Duh, Winning!

When life hands you lemons… make cake. Or add Vodka. Or take pretty pictures and blog about it. Because you really shouldn’t waste life’s lemons.

Duh, Winning!

One of the realities of running a small business (especially an online business) is that you find yourself dependent on social marketing more than you might like. No adverstising budget? No worries, you have friends. Right?

Right?

Um…

Well, sometimes. Like last week, when some of my friends took the time to repost the news article about Mireio on Facebook. It meant a lot to me. And for small businesses, any press is a good thing. You scramble for those mentions on Twitter, Facebook, and assorted blogs.

But sometimes, friends don’t come through. And it’s really hard to NOT take that personally.

Truth is, it isn’t personal. It’s probably thoughtless… they have no idea what a difference a tiny little effort on their part would make for you—because they work “real world” jobs and don’t spend hours online everyday hocking their wares. They run offices and teach school and raise babies—all important things. But, they have no idea how soul wrenching it can be to constantly be “selling” any more than they have any idea that tweeting or blogging or posting a status link about you would make such a difference.

It does, though. And those of you who sell online know what I’m talking about. That amazing feeling of discovering a friend took the time to sing your praises. It helps. Immensely! Here’s how:

First, it puts your product in front of a completely different customer base. Social media is all about the power of the personal pitch. If a friend “likes” a thingamabob, then you’re more likely to check it out. YOUR friends might not be MY friends. And one of YOUR friends might have another friend in need. A friend who can use that thingamabob but didn’t know it, until your friend passed on your post. Get it?

Second, with the tweeting and blogging platforms, inbound linkage is golden. Google pays attention. And for small artists competing against megaliths with advertising budgets, linkage creates visibility. Being found by google, means you are found by customers. No matter how great your thingamabob is, if you sell online, you need to be seen.

Third, and I think most importantly, it provides a morale boost. Working from home is lonely business. There’s no water-cooler, break-room, coffees out with the mom’s group during your day. Having a friend promote your work gives you a terrific sense of well-being. A sense of “Hey, I’m doing OK!” It fuels the creativity muse (I’ve made more things inspired by friends!) and reminds you that you are not alone in this.

But not all your friends get this. So, what can you do?

First, you can ask. Which is what I did last week. I directly asked people to repost the article on Facebook. It was a hard and awkward thing for me to do. It makes me feel like I’m imposing. But, if a friend asked ME to post for them, well… I’d do it! And I wouldn’t think twice, because I know how hard self-promoting is. So, I summoned up my courage and ASKED.

Lots of friends followed through. YAY!! Far more did not… not so yay.  That’s reality folks, even when you ask… even when you’re pointed and clear and direct, not everyone is going to climb on board the “YOU” train in any meaningful manner. What then?

Well, you have two choices here. You can get frustrated and rant over coffee, spend time worrying and being bothered by it all. That was me last night. Really frustrated by a particular situation.

OR

You can focus on the people who got on board. Say thank you! Tell them how amazing they are for supporting you, because while it’s a small gesture to them, it makes a HUGE difference to you. Make sure they know that. Look for ways to support them. Nothing wrong with a little communal back scratching.

And pass it on. Use your social connections for good. Be a small part of someone else’s PR team. It’s so easy to make a difference! And trust me, if you spend part of your day promoting other people and their amazing work—you don’t feel quite so alone while promoting your own.

So, go make some Lemonade. I promise I’ll drop by and share a glass!

Monday Monday, What Did I Ever Do to You?

Management has declared a moratorium on face shots.


Gah. It’s a Monday. Witness:

  • After prematurely weighing in last night and getting all giddy about a 3lb weight loss, I discovered that the scale wasn’t set properly. Hello 1 lb loss this morning. I’m not complaining… exactly. But that’s 1 lb in a MONTH.  Which has me seriously considering a legal name change to “Tortoise.”
  • My child. Oh… my child. My facebook status this morning read: “Monday Mothering is always such drama.” I’m underplaying that, folks. Homeschooling is like regular schooling when it comes to Monday. You spend all day undoing the nasty habits built up over a weekend. In terms of schooling, Monday tends to be a net loss for the week.

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Making Good

This photo did not run in my local paper. . . . but it could have. That counts, right? What? No? Hey! My blog, my delusion!

Kiss me, I’m not famous. But I have fabulous friends.

What did run in the online version of our local paper is this; Astoria Mom Finds Success Online. It’s a wonderful article written by Sheila of StylishHome.com and it posted on Wednesday. And when I found out about it on Thursday, I promptly spammed my Facebook friends.

Hey, look, I’m in the local paper.

And my friends, bless their hearts, spammed back. While I have a feeling that the article won’t make the print version, I’m not sure it would be as exciting as seeing people you love and who love you, tirelessly “recommending” the article all over their Facebook streams. It was local girl makes good for a couple of hours yesterday afternoon, and I felt the love people. I felt the love.

I also shamelessly printed out a copy of the article for Mother-in-law. Who will crow to all her friends who don’t  even know me. Because I may be 41, but I’ve not outgrown parental pride. Good thing I married into some!

Anyhow, I’m just sending a little shout out to my friends for all their support. You people really do represent. (I don’t know what that means, exactly, but let’s run with it.) And I adore you for it!

On a totally different note: I have photos up of my newest refashioning project over on Mireio.

It’s On My Mind and Then I Lost It

My tea bag is mocking me.


Yeah… so a time bomb went off in my body. Everybody talks about how it’s all down hill after 40. I used to think that was all hyberbole. Now I know, they were under selling it. THOSE people should be shot for not scaring the hell out of me in my thirties. As I tend to read the L.A. Times for information, I’ll just blame them. Shame on you L.A. for not warning me better that my body was going to fall apart EXACTLY at 40. Rude!

Click, creak, click, click… oh let’s go to the ER for no good reason but we like being poor. . . pop a pill, pop a vitamin, oh my aching back, um where’s my period. . . or there it is, nice of you to join the party. . .wait, what were we talking about?. . .  click,creak, click, click. . . repeat.

Stupid time bomb. If you don’t think your life is run by hormones, you’re probably a boy.

Where was I? OH YEAH… I’ve lost my perimenopausal mind. In terms of mental processing, I’ve always been what professionals call a nonlinear thinker. (abstract random) But I usually get to my point and I typically can keep that point in focus even as I’m bouncing from topic to topic verbally. Tangental thinkers make great writers and preachers and parents who lecture you to pieces when pushed.  However, there’s a huge difference between weaving 6 different topics into a conversation and pouring yourself a cup of tea and walking away from it, into a completely different room and forgetting that cup of tea for hours.

What? Example:

Last week I was cleaning up melting pots. I popped one into the freezer, because it had unscented wax, I figured why waste water… just use the cold method. Then I cleaned my other two scented pots. That took maybe 5 minutes. And as I was finishing up the second I thought to myself, “I need to clean that third pot. I wonder where it is.”

I’d completely forgotten that I’d put it in the freezer. I turned the house upside down trying to remember where it could be. Didn’t I just have a few minutes ago? I didn’t find it until IZ opened the freezer hours later and handed it to me.

I’m ready to start popping pills to alleviate the symptoms from the other pills I’m already popping. I’m ready to groan when I get out of a chair. I already spend too much money on wrinkle cream and hair dye. What I’m not ready to lose is what I have left of my mind.

Which brings me to this blog. I’ve been meaning to blog for days.  There was something on my mind, but then I lost it.

And while I was trying to figure out how to end this, Pandora loaded The Pixies’ “Where is My Mind” —Sometimes, you just have to let the Universe have the last word:

With your feet in the air and your head on the ground
Try this trick and spin it, yeah
Your head will collapse
But there’s nothing in it
And you’ll ask yourself,

Where is my mind? ~~The Pixies

And you’ll ask yourself. . . where is my mind, where is my mind, where is my mind?

It’s a Boy

So, there’s nothing like a photo shoot to make a girl pick, pick, pick. Really. I’m THAT large? Hello Jonah, this is your whale calling.

Gah. I know, I know. This is NOT a lament about size. (I look forward to your comments) This is not a pitch for all those soothing noises you can make. It’s just an observation. Taking your own darn photo is hard… taking dozens of them with a timer and a wonky tripod is a chore. . . taking photos that need to include your product artfully displayed while you wear a dress made out of the WORLD WORST FABRIC makes a girl critical and just a bit grumpy.

I’m posting the photo under the jump, because I don’t want to stare at it.

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More Like It

This is what I had planned for yesterday. Pretty, no? Don’t say no. Really, that’s just an invitation for you to say, “Yes!! Yummy!!”

Wow. Yesterday. I slept 12 hours and feel remarkably better. Go figure.

This pile of inspiration was the original agenda for yesterday. I love patterns that say, “Easy Two Hours” because what that usually means is that I can’t screw them up. It also means the end result can also end up looking like a sad sack–but that’s the risk you take. And it’s also why you never, ever use one of those patterns on good fabric the first time out. The red in the photo was just $2 a yard.

I’ve been on a must update my wardrobe kick for a few weeks. With no money I’ve been hitting thrift stores, attempting to be very, very selective. For the most part, I’ve succeeded in finding several sweaters and poet-like blouses that are timely and flattering and in good condition that fit! No small accomplishment, for a girl with Abe Lincoln arms.

But I’ve also been itching to sew. For me. And with March being so slow, this seemed like a perfect time to start. No, really start. Not like last summer where I bought fabric and just looked at it. I’m not sure what my problem is, that I pile up fabric for dresses and skirts and blouses, and then never actually get around to making them. Fear probably.

So, I’ll keep you posted. Especially if this dress does not turn out to be a sad sack. After yesterday’s fiasco, if I can make a dress out of $2 fabric we’re going to call that a budgeting miracle. And as much as I’d love an expensive dress, because  of course it’s better if it costs more! (that’s sarcasm, don’t leave me crazy notes in the comments) I’m pretty sure I can’t make a dress out of my CT scan films.  In fact, if it’s pretty, I might make more like it.

*and I’ve decided to start using the tagging system on these posts like Chuck Lorre uses his vanity cards. Uh, #winning.

Epiphany

Usually I save the punch line for last. You know, drag you through a few 1200 words to deliver the goods or at least something that will explain the title.

Yeah, not today.

I watched  the season premier of  “Sister Wives” tonight  and I had an epiphany. I think I might be a blogging polygamist. Why have two blogs when you can have three? I mean, plural works for Kody Brown. It might work for me too.  I opened up Evidently and began writing.  You can blame the fundamentalist Mormons for what follows.

The time off  from this blog was therapeutic. Despite the fact I started another blog within days of turning this one off; my reasons for taking a break stand. I felt a bit hemmed in here. Trapped by my own voice, or lack of it.

Understanding that requires a bit of history. Ok, a lot of history. I’m making up for lost ground after all.

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Au Revoir

thedress

Au Revoir 2010. Bonne chance dear friends!

I’m taking a (long awaited) break from blogging to focus on new endeavors in 2011. My sincerest gratitude to those of you who accompanied me on this journey. Your friendship has sustained me and I wish you all the best in everything you do!

The Space Between

Originally posted: June 2006

The Space Between

I’m the last to give advice on marriage. Because, like the people who inhabit them, marriages are diverse and unique and complicated unto themselves. What works for me, isn’t likely to work for you. And, despite being married for 16 years today, and despite the fact most of my friends are working on second (and third) marriages, it still doesn’t mean I know anything about the subject of making it work. Don’t ask me what our secret is. I don’t know.

However, what I do know is that no matter the individuals involved, marriage (or long-term committed partnering) creates another entity entirely of its own. And it doesn’t automatically happen with the “I Dos.” Consider all the ceremonial stuff fertilization because becoming a “WE” can’t evolve overnight. Every “I” and every “You” must practice at “WE”again and again and again. Practice.

Sometimes practice means rumbling at each other like gods in the heavens throwing insult laden thunder clouds. “Well, YOUR mother is a meddling know-it all –try cutting your apron strings!”  Or, “Yeah? Well, YOU can’tt wash a dish to save your soul! You call this clean” All this clattering in the skies of marriage eventually leads to fighting fair, but it takes practice. Because, real marriage isn’t always getting along and having unlimited sex — the movies lie. But you can practice.

Sometimes practice means choosing the other when you’ve been conditioned to choose yourself.

Practice involves holidays and customs being navigated with care. It involves being patient and forgiving and hopeful of the future. Always hopeful of the future. And if you cease to be hopeful, practice involves asking for help to find that hope again.

Sometime practice will produce progeny. This makes the “WE” an “US”. And you can get lost in being an “US”, so much so that you forget you were also working on becoming “WE”.  Little people, especially when they are little, are sirens belting out lullabies. If only we could sleep. Sleep deprivation induces visions of leviathans until we become the sea creatures we imagine–twisting and turning, roaring in our exhaustion. It’s not choosing sleep over sex that puts us out of practice: no, that choice is an act of survival. It is the all-consuming nature of care that induces an form of marital dementia. We forget.

However, in time, if we are lucky, if we are blessed, if we are intentional, if we remember, IF. . . we return to our practice, to our discipline of being “WE“and in it we discover that time has worked its magic. That there is a “WE” being formed, so distinct from our individual selves it seems a pity it does not have a name of its own. It is like no other “WE” we know. We may look around and see others of its kind, but never just the same. Like the “I” and the “You” who form it this “WE”  is unique.

This “WE” happened in the space between the storming, between the lovemaking, between choosing and the sleep. It happened between the coffees on the deck, the walks along the beach, the countless hours between the sheets. It happened as we practiced. And what that practice produced was a space where you and I could meet and gradually become WE. 

I suspect, that those who stick it out for as long as they can find that space between to be sacred space. This sacred space has formed me in ways that nothing else could. Becoming a “WE” has made me a different person, a person I would not have become outside of the practice. And while I still remain myself on so many fronts, it is a better self. I am blessed beyond measure to have lived this long with you and to have had the opportunity to experience all that We have together. I love you beyond measure–there are not words. And because there are no words this is simply inadequate to express my immense wonder and awe for having been here, in this place, this time, this HOLY space with you.

Thank you for being who YOU are. And being willing to practice with ME. WE are so blessed.

The only secret I have, is no secret at all. I love you. Happy Anniversary.