blah blah blah, etc.

 Please note that below you will find a winding, self-indulgent, photo-less blog-entry. I can only warn you and then perhaps, entice you to know that several more blog-entries are scheduled which are far more pointed, interesting, and photo-centric... while probably not less self-indulgent. Bear with me for I have been reading lots of self-help books and watching many episodes of the worlds most soulful show, the X-Files. Proceed*

See, the thing about it is, I have no idea what's going on. 

No, that's not entirely true. I know SOME things that are going on. I know it's apocalyptically hot in Austin, I know I am moving to a new house this very week, I know my daughter is in first grade (that means I can no longer spell out secrets), I know I have the world's kindest (and most patient) husband, and I know... wait, I just blanked. How bizarre is that? My level of certainty in this world today lasted four whole items in a row. It's unsettling if not sinister. 

The situation as it stand is that I am in a transitional mode, so to speak, in all areas of my life. I am racing towards that oh-so pivotal 30 years on the planet mark (still waiting on the reason that is such an important number, I hope it involves being inducted into a secret supernatural society! that would be neat.) Whether my age has anything to do with all the other chaos, I know not! But on the same horizon there is a litany of decisions to be made and each one comes with it's own crooked, possibly hand-painted, cryptic crossroads sign. Like you see in old movies or allegorical storybooks... picture the two roads headed east and west respectively, one sign points towards "scary possible land of enchantment" and the other towards "dreamland of perhaps fulfilled desires." It's like choosing between cerulean and sea-foam in a crayon box. The only difference between them is what you feel like after your picture is colored.

The difficulty of decision making only filters down for me, the way my synapses fire (or to put it less kindly, the way I have debilitating anxiety). Thinking about whether or not to have another baby and effectively restart the long-haul to independence (by that I mean having a margarita at 6PM on a weekday cause I can and it's been SIX LONG YEARS) all over again somehow paralyzes my upper brain functions in such a way as to make other decisions (to shave my legs today or not? to buy a breakfast taco or make oatmeal at home?) nearly impossible. I see an infinite stream of possible events spider-veining out from the minutiae of my daily life. What if shaving makes me late and sets off a chain-reaction of hurrying and frazzlement which I will inevitably take out on my family later? What if that breakfast taco means I can't budget in an iced coffee later today? E-gad. The fact that I devote time and energy to WORRYING about such inanities makes me self-hatred spiral right out of decision making mode!!! So there I am thoroughly disgusted with myself, first thing in the morning, and I have neither been able to shower or eat breakfast. Sigh.  It's not awesome or super-fun but it's who I am, today. And I am constantly pursuing and working for the skills it takes to overcome that kind of anxiety. Writing about it helps, meditation, pilates, the occasional whiskey drink. My friends. My husbands world-championship hugging skills. My daughters total disregard for whatever may be bothering me because she is 6 and when you're 6 your mom isn't even a person. There is such strange comfort in that! On my worst,  most anxiety-filled days I just remind myself that I may have no idea who I am, but I know who Avery's mom is and I have identity eternal through her. See, now, that makes me want to have another baby! Go back to start.

All this pop-psychology is getting a little confusing and I do have a point. Blogging and keeping a personal journal are two steps on my (therapists) list of ways to occupy my brain and creative energy. Streamlined, you know... flowing smoothly and with purpose towards all of those chaos causing choices... The blogging publically is important because I am a "sharer." A person devoid of the ability to keep it in. Never a woman of mystery, my husband knew way too much about me after our first date (not like that, dirty bird), because try as I might (if I ever did try) I want people to know me. I fish for a connection, a flare up inside the eyes, sparks of recognition and relation to rain down on me. I want to know I am seen and felt and so I cast out my nets in the form of personal details, childhood stories, dramas, memories... and I wait for yessss me too moments. Nothing wrong with it, as far as I can tell. I'm not ashamed of those desires, like I have been in the past. I feel best when I put myself out there, whether what I attract back to myself is connection or criticism.

Soooooo after what I believe was subconsciously a "vacation from my life" this summer, in the form of being anywhere but here and doing anything but the things that usually make up my life for 6 weeks, I am back and clinging to the shiny, tiny gem of clarity I achieved. If I continue to work on myself, if I continue to be open, and if I continue to be self-aware, the paths to choose will reveal themselves. And when they don't, I will work harder. What to do about family? What to do about business? What to do about body, faith, money, interior design, breakfast, hair color, etc... Those aren't the questions to be answered because they are all answers themselves, to the question of who I am. It's so cliche, so painfully trite, you'd think I'd be more embarrassed to reveal that I just know figured that out. Funny enough, I am a lot of things but I am not easily embarrassed :)

*feel free to skip reading this because all it really says is that I am going to try blogging again.

old words. new day. no pictures.

"I love a good hometown song. I love a good hometown. I think everyone should pack their bags and leave though. Separate yourself from what makes you, from your identity. Leave the posters on the walls and your half empty bottles of shampoo in the shower. Disregard your magazine subscriptions and drive east for as many miles as you can in two and a half days. Stop for abandoned industrial complexes and etched marigolds and estate sales. Pull over for graveyards, abandoned cars, and church bake sales. Listen to the local radio, whatever comes in, through the entire desert stretch. flat yellow and subversive. This is not a road trip this is a growing pain. A groan and a baptism, trial by fire, by sun, by dust, by grip and smoke and dehydration. Eat in your car at night. Be invisible for the time being, be the mystery diner in a wasted town. Guess the secrets of patrons and passers by. Imagine them in bed, with their eyes closed and mouths open, gaping and gritting. Don’t keep a journal, it ruins the myth and desecrates the memories. The memories will forever be that cryptic silent laugh the instant before the drag the slant of your eye to the side the shuffling foot, the perfect kink in a steady character."

magical creatures, insidious creatures!

Sitting outside in a muggy thunderstorm listening to the rain on the porch roof seems like the right time to embrace your inner mystic and believe in those creatures we fear and hunt and desire. Those creatures we don't even know we believe in until we hear something behind us in the dark, hear our name called but not with our ears, feel ourselves pulled in a direction without a path. xo Sarah

The Huldra or Skosgra of Scandinavian Folklore


Seen from the front she is a stunningly beautiful, naked female being with long hair; from behind she is hollow like an old tree trunk. In Norway she has a cow's tail, and in Sweden she may have that of a cow or a fox. In Norway she has often been described as a typical dairymaid, wearing the clothes of a regular farm-girl, although somewhat more dazzling than most girls. 

The huldra lures men into the forest to have sex with her, rewarding those who satisfy her and often killing those who don't. She often steals human infants and replaces them with her own ugly huldrebarn (changeling Huldre children). She has long been associated with hunting; she might blow down the barrel of a huntsman's rifle, causing it never thereafter to miss a shot. Some are not so lucky, or perhaps skilled, and escape her only after surrendering their sanity.


Huldra would also sometimes try to marry human men, keeping their identity secret until marriage; only that blessing could rid them of their tails. If mistreated, a huldra would visit terrible vengeance upon her husband. 


A boy in Tiveden went fishing, but he had no luck. Then he met a beautiful lady, and she was so stunning that he felt he had to catch his breath. But, then he realized who she was, because he could see a fox's tail sticking out below the skirt. As he knew that it was forbidden to comment on the tail to the lady of the forest, if it was not done in the most polite manner, he bowed deeply and said with his softest voice: Milady, I see that your petticoat shows below your skirt. The lady thanked him gracefully and hid her tail under her skirt, telling the boy to fish on the other side of the lake. That day, the boy had great luck with his fishing and he caught a fish every time he threw out the line. This was the Huldra's recognition of his politeness. (text source)

sxsw was all about MFV. no, really.

I have just now, Friday, found the strength to think about and thus address the Magnolia Family Vintage South By Southwest experience. 5 marathon days of boothing, drinking, dust, sun, not sleeping, live music and yelling as a result of all the live music left me stranded in a haze. I was a zombie for a few days. Luckily with a steady regimen of napping, kombucha, urban detox, and Grey's Anatomy on Netflix, I have come back to the light.

Last week was definitely an amazing, magical experience and we couldn't be more grateful to Cheer Up Charlies where we set up all week, or to our friends who set up with us. Check out We Are Tribe on ebay, our girls from Kansas City, and keep your eyes peeled for Stray Cat Vintage, coming soon, which is the brainchild of Mama Tara right here in Austin. As a group we worked our asses off and I can tell you with all the authenticity in my heart, we are Hustlaaaaas! I feel like we made a kajillion new friends and I was so moved by how many of our already friends showed up and gave us their support over the week. I am still compelled to just spew thank yous over and over. I can't stop. I am a gratitude monster. I will consume you with joyful appreciation. It's just how I feeeeeeeel guys!!

We opened it up and we shut it down. We were all things to all party goers. Not to diminish the roles of the people who, you know, actually WORKED at the venue or PERFORMED music... just saying, someone had to point to the stage and the bar when weary sxsw'ers crawled in needing sustenance! and if you got cold because you were dressed for noon and it somehow turned into night? WE HAD SWEATERS! Maybe you got dressed at 8AM and your skinny jeans were melting your crotch off? WE HAD CUTOFFS! Maybe you're that one girl who lost her shoes in the dead milkmen pit. WE HAD SHOOOOOOES! I never, ever like to be dramatic. But I think we saved lives. Or at least inappropriately dressed people.

I will show you pictures! Taken between Wednesday morning and Sunday night...



















































I hope you enjoy!

Seacrest OUT.