When the Window of Your Soul Is Through the Closet

I have a thing for walk-in closets. Here is a survey of my last 5 closets plus my current one.

Exhibit A: My current closet. Frankly, it is an architectural mistake. The master suite is simply too small to host a closet so large (but thank you.) I am in the process of creating a sitting space in the closet so I can wind down after a long day and survey my clothing supply of sequins and fluffy stuff.

Exhibit B: My closet on Union Street. This closet was a union between my living space and bathroom. Talk about an un-utilized guest receiving space. This closet was the subject of much drama involving a basic water leak. There was incredible heat in that closet due to a hot water pipe running up one corner. This is probably the thing in my life I have most underestimated. The whole time I lived there I was blushed from the heat when passing from the closet into that bathroom. I never had to apply make-up blush. Don't get me wrong, walking around, looking like you are in heat has its benefits, it’s just that you can't escape sending your lovers off looking like they're in heat.

Exhibit C: Closet-with-a-view. The building manager that was showing apartments at the time so cheekily commented on the sliver of ocean that we could see through the closet window--as in I might have a chance at a full waterfront view "someday". I had the instantaneous thought that she could very well go and suck it. At the time I was dating my future husband who lived in full-view of that very water. All I have to say is that people fight in front of a full water view as much as they fight in front of a water-sliver view and so basically, a water view is over-rated. Cheekily, I negotiated a discount because the building manager that was showing apartments at the time was not renting as many as her job required her to. Surprise.

Exhibit D: This was the hobbit of closets, featuring a lovely asymmetrical arch and a row of hooks down one side. I seem to remember the woodwork painted a chocolate brown and the walls painted an army green and a lesbian who really was as friendly as could be. In the words of Tina Fey, because I know you might be thinking along these lines, gay people don't actually try to convert people, that is Jehovah's Witnesses you are thinking of.

Exhibit E: An entire room closet (in San Francisco). I have always thought such closets were criminal since we listed our place for sale as a two bedroom. Here is where the real estate agents and my neighbors' enthusiasm matched. Families of 4 showed-up for the open house, piling out of their vans with a spring in their step and a shine on their teeth--this viewing amounting to one of their last ditch efforts to stay in the city--only to return to their van-cars minutes later, a brooding and homely bunch. My neighbors remained, on their stoops, beers in hand, watching the show. See, in San Francisco you don't publicize your square footage because it has to do with liability and you openly watch people from the safety of your stoop.

We ended up selling our place before the market crashed to one guy's parents. And the one guy wanted the built-in closet that was the 2nd bedroom ripped out pronto. So what did we do? Gripe, rip the closet out, and sell the pieces on Craigslist, pronto.

Exhibit F: A mini-room closet in Ballard. I am not sure what the story was here but my closet in this house was carpeted and my room was not. There was a mini window that opened (charming!) and room to keep my ironing board out all the time. This was the first time I considered moving my bed into the closet to make a living room out of my actual bedroom--which would be a reoccurring idea for my next 5 closets in the future. And now we are in the future. 

For My Valentine

Love waits.

Which means when you receive a valentine late, you should receive it with the graciousness you would have, had it been on time. I am sure Emily Post recommends this, too.

When I mentioned that I might not get your valentine done in time for Valentine's Day, you said that you understood because you were so busy at work too; that you also might not get a valentine for me in time for Valentine's Day because well, you were just not sure how it would work out. To let you know how it would work out, I drew a figure S in the air over my head, snapped my fingers, and said no you did n't.

While I looked serious on the outside, I was chuckling on the inside because I know you know that when I say I might not finish something on time, I really mean I am going to practically kill myself trying. But you know this already and that is why I chuckled. On the inside. Ha.

So anyway, you found a bottle of champagne and chocolate truffles to illustrate your love for me on Valentine's Day and I found the matador jacket picture above to illustrate my love for you just now. In case the matador jacket picture does not speak for itself, I also wrote this:

Happy Valentine's Day!

Our love is possible not despite our differences but because of them. While I roll toward putting our household on wheels, you build built-ins. While you cultivate the garden, I cut back my cuticles. While I make sure we laugh today, you make sure we will be able to retire some day.

Although it seems like we are at odds at times, we are actually playing the game of life on the same side, it is just the littlest differences between our points of view that stand out like a sore thumbs. Remember all the times we talk heatedly about design theory and we think omg, we are so different, until we meet people who don't know/care about design at all? Then we're like, omg, we're so similar! Here is a radical idea: I think we are two sides of the same coin.

Ok, coins are a cheap analogy. Consider the matador. The matador is lean and agile and exacting while also sensational. You are in the swing of the cape, the slim shoes, the bow at the waist. Now me--I'm in the baubles on the jacket, the tight jaw, and the special stitch in the pants crack that prevents them from splitting wide-open when we bend low to tempt the bull or hustle out of it's way.

Because of you, I am able to enter the ring as the amazing matador. Because of you, there is a loving crowd that depends on us. Because of you, I can face the crowd and the bull. Because of you, I can win.

It has been a decade since our first date on Valentine's Day. I could have only dreamt then that we would be dashing around the ring together today, outfitted to the nines, with sweat on our brow and a rose in our teeth. It goes without saying but since this is a Valentine I will say it: I love you entirely. And that's no bull.

As Luck Would Have It

We are all narrowly making it around alive. This occurred to me this morning when a bald eagle flew over my car with some sort of unlucky vermin in its talons. I was barreling down the 305 at the time and narrowly barreled into the delivery truck in front of me, which had a big sign on the back that read Caution: Frequent Stops which I later thought is not as helpful and as descriptive as say You Are More Likely To Rear-End This Vehicle Over Any Other Vehicle On The Road So Stay Back, You Idiot. Anyway, we all could have died, which we all could, any minute of the day. So if your day sucks, take comfort, it will be over in one way or another soon.

Thanks for reading. xo Makenzie Marie

The Simple and Extravagant of It

So, I am doing some writing. It is a furious kind of catch-up I liken to speed dating. Only instead of a bell timer, it is my baby, Penny (Moneypenny, Chez Penny, Pen-Pen, Pen-Pen Paroo) crying for me. [Insert Don't Cry Penny Valentina lyrics to the tune of Don't Cry For Me Argentina, here. Now she is actually crying because she heard me type it. I am back. And apparently still in brackets--story of my life.]

The writing I am doing is email. Surprise! It is like a stuffed puppy instead of the real one you were expecting for Christmas. I will get it right next time. For now, I can only offer you my hanky and entertain you with what I have written to other people. Actually, this kind of voyeristic style makes some people millions. And that is where my credit lies, with the likes of reality crap everywhere.

Here is what I just wrote to my brother, in response to his email about being without internet:

Cool. New age folks call it going "unplugged".

I miss you. It just started. This feeling of, like, where is my brother. I am glad you will be coming home soon. I can't wait for you to help me stock my cupboard with all the latest thai cooking essentials. And of course I can't wait to hear all the ways of the world you have picked-up. Those that would be easily told to my friends over a few cocktails would be ideal. The woman of Bainbridge await your travel tidbits.

Have an excellent time on that other island, volunteering and all that greatness.

I love you.

PS. Dad was this close [see fingers .25" apart] from buying a matching Patagonia tee to yours before he realized the one only came in long sleeve--which apparently he has sworn off since getting arm muscles. A bonus to being XXL is that you can get anything during sale time online.

I realize the littlest difference between people is all the difference in the world--that some people do and some people don't do and that I am in the latter category for writing as of late while my brother is in the former category for traveling the world. And that is why it is nice to have a brother who is also a friend. I feel some relief, knowing the he will take-on the downhill mountain biking so I don't have to. And the skydiving. And the swedish girls. (Sorry, long-sleeve tees aren't the only thing Dad won't keep.) 

On my most lack-luster days, I think of this and feel better about myself and place: I am doing something else today, even if it is not as spectacular as I would like, I know people who are doing spectacular things and they love me, so then surely I can give myself a bit more love. 

Give yourself some more love today and then go help your nearest crying baby. Thank you.