How the Post-Christmas Sami Sabbatical Restored My Groove

Lots of professionals take sabbaticals from their professions so they can refresh and revive themselves and renew the passion they have for whatever it is that they're passionate about. With that in mind, last year I instituted the post-Christmas Sami Sabbatical from Seguin & Family. This year I declared I'd be leaving the day after Christmas, heading west. Alone.

My sort of sabbaticals are a little different. I don't write a book, or study a foreign language or conduct important research. The Post-Christmas Sami Sabbatical is meant to restore my soul, after it has been sucked out of me by the Christmas season and all that a successful season requires, as well as months of motherhood and all the j-o-b work I do. Christmas is wonderful, and joyous, and wipes me out for the year.

It all starts the minute Thanksgiving is over. The Christmas season ensues. All that good cheer, merriment and small talk is exhausting. And the gift buying. This year we made big changes. Wonderful Husband was given a list of three people to buy for, which he accomplished so well that his list may grow next year. And Daughter Number 1 (almost 13) was enlisted to be in charge of gift wrapping. It might have been a bit less skillful than I would have done, but if any giftee noticed they didn't dare comment. Delegation is a beautiful thing. I highly recommend it.

Back to my sabbatical. After three successive family Christmas gatherings, all of which were lovely and devoid of the power struggles, tacky comments and generally poor behavior we've seen in years past, I gassed up the car, loaded my painting supplies and hit the road. Deserting your family just after Christmas is actually a pretty good time to go because you can typically count on lingering family members to help with the kids (thanks Terri!) and the kids have a completely new supply of new toys to occupy them. This year I headed for West Texas, to Marathon. I painted the picture that I would be working diligently, painting the house that we are restoring there. I don't think anyone was fooled that I wouldn't be enjoying myself immensely.

I painted for three days straight. I went to bed late and woke up when my body was ready. I ate what I wanted at whatever time the hunger struck me. I did not make one peanut butter sandwich or wipe anyone's nose but my own. I read a new book. Without television, I listened to CDs of every kind. I watched four really good, thought-provoking movies. I looked at the mountains.

These mountains are what I see when I look out my kitchen and bathroom windows, or, if I'm sitting in the back yard with the chimenea to warm me. This photo was taken in the summer. It's not as green now, of course. Here's a quiz for you West Texas girls: Can you guess where I was when I took this photo out of the window of my car?

This is the view at sunset. That fabulous mountain is called Iron Mountain. Don't ask me why mountains put me back on track. I liken it to cordless phones you have laying around the house. Sometimes they stop working right until you go set them back in their base. In their base, they reset their connections and start working fine again. That's how it is with me. From time to time I have to reconnect myself to my base and get back on my painted groove so I can be a good wife, good mommy, creative person.

OK, one more picture. Here's the view out my east window in the morning. This is what I see when I'm sitting on the sofa drinking coffee:

Of course if I'm on sabbatical and my kids aren't with me, I don't see sunrises. That's how you can tell this photo was taken on a kids-included trip. The whole family scrunches up on the same sofa for warmth. Good thing it's a really big sofa. (Thanks, Cynthia!)

The house is mostly painted and my soul and my groove are restored. Now, I can't wait for 2008!!

Praying to catch a Christmas groove

Does the Christmas season suck the life out of anyone else but me?

Yesterday, as I dressed wine bottles in raffia and tulle (yes, I have declared they do go together), I wished aloud for the Christmas spirit. The husband agreed and wished he would "catch" it too. Here's a look at the bottles I was "dressing."

We called them Real Estate Survival Kits, since the husband operates a mortgage company & most of the gift receivers are our favorite realtors. Accompanying each bottle of wine is a box of crackers, cheese and some chocolate. Isn't that a well-rounded meal for anyone in this crazy business? The best part is I can't take credit for the idea. The husband thought it up all by himself. I just helped with the packaging.

Getting back to my whine: I love Christmas, or let's say I have always loved Christmas in the past. For the past few years, I haven't been myself and the Christmas season just plain wears me out. In the old days, I wrapped presents with amazing amounts of creativity. I've even painted my own wrapping paper for heaven's sake. Custom-made name tags are not out of the question. I'm just not into those pre-printed To: and From: tags you tape on the side of the box. This year, I haven't wrapped a single present. In fact, there is not one present under my less-than-stunning tree. That my tree could be less than stunning is distressing because usually it is stunning. Last year I declared it would be "vintage-only" after I stumbled upon a very charitable but clueless estate sale operator in Odessa of all places, who asked me to haul off "all that Christmas junk."

This year I just ran out of steam and decided not to sweat the small stuff, letting my three-year-old daughters help me with placement of any and every ornament in the box. Let's just say there's a community of little snowmen, all together, in one place on the side of the tree where the girls could reach if they stood on the arm of the big leather chair. It's a wonder no one was seriously injured. Let me also say that on that day, I really, really disciplined myself and had to fight off having a glass of wine beginning at 11 a.m. I finally gave in to the pressure at 5 p.m. but was quite proud of myself making it that long. The husband was deer hunting, if that tells you anything. Texas translation means I was alone with the kids all weekend.

Here's a peak at the vintage wreath I picked up in one of my favorite re-sale shops for $12. It's about 4 feet wide and as tall. We decided it was a great place to tuck all our Christmas cards at the husband's office. Actually this wreath does make me Christmas-happy.

Today we're going out to play Santa and deliver all the pretty wine bottles to the friends we work with all year. Hopefully the "giving" part of Christmas will put me in the mood and lift me from this overwhelmed funk.

The P Words

Painting presents such a lesson in patience. I get these awesome gifted visions, and then I am forced to wait for one coat to dry before I can apply the next color or an additional technique. Like the table I wanted to get finished for the husband's big meeting tomorrow. It's not going to make it, so I'm blogging between coats. It's just maddening.

All the therapy I've needed but not enjoyed has enlightened me enough to know why I'm obsessed with transformation, renewal and creating silk purses from sow's ears, but I'm not sure why patience is such a never-ending theme for my life. It's annoying, to say the least.

For example, I probably painted what started as these ho-hum little tables over the course of the last month. It's not like I was procrastinating. I worked them in between two other jobs, painting a coat here and another coat there. Paint has to dry, and if the humidity's not right, I either have to wait or move them out of my sanctuarious garage/studio and into the house where there's air conditioning and/or heat. Here in Texas we use both in the same day. I'm telling you, while I was painting these tables, I experienced way too much humidity and other days when it was too cold to paint.

Poor little thing. It was a rather boring table with some potential. Today after much time and attention, my little tables got delivered to their newly transformed home. I was a little disappointed that we couldn't "install" the room and rearrange the furniture. I'll take another picture when the room is "done." For now here's a few pictures meant to explain the color choices. I love fun, colorful people. In this case, I've never met them, but I'm sure I'll love them when and if I do.

OK, I'm in love with these carpet tiles from Flor, which you can find at http://www.flor.com. The possibilities are endless. In this case, this space designed for some very fortunate grandkids at pool level, just above the lake, so the fact that it's indoor/outdoor is a major plus.

I had to use some black to "ground" all this color.

Even this table didn't look "finished" until I added the black dots. Black is such a meaningful color. It is so not blah. The green looks a bit "minty" in this photo, but it's Sherwin Williams Parakeet and it is not minty.

Let me end by saying clients who love color, and interior designers who hire me who are fun and who like color make life so much more fun to live. I'll leave you with one of my favorite sayings from back in the 80s: "Don't Be Scared."

In this case don't be scared to use color.

One of Life's Special Gifts

Sometimes life sends you a special little gift, a present just for you. This morning I was downloading pictures from the digital camera, looking for something suitable for the Christmas cards. And right there was video I didn't even know I shot, of one of the most exciting events ever to take place in our little Catherine's life. To view the video, click on the arrow below. You may want to take some Dramamine.

So there you go. That was my special little gift. Somehow, our sweet little angel Catherine was captured making what may be her first and only real-life, made-in-Texas snow angel. You'll also catch a few peeks of me and what appears to be a double chin or bagging neck skin (yikes), along with the husband, daughters number 1 and 3, and the beautiful West Texas blue sky.

Here's some pictures I took around Marathon Sunday morning.

Isn't that a cute little dumpster?

Our neighbors love color, too. This blue looks really pretty with the snow I think.

The snow on Iron Mountain, and the snow clouds hanging over the top.

Why My Neck Hurts

We're moving the groove west and going to Marathon for Thanksgiving tomorrow, but I wanted to post a few pictures of the job that is to blame for my neck "condition." This is why I can't turn my head to the right, and why, apparently, my arm falls asleep several times a day. I suppose I wasn't exactly "in shape" when I agreed to climb scaffolding two stories in the air and paint a ceiling off and on for two weeks.

Pretty wild, huh? The ceiling is actually above the second floor, but the only way to get to it was to climb from the first floor on scaffolding. The client originally wanted to differentiate each section of the octagonal design of the ceiling with black pinstriping, which I'm quite sure would have killed me.

Here's a photo of the ceiling above the entry. It also added to my neck and shoulder situation.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone. My neck needs a vacation.

Moving the groove west

While my good friend Lavenderchick is planning to serve her Thanksgiving feast in her completed dining room and bathroom, due to ongoing construction projects on the farm, we're moving the groove west.

The familia is heading to Marathon, right in the middle of God's country, near Big Bend National Park. We'll be staying in a little house we have been renovating for the last few years. One day, I envision this home as a retreat house both for me, our friends and family, artists looking for sanctuary while exploring the Big Bend, and small groups looking for peace and spiritual reflection under the big sky of the Chihuahuan desert. As one of my favorite people, Art, told me, "this house has a good vibe."

So we're heading west to capture some of that good vibe for ourselves and we may or may not get some renovating done on this trip. Here's a "before"picture of our sanctuary:

Did I mention it was a diamond in the rough? So far, most of the renovation has been done on the inside: boring stuff like plumbing and electrical. Now we're getting to the good stuff, the jobs I like, such as painting and decorating. I'll be sure to show you more photos as it comes along. All the doors in the house are different, because the house was built in stages, starting in the early 1920s, when Marathon was still the wild west.

That's another "before" photo. You can tell by the ashtray.

Glamorous it ain't

But fabulous it is. Living in my painted groove is dirty and sweaty but fabulous nonetheless. In my oversized Sherwin Williams tshirt, I am transforming the world, all the while imagining that all this sweating is cleansing my pores and keeping my skin fresh and supple.



Whereas I once had a window office on the seventh floor overlooking Carswell Air Force Base, headquarters for my painted groove is this beautiful workspace below:

Remember my little table from last week? It now has some groovy stripes going on and it's waiting for some pink and green paint. I love this garage/studio. It is my sanctuary. Pink, Tracy Chapman, Robert Earl and I have had some great times down here in the middle of the night. They're waiting for me right now to get in there and get to work.

Here's one of my most recent fabulous treasures. It's an old cabinet of some sort. Lizeth and I heaved it out of a junk pile on the east side of San Antonio one rainy day. There was another piece that matched it but it was buried under some wet carpet and a rocking chair. I imagined rats or a snake being in there too, and I did have my kids in the car, so we let it go. After first seeing the pile of discarded treasures, I did drive past at first. But the argument that ensued in my head made me turn back around. Lizeth didn't even ask if I needed help. With her beautiful fake fingernails, she jumped out and helped me load it up. It's a little flaky, but look at this natural crackle. Unbelievable:

The color is also magical. I cannot put it off any longer, my furniture and Third Day are calling me....

After much fanfare and build-up, here's a few photos of the chairs I was raving about. I especially like the photo of the chair under the Conviction photo. When the husband first mentioned he'd like to find some prints with subjects like "Conviction," "Perseverance" and "Success," my initial thought was those type prints were way cliche. And most of the ones I had seen featured pictures of golf courses, with words like "Conviction" and "Perseverance" and "Success" written under them, as if golf courses have anything to do with conviction and success. Yuck. Thankfully, the husband wasn't crazy about the golf prints either. One of the best things about him is he isn't in love with golf. Once we discovered some that didn't feature pictures of golf courses, I relented. After all, conviction, success and perseverance are all good messages to have your husband reminded of on a daily basis, aren't they? These prints we found feature pretty trees and mountains. I can fully support pretty trees and mountains any time.

OK, back to the chairs. I can't figure out why my fancy camera doesn't fully capture the rich toffee and black color of these chairs. The pictures look a little washed out, like my flash is too strong. The lighting is hideous fluorescent, so maybe that's it. The chairs turned out really better than I ever imagined when I got them for $12 apiece. I don't say this to brag. I truly get so excited when something shabby finds new life as something transformed and beautiful. Like I said, it's amazing what a little Venetian Gem, black Setcoat and Briwax can do. By the way, Briwax is my new favorite trick of the trade. It makes any wood or any painted surface look rich, aged and more interesting. Kind of like how I pray my face looks as I age.

So the chair groove is over, and I've moved on to some little tables that are getting a makeover for a home on Lake McQueeney. The client is certainly not afraid of color. The colors in the room are a light lime green, pink, orange. If I could figure out how to transfer Sherwin Williams paint chips to my blog, I would show you. If you'd like to go look for yourself, go to http://www.sherwinwilliams.com/, find their Color Visualizer and do the paint color lookup feature for Parakeet, Begonia and Knockout Orange.

This poor little brown table will never be the same.

I'm in a groove & I can't stop to blog

I know it's been too long since I posted something but I am gloriously involved in one of my painted grooves. It kills me to stop, but someone has to pick up Mary at school, take Catherine and Caroline to dance, convince Caroline tap shoes are critical to ones success at tap dancing, and throw some dinner together after that.

Here's what I'm grooving on today: I bought four ladderback chairs about a month ago at an auction for $12 apiece. I told my husband once they're fabulous they would be perfect for the office, around a little table for lunch breaks, or meeting with someone informally. He didn't see my vision, as is usually the case, but he has developed the ability to humor me wonderfully. He gave me a shrug that I prefer to think of as a shrug of confidence.

I bought some little cushions for the seat because ladderback chairs like these are notoriously not comfortable for a long sit.

Tune in tomorrow for the finished product. I am so jazzed. It's amazing what a little Venetian Gem, black Setcoat and Briwax can do.

Who do you say that you are?

About a month ago, one of my Kelly friends discovered I had "dropped my basket," fired myself from most of my responsibilities at our mortgage company, and had rededicated myself to all things creative. I have not a few Kelly friends, so when this particular Kelly, a charitable fundraising organizer extraordinaire, learned I had embarked on my painted groove, she immediately asked me to be a participant in her organization's Art Walk. "We're featuring eight artists. We have seven artists already and you would be our eighth artist," she said.

OK, if there's one thing you should know about me, I do not and have not ever called myself an artist. Her invitation filled me with panic all the way down to my toes. I learned to call myself a writer, an editor, a gardener, a Texas Certified Nursery Professional even, a Mom, a wife, all that. But I never called myself an artist, even during all the years I made a living faux painting from Pleasanton to Kerrville and all the Stone Oak McMansions in between.

What's funny is at the very time Kelly the fundraiser asked me to participate, I was reading a book by Beth Moore called "Believing God." It's a pretty heavy book, and not an easy, beach read, that's for sure. One of the key themes in the book is to believe "I am who God says I am." Not what anyone else says you are. Not what that negative voice in your head formed by all the baggage you've accumulated says you are. Not what your evil ex-boyfriend said you were. Who that really positive and uplifting Guy Upstairs says you are.

I knew instantly that I would have to force myself to go be an Artist for Kelly's Art Walk. I couldn't take huge pieces of furniture for my 8-foot display table so I revved up my portfolio with pictures of past jobs and took some smaller things like a table and a chair and some samples I had created on wood moulding.

Here's a picture of a little table I named "Go Bucks." Anyone from Alpine will recognize the hints of purple and gold. As I painted it, my mind kept recalling "Go Bucks! Beat Marfa!!. I know, I'm a little touched in the head. This table, with its faux ostrich top, is a perfect home for your cup of coffee or tea or wine glass when you're curled up in a chair. And it's for sale, incidentally.

And here's a picture of "Mary's Chair," so named because it is my daughter Mary's chair. She was real happy when I didn't sell it.

I met some really neat people at the Art Walk. None of the other, real artists laughed at me, at least that I saw. One of Seguin's famous artists, Kitty Keller, was quite complimentary and gracious to little old me. A fabulous artist who creates beautiful mixed media works with vintage papers, Laura Dodson, was particularly wonderful and I've become a big fan of her work. So I'd say a good time was had by all.

Peligro! This Book May Radically Alter Your Life

Peligro means danger! in Spanish. You'll usually see it associated with piso mojado (wet floor) or posted on a greenhouse you shouldn't enter because of recent pesticide application. In this case, I'm issuing the warning Max Lucado should have issued when his "Cure for the Common Life" was published back in January 2006. When I first got my hands on the book last October, I wish someone had shouted "Ay! Peligro! You better watch out reading that book."

At the time, I was at a women's retreat in the beautiful Texas Hill Country, in an old villa at Mo Ranch, with five hours of rest and recharge (nap) time. Looking back, I see now that the title, "Cure for the Common Life," appealed to me because, frankly, I was living a fairly common life. Overall it's a pretty blessed existence, but at the time it was feeling a little common and was beginning to wear me down.

In the book, Lucado takes you through very detailed but simple steps to help you discover your "sweet spots," or the places, subjects and circumstances in your life when you felt your happiest and most successful. I played along and remembered past successes when I felt accomplished and at peace, all of which had a common thread. Then I shut the book and promptly fell into a deep depression.

Now I must caution I'm writing this from Texas and we are known to exagerrate. Hyperbole is my maiden name. It wasn't a deep depression, really, I just felt like crap because the book reminded me of what I was meant to be doing with my life and I wasn't doing it. At the time I had little hope of finding the freedom to live in anything close to a sweet spot. And that's apt to make any one feel just an eentsy bit depressed.

This past weekend, at the second annual women's retreat, the exercises in "Cure for the Common Life" were part of the curriculum. One of the other retreaters refused to play along and my inquiring mind required me to ask her why. Many of you know I recently got up the gumption to take the leap and get back to living in my sweet spot. Lucado's book played a big part in helping me take that plunge. My newfound purpose makes me want everyone to know the happiness I've found. My fellow retreater's response to my question was so revealing: "I did the exercises last spring and it made me depressed and it lasted forever (she's a Texan too) and I'm just not doing it again," she said. I knew exactly what she meant. Of course I also wondered just what she's meant to be doing that she isn't.

I got to thinking about how many people aren't living up to their God-given potential because of fear, family obligations, dream crushers (as my daughter Mary says) or any other reason that keeps us from doing what we're meant to do as part of a fulfilled life. This book is your first step. It's worth the risk of becoming a little bit depressed. I promise it will give you have something to think about, something to pray about, something to dream about other than your current lackluster existence. Just don't say I didn't warn you.

And if you want to order it right away, here's the link to it on amazon.com:

http://www.amazon.com/Cure-Common-Life-Living-Sweet/dp/0849900085/ref=pd_bbs_2/103-0380773-1524657?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1193713012&sr=1-2

How Faith Was Restored

Sometimes the strangest things or people or events come your way, meant all along to restore your faith in yourself or help you find your way back on track. You never notice it at the time. Only later does hindsight help you see what was true all along. That's been happening to me a lot lately.

That's what this china cabinet did for me. I wish I could show you a picture of what it looked like before I started painting it. I wasn't thinking at the time, so I never took a picture of it. When the dream-of-a-client dropped it off at my house/garage/studio, she didn't event tell me how to paint it. I did mention she was a dream-of-a-client, didn't I? She and her interior designer, Annie, just gave me a sample of the drapery fringe and a tour around the client's home. Making my way through the adventurously decorated rooms of her home, I became more excited, knowing this was a girl who likes color and likes to have fun. I had no idea how this piece would turn out. Feeling comfortable with her, since she seemed fun and not a bit uptight, I'm pretty sure I actually told her I would let the piece tell me how it wanted to be painted. Some freaky artist comment like that.

But really, that's what I did. When I hit a roadblock and didn't know what to do, I just sat with it and the inspiration came. And did I mention I painted this thing after 9 p.m., after putting my kids to bed? When I finished this piece, and the client was out-of-body thrilled with it, I really couldn't ignore that I needed to get back on track as a painter. To do otherwise was a waste of my God-given gifts. At the time, I was throwing myself on the sword daily like we all do: raising kids, helping my husband with our mortgage company, largely ignoring what helps restore my soul. This china cabinet was the messenger. I got the message.

Here's a photo of its little brother, the buffet. One day I hope to paint him as well.

I just remembered two other cool things about this furniture. One, the client couldn't dare part with these pieces because they came from her grandmother. I have a feeling Grandma is smiling at the crazy way her furniture has found new life. And the other thing: Check out the fabulous collection of wine glasses in the china cabinet. My client has two sisters and whenever one of them sees a cool wine glass, they buy three, keep one and give the other two to their sisters. They call them Sister Glasses. I think that's a tradition we all should take up as our own.

Won't You Join Me on My Painted Groove?

This being the debut blog for My Painted Groove, I’m experiencing terrible blog anxiety. It’s one thing to declare you’re going to have a blog. It’s another to actually put it on the web and let anyone see it, as if anyone cares what you have to say anyway. Acknowledging the problem is always the first step, so here we go: I’m scared out of my mind and feel like I’m walking through a salon with my skirt caught in my thong (which actually did just happen to me but that’s a story for another day).

At this point you may be wondering: What the hell is a Painted Groove? Well, it’s a blog about the major theme that drives me – beautification, transformation, renewal, and the crazy episodes that happen along the way. In my world, for some reason, all these things are accomplished with paint. Whoever invented paint must have been a whole lot like me. Paint really is the most handy thing I can think of and it solves soooo many problems. Doesn't everything look better with a fresh coat of paint?

Take dirt and ugliness for example. Paint can cover over dirt and make anything appear fresh and clean. (Sensing any psychological themes here?) It’s like fabric softener for stinky old gym shorts. Confronted with a nasty window sill? Just paint it and you’ll see what I mean. Is the kitchen in your new fixer-upper just too dirty for words? A good bottle of degreaser and a few gallons of paint is sure to change your mood in no time. The other thing that makes paint so damn fabulous is you can change it. Whenever you want. No commitment really. You get sick of Sherwin Williams Lime Rickey? Try SW Verdant instead. It's my new favorite, shocking green color and I'll show you a picture of something I painted with it in my next few posts.

Somehow I've figured out a way to make a living using my obsession with paint and my passion for transformation. I'm really the luckiest girl in the world and I have been incredibly blessed. One of the things that blows my skirt up the most in life is treasure hunting for neglected pieces that need me to transform them and find them a new home. So I plan to share stories about projects I’m working on and pieces I’ve found to fix up and renew. I hope you’ll share stories from your groove as well.

It’s an old Southern expression, but my grandmother always told me: "You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear." In the years since she passed on, I have discovered I can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. I promise to post lots of pictures, assuming that I can figure out how to post them. Here's one for starters. Next time I'll tell you how this terribly interesting piece came to be.

I'm so glad you've joined me on my Painted Groove.