soap to take care of you, buy a few extra bars to take care of someone you love. Carrie.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

It's Time Again to stand UP

To Vote or Not To Vote

I came into the election open minded. Well, I had hoped the Clintons would make another spin at the white house and then the Clintons slowly reminded me that above country they are always for the Clintons and it seemed that Hillary had lost her sparkle. Standing around the corner stood Hope. I am from Chicago so when someone tells me about a politican from Chicago I am leary. There are backroom deals here, things done on the sly so the idea of one of those southside bullies from Hyde Park occupying the White House did not thrill me. I kept thinking "let's see what the Republicans throw at me."

I like John McCain. I think he's an American Hero. He spent his life serving our country. He sacrificed his childhood in a sense because his father and his father's father was at war defending our country. This is an honorable man and an honorable family. I like his wife, her efforts to bring food and medicine to starving children around the world are admirable. I guess I'm a one issue girl. I don't get that McCain has any interest in inhibiting a woman's choice in regards to having or not having a baby. I don't think he'd allow the religious right to mess around with Roe V. Wade. But...John didn't pick a moderate running mate and he's not a young man. He's an older man who picked Sara Palin. I just can't sit with that decision. Forget that she seems nervous about giving an interview because she isn't one of the Washington rehearsed. Forget that she hunts moose with a rifle out of a helicopter (not really a fair chance for a Moose to get away.) Let's just drop the idea that I'm not always comfortable with a teenager showing up pregnant and a parent looking a little dumbfounded not having impressed upon their children how important birth control is. I remember when my son was a teenager I kept a giant crystal bowl of condoms on his bathroom sink as a constant reminder that if we make the choice to have sex we best be having safe sex. Even when I put all that aside. Women should support other women. I'm not necessarily a Gloria feminist but when given the choice I support other women and the choices they make for their life and the efforts they make to not only break the glass ceiling but to stomp on the pieces until my feet bleed. Sarah picks when she says she doesn't support abortion rights and it's no inconceivable that she'd be president. There are three justices up for retirement in the Supreme Court and as I'm not all that confident in John's choices, the idea that Sarah would pick one of them just doesn't sit will with me.

Am I thrilled with the unfair redistribution of wealth in this country? No. Do I want people who make more than $250K a year to be taxed unfairly? No. I am a little nervous about a Junior Senator running the most powerful country in the world but...I have to trust in Hope. I have to believe that maybe someone who isn't jaded by the Washington crowd may be able to walk us out of this war and into some economic development for those that have been overwhelmed by rising gas prices and an economy that has just recently exploded with bad debt.

The horrible part of a close election is that half the country gets to feel as though they've lost and it pulls us in two directions rather than bring us together and this is a time when we need to stand together as Americans. We need to bring our troops home from the middle east, to help these men and women reunite with their families and to take care of them. We need to build our economy and to teach our children that you don't buy a $400K house when you can only afford a $200K house. We need to pull together the great minds in America to find alternative fuel sources and to help small business people expand.

No matter how your heart is torn, vote. Men died for our right to vote. It only takes a few moments and you're counted. Your opinion matters and when we stand together for what is right, things change. I like the audacity of hope. Hope changes hearts and changes our lives and most importantly the lives our children.

Thanks for spending this time with me. If you have an interest in my art, you can find it at You can always write to me at and I welcome your insight as long as you aren't nutty Jeannie.

Monday, October 13, 2008


I was at a show this weekend and a woman approached me asking me question after question about my jewelry and she said "my mom had bracelets full of charms, little moving pieces of history." I think that's why I love to make my charm bracelets because I get to use components of this and that, things my grandma had on her dressing table, things my mother loved, the cameos, the rhinestones. My parents were never big on excess. They didn't spoil their children the way I spoil my son. We were first told to work for what we wanted and sometimes I feel the guilt of just handing over things to my son just because I want his life to be easier.

But I have a different relationship with my son than I had with my parents. We are closer, more friends, confidants. We take the time to have lunch together and share all about our lives. He has a genuine interest in what makes me happy and although I knew what made my parents happy I didn't really have an investment in it. I had major heart surgery a few years ago and my son took time out of his life to help me heal, taking care of me in a way I didn't even know he was capable of taking of someone else. I had to remind myself of his caring when all I wanted was a cup of broth to feel comforted when I was writhing around in pain and he had to preach to me about the salt content of broth. I wanted to choke him.

No matter how hard we try we are like our parents. I am proud like my parents, and a little set off from the world. I am careful about letting strangers close. Not my Richie. He embraces the world with such a fervent gesture of hope that it takes me by surprise. The last time he was traveling I went to the post office to ask them a question about a shipment. During the summer, when he's home he's the mail person, the mail bitch. The people at the post office not only know him, but know his girlfriend, that he loves the cubs and that he loves to travel. Not one mail person asked me if he had landed ok, four did. They knew when he was leaving and wondered if he was having fun with his brothers. Later that afternoon I wander into 711 to get a cord of firewood. "Hey did Rich call? Is he having fun?" I didn't even know this clerk but he knew Richie and he knew I was Richie's mom and it put a smile on my face for the afternoon.

It's so easy to love our children but to know them and to like them quite another issue. We get to stand back and watch them make decisions and know they aren't our choices but hope against all odds that they are the decisions that make them happy. When he's short tempered I know he has my quick temper. When he's outside playing basketball and 1am it's hard to be irritated when I know he's close and safe and has a little pounce in his step. It's hard to have any authority over a grown man, especially after you've sat in the car with him, his big grandpa boat of a car singing kid rock lyrics together hyped up on iced coffee. He doesn't love poetry like I love poetry and I will never understand Math the way he loves the numbers. When I listen to the same Paula Cole song 10 times in a row he shakes his head and quietly curses me and when I've made his favorite dinner and it's just the two of us and he's busy telling me about his new class schedule I know he's mine forever, a little piece of him is mine forever. When he started working at a bank when he was 16 and loved the idea of counting money all day I wonder what alien tucked him in the crib in the other room and where my real child is out there in the universe.

I miss the little blonde kid digging in the beach behind the lake house, his hair full of sand and his skin tanned from April until October. Everything I do is about those tiny memories that make who I am. When I am putting a mermaid on a bracelet I am with little Rich at the beach and I've taken the day off work and pulled him out of kindergarten for the day and headed to water to watch him build sandcastles. In those quiet moments he became this person he is now.He loves the little animals the way I love them. He loves adventure because his auntie taught him the love of adventure. He has his father's love of children and his Uncle Andy's love of pure laughter just for the sake of laughter. He loves the cubs because his first memories of his uncle Stan were about Cubs games. He reminds me of my dad when he's bitching about me taking a short cut doing anything and when he complains about my driving. He reminds me of my mom when I find the little box in his room full of one earring his aunt loved, movie tickets from his first date with Christina and the tickets from the Cubs Yankees game a few years back.

The other day I was wondering who I was. My knee jerk reaction is to say I'm a mother, I'm an artist, I'm a businesswoman, I'm a best friend, a sister, someone's lover blah blah blah. But it's changed now. He's a man this son of mine. I'm an artist, a business woman, a mother, a best friend, a sister, and aunt and cousin, and someone's lover, someone's secret, and mostly I am loved. thanks for spending this time with me. If you have an interest in my art you can find me at Carrie.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

The season of shadows:

I love polymer clay. I think it started from when I was a kid and my mom and I made dollhouse miniatures and we'd spend hours making little plates of food, plants, garden stuff. We'd be lost in creation for hours. We made bread clay with white glue and we'd use sawdust for the nuts on caramel apples.

Here's my first little online tutorial. I started making jack O lantern bracelets three years ago and these were such fun I wanted to share.

Start with orange soft polymer clay and form little balls, couldn't be easier. Kneading the dough first makes this much easier. Push an eye pin through the center of each of your little jack O lanterns and put them in the oven on warm for about 20 minutes. Take them out of the oven and let them dry.

You can paint faces on your little guys but you can also make faces with a black sharpie marker, they have all different sizes now and they are permanent. Draw your little face in black and then take a white paint pen and add your teeth, your eye balls, anything fun. Now use the sculpey glaze over each pumpkin and let them dry on glass. You can cut the eye pins smaller to add to a bracelet. Now if you love beads as much as I do you can add tons of beads. I posted a photo of an example above. Now...if you prefer flat pumpkins, just roll logs from those polymer clay strings and put the logs side by side and cut them into little 1 1/2 inch strands and pinch each end adding the top and a tiny little green leaf. Run the eye pin down the center being very careful not to puncture the clay so you can see it. The faces are a little tricker because of the bumbs but the pumpkins turn out so great. You can find photos of them at or ebay at poetsummer. If you have any questions, drop me a note at Enjoy the season. I will miss summer this year but I am looking forward to the holiday season as well. Carrie.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Paula Cole Inspiration:

Lord make me a lightning bolt to burn off this ring
(comin' down, comin' down),
Lord make me a Skilsaw to cut through these chains
(comin' down, comin' down),
Lord give me the clarity to see through this smoke,
And salvage the woman comin' down.

And the rain fell and it fell and it fell. There was so much rain here that it broke records for rainfall and it seemed as though it would never stop raining. I knew there was trouble when I woke and while the house was very quiet three floors above the crawlspace I heard a strange noise and I realized it was the pump pumping water from below the house. I was freaked out, found Richie who assured me all was going to be just fine. We loaded up on junk food and candles in case the power blew, which of course it did the next morning but we were prepared. A neighbor offered an extension cord to his generator (who ever believes they will need a generator?) I used the bit of day light to work on some projects I had here and checked over at the studio to be sure all was dry there.

I know it's been awhile since I wrote a blog but life just moves too fast for me on occasion. Hours meld into days and days into weeks. I am working on opening a new shop on etsy this weekend and tweaking little things here and there to get ready. I am so excited. I love to play with fashion and hats and clothes so this really did spark some interest in my ever spinning head. And then there was the rain. We've had weeks of it, all at one time and when it's rainy I tend to put my head down and create just to pass the time until the sun shines again. And if we didn't have enough with the cats we have, well we've acquired another. We had three cats when we moved here and one passed. I think it was just the stress of the move. My son who always thinks that three cats is the perfect number to have (so they have someone to play with) talked me into keeping the dawg when she arrived. Well the rage of storms we had a few weeks ago produced a little boy cat to the door. He was fragile and tiny and starving. I swore we weren't keeping him that three cats was the cat limit to any house but as kittens tend to do he just grew on me. He has been given a name yet although we've kicked around snagglepuss and pusser, Jr. (our old cat pusser still holds a special part of our heart) and even minnie me becuase the doggie loves him so much and finally found a willing participant for her silly cat games. Just when I was cursing all the rain, it was the rain who carried this little bundle of love to the door. I looked for his siblings, perhaps a hungry mom cat but no luck. The mailman (who is a bigger cat lover than myself) tells me there were several stray litters a few blocks away but when I went to look for them they had all scattered. It was only last night that Richie mentioned that "what would another cat hurt at this point." I almost lost my mind and I am counting down the days very quietly until he's off about 300 miles away pursuing another degree.

I've been listening to Paula Cole lately. Her last album, yes the woman swinging on the tree on the cover, was so full of inspiration and I like the new one, it's growing on me. "I've forgotten who I used to be." seems to be the theme of the album and I wonder about that myself sometimes also. A few years ago adventure was the word of the day and Best Friend and I would be off pursuing some adventure that would leave us days at a time without sleep and it didn't seem to bother each of us at all. I miss those days. I like to believe I am a little more settled and wiser but there's a little voice in me that knows better and longs for a little instability and some pure adventure for the sake of feeling a little more on the edge.

Lord make me an arrow to pierce through the lies
(comin' down, comin' down),
Lord make me a lens to better see my life
(comin' down, comin' down),
Lord make me an instrument to sing away the pain,
This rushing river, comin' down.

I'm free, here in the mountains of peace may I be.
I see the greatness above and the smallness of me.

Lord I'm mistaken in the choices that I made
(comin' down, comin' down)
I made me a prison that should've been a man
(comin' down, comin' down)
Lord help me discover the courage to Be,
To handle these changes comin' down.

It's beautiful here today, those clear looming skies of the fall hanging over the trees just about to burst into color. The seasons keep changing, another baby due in the family this winter, life just swirling around. I have been so full of one new idea after another and find myself lost in beads and in the pursuit of the next thing this little business of mine will produce that will lead me on yet another avenue to share my art. I love all the notes I received about my little blog about my little minnie me copying all my new ideas. You are all so kind and so supportive. She responded in some crazy way on some blog (before she was found out she would write me long emails telling me how much she loved my work and admired me) hahahaha, it was so horribly written that all I could feel was sorry for her and wanting to sue her high school. It seems as though the zombies of ebay will follow you around for awhile. It has made me want to abandon ebay and it's insane nature all together but I built my business on ebay and I am trying to find a way to keep in touch with those customers I've developed there hoping more and more they will move over to etsy. I knew I was so over it when I saw she had made a shit house bracelet. You are what you create.

I'm free here in the mountains of peace may I be,
I see the greatness above and the smallness of me.
So free, here in garden awake consciously,
I see the greatness within; the greatness in me.

Lord I'm your instrument, I'll shoulder the weight,
Of feeling emotions in a deeper shade.
I'll be the one who puts them to song,
And liberate the heartache comin' down

Sometimes I fell this business I've started is the mountain and I get smaller and smaller as the numbers escalate. That's the reason I took some time to make a few shadow boxes, work on some clothing creations and even started a few altered art books. I need time away from the jewelry to be inspired by it all over again. I am trying to streamline a few things in my life to make some time for myself as the holiday approaches and the real craziness begins. I would hope that for all of you, that you would hire some help with the dirty details of life so that you could carve out a little time that is just for joy. I don't want to be overwhelmed by having a successful season only to find out in January that another season has passed where I worried more about work than about baking cookies with zach and sam, sat on a sofa somewhere playing super mario carts with the blonde bubble head, listened to Richie's grand plans for his next educational challenge. Ya know Craig if you are reading this, I always think about you in the fall, I think it's because of the harvest and the grand accomplishment that entails. You have been dancing around in my head.

If you have an interest in my art, you can find it at or on ebay of course as poetsummer. You can email me at Take care, Carrie.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

The City I Love


HOG Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders:

They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I
have seen your painted women under the gas lamps
luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it
is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to
kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the
faces of women and children I have seen the marks
of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who
sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer
and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing
so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on
job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the
little soft cities;

Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning
as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with
white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young
man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has
never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse.
and under his ribs the heart of the people,
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of
Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog
Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with
Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.

-Carl Sandburg

Best friend was here this weekend. She taught me to love this city. It's not as though I didn't have a taste of the city as a child but we were a most certainly the product of a sleepy suburb. My hometown was one of those sleepy metra station towns where everyone knew everyone else. We didn't venture into the city much except for the once a year trip to the museums or to see the Christmas windows at Marshall Fields. I worked downtown when I was younger and that's where I met Best Friend. She is a force of nature. We worked in the same department and it amazes me even to this day how many people that not only do I still know from working there but how many I'd like to still know. We were all young professional types some with families, some building our lives. We all knew eachother and our backgrounds, the stories of our lives. Here I meet this sweet innocent girl from the East Coast, transplated here for a job and she was just full of adventure.

Years and years later we find eachother again. After I leave this job and start my family and do the school, work, school thing over and over again. I call her out of the blue to tell her my father passed and she had just lost her grandparents. We laughed a little we cried a little and since that day I've spoken to her every day of my life, sometimes several times a day.

Isn't it strange when friendship does that? When you are forged in steel and they just know you. They know you through your life adventures. We know eachother from overtime Saturday afternoons 20 something years ago when we'd wander into the movies after working and then stop for dinner and find our ways to the different end of the city we'd call home. She was at my wedding, there when my son was born. She, this friend I will have the rest of my life shares her family with me; her neices and nephews call me "Auntie Carrie" and my son affectionately referes to her as just "Auntie" as though there were no other and there'd never be another "Auntie." Her brothers and sisters treat me as one of their own and when my son didn't have a grandma, there was Best Friend sharing her mother and now my son holds his "found grandmother" close to his heart, taking her to lunch and picking her up from the airport where they will have a little alone time.

And in the context of that friendship, the one I hold the dearest is the backdrop of this city I love. So, it was natural for us to take a visit downtown. We wandered through the streets, the cavernous darkness of the financial markets on LaSalle, over to the lake to watch the fountain (already turned off for the evening) and past the new Trump Tower. The city, towering over us welcomed us into it's arms, making us just another of the teaming throbbing pulse beat of people moving from here to there, some to visit the city, others who call it home and those train people heading to metra to find their way home after a day in one of the million of offices there.

We had lunch with an old friend, spent days shopping and chatting and trying to fight off sleep to spend just a few more minutes together. My son shared his next big adventure, you see he gets his sense of adventure from his beloved "Auntie." He will jump on a train or plane in a moment's notice because she's taught him there is no place on this earth he wouldn't be welcome and that adventure is the pulse of life itself. We laughed over the antics of the newest found kitten who found her way here lost in the recent storms. We made lunch together, found some garage sales and mapped out the future. I have a plan, she has a plan and soon they will merge again and we will have that one plan that means being closer. The last year and something has been difficult with her being so far away but time passes love never changes. Love is the constant in all our lives, in every relationship. She will be here soon. I will go there and I am forever blessed.

I carry this city with me, every day in my heart, in my art and who I am. I can't even count the times we've sat in her high rise on Michigan avenue and watched the fireworks on New Year's Eve with our family around loving us. We've explored the ethnic corners of China town all the way up to Devon avenue where we've shopped for Sari fabric. On every street corner, in every crevice there is a story, lives moving through the days, friends shopping and taking long pic nic lunches up at Northwestern.

Thanks to Carl Sandburg for when I pass a screaming preacher on state street, or see the housing projects being torn down, drive down archer avenue past where my parents and their parents lived and carved our a living. When I see the man on the street homeless selling newspapers....I think of Sandburg

Come and show me another city with lifted head singing
so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.

I love my city and I love that Best Friend was here to share it with met his weekend. I am still high from it all. If you are interested in my art you can always find it at and you can find me at Take care, Carrie.

Monday, July 28, 2008

How long would you wait for love?

Time seems to march all over your face when you pass another birthday. I just celebrated with my family this weekend, a lovely dinner party, pretty packages with bows. The only thing missing of course was Best Friend, but she will be here soon enough. I can't wait for her visit.

Then a woman writes and asks me to make her a Garbriel Garcia Marquez piece dedicated to Love in the Time of Cholera. I remember reading the book years ago and how much I loved to turn every page. The love oozed from the font and yet if you hadn't been in love like that, if you hadn't felt the mystery of it all it would all seem like a crazy obsession that would easily be cured the first time he told you something you didn't want to hear. The urge to scream his name and tell him you love him as he pulled out of the driveway would all fade to nothing the first time he grabbed his golf clubs and ran from the house while you wanted him to lay next to you and read the Sunday paper wondering what New York Time Best seller book you would go find and share. (This isn't a book he wanted to read at all and you know that far ahead of time.) You never fall in love with the man who wants to read the same book you've been aching to read. Never.

But what if you had. What if you had danced a little with someone who said the right things, thought the right things, thought those things before you put the notion in his head to think them just to shut you up or make you smile or do something very dirty he's wanted to do for some time now and just hasn't said the very right thing to convince you to try it? What if you loved the things about them they didn't even like about themselves? What if his never ending patience that one would find glad handing made every blood vessel in your heart open really wide and the blood flow like a river? What if?

And if you did find him and somehow in the swirling masses of ten billion people he found you and because of the way life works you couldn't love one another? How long would you wait? Would you get on with life and just do what life makes you do, taking your trips to the market to find the perfect in season musk melon, picking up the dry cleaning, packing the boxes you hate to pack, dusting behind the sofa, heading to the gym, all the those things that make our life work just waiting for the day when all the stars align right and you can have the quiet dancing in the middle of a busy room because eventually if you wait and wait and wait the world will quiet down and you can have what you want. You pay the dues and you wait? Or do you just put your life on hold, change the world, or as T.S. Eliot asks us, "force the moment to a crisis?" and change everything you've ever known just to love someone? Is love that powerful?

I've always said no. Love is never enough. Love is just a component, an accessory, the right necklace with the right blouse, the perfect hair comb. The rest of it is just loving yourself enough to get through the day. Then you read Love In The Time of Cholera and it changes your heart just a little.

To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else's heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter. He had not missed a single one of her gestures, not one of the indications of her character, but he did not dare approach her for fear of destroying the spell.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Would the every day life stuff ruin the magic? Would it take away the hope your heart holds on to with both hands when things aren't going right and you are JUST SURE that love would change it all? And if so, how long can you hold on? Until your finger nails are bleeding and you are sure the 25th floor fall will crush you? In one of my Favorite Ani DeFranco songs she sings,

she went over to his apartment clutching her decision and he said did you come here to tell me goodbye she built a skyscraper of procrastination and then she leaned out the 25th floor window of her reply and she felt like an actress just reading her lines when she finally said yes it's just really goodbye this time far below was the blacktop and the tiny toy cars and it all fell so fast and it all fell so far and she said you are a miracle but that is not all you are also a stiff drink and i am on call, you are a party and i am a school night and i'm looking for my doorkey and you are my porchlight and you'll never know dear just how much i love you, you'll probably think this was just my big excuse but i stand commited to a love that came before you and the fact that i adore you is but one of my truths

maybe your crush is the strong one, the stable clear thinker with a life coach and a history of doing what makes all better in the world. Maybe he or she can wait forever because waiting is what they do best. Waiting is an art in itself. Standing for 3 hours to wait for the one roller coaster swoosh that will thrill you to your toes. Waiting you see means never having to make the decision. You never have to committ, you never have to give it your all, you never have to do anything because you're calmly "waiting." You wait and wait and wait until you have a birthday and you think, perhaps waiting wasn't a good idea. It may have saved my heart or sacrificed it. Suddenly you imagine the family standing around while you are on a marble alter with the word RIGHT engraved on the top and some faceless stranger is cutting out your heart and telling you in hushed tones "this will be better for all of us dear." And by god, maybe he's right. Jesus.

I don't believe in God, but I'm afraid of Him.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez

God hides in a little box in my room. You have to twist it in all directions you see, because its' a magical pandora box. It holds hours of "did I tell you the story about how that poem changed my life?" and "once I was feeling very alone and it was raining and you showed up and wasn't just the best?"

He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Yes, a birthday will pass or a New Year's eve in a room full of people who could just disappear and you would hardly notice and you are reborn on this earth with an idea or two that burn in your head for awhile and you dance with them and dance with them until you fall down exhausted in the attempt and you throw away his number and you forget why you tried in the first place. You see even the lover Garcia created went to love hundreds of women, know their body, hear them sigh in dark corridors in Europe and yet he remembered, he remembered that love can change you all over again with a glance, a thought or the smell of perfume. Life moves on and on and on and still we hold out hope. Love may not be the end all but mixed with a little sugary hope on your tongue and the whisper of just the right words would send you into your room to pack a suitcase and you could leave it all behind without a second glance.

I've learned this in 43 years....Inspiration just lands on your shoulder like a butterfly, a woman always forgets the pain of childbirth, and the right man can break her heart over and over again and if he's very charming, she'll even give him the knife. I've learned that the fire of passion can simmer like coals in your belly and it is possible to love and love and love.

He repeated until his dying day that there was no one with more common sense, no stonecutter more obstinate, no manager more lucid or dangerous, than a poet.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez

This year I gave myself the gift of just saying, I love you to someone. I may not have used those words because I am hoping that being on this planet for 43 years has taught me to hold back just a little. But I know it was heard because they know my heart. Thanks for spending this time with me. Carrie.

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

I have always admired Eliot's work, but then I memorized Prufrock. It took me weeks and weeks reading it over and over again in free moments, moments not measured out in coffee spoons. Someone I love loved the poem and I thought that by putting every little word through my head I could figure out what he loved about the poem. I don't think Eliot wanted to "go then you and I" with a woman necessarily. He was looking for a friend, someone he could explain his life to, someone who would understand the pressures of upper class life in England living as a poet and living almost alone. Eliot's wife was nearly insane and although he loved her spirit and the way she laughed he was tormented by her moods and she apparently never lacked for a mood.

Eliot's best friend fixed him up with his sister, that's how he met his wife. I always tell people I know that I can tell who has a best friend and who does not by the way they speak of them. If you have a best friend they don't allow you to marry an insane person whether they love them and are related to them or not. They give you the heads up, the nudge as it were. I once saw Oprah talking to a woman who claimed her best friend slept with her husband and Oprah just shook her head and said, "you don't have a best friend and it's certainly not this woman you used to know." AMEN.

Back to Prufrock. He wrote of mermaids and dreams he had as a child. Eliot was feeling sorry for himself, dancing with melancholia (I do this myself at times so I can see the signs) and wondering what his life had been if he had taken the moment at hand as he was sure he should have several times and "forced a situation to it's crisis." And if he had would she had replied, "That is not what I meant at all, that is not what I meant at all." or would she had taken ownership and lived an authentic life, owning up to what we mean and living so that we don't have that moment when we have to force a crisis because anyone that would love us would know what we wanted. I struggle with that, telling people that I love who are already burdened with the busy thing that is their lives what I then expect from them. Soon months will pass and I will begin to wonder why they can't figure it out on their own. Insane.

While I love Eliot's poem and wonder how many times he rolled up his trousers and walked along the beach and I can't help but eat a summer peach and wonder if he smiled while eating his or if he was so full of self consideration that nothing could make him smile. Men carry a unique burden that women are only beginning to understand in the era of single mothers. The men in Eliot's time couldn't afford to be "insane." They had to work, to raise a family and to maintain an image. I being a single mother I felt empathy for the poet and listened to his words in my head until I felt a kindred spirit. There were many days when my son's father was MIA, off living his own life and I would have loved for a few days alone just to go a little crazy and self-analyze my life. Putting it in a poem is one thing, dancing on the table in a bar is quite another.

So after I put Prufrock in my head, the bossy republican sends me a first edition of Eliot's work and that's where I found this poem:

      S she laughed I was aware of becoming involved
      in her laughter and being part of it, until her
      teeth were only accidental stars with a talent
      for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps,
      inhaled at each momentary recovery, lost finally
      in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by
      the ripple of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter
      with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading
      a pink and white checked cloth over the rusty
      green iron table, saying: "If the lady and
      gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden,
      if the lady and gentleman wish to take their
      tea in the garden ..." I decided that if the
      shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of
      the fragments of the afternoon might be collected,
      and I concentrated my attention with careful
      subtlety to this end.

Strangely enough it wasn't my laugh I thought of and it wasn't a romantic issue with me. It felt like having lunch with the Best Friend. We'd be lost in laughter in some small cafe near Northwestern, eating shrimp tacos for the first time. We had horrible service, really horrible service and our waitress was off sitting on a computer while we were waiting for another glass of ice tea on a hot summer afternoon. I said, "I hope she's not spending her tip." and we both broke out in laughter and I wondered how manyh other people wished they were me, and would know the joy of making my best friend laugh during an afternoon where we didn't have to be anywhere and nobody was anxiously awaiting our return. We could shop, we could sit and laugh, we could drive up to that little park by the lake and roll out the old quilt in the back of my car and read goofy magazines and play backgammon. If she laughed enough, the afternoon would be completely gone.

I wondered who Eliot's friend was. Was she his wife right before they put her back in a straight jacket? Was it an editor or a woman he almost knew who caught his eye in his lonliness? Was it a woman nobody knew but him and they shared stolen afternoons in a tiny Parisian cafe? Did she hand make butterflies and hang them in a park in the trees? Did she remember his birthday when nobody else in the world remembered? Did she kiss him just once and melted his heart? I haven't found any other information about the poem and I am glad. I like the mystery of the heart of a poet.

Work stuff? Ah, it's all good. The summer is breezing by and I am getting ready for Christmas already. I am working on a new line to add to my jewelry and in another week or so I will be ready to photograph. It's been really fun and I can't wait to see what sort of interest develops. If you are interested in my art you can always find me at or on Ebay under the seller name POETSUMMER and my own Ecommerce site at You can always reach me at and I welcome any emails. Thanks for spending this time with me. Carrie.

Friday, July 18, 2008

Nobody Can Do What You Love

Doing what we love

I am embarking on a new venture. I bring you this information with such excitement. It's still all a bit of a secret but I have been working in every spare minute, creating and I was reminded again that work is joy when you are doing what you love. I celebrated my 500th sale this week on Etsy. I almost can't believe what an incredible accomplishment that is. You see I've only been selling on Etsy for 6 months. I dabbled a little before and concentrate more effort at the first of the year. I can't tell you how much I love Etsy and the opportunity there for self expression. And just when I thought moving to a new place would leave some of the Ebay nonsense behind don't you know I have a few straggling mentals following me around but let's just say they aren't as successful as they had hoped. I even have one copying every little tiny idea I create and that is what sparked my new venture. You see they can't copy what they can't do so it was time to get to the work table and come up with a wow factor that will leave them stunned and a tad confused.

I like to think that being in my 40's I am a little wiser than when my son was young and I was just a new wife and a mother. I become more calm in the face of diversity, more understanding when struggling with someone else's foibles. That is the case until you realize a 70 year old woman is trying so hard to be you. The things you learn when you run your own business, it's been the most interesting educational experience I've ever had. What do you do when faced with a 70 year old woman who writes you little notes of encouragement only to find out that every time you put out a new product, she's copying it almost word for word? What do you even say to her when she's constantly contacting you only to write nasty notes to others about your efforts and when they are forwarded to you, you are left a little stunned. I think that this is one of the tests of success. There is a cost to doing what you love and being successful while doing it. You are tested to see how you will react when faced with a Jeannie or a Crazy Rosemary (both of which have coincidentially disappeared) or even one of their new little insane buddies. They just poof because as hard as they try they can't ever do what I do and they won't be able to do what you do. The hangers on of the world will be left in the dust when you are doing what you love. They won't ever have the soul or the intellect it takes to pull it off.

So, my advice if you feel a little overwhelmed by those that see you do what you love and find a way just to be an irritant? Do what you do every day. Put your head down and put in the work until it's such joy that attempting to steal your thunder will be impossible. I couldn't make baby items because I haven't had a baby in a long time so I wouldn't understand what it takes to make that work. I couldn't carve a wood statue to save my life. The idea of holding that sharp knife and slowly grinding into wood is something that I wouldn't have the patience or understanding to do. As we create art we create our own experience. Nobody can do what you can do because they don't bring your experience to the table or your talent. Soon you will just starve them out and they will go away. And don't believe for a moment the people who try to steal who you are and what you do don't know what they are doing. EVERYONE knows the difference between right and wrong. This I know. And you get to pick I guess what road you will take, will you be the wrong and complain that it's just circumstance? Or will you take the rougher road to find your own voice? That's the question isn't it? Will you use your own talent and your own voice or will you lay your head on a pillow at night and KNOW that you spent the entire day attempting to sing someone else's song? The great are always remembered and the not so great fall to the wayside as truth always wills itself out. No matter how many rocks you throw in the bag, now matter how many times you push truth under the water it surfaces and when it does it's a constant reminder.

When I preview my new line (very soon I hope) I will post some photos here and you will always find me on For those that have been so kind to include me on their treasury there know that in the future anyone who mentions my art in their treasury, I will send you a free pair of photo charm earrings just convo me with your address and some theme you are looking for.

For those sellers on Etsy who are excited about an art exchange that isn't always about money, there's the PIF tag, or pay it forward. You list an item in your shop for $.20 and the person who buys it, pays the listing fee of that $.20 and the shipping costs and by accepting that offer they agree to list something in their store for $.20. I am going to give this a try this weekend with some new earring designs and we'll see how it goes. I am excited about it. There is also a new feature on Etsy where you can refer a friend to the Etsy site and receive a credit bank for people who sign up and join. I can't stress enough how important it is to make Etsy work, it's a wonderful place for an exchange of artistic spirit without a bunch of the Ebay nonsense. I am working on a live feed to my blog of a class I am teaching here in the upcoming week. I'll see if I can pull off the technology.

My birthday is right around the corner and as I mark time as we all mark time I am praying I can learn to look past the momentary situation and look into the future and enjoy success as it arrives, one little flicker at a time.

Enjoy the day, do something you love and share it with the world. We are anxiously waiting.
With much Love,

Thursday, June 26, 2008

The Universe in a thimble

When I am creating a bracelet or any work of jewelry I often think of it as a tiny world in itself. I attribute this gift to my mother. You see, when I was a child she taught me to love doll houses. We would create the little food, the little furniture and yes we would even crochet tiny blankets for our doll house world. The people living there always had Gumby limbs and crazy dresses. When I would start to feel sorry for myself because my mother would make me wear a denim shirt with red and white checked sleeves and a big apple on the front, I would think of the little doll house people with the pink polka dotted dress glued to her with the tiny petticoat peeking out from the bottom. She always had to wear big black Mary Jane shoes and had a constant pleasing expression. Perhaps my mother was wishing she had a daughter that pleasing.

When I am making a bracelet and when I started making theme bracelets I loved the idea that a bracelet full of cookbook images would have little forks and mix master charms and even little mini hamburgers. When I would wear one, people would almost always stop and ask me to show them the little components, kitchy and fun and full of their own energy. I think tiny things do have their own energy. When something is loud and screaming at you it seems as though it has no secrets, but when you are talking about something tiny, something so small you have to stop and check out the details you wonder about it's secrets. I wonder who has carried around this broken earring I have found at the scrap bin at the goodwill. Who loved this earring, was it a birthday present? Did some bride give this to a bridesmaid as a thank you for the months of angst leading up to her wedding? Did a lover leave this on a park bench while she was kissing her latest crush and it was found by yet another hander offer waiting for it to be someone else's treasure?

Objects have their own energy. When I start a piece of jewelry I know in the end who would want to wear it. I know the large Frida Kahlo Day of the dead pieces are going to be worn by frail women who have a fire and energy to carry off a huge piece of jewelry. They re the women who walk with confidence and who are out living in the world and when I am finished and wondering about who will wear one of my pieces of art I often send them a little prayer into the air wishing that they are noticed by someone like them who wants to share themselves with the world and it may open a whole new dialog. I just received a letter from Paris from a woman who purchased a bracelet and she remarked that the people in her book club were fascinated by the images of Plath and many of them haven't even heard of her.

Our lives are full of mystery and a song that is all our own. I would hope that if you have had a desire to take some of yourself and put it out there that you will take the bold step to do so and share some of yourself in a world just waiting for you. If you have an interest in my art you can find it at under the seller name POETSUMMER. You can also find me at Ebay under the same name or my own E Commerce site at Summerpoet.Com.


Tuesday, June 24, 2008

A Love Song

A Love Song - William Carlos Williams

What have I to say to you when we shall meet?
Yet - I lie here thinking of you.

The stain of love is upon the world
yellow, yellow, yellow
It eats into the leaves
smears with saffron
The horned branches that lean heavily
against a smooth purple sky.

There is no light-
Only a honey-Thick stain
that drips from leaf to leaf
and limb to limb
spoiling the colors
of the whole world.

I am alone
the weight of love
has buoyed me up
until my head knocks against the sky.

See me!
My hair is dripping with Nectar
Starlings carry it on their black wings
See at last, my arms and hands are lying idle

How can I tell if I will ever love you again
as I do now?

Love changes. It changes more than the weather. It changes in the blink of an eye and without warning. One moment we are in rapture wondering what the next moment will bring like Williams wondered. The next, we are moving on. Does the familiar ruin romantic love?

I always tell people that love is a decision. You have that split second when you just know. For Best Friend it was in Daley Plaza. We had reconnected after years of just random hanging out time. I wasn't feeling well, a personal physical thing. I could tell she was worried about me because she was handling me with kid gloves and that's just not her MO. Suddenly in the middle of November she took her shoes off and went wading in the middle of water and then took her wet feet to pound out a pattern on the cement. I knew right then that I'd know her every day of my life. I loved so much about her energy that I wanted to be near it and I could be whoever I was forever and she'd be my cheerleader. I could fly high on the swing and not worry about falling off.

I was thinking about that decision of love when I was reading that Williams poem. Years ago I was in New York working, playing, being in trouble at a crossroads in my life and I fell hard for a bridge playing New York intellectual type. He was so foreign to other men I had known. We had hours and I mean hours of conversation and everything he told me I drank in like a sponge. I wanted to be so near to him that my hands would get jittery knowing he was on his way to find me. I love the way he played with my hair and when he kissed me a little piece of me was home. On Summer days like today I close my eyes and wish I was again in New York, staying at the Mayflower, putting on a sun dress and taking a long cool summer bath wondering where the evening would lead. There was no decision there, it was just summer love, moments I carry with me like I carry the smell of my mother's baking at Christmas, the sound of my son lost in laughter, the heart pang of love's lost.

Anne DeFranco wrote in some beautiful lyric, "I don't know why red fades before blue, it just does." I don't know why summer love gets lost the in fast pace of our lives. I just know that it does. In my room, in my tall dresser, under a few lace trimmed girl things is a hotel room key from the Mayflower, room 213 and like Pat Conroy wrote "I wish there were two lives afforded to every man and woman. The life they were fated to live and the secret life that sustains me now." We all have a secret life. We all have those dormant desires that will come back alive in a piece of art, in a song, in the way the wind smells in the summer in Central Park in New York. How lucky we are to have those moments, thousands of them that make up the miracle that is life. Isn't it a miracle? I remember calling Best Friend the day I met the bridge player. I wouldn't trade a moment of it. Being part of art every day is part of finding that part of me and living it every day.

I have a song of New York in my heart
a song of freedom carried on the wings of pigeons
I sing that song in the shower
and when the rain seeps in through my skin
and drowns my heart
Singing that song breathes life into all I do
it makes me a better mother
a better friend
a better lover
a better daughter of the world.

How do you thank someone for giving you
the melody to the song of your heart?
you simply love them forever.

- Me

If you have an interest in my art, you can find it at under the seller name POETSUMMER. I also sell my work on ebay under the same seller name and at my E commerce site at I have some amazing news soon and can't wait to share it with you. All I have to do is dedicate a few hours to finishing up some work here.


Sunday, June 15, 2008

Father's Day

A little mention of Whitman as he was the father of free verse. If you haven't read I Sing The Body Electric, it's time to head to the library. This stuff is the grit of America and if you stop to think about it he's teaching us what all our fathers have taught us; respect the land, treat others with kindness but be firm and take special honor of those who sacrifice for you.

O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless--of cities fill'd with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light--of the objects mean--of the struggle ever renew'd;
Of the poor results of all--of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest--with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring--What good amid these, O me, O life?



I don't think of my father most on father's day as he wasn't a man of ceremony. He didn't command respect one day a year, he commanded respect always. He was dark hair and dark eyes and knew more people than anyone I've ever met. Anywhere we'd be there was someone my father knew and knew fairly well. He liked that people knew him and it was an every day occurrence that someone would just stop at our house, no call, no plans, just stopped in. And when they did there was always an extra plate for them at the table. There was always time to stop and tell stories and he always had a hand to help someone else.

People were different then, they were more social and like I said he just knew everybody. We had huge summer parties because he loved to cook for a crowd and if he came home from a fishing trip with coolers full of fish, we had the fish fry for anyone and everyone we knew. My father was fun. People wanted to be near him because he would make you laugh and draw you close but still maintain a wall of mystery about him. He served in the armed forces. He was a marine and once you are a marine, you are always a marine. My brother and I used to crack that we were going to sue the government one day for messing with our father's head. He wanted things in a certain formation and when that didn't happen he was a terror.

Most of all my father taught us loyalty. You didn't take what wasn't yours and you didn't behave one way but talk another. I have my father's fierce sense of love and loyalty especially for my family. When someone steps out of line and loyalty isn't their first and foremost thought I become frustrated. My mother and father used to tell us kids, "love each other with your whole heart for one day your mother and I will be gone." How right he was. My mother died before her 40th birthday and he died not long after. The hole they left in our lives felt like these giant footprints that we would walk around, try to build bridges over and out of frustration eventually you just give in to. I miss them. I miss him when I am unsure and not feeling strong. I miss calling him on Thursday afternoons and bringing him lunch. You see, growing up I had a warrior on my side. No matter what circumstances he was on your side.

In the 8th grade or so I had this teacher, Mr. Zolno. Mr. Zolno was a strange man, he walked with a noticeable limp and he was a cog in the system. I battled this teacher about not wanting to learn to speak little parts of Spanish. I came home in total frustration as this Spanish class kept me from the extra music classes I loved so well. One day I just poured it all out to my dad and the next day in the middle of class he had taken himself from work to show up at school. After a heated conversation with Mr. Zolno my dad threated to break off his good leg and shove it up his ass. Students were perched at the door and for awhile my dad was a bit of a folk hero. Later he would tell me, "study hard and the Zolnos of the world won't know what to do with you, forget the extra music class. If you want to study music your mother and I will arrange that after school." So why go to school if you felt this way? "Simple, nobody screws with my kid's head."

He was a bully and a man who loved tender women. My mother loved him so much that I think it's a blessing she passed first. She wouldn't know what to do with alone. So Dad, I miss you. I don't just honor you today, I think of you every day and when someone tells me I am being like my father I just kinda smile and try to be more tender. You gave me my love of the garden, my fierce passion for anything and most of all strength. What more could a daughter ask?

I hope you all enjoy Father's day and take a moment to tell your father you love him, even if loving him is a challenge. I am off to make Chicken Ala king for my son.

If you have an interest in my art, you can find me at under the seller name POETSUMMER. You can find me on Ebay under the same seller name (I just passed a 4,000 star feedback milestone there) and as always on my own website under I have a little contest running on etsy. When you purchase anything there I will assign you a lottery # when I mail out your order and when we reach the 500th sale I will pull a name and make you a custom bracelet, on me. The shipping is on me and the bracelet on me. I will also pull about 10 runners up who I will make either a pair of earrings for or a ring. It's just a little way of saying thanks for YOUR loyalty and for being so supportive of my art. Take care and enjoy the day! Carrie.

Saturday, June 14, 2008

A Way of Saying Thanks

I have had such a positive response to my jewelry on Etsy. Right now there are almost 1,200 people watching my new designs and feature me as a favorite. That's amazing to me. My sales are over 320 and I feel as though I need to find a way to say thanks. Here goes; Every time you want to purchase something from my site on etsy, (, seller name: POETSUMMER), and you leave me a note that you found visited my blog, I will put your name on a lottery ticket. When I reach my 500th sale (and as things go now that won't take long), then I will have someone here pull that number and you're the winner! I will make you a custom bracelet from me, any theme you like. That's at the least a $60 value and I will ship it to you anywhere in the world.

I try every week to bring a new design for the offering as I know that everyone gets tired of looking at the same thing. This week I introduced my Found Objects bracelets as seen above, rather than full of photo charms, full of found objects from this and that. The above bracelet is my Love Is bracelet and is featured on etsy this week along with a Faith bracelet and a Tarot Card bracelet.

My new line of pendants/charms is 5 random thoughts. These are five pendants either found or made by me in charms and beads that represent a color theme or a subject matter theme. They look great on a ribbon as a pendant all together, make a great purse pull and I have even had a customer wearing them as earrings on exchangeable wires.

As always, if you want to see your family, your favorite pet, your church, people on your soccer team or yoga class on a one of a kind piece of wearable art, please drop me a line and I will create something special just for you that you can hand down to people you love one day. My jewelry is all about appealing to what strikes at your heart as it's made from the stuff of my heart. Take care, enjoy the day and keep in contact, Carrie.

To Be A War Protestor - Pound

Imagine if you lived your life dedicated to peace. I mean it's bad enough I suppose that people die of diseases we should have invested money in to prevent. People die every day of cancer or AIDS. Babies die in their crib of sudden death syndrome. For young people to be blown to pieces on the other side of the world, away from their families and people that love them seems a cruel joke of sorts. Yet the brave put their lives on the line for us, to keep us free or so our government tells us. To be against the war, to not want to hear Charlie Gibson tell us about another 40 dead while we are making Chicken Ala King makes us unpatriotic? I don't have a child in combat. The war doesn't really touch my life other than perhaps increasing gas prices. I never blink an eye when a reporter barks about another $.25 gallon. Europeans have been paying far more than Americans for gas that's why they drive those little tiny cars. But to be at war and think that we shouldn't feel a dent in our daily lives while thousands of our youngest and bravest are living in hell day in and day out while their families live on the edge of pain waiting for the call, wondering if their house will have to be wheel chair accessible seems just selfish. If gas were $20 a gallon would we want our children home, our 19 year old army children safe?

I tend to think supporting the war is unpatriotic. We seem safe. We've beaten down the enemy whoever they are. We have poured buckets and buckets of cash, cash better spent sending those dedicated brave souls to college at a problem that never seems to end. The middle east has been at war for what seems like forever and things there just don't change. The only difference now? Now Americans are the new target.

Where does this bring me? I was wondering this last week when Best Friend mentions Ezra Pound and that she had read an article about a man who knew Pound at St. Elizabeths mental hospital in Washington, DC.

Pound protested the war. He was in Italy at the time and he met Moussilini and he liked him. They ate together, they explored the Italian countryside together and he considered him a friend. When Pound heard from his American friends in Washington that they planned on invading Italy and that the US press couldn't say a pleasant thing about the Italian government, Pound went on radio to protest the path his country was taking. He talked about the power of the Federal Reserve Bank and he talked and talked and talked about war being a money machine.

You have to understand where pound was coming from. He was born in the US was raised on the east coast but he spent most of his life in Europe. He went to Europe looking for Yeats. He was a big fan of Yeats' poetry and he set out to find the man behind the prose and find him he did. He worked as Yeats' office secretary, drank with him, and influenced his poetry. He believed as Yeats did in mystical powers and the power of positive thinking. But Pound didn't stop after meeting Yeats. He sought out T. S. Eliot and made him his friend and they spoke of nothing ordinary. They talked of the war, of Eliot's work with the Nazis and in all this Pound was living the life most of us would want to live, this huge life about his passion. He wrote and he lived and he traveled Europe until he'd meet Hemingway. He asked Hemingway to teach him to box (wasn't Hemingway just the stud we all wanted?) and later in the Moveable Feast, Hemingway would refer to Pound, "I couldn't ever teach him to jab." He also befriended William Carlos Williams and later Robert Frost.


Ezra Pound

No man hath dared to write this thing as yet,
And yet I know, how that the souls of all men great
At times pass athrough us,
And we are melted into them, and are not
Save reflexions of their souls.
Thus am I Dante for a space and am
One Francois Villon, ballad-lord and thief,
Or am such holy ones I may not write
Lest blasphemy be writ against my name;
This for an instant and the flame is gone.

’Tis as in midmost us there glows a sphere
Translucent, molten gold, that is the “I”
And into this some form projects itself:
Christus, or John, or eke the Florentine;
And as the clear space is not if a form’s
Imposed thereon,
So cease we from all being for the time,
And these, the Masters of the Soul, live on.

So, after all that living, after being with other cultures (he had a fascinating with Chinese and Japanese poetry) after supping with Hemingway and running with the bulls and waiting in the garden with Yeats for the faeries to show up he made a crucial error. He spoke against war. He didn't say Americans were horrible people. He didn't encourage anyone to kill Americans because you see he was a pacifist. He didn't want anyone to die from a gunshot. He saw the ravages of war in Europe and saw ancient cities crumble with the drop of a bomb. Imagine a statue in an American city but it's not a few hundreds years old, its a thousand years old and is instantly destroyed by a bomb. He raged out about men killing men and for this, the Americans sought him out in Italy and they found him. They moved him to Pisa and put him in a cage without food for 12 days. Troops urinated on him. After 12 days he was put in a tent and then later flown back to DC where he was tried for treason and put in St. Elizabeths mental institution. You would think that would be enough. You would think he'd never write again. When I have a bad hair day I can't find the energy to write poetry but when you live a life that large and are confined to a cell I guess that motivates you to want to set a few things straight.

Pound went on to write from his insane prison. He wrote and he wrote and he wrote. Many famous and infamous men came to his defense. Frost wrote to the government on a weekly basis for almost a year. Twelve years later he was set free and warned by the government that if he were to so much as raise an eyebrow in regards to a political issue he'd be back eating gruel and living with the insane. He died in 1972 a recluse. And today men are dying in war again and although we can speak out on the war how many of us feel heard and how many of us wonder if speaking out against the war makes us sound without love of our country or respect for the people who fight there?

The Girl

The tree has entered my hands,

The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast-
The branches grow out of me, like arms.

Tree you are,
Moss you are,
You are violets with wind above them.
A child - so high - you are,
And all this is folly to the world.


Live today unafraid and full hope. Do something today that helps you live that bigger life. Know that your voice is heard and that the world will only edit what you allow them to edit. If you want peace, then write to someone running for public office or someone who already holds that office and let them know you are tired of men dying. If you wind up in St. Elizbeths, perhaps we can share a room.

Thanks for sharing time with me here. If you are interested in my art, you can find me at under the seller name POETSUMMER. You can also find me on the evil that is Ebay under the same seller name. I also have my own Ecommerce site at You can always reach me at Peace, Carrie.