When they rage I blog.... guess this was a good rage. Salty sweet popcorn goodness is a must have - especially in December. It is cold and snow is sitting in little piles of hate laughing at me. This is the moment I create something out of nothing.
1. Pop a bag of popcorn
2. In the bottom of a pan along with two tablespoons of butter smash several cherries(what ever is in the bottom of the jar)
3.In saucepan melt 2 tablespoons of almond butter, one cup of marshmellows, and 1/2 cup of semi-sweet chocolates....
4. Fold together melted ingrediants in a large bowl with popcorn
YUMMMMMMY love it - eat it!
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
Peppermint Muddy Buddies
Peppermint Muddy Buddies
Stupid name for a magical Christmas flavor in your mouth. Just love it - eat it and look like an addict with white powdery fingers while doing so.
1. entire package of crushed candy canes
2. a couple of dashes of peppermint extract
3. elf kisses - no really, just follow the original recipe but add in peppermint to choc_peanutbutter mixture and crushed candy canes to powdered sugar mixture.......(I used almond butter bc of my peanut allergy)
4. Mix and adore
Stupid name for a magical Christmas flavor in your mouth. Just love it - eat it and look like an addict with white powdery fingers while doing so.
1. entire package of crushed candy canes
2. a couple of dashes of peppermint extract
3. elf kisses - no really, just follow the original recipe but add in peppermint to choc_peanutbutter mixture and crushed candy canes to powdered sugar mixture.......(I used almond butter bc of my peanut allergy)
4. Mix and adore
Monday, December 6, 2010
No-bake No-guilt oatmeal
Missing the pics? Me too....... I really need a new phone. Thanks for showing interest in finding the best things with items you already have.
It is cold and snowy outside. In fact I am hidden under a mountain of blankets typing this. This one is dedicated to the cold weather and a warm belly.
No-bake no-guilt oatmeal (like the cookies)
1. package of oatmeal (we use steal cut) - no sugar added... the kind that takes an eternity to make but use what you have
2. peanut butter (I use almond butter due to a peanut allergy)
-about 1 - 2 tablespoons to your taste
3. cocoa powder - one teaspoon
4. lite hershey's syrup- swirl in
5. combine and you have a childhood memory of no-bake cookies with no guilt
It is cold and snowy outside. In fact I am hidden under a mountain of blankets typing this. This one is dedicated to the cold weather and a warm belly.
No-bake no-guilt oatmeal (like the cookies)
1. package of oatmeal (we use steal cut) - no sugar added... the kind that takes an eternity to make but use what you have
2. peanut butter (I use almond butter due to a peanut allergy)
-about 1 - 2 tablespoons to your taste
3. cocoa powder - one teaspoon
4. lite hershey's syrup- swirl in
5. combine and you have a childhood memory of no-bake cookies with no guilt
Sunday, December 5, 2010
wingin it
Due to the nature of my flighty ways the format will be changing for a while. If I have a dream or a vision I will post and same goes for making something............ pics may not always be included.
I have been working on my charity and Unlocked Style so much doing other things just seems like a luxury.
As for making something out of nothing.... it is in my blood, therefore I would be cheating you out of so much by my not sharing.
Here goes on my new style of "wingin it"
Buffalo Popcorn
1. one bag of popcorn
2. one tablespoon of butter
3. one tablespoon of hot sauce (I used Frank's)
4. 2 or 3 dashes of garlic powder
5. microwave popcorn, heat sauce until it melts, combine- enjoy!
I have been working on my charity and Unlocked Style so much doing other things just seems like a luxury.
As for making something out of nothing.... it is in my blood, therefore I would be cheating you out of so much by my not sharing.
Here goes on my new style of "wingin it"
Buffalo Popcorn
1. one bag of popcorn
2. one tablespoon of butter
3. one tablespoon of hot sauce (I used Frank's)
4. 2 or 3 dashes of garlic powder
5. microwave popcorn, heat sauce until it melts, combine- enjoy!
Friday, September 17, 2010
Family Tree
An amazing thing happens when you see someone else beleive in you. Its like Christmas, your Birthday, and the first day of summer all rolled into one good day burrito. Now is time for a shared vision, a family tree dream. The last person I would ever epect to see the "vision" was ready for Unlocked to unfold.
Ken, Brad's brother in-law was not just captivated with these shirts but had an ability to see beyond that. What he saw was art. He saw a future... he saw Unlocked LLC. He not only saw but he ACTED. Soon after his new love for Unlocked as a product we became an unbreakable team.
Uniformed in plaid and khakis Ken mirrored the business bone needed an our very unstuctured new business. His wife Heather was to do accounting. The only thing I could do was live a life of sincere grattitude. Did they really share such a bold and new vision? Art on clothing, customized designs, canvas that was so raw and chic at the same time.
Soon we all had our roles spelled out. Heather and Ken worked out of Indiana and Brad and I here in Ohio. The vacuum in my brain was now completely turned off and was being run full throttle in Indiana. If Ken's students at Notre Dame only knew his side job, just makes my heart smile. Heather and her Gidget like ways motivated me to be up and running by 10:30 every morning with coffee in hand.
My new found funky family tree was now rooted on a beatiful vision. Never had I known or felt somthing so exciting. Things changed, but what they saw will never be forgotten. It is so rare in life that you get a chance to start a family in that way. A vision and a dream was shared. My thanks to them will always be felt.
Jewelry Tree
1. branch
2. paint
3. any weighted object (I used shells)
A funky way to desplay your jewelry.
Ken, Brad's brother in-law was not just captivated with these shirts but had an ability to see beyond that. What he saw was art. He saw a future... he saw Unlocked LLC. He not only saw but he ACTED. Soon after his new love for Unlocked as a product we became an unbreakable team.
Uniformed in plaid and khakis Ken mirrored the business bone needed an our very unstuctured new business. His wife Heather was to do accounting. The only thing I could do was live a life of sincere grattitude. Did they really share such a bold and new vision? Art on clothing, customized designs, canvas that was so raw and chic at the same time.
Soon we all had our roles spelled out. Heather and Ken worked out of Indiana and Brad and I here in Ohio. The vacuum in my brain was now completely turned off and was being run full throttle in Indiana. If Ken's students at Notre Dame only knew his side job, just makes my heart smile. Heather and her Gidget like ways motivated me to be up and running by 10:30 every morning with coffee in hand.
My new found funky family tree was now rooted on a beatiful vision. Never had I known or felt somthing so exciting. Things changed, but what they saw will never be forgotten. It is so rare in life that you get a chance to start a family in that way. A vision and a dream was shared. My thanks to them will always be felt.
Jewelry Tree
1. branch
2. paint
3. any weighted object (I used shells)
A funky way to desplay your jewelry.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Fever
A very unattractive picture of me needs to be painted. Blurred, bloody, and drenched in sweat. There were nights in which my long dark hair wrapped around my body from thrashing nightmares. The nightmares were a battlefield.
Every prophetic dream seemed to be chased by a dream that stole my nights and robbed me of energy. Twisted up sheets became my enemy. Kicking and pushing the cotton animal I could not snap "awake". In fact I knew that I should not awaken.
If one piece of my personal journey were to be altered in any way what would happen? In the past I have had "bad dreams" or nightmares. This was VERY different. Something very spiritual was happening. Black and white. Good and evil.
Not only was I having these dreams but I was losing to them. Fevers that circled my body and a sickness that is indescribable took over my body like an alien. Filled with fire and wicked dreams I fought. Days passed and my eyes blurred. I fought.
Internally I became a soldier, not just a soldier but an entire army. Something larger than life was happening. Illness coated in black and red dreams was sufficating my life and stealing my creative thoughts. NO! During this time I became closed off from the outside world, only to stay in one room, in one bed.
All of the colors were fading, the white walls around me were closing in, and the one window glaring at me now seemed like a cheap oil painting. Music was raging through my veins. Isolated to this ugly battle I found courage.
This courage was hidden deep inside of my aching heart. It was a small light. At the end of a battle when darkness settles deep and singed burning flesh is all that you inhale you see a light. This light is so distant and far, but familiar.
As you walk closer the light grows. You see the face of the one holding the light. It is a good friend that never leaves. Inside of the light the music swims into the deep night. A new music. Music that is not music at all, but more of an extension of this friend.
Peace follows. The nightmares ended carrying off the fevers. I crept into the light of the real world with a new suit of armor and an internal sword of protection. Ready for me world?!? Bring it!
Circle of light:
1. a ceiling hook
2. rounded bird feeder
3. tea light
Mount the hook, hang the feeder, light the candle-
love your sweet new light!
Every prophetic dream seemed to be chased by a dream that stole my nights and robbed me of energy. Twisted up sheets became my enemy. Kicking and pushing the cotton animal I could not snap "awake". In fact I knew that I should not awaken.
If one piece of my personal journey were to be altered in any way what would happen? In the past I have had "bad dreams" or nightmares. This was VERY different. Something very spiritual was happening. Black and white. Good and evil.
Not only was I having these dreams but I was losing to them. Fevers that circled my body and a sickness that is indescribable took over my body like an alien. Filled with fire and wicked dreams I fought. Days passed and my eyes blurred. I fought.
Internally I became a soldier, not just a soldier but an entire army. Something larger than life was happening. Illness coated in black and red dreams was sufficating my life and stealing my creative thoughts. NO! During this time I became closed off from the outside world, only to stay in one room, in one bed.
All of the colors were fading, the white walls around me were closing in, and the one window glaring at me now seemed like a cheap oil painting. Music was raging through my veins. Isolated to this ugly battle I found courage.
This courage was hidden deep inside of my aching heart. It was a small light. At the end of a battle when darkness settles deep and singed burning flesh is all that you inhale you see a light. This light is so distant and far, but familiar.
As you walk closer the light grows. You see the face of the one holding the light. It is a good friend that never leaves. Inside of the light the music swims into the deep night. A new music. Music that is not music at all, but more of an extension of this friend.
Peace follows. The nightmares ended carrying off the fevers. I crept into the light of the real world with a new suit of armor and an internal sword of protection. Ready for me world?!? Bring it!
Circle of light:
1. a ceiling hook
2. rounded bird feeder
3. tea light
Mount the hook, hang the feeder, light the candle-
love your sweet new light!
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Where is your ticket?
There are days I am a human rollar coaster. People stand in line for the rush of the ride and that climbing feeling that lurches you forward. You get to the top and your breath is taken away. Somewhere towards the end you may start thinking of cotton candy or how much money you have for the rest of the day.
I am still there. Feeling the cold of the night, empty seats when the lights close there eyes in a syphany religously at the exact same time every night. Until now I have left out the "undream" section. This is where I am unseen. My seats are waiting to be loaded, the people being the fuel for my dreams. Exotic and quirky -"different," food for my creativity.
Freaks and geeks are my normal. Each thing that makes a person unique shows a bold move forward.
When a next day shines on my warm face and echoes no dreams (or any that I can clearly remember) I hold my breath. They come, I wait. When there are no dreams followed up by no visions I am the empty carcas of a rollar coaster. A coaster at night, one that is not in motion.
Void of life. People get what they want and move on. Sometimes people stay on for a few rides or even come back, screaming and laughing with tears streaming. When there is a new ride, one that is so thrilling it distracts the crowds and stimulates a whole new feeling, I am still there.
A smile decorates my face, my moodwear draws them in like the bearded lady, and from there on well, you tell me. The distorted mirrors show the real you. The bouncy pit after popcorn, hot dogs, and of coarse fried everything is life.
This "undream" phase is crucial. Quiet and empty, alone and the raw me. On these days I wear different shades of gray. On these days I quietly stroke the bearded lady's hand. We are all beautiful. The bearded lady looks in the distorted mirror and sees a supple face, a slendor body, and a honey-golden beauty. She needs those mirrors to survive.
When I see people unbuckle and unfold there bodies out my rollar coaster I feel it happening. Such an aching feeling sets in. Alone. Of coarse a new day hatches and there is a sticky faced child ready for a thrill or an inked teen with cotton candy hair. This is why I am a rollar coaster. These new faces sticky and painted, I love them all the same.
Today I have no fun steps for you to follow.
Today I say this "look in the mirror" -
What do you see?
I am still there. Feeling the cold of the night, empty seats when the lights close there eyes in a syphany religously at the exact same time every night. Until now I have left out the "undream" section. This is where I am unseen. My seats are waiting to be loaded, the people being the fuel for my dreams. Exotic and quirky -"different," food for my creativity.
Freaks and geeks are my normal. Each thing that makes a person unique shows a bold move forward.
When a next day shines on my warm face and echoes no dreams (or any that I can clearly remember) I hold my breath. They come, I wait. When there are no dreams followed up by no visions I am the empty carcas of a rollar coaster. A coaster at night, one that is not in motion.
Void of life. People get what they want and move on. Sometimes people stay on for a few rides or even come back, screaming and laughing with tears streaming. When there is a new ride, one that is so thrilling it distracts the crowds and stimulates a whole new feeling, I am still there.
A smile decorates my face, my moodwear draws them in like the bearded lady, and from there on well, you tell me. The distorted mirrors show the real you. The bouncy pit after popcorn, hot dogs, and of coarse fried everything is life.
This "undream" phase is crucial. Quiet and empty, alone and the raw me. On these days I wear different shades of gray. On these days I quietly stroke the bearded lady's hand. We are all beautiful. The bearded lady looks in the distorted mirror and sees a supple face, a slendor body, and a honey-golden beauty. She needs those mirrors to survive.
When I see people unbuckle and unfold there bodies out my rollar coaster I feel it happening. Such an aching feeling sets in. Alone. Of coarse a new day hatches and there is a sticky faced child ready for a thrill or an inked teen with cotton candy hair. This is why I am a rollar coaster. These new faces sticky and painted, I love them all the same.
Today I have no fun steps for you to follow.
Today I say this "look in the mirror" -
What do you see?
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
The Gift
It was St. Patricks Day. Anyone that knows me knows that I have zero concept of day or time- especially this very green wee Holiday. When it comes to wardrobe and lifechanging events... I remember. Brad and I sat at our local favorite cafe', Flavors Eatery.
We sat near the door, with the sun radiating in to our small table. My legs were lengthened by knee high green irish socks, the bottom half playing it sort of low with a grey skirt adorned with a bow, and of course my very own Unlocked shirt that said "I'm not Irish". Unlocked Style was just starting up. In my wallet I had only this: a $10 bill.
Flavors has a very fresh California taste so I was not shocked all to see our server mirrored that look and feel. Her smile was the L.A. sun its self. Her puffy sleeved Kelly green shirt played into her fun short blonde hair. The thing I noticed the most was that she had a breeze about her. Why did I want to know her better? Women hate me, and I can not deal with all the paperwork that women entail. She was my L.A. doll.
Loud. Loud and frank. She said : "you two are not from around here are you?" Within the next few minutes she had a chair pulled up and we magnetically unravelled a fairy tail together.
For some odd reason I recognized the one of the comedians that was being advertized in the middle of the table where the dessert menu should be. "O, that is my husband she said." I knew him.... how? He was the pastor/teacher/wicked cool speaker/ guy that came in from California at the Vineyard.
So she did have the breath of California in her. She wanted to know EVERYTHING about Brad and I, and Unlocked Style. For some reason I trusted her. Debbie beleived in me. Debbie now has a dress named after her, the "Debbie Doll".
That day I did something (with out thinking). I hesitate telling this because it may take away from the magic of all this, but it is part of the dream/story. When I stood up I left her my information and that ten dollar bill. When I say that is all I had, that literally was every dime I had.
We drove straight home, passed the speed bump, and to the mailbox. I received an envelope postmarked Alabama. Out floated a ten dollar bill into my lap.
There is a dream we share. Debbie and her husband Joe have shared this dream every step of the way. Letting people in close enough to see me, I mean really see me is close to impossible. For this dream to not be at a pause I had to trust others, let them in - and accept their advice.
Something else I noticed during this time is I had nothing. This is when I gave all that I had.
It was not standing on the edge of the cliff, but actually jumping. Unlocked Style is still something I want to be a gift, a story and of coarse a funky style. If I am not giving back then what am I doing? If I have a business - a new business and become greedy green and do not share my story will I thrive?
Give even when it hurts, especially when it hurts:
1. Love
2. Clothing Bin
3.Clothes
4.Deposit Clothes
If you're not jumping on the outside you are on the inside!!
We sat near the door, with the sun radiating in to our small table. My legs were lengthened by knee high green irish socks, the bottom half playing it sort of low with a grey skirt adorned with a bow, and of course my very own Unlocked shirt that said "I'm not Irish". Unlocked Style was just starting up. In my wallet I had only this: a $10 bill.
Flavors has a very fresh California taste so I was not shocked all to see our server mirrored that look and feel. Her smile was the L.A. sun its self. Her puffy sleeved Kelly green shirt played into her fun short blonde hair. The thing I noticed the most was that she had a breeze about her. Why did I want to know her better? Women hate me, and I can not deal with all the paperwork that women entail. She was my L.A. doll.
Loud. Loud and frank. She said : "you two are not from around here are you?" Within the next few minutes she had a chair pulled up and we magnetically unravelled a fairy tail together.
For some odd reason I recognized the one of the comedians that was being advertized in the middle of the table where the dessert menu should be. "O, that is my husband she said." I knew him.... how? He was the pastor/teacher/wicked cool speaker/ guy that came in from California at the Vineyard.
So she did have the breath of California in her. She wanted to know EVERYTHING about Brad and I, and Unlocked Style. For some reason I trusted her. Debbie beleived in me. Debbie now has a dress named after her, the "Debbie Doll".
That day I did something (with out thinking). I hesitate telling this because it may take away from the magic of all this, but it is part of the dream/story. When I stood up I left her my information and that ten dollar bill. When I say that is all I had, that literally was every dime I had.
We drove straight home, passed the speed bump, and to the mailbox. I received an envelope postmarked Alabama. Out floated a ten dollar bill into my lap.
There is a dream we share. Debbie and her husband Joe have shared this dream every step of the way. Letting people in close enough to see me, I mean really see me is close to impossible. For this dream to not be at a pause I had to trust others, let them in - and accept their advice.
Something else I noticed during this time is I had nothing. This is when I gave all that I had.
It was not standing on the edge of the cliff, but actually jumping. Unlocked Style is still something I want to be a gift, a story and of coarse a funky style. If I am not giving back then what am I doing? If I have a business - a new business and become greedy green and do not share my story will I thrive?
Give even when it hurts, especially when it hurts:
1. Love
2. Clothing Bin
3.Clothes
4.Deposit Clothes
If you're not jumping on the outside you are on the inside!!
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Shadow
"Strength" was the exact wording on the shirt that was ordered. An abstract shirt in black. The order was placed by a girl I went to school with and maybe shared a handful of words with. Her story is heartbreaking and moving. Her story is a story of strength.
Madly, heart in the sand love she had for her husband that she shared two children with. He was also the coach at the school that we went to. A little while back I heard of his sudden death. There is no possible way for me to describe to you how my heart ached for her and her two children.
Here I was with this shirt - an empty canvas and this one word. Strength. As soon as the music started, and the creation started to flow something came over me. It was like a weight, a weighted fog. A candle in the corner climbing a sliver of light up the wall seemed to be slowly dancing to my work.
As soon as I completed the shirt I wrote. It happened so fast that I do not even remember it. The black ink words were a dash guided by that same fog that I felt in the kitchen. Suddenly tired I went to bed. Music filled my ears moments later. Brad had found what I had written and immediately converted it into a beautiful song. Shadow.
My dreams that night were of the coach. His eyes. His quiet strength, her inner strength, and a glow. It was a restless sleep. I had to hand deliver her shirt. There seemed to be more going on than an old friend wanting a new funky shirt.
That weekend I did not want to go to the Vineyard. When entering the building I got a strong feeling and told Brad I had to go to the bathroom. I even voiced to him something did not feel right.
Standing in front of a stall I saw something. Something that would make anyone beleive. Something that would make a grown man weep. There stood a small child. She had creamy olive skin and silky curls that traced her delicate face. This child was actually glowing. So blown away I bent down to her level. Her eyes were magnetic.
As I looked into her eyes I saw something even more powerful. The same coach that was in my dreams. I saw his eyes in this glowing child. Why? The only words I could form was "you are beatiful". This moment was broken up by the cold swinging of the bathroom stall.
There she stood. The coaches wife. Tall in her strength. Shocked, we were both frozen in a moment of shock. The only thing I knew is what I had seen. We both did not have a clue that we had even ever shared this huge building.
Very soon after we met in the park. I had a special request for Brad. I asked him to play the song to my friend, this beatiful woman filled with strength. He did, he played and filled the air with "Shadow".... and my friends eyes with tears.
When I told her what I had seen in the bathroom she swallowed and said she was not shocked. Others had said similar things. WOW! Just amazing to me.
Music had tied together art, my dreams, and even maybe did a little healing.
Vintage Vinyl Record Bowls
1. an oven safe bowl (inverted)
2. an oven
3. a vinyl record
Heat oven at 250 - place record on top of inverted bowl - heat in oven for 8 minutes. ( when you remove from oven the record is soft enough that you can shape it)
Use for: jewelry, fruit, popcorn, etc.
Madly, heart in the sand love she had for her husband that she shared two children with. He was also the coach at the school that we went to. A little while back I heard of his sudden death. There is no possible way for me to describe to you how my heart ached for her and her two children.
Here I was with this shirt - an empty canvas and this one word. Strength. As soon as the music started, and the creation started to flow something came over me. It was like a weight, a weighted fog. A candle in the corner climbing a sliver of light up the wall seemed to be slowly dancing to my work.
As soon as I completed the shirt I wrote. It happened so fast that I do not even remember it. The black ink words were a dash guided by that same fog that I felt in the kitchen. Suddenly tired I went to bed. Music filled my ears moments later. Brad had found what I had written and immediately converted it into a beautiful song. Shadow.
My dreams that night were of the coach. His eyes. His quiet strength, her inner strength, and a glow. It was a restless sleep. I had to hand deliver her shirt. There seemed to be more going on than an old friend wanting a new funky shirt.
That weekend I did not want to go to the Vineyard. When entering the building I got a strong feeling and told Brad I had to go to the bathroom. I even voiced to him something did not feel right.
Standing in front of a stall I saw something. Something that would make anyone beleive. Something that would make a grown man weep. There stood a small child. She had creamy olive skin and silky curls that traced her delicate face. This child was actually glowing. So blown away I bent down to her level. Her eyes were magnetic.
As I looked into her eyes I saw something even more powerful. The same coach that was in my dreams. I saw his eyes in this glowing child. Why? The only words I could form was "you are beatiful". This moment was broken up by the cold swinging of the bathroom stall.
There she stood. The coaches wife. Tall in her strength. Shocked, we were both frozen in a moment of shock. The only thing I knew is what I had seen. We both did not have a clue that we had even ever shared this huge building.
Very soon after we met in the park. I had a special request for Brad. I asked him to play the song to my friend, this beatiful woman filled with strength. He did, he played and filled the air with "Shadow".... and my friends eyes with tears.
When I told her what I had seen in the bathroom she swallowed and said she was not shocked. Others had said similar things. WOW! Just amazing to me.
Music had tied together art, my dreams, and even maybe did a little healing.
Vintage Vinyl Record Bowls
1. an oven safe bowl (inverted)
2. an oven
3. a vinyl record
Heat oven at 250 - place record on top of inverted bowl - heat in oven for 8 minutes. ( when you remove from oven the record is soft enough that you can shape it)
Use for: jewelry, fruit, popcorn, etc.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Swing Set
Little girls dream of weddings. The dress, Prince Charming, and mostly that moment where they are real living princesses. While other little girls were having this dream I was playing in the mud with my best friend Jacob. So much of my time was devoted to unveiling the layers of lace my mom coated me in for beauty peagants. Mud was my true make up.
Alot of lonely feelings ached in my doll like bones. Outside of my childhood home stood a swing set. If you look out the window at a swing set it is just a simple frame that shares in that lonely feeling. The only time I would notice that my swing set was absent of that feeling would be if there was a strong breeze. That breeze came within me.
No matter what kid called me "shrimp" or how I couldn't have a sleep over with the rest of the boys, or that I just never "fit" my swing stood there. It waited to scoop me up. Cradle me and rock me. The breeze would come, my hair would blow and everything would be ok.
As an adult life took me on a million different roads. None of which I regret. For some odd reason I even enjoy the fork in the road. After many relationships, the time came. I had to eat my words, using that fork... Independent thinking- a mental flushing of any romantic ideas. I firmly took the stand that no one can sweep me off of my feet. Anything that stood for true love scared me. Hearts drawn in the sand, hand holding in public, red roses made me ill, and names that came in food form. Shoot me now.
There he was. Someone that shared my out of the box thinking, someone that would fight for me when I had no fight left. This went far beyond the blue eye syndrome. He stood tall in my world. Music and poetry filled his lips and he did not even know it. Soon I was that person. We hold hands... a lot.
This dream I have to share with you is not mine, this dream is his. He was my swing set. Standing there, never leaving, just waiting to rock me. When you swing so high, you see the world differently. You laugh hard and feel a freedom that only this moment has to offer.
Brad's dream was clear. He had his own shirt collection that I had "Unlocked" for him. He was ready to unlock our future. He wanted to marry me. While I was covered in all of the dark angst an artist drowns in he was there every single day with the same words in his mouth. "Marry me" Do not get me wrong, I loved this man. He was my best friend, he was why our business even came to life, and I was only one thing. S C A R E D!
Pushing, screaming, laughing, and crying. He wanted to marry me. He dreamt of a future of colors. Brad needed a future that involved my crazy rollercoaster mind. His dream bled into my heart. We were not only going to create a business together, but a life. Mundane sand drawing was not my ideal plan. Screw my plan. I love sand.
Today we went to the park. Swinging is another art form to me. Brad was there, Brad will always be there. He is not just my husband. He holds and shares in my dreams.
Feeling Freedom
1. you
2. a swing
3. swing high, until you feel free
Alot of lonely feelings ached in my doll like bones. Outside of my childhood home stood a swing set. If you look out the window at a swing set it is just a simple frame that shares in that lonely feeling. The only time I would notice that my swing set was absent of that feeling would be if there was a strong breeze. That breeze came within me.
No matter what kid called me "shrimp" or how I couldn't have a sleep over with the rest of the boys, or that I just never "fit" my swing stood there. It waited to scoop me up. Cradle me and rock me. The breeze would come, my hair would blow and everything would be ok.
As an adult life took me on a million different roads. None of which I regret. For some odd reason I even enjoy the fork in the road. After many relationships, the time came. I had to eat my words, using that fork... Independent thinking- a mental flushing of any romantic ideas. I firmly took the stand that no one can sweep me off of my feet. Anything that stood for true love scared me. Hearts drawn in the sand, hand holding in public, red roses made me ill, and names that came in food form. Shoot me now.
There he was. Someone that shared my out of the box thinking, someone that would fight for me when I had no fight left. This went far beyond the blue eye syndrome. He stood tall in my world. Music and poetry filled his lips and he did not even know it. Soon I was that person. We hold hands... a lot.
This dream I have to share with you is not mine, this dream is his. He was my swing set. Standing there, never leaving, just waiting to rock me. When you swing so high, you see the world differently. You laugh hard and feel a freedom that only this moment has to offer.
Brad's dream was clear. He had his own shirt collection that I had "Unlocked" for him. He was ready to unlock our future. He wanted to marry me. While I was covered in all of the dark angst an artist drowns in he was there every single day with the same words in his mouth. "Marry me" Do not get me wrong, I loved this man. He was my best friend, he was why our business even came to life, and I was only one thing. S C A R E D!
Pushing, screaming, laughing, and crying. He wanted to marry me. He dreamt of a future of colors. Brad needed a future that involved my crazy rollercoaster mind. His dream bled into my heart. We were not only going to create a business together, but a life. Mundane sand drawing was not my ideal plan. Screw my plan. I love sand.
Today we went to the park. Swinging is another art form to me. Brad was there, Brad will always be there. He is not just my husband. He holds and shares in my dreams.
Feeling Freedom
1. you
2. a swing
3. swing high, until you feel free
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Rain Dance
The guts of Fairfield suburbs is where I had just removed myself from. Cookie cutter people frightened by my tutu's and Punky Brewster taste for color. I was what they were afraid of. The suburbs ached to spit me out.
After I had first moved into the "club" called Hunters Trace about ten years ago quickly, I saw my square peg - Punky Brewster syndrome. The very first day of being in the home I was just PUMPED to be in this house. What do you do when you are excited? Turn the music all the way up and dance. Dance like a warrior. For some reason there were balloons involved. Furniture became my stage. A rain dance was in the works..... hopping from the couch to the coffee table, to the next couch, dancing and balloon bopping.
Fast forward to the next afternoon. A herd of the muffin-top-sweatshirt-wearing-moms collectively clucked at me; the unexpected. No, not WELCOME to the neighborhood. No, not here is a loaf of warm baked pumpkin spice bread. "You need to get blinds, my husband and the rest of us all saw you dancing."
This lesson was the glue to my future of dealing with "the herd". Remaining me ten years later, I still dance. I dance when I want and how I want. There is always rain. So my question has always been along these lines. "Do these women have the same dreams?" Do they dream in color or just the shades of grey there Eddie Bauer sweatshirts came in? My heart bleeds for them if they share my dreams. My mini Punky Brewster wants to shake them and free them of their fears.
All of these years later my dreams have only evolved to come into fruition. Soon after my meeting with Joe, the next dream happened. Unlike the pure clinical white of the boardroom dream, this one came to me in hybrid colors. Colors; the food of life.
There was a huge ceremony brewing. Red carpets were lining the streets. My only job was to Unlock these celeberties. I was more of a shadow. Several women with glowing teeth framed by silky lips were mouthing to reporters "Melissa did this". The shouting fans and humming streched "rides" were the soundtrack to this specific dream.
Celebs have always just been people to me. In fact I keep a fair distance from the craze that halo's them. This was the first time in my life I had even thought about something like this. Creating a look for a celebrity would be no different to me than creating a look for one of the muffin-top-moms.
The abiltiy to see people as people seemed to be even one more reason that Unlocked Style must succeed. On a red carpet or in a kitchen with a crock pot warming the counter. Although the path is a little muddy at this point, I am here in living color.
Nutty Monkey
1. wheat whole grain rounds (any round bread)
2. sliced bananas
3. hazlenut spread
Spread, slice, and assemble. Grill it, press it - Make it warm and gooey!
After I had first moved into the "club" called Hunters Trace about ten years ago quickly, I saw my square peg - Punky Brewster syndrome. The very first day of being in the home I was just PUMPED to be in this house. What do you do when you are excited? Turn the music all the way up and dance. Dance like a warrior. For some reason there were balloons involved. Furniture became my stage. A rain dance was in the works..... hopping from the couch to the coffee table, to the next couch, dancing and balloon bopping.
Fast forward to the next afternoon. A herd of the muffin-top-sweatshirt-wearing-moms collectively clucked at me; the unexpected. No, not WELCOME to the neighborhood. No, not here is a loaf of warm baked pumpkin spice bread. "You need to get blinds, my husband and the rest of us all saw you dancing."
This lesson was the glue to my future of dealing with "the herd". Remaining me ten years later, I still dance. I dance when I want and how I want. There is always rain. So my question has always been along these lines. "Do these women have the same dreams?" Do they dream in color or just the shades of grey there Eddie Bauer sweatshirts came in? My heart bleeds for them if they share my dreams. My mini Punky Brewster wants to shake them and free them of their fears.
All of these years later my dreams have only evolved to come into fruition. Soon after my meeting with Joe, the next dream happened. Unlike the pure clinical white of the boardroom dream, this one came to me in hybrid colors. Colors; the food of life.
There was a huge ceremony brewing. Red carpets were lining the streets. My only job was to Unlock these celeberties. I was more of a shadow. Several women with glowing teeth framed by silky lips were mouthing to reporters "Melissa did this". The shouting fans and humming streched "rides" were the soundtrack to this specific dream.
Celebs have always just been people to me. In fact I keep a fair distance from the craze that halo's them. This was the first time in my life I had even thought about something like this. Creating a look for a celebrity would be no different to me than creating a look for one of the muffin-top-moms.
The abiltiy to see people as people seemed to be even one more reason that Unlocked Style must succeed. On a red carpet or in a kitchen with a crock pot warming the counter. Although the path is a little muddy at this point, I am here in living color.
Nutty Monkey
1. wheat whole grain rounds (any round bread)
2. sliced bananas
3. hazlenut spread
Spread, slice, and assemble. Grill it, press it - Make it warm and gooey!
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Light
White is the color that I am allergic to. White to me stands for lack thereof. This night, this dream was an intense shade of piercing white. A voice said "follow me". Soon, I am in a boardroom, a hollow and empty boardroom. The only thing filling the void would be a long table that anchored the white to the atmosphere, trimmed with chairs.
In this dream there was a pure silence. A silence that spoke into my soul. It is simple. The dream was so simple that, in a way, it gave me comfort. When I woke up I knew. I knew that this was going to happen, some how- some day I would be sitting in this room.
Time for a taste of my Melissa truth. Some things make my palms sweaty and my insides race and force me to head for the door. Weird lighting, industrial ceilings, and banks. My dream had that feel. So, as you must know I thought about this dream the whole next day.
A mad crazed flow of my thoughts were being posted on facebook. Not only was the traffic concerning Unlocked Style, but what I should do next. My creations dancing across clothing seemed to need a permanent place in the world.
Around this time I was also finding out who my real friends were and loosely losing the trust of those I would normally trust. When it comes to any kind of paperwork or numbers it is completely alien to me. It is kind of like hearing a vaccum cleaner going off in my mind once I hear numbers.
I needed help, I needed someone I could trust with the android numbers.
Joe Clark. A name I had forgotten. A name I will not forget. He sent me a message saying that he would have a free of charge consultation. Catch? There has to be a catch! Joe had gone to school with me and we had not had any contact since then. He now owns a progressive company, doing very well for himself.
Soon we were talking on the phone with another key member of my Unlocked "Dream": Ken. Ken is a professor of stats at Notre Dame. Ken, Ken is white and I am black. You will hear more of him in the future. Ken shared the dream and wanted to protect what he saw as golden.
Even recalling this next part just sends chills racing down my arms. A meeting was set up. My dream was becoming my reality. How do I dress? Do I bring my laptop?
The thing is I must be me. How I dress is my mood ring for the day. Dress clothes make my stomach knot up like an infant's fist pounding at a mothers' stomach. An Unlocked tank was warmed by a velvet, satin trimmed wine fitted jacket. My long black hair down, not up. Even my hair wants to rebel. My decision to bring my leather bound journal instead of my ragdoll laptop was not really a decision. The journal is my extension.
Arriving at a huge building with a leather journal hugging me I was ready. Ready for something I knew would be beautiful. Up an elevator and reaching Joe's building I started to feel the lights. A red mouthed older secretary warmly greet me. Blue prints were being juggled by a man with cuff links and a mission. I sat and waited.
Seconds passed, breathe, just breathe. In slow motion the secretary said follow me. I did so. She swung open a door and said "I must apologize; the board room is the only room we have open." Looking around I saw the clone of my dream. The long table that anchored the room, the peircing light, and the chairs trimming the table. As I waited for Joe to enter I stopped breathing......... I mean is this real?
Immediately after taking his seat Joe gave me an official journal for notes. While on 3-way I started to shrink - or mentally vaccum. The numbers were as foreign to me as the large cold table inviting me into my future. Joe said a year. Stick with it this year, and you will succeed. He had other beautiful advice that I will always hold close to my heart.
My gratitude for what he did in that hour, on that day will never be expressed properly. A dream. A reality. A dream fused with reality catapulting me into my future.
Groovy Coasters
1. ceramic tiles
2. paint pens
3. felt- glue gun
In this dream there was a pure silence. A silence that spoke into my soul. It is simple. The dream was so simple that, in a way, it gave me comfort. When I woke up I knew. I knew that this was going to happen, some how- some day I would be sitting in this room.
Time for a taste of my Melissa truth. Some things make my palms sweaty and my insides race and force me to head for the door. Weird lighting, industrial ceilings, and banks. My dream had that feel. So, as you must know I thought about this dream the whole next day.
A mad crazed flow of my thoughts were being posted on facebook. Not only was the traffic concerning Unlocked Style, but what I should do next. My creations dancing across clothing seemed to need a permanent place in the world.
Around this time I was also finding out who my real friends were and loosely losing the trust of those I would normally trust. When it comes to any kind of paperwork or numbers it is completely alien to me. It is kind of like hearing a vaccum cleaner going off in my mind once I hear numbers.
I needed help, I needed someone I could trust with the android numbers.
Joe Clark. A name I had forgotten. A name I will not forget. He sent me a message saying that he would have a free of charge consultation. Catch? There has to be a catch! Joe had gone to school with me and we had not had any contact since then. He now owns a progressive company, doing very well for himself.
Soon we were talking on the phone with another key member of my Unlocked "Dream": Ken. Ken is a professor of stats at Notre Dame. Ken, Ken is white and I am black. You will hear more of him in the future. Ken shared the dream and wanted to protect what he saw as golden.
Even recalling this next part just sends chills racing down my arms. A meeting was set up. My dream was becoming my reality. How do I dress? Do I bring my laptop?
The thing is I must be me. How I dress is my mood ring for the day. Dress clothes make my stomach knot up like an infant's fist pounding at a mothers' stomach. An Unlocked tank was warmed by a velvet, satin trimmed wine fitted jacket. My long black hair down, not up. Even my hair wants to rebel. My decision to bring my leather bound journal instead of my ragdoll laptop was not really a decision. The journal is my extension.
Arriving at a huge building with a leather journal hugging me I was ready. Ready for something I knew would be beautiful. Up an elevator and reaching Joe's building I started to feel the lights. A red mouthed older secretary warmly greet me. Blue prints were being juggled by a man with cuff links and a mission. I sat and waited.
Seconds passed, breathe, just breathe. In slow motion the secretary said follow me. I did so. She swung open a door and said "I must apologize; the board room is the only room we have open." Looking around I saw the clone of my dream. The long table that anchored the room, the peircing light, and the chairs trimming the table. As I waited for Joe to enter I stopped breathing......... I mean is this real?
Immediately after taking his seat Joe gave me an official journal for notes. While on 3-way I started to shrink - or mentally vaccum. The numbers were as foreign to me as the large cold table inviting me into my future. Joe said a year. Stick with it this year, and you will succeed. He had other beautiful advice that I will always hold close to my heart.
My gratitude for what he did in that hour, on that day will never be expressed properly. A dream. A reality. A dream fused with reality catapulting me into my future.
Groovy Coasters
1. ceramic tiles
2. paint pens
3. felt- glue gun
Friday, September 3, 2010
Thumbprint
Dreams are not always while you are sleeping. I was walking a dream out. Each day after my first initial dream was that thing that each child wants. When you are a child you think you can grow up and fly a hot air balloon made of sticky candy and your destination is never the unknown but ALWAYS magical. This balloon was my shirts, the very air that breathed into my beautiful blimp was pure magic.
People believed. What were they beleiving in? When I woke up with my warm coffee cradled in my hand I always had a shirt in the other. Music lifted the air of my small kitchen, my size 5 feet with toes candy coated taxi cab yellow melted into the floor. This is how I create. Music, bare feet, and coffee.
Rubbing my eyes to awaken from the dream was almost becoming natural. Walking past a speed bump to pick up the large flow of checks that were suddenly being sent accompanied by letters of encouragement was not ironic or even funny. That speed bump. My life.
Until this very point each dream had been coming in the darkness of the night. Dreams now came just past the speed bump on Bobtail Court in Mill Creek- located in a rusted square mailbox. This is a thought. Money, ahhhh the American dream, the golden ticket. No. No No. This is by far not the dream.
There was a certain spark in the air. Energy that seemed to pull me into a new day. Everyone that crossed my path seemed to see the "it" factor. People I barely knew beleived in a shirt, - a tree pattern, a branch, or "just do your thing Melissa". Everyone wanted to be Unlocked. People wanted there own thumbprint in there wardrobe. This I had to offer.
My dream. A thumbrint. Now when I pulled my eyemask down over my eyes at night I knew that even when I woke up - ESPECIALLY when I woke up the dream would still exist.
Coffee "Mate"
1. wicked cool glass - (wine glass)
2. coffee beans
3. instrument of choice (paint brush or pens)
While I am having a cup of coffee and Unlocking your wardrobe, you will have a swanky new coffee "mate".
People believed. What were they beleiving in? When I woke up with my warm coffee cradled in my hand I always had a shirt in the other. Music lifted the air of my small kitchen, my size 5 feet with toes candy coated taxi cab yellow melted into the floor. This is how I create. Music, bare feet, and coffee.
Rubbing my eyes to awaken from the dream was almost becoming natural. Walking past a speed bump to pick up the large flow of checks that were suddenly being sent accompanied by letters of encouragement was not ironic or even funny. That speed bump. My life.
Until this very point each dream had been coming in the darkness of the night. Dreams now came just past the speed bump on Bobtail Court in Mill Creek- located in a rusted square mailbox. This is a thought. Money, ahhhh the American dream, the golden ticket. No. No No. This is by far not the dream.
There was a certain spark in the air. Energy that seemed to pull me into a new day. Everyone that crossed my path seemed to see the "it" factor. People I barely knew beleived in a shirt, - a tree pattern, a branch, or "just do your thing Melissa". Everyone wanted to be Unlocked. People wanted there own thumbprint in there wardrobe. This I had to offer.
My dream. A thumbrint. Now when I pulled my eyemask down over my eyes at night I knew that even when I woke up - ESPECIALLY when I woke up the dream would still exist.
Coffee "Mate"
1. wicked cool glass - (wine glass)
2. coffee beans
3. instrument of choice (paint brush or pens)
While I am having a cup of coffee and Unlocking your wardrobe, you will have a swanky new coffee "mate".
Thursday, September 2, 2010
7 eye
The fabric of me did not want to believe. Allie kept coming to my dreams. Happy like the feeling of running outside and screaming with your head held back and your palms wide open, this is how she was in my dreams. Instead of pushing her back and away I just said- "ok, this is what is coming my way".... THIS MEANS SOMETHING THAT YOU CAN NOT EVEN COMPREHEND.
My inner closet of a brain looks like this: Clothes everywhere, rainbows of silk pieces intertwined with words jumping off of T-shirts, shoes with actual animated personalities- just a functioning city of everything always working together to create. In this I made a decision almost a year ago. A no T.V. diet. Junk food for my brain cut out. In a way I was not cleaning out my closet, but organizing.
This brought dreams. Clear dreams that were trimmed with bold visions. Allie not only came to my dreams. Allie came to my reality. One night soon after my first "Allie dream" I decided to take a bubble bath. With a bath came naked and true prophetic fog.
After steaming myself into a blur, I remove myself from the milk and honey lukewarm swamp. Naturally, the beauty I am; I look in the mirror. In the mirror was a clear image of a girl. Long hair that framed the mirror. Exact markings where a gate of teeth stood strong, and the part that would change my future- her eyes. The right eye a clear number 7.
My mouth could not scream, my eyes could not produce tears, my mind was stuck. Slowly, I walk to the top of the stairs. A towel as my only protection. Shaking voice. Shaking me. "Braaaadddd" : "Come and see this." You see, I did not voice what I thought I saw, in all reality I wanted him to tell me that my bath had sedated me and there was really no figure in the mirror.
His face grew quiet. He looked closer, and said "I even see the teeth". This moment was not a moment, it was a shared frozen mystery. Of course he tried to take a picture. Allie must have been sick of photoshoots.
So the number seven. Everything seemed to come in sevens from the amount of almonds in my hand to the very fact that we ended up moving to Seven Mile. Seven Mile, a place I had never even heard of. Seven Mile being the seventh place we actually came to. Seven, a new season. Unlocked was soon to be in Seven locations.
Funky Fork Frame
1. scissors
2. old fork
3. magnetic tape
Frame it!
My inner closet of a brain looks like this: Clothes everywhere, rainbows of silk pieces intertwined with words jumping off of T-shirts, shoes with actual animated personalities- just a functioning city of everything always working together to create. In this I made a decision almost a year ago. A no T.V. diet. Junk food for my brain cut out. In a way I was not cleaning out my closet, but organizing.
This brought dreams. Clear dreams that were trimmed with bold visions. Allie not only came to my dreams. Allie came to my reality. One night soon after my first "Allie dream" I decided to take a bubble bath. With a bath came naked and true prophetic fog.
After steaming myself into a blur, I remove myself from the milk and honey lukewarm swamp. Naturally, the beauty I am; I look in the mirror. In the mirror was a clear image of a girl. Long hair that framed the mirror. Exact markings where a gate of teeth stood strong, and the part that would change my future- her eyes. The right eye a clear number 7.
My mouth could not scream, my eyes could not produce tears, my mind was stuck. Slowly, I walk to the top of the stairs. A towel as my only protection. Shaking voice. Shaking me. "Braaaadddd" : "Come and see this." You see, I did not voice what I thought I saw, in all reality I wanted him to tell me that my bath had sedated me and there was really no figure in the mirror.
His face grew quiet. He looked closer, and said "I even see the teeth". This moment was not a moment, it was a shared frozen mystery. Of course he tried to take a picture. Allie must have been sick of photoshoots.
So the number seven. Everything seemed to come in sevens from the amount of almonds in my hand to the very fact that we ended up moving to Seven Mile. Seven Mile, a place I had never even heard of. Seven Mile being the seventh place we actually came to. Seven, a new season. Unlocked was soon to be in Seven locations.
Funky Fork Frame
1. scissors
2. old fork
3. magnetic tape
Frame it!
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
One-three items. CREATE
Sweaty twisting dreams in colors and flavors that were more like a roller coaster than an actual dream was how it all started. I had went from having it all to literally having nothing - NOT EXACTLY. You see, I had these dreams. Creative and screaming dreams. Stirred by these dreams and no actual tools I acted. You think of an action then you think I planned. No, no planning. Just doing.
Each day I will give either a different vision or a dream and navigate through them. Each dream lead to something amazing. An actual company was formed during these dreams.... Unlocked Style. (http://www.unlockedstyle.com/)- along with the dream or vision is a gift. A gift for me - a gift for you.
Three Things.
Basic creation with basic tools.
Dream One:
Allie, the name Allie kept coming to me in this one dream. She was young she was beautiful. That is it the name Allie. During the process of making clothing out of nothing (my boyfriend's closet) and reinvinting his shirts I had the dream of the name Allie. No job, just a dream.
With in days my clothing was being sold at Boutique Allie. Allie was young and beautiful. Her picture hangs like a display of light in Boutique Allie. She died in a car accident.
Never had I heard of Allie or this candy like store filled with glossy colors and tucking my dreams away.
CREATE
1. sand paper
2. any small screwdriver
3. denim
Destroy. Destroy. Create. Create your dreams.
Each day I will give either a different vision or a dream and navigate through them. Each dream lead to something amazing. An actual company was formed during these dreams.... Unlocked Style. (http://www.unlockedstyle.com/)- along with the dream or vision is a gift. A gift for me - a gift for you.
Three Things.
Basic creation with basic tools.
Dream One:
Allie, the name Allie kept coming to me in this one dream. She was young she was beautiful. That is it the name Allie. During the process of making clothing out of nothing (my boyfriend's closet) and reinvinting his shirts I had the dream of the name Allie. No job, just a dream.
With in days my clothing was being sold at Boutique Allie. Allie was young and beautiful. Her picture hangs like a display of light in Boutique Allie. She died in a car accident.
Never had I heard of Allie or this candy like store filled with glossy colors and tucking my dreams away.
CREATE
1. sand paper
2. any small screwdriver
3. denim
Destroy. Destroy. Create. Create your dreams.
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