101 Things to Do Before I Die:

1. Go to Mustique Island.
2. Stay at the Bora Bora Beachcomber Inter-Continental
3. Go back to Maui
4. Linger
5. Take an actual vacation (one place, one week, no work, no internet)
6. Produce a film.
7. Donate over a million dollars.
8. Get a pedicure.
9. Own/run a (gluten free) gite in France.
10. Have a maid.
11. Sleep more than 4 hours a night.
12. Ride the Orient Express
13. Fly a plane.
14. Take the Coast Starlight from LA to Seattle.
15. Stay at the Ritz Paris
16. Stay at Hotel Particular Paris
17. Have a Four Seasons Residence Membership
18. Throw a massive party extravaganza.
19. Own the best claw foot tub
20. Be healthy.
21. Swoon.
22. See Vienna
23. Do the "Sound of Music" tour
24. Cook more and enjoy it.
25. Have a garden
26. Have a stone home
27. Own the latest Canon Digital Rebel
28. Buy my entire Anthropologie Wishlist at once
29. Never hesitate in buying a book
30. Do a walking tour of Ireland
31. Own a Dior gown.
32. Take my mum on a whirlwind trip to France.
33. Bike in France
34. Do photography for Anthropologie
35. Not move for an entire year.
36. Move back to Europe (Denmark or France).
37. Be met at an airport
38. Do a travel show.
39. Unpack everything.
40. Have my mum live near or with me for a few months a year (ideally have her work with me at my gite!)
41. Take a cover shot.
42. See Victoria Falls and do a safari.
43. Volunteer in Africa.
44. Work with Lonely Planet.
45. Get over my fear of the phone.
46. Own Lightroom.
47. Build a house for someone
48. Make someone else's dream come true.
49. Have lots of people to bake for.
50. Have better and prettier shoes.
51. Travel without having to work at the same time.
52. Build a tree fort.
53. Drive an RV for a week.
54. Take a spa retreat.
55. Make a difference.
56. Condense all my web sites and like at least 1.
57. Speak French without having to hesitate or throw in an English word.
58. Make something and sell something, if only 5 things.
59. Buy entire Amazon Wishlist.
60. Love my home, my city, my country and job - all at the same time.
61. Sail the Queen E2 from NY to Southampton.
62. Buy a Four Seasons King Bed.
63. Feel sophisticated.
64. Boogey like it's 1999.
65. Figure out Wordpress.
66. Be in love with everything.
67. Meet Julie Delpy.
68. Work on 100 films.
69. Meet more people when I travel.
70. Hire an assistant
71. Hire a financial planner.
72. Subscribe to Marie Claire Maison.
73. Have a trip planned for me. Even just a day.
74. Find a great gluten-free croissant.
75. Ride a hot air balloon.
76. Be healthy.
77. Make my home 100% green and sustainable.
78. Visit Pompeii
79. See the pyramids.
80. See my nieces.
81. Own some jewelery. Like jewelery.
82. Own a pony. Named pepper.
83. Have a gluten-free chef.
84. Own couture.
85. Zipline
86. Ride on the roof of a train in Equador
87. Have Babycakes again.
88. Have breakfast in bed and then stay there for the day.
89. Learn how to use my camera and take a photography course.
90. Learn how to accept having Celiac and not being able to eat gluten.
91. Find a signature parfume.
92. Get a manicure.
93. Read every book I own (I have a habit of buying without reading)
94. Take a trip with my BFF, Jessica
95. Study and learn more history
96. Have a stocked and large linen closet.
97. Have a dedicated guest room filled with guests.
98. Take Sunday's off.
99. Cook an omelet that's edible.
100. Have theme music follow me for a day. Like in a movie.
101. Rest.

Today I turn 34 which I'm so very glad for as I must confess 33 was, for lack of a better term, ass. But tonight I'm at an estate built in the 1600's as a summer residence in a beautiful part of Ireland. I've had champagne and gluten free cake with two sets of flowers in my hotel apartment. So far, 34 is promising.

The photo is blurry, I know, but I think it just captures how I've been lately - always in motion. People always ask how I do so much and wonder if it's a sugar daddy or magic pill. The truth is it's just a love of life and lots of doing because I believe life is made up of choice, not circumstance and I choose to do anything and everything I can think of.

There are so many things I want to do, places I want to see, people I want to know that I am always busy either trying to figure out how to do things or doing them. Which often makes for some blurry times but I kind of like it that way. I couldn't be happy just thinking of ideas and wondering how they'd turn out. I wouldn't be happy feeling like I wasn't able to do something because of something else. By choosing not to focus on circumstance or what others say is possible, my life and all that I do is possible.

And it leaves me with this wonderful blurry thing called life.

Almost every day I see the same gentleman (who is in his 80's) walk very slowly down the sidewalk. Until he takes notice of me (or any other young woman around) he is supported by his daughter (who is in her 60's). But as soon as he sees me he shoo's her away, stands a little straighter and walks on his own trying to be proud and nonchalant. He always says hi to Jack and I and then once we're passed and I'm out of sight, he returns to his daughter's side. Sometimes I'll hear her say as though she's an embarrassed 16 year old, "Oh Dad, really" when he lets go.

In the video above, I was seventeen years old and now the video is seventeen years old. I can remember every detail of those days - the heat, the way the grass felt, the butterflies in my tummy over crushing, the weight of the trunk on our heads, the beach, her laughter, putting on lipstick for the first time and eating McDonald's French Fries.

Recently I showed this video to my mum who giggled through the whole thing whilst saying over and over, "you haven't changed. Listen to how you giggle, look at those movements and that cheek! So much the same!" When we went through her photos at the same age, I could say the same things about her.

And when we look at the seventeen year old girls we were, we don't see any non-physical differences between the (almost) thirty-four year old woman I've become and the (almost) sixty-four year old woman she's become. Despite there being all those years between us and our younger selves, there's actually none at all. We have the same heart, the same mannerisms, the same ideals, the same sense of fun, the same of love of life. We're just young girls who dream big, hope for the best but are just a little older and a little bit physically changed.

A man in his 90's once said to me, "I'm just a 22 year old guy caught up in this old man's body. I'm not so wise and put together as everyone assumes I am just because I'm old. I'm not stuffy or boring. I'm fun, alive with dreams, too and I still want to chase the girls. I don't know how to be in this body. I just know how to be 22. And I miss it."

I think of that every time I meet someone in that age range - that they're just young people in an older body but who we are is who we are. This has given me happiness in the past little while for I thought I was getting further away from myself when, like Dorothy, I was there all along. I just, for awhile, became someone else I didn't recognise. Luckily, I do now.

The Santa Monica Sunday Market is always busy making parking - which is already rare - even more of a premium. I turned off main street to park in the public lot behind, hopeful that I'd find parking so I could run into my favourite pet food store to pick something up. I usually do because I don't focus on the full lot but on one spot to open. And it always does.

As I turned in, a man about 50 in an expensive, flashy convertible stopped in front. It looked like he would get a lucky day as one car pulled out of a very full lot. However, as the car was getting ready to pull out, I noticed on the other incoming side a car of women who also thought they were going to get that spot. When convertible man saw this he began to yell not very nice things to them.

The way the parked car pulled out ended up blocking convertible man and in went the car of women. Convertable man was not happy about this and kept his car stopped so he could continue to yell not so nice things to the women. As he did this a woman walked past him and said, "Sir, you can stop, I'm pulling out right here."

And that should have ended it. But he was angry and had to be right.

So while he waited for the other woman to pull out, he kept yelling at the all the women that pulled in - including a 6 year old child. He was so busy yelling at them that he didn't notice the other woman pulling out but he did notice another car from the opposite side pull in.

Now he was very angry.

He had been screwed over once, and rather than let it go he focused on it so much that when a second opportunity presented itself, he couldn't take it. All he could do was park his car, get out and chase both parties down to yell about how they were all his spot.

So there he was, standing still, unhappy, looking ridiculous and without parking. One spot taken, another missed. So busy focusing on that which made him angry that he kept himself from seeing something that he needed open up right in front of him.

My secret beach in Carmel had beautiful, tall trees and flowers that kept trying to grow amongst the white sandy beaches. It was quiet, peaceful and beautiful. I'd go here when I needed to feel the same.

Then last week rough weather approached and for a few days the secret beach was dark and clung to desperately to its winter beauty. The clouds rolled over the regular beach, too, creating massive waves and ominous skies. But the beach, though darker, was unchanged. Although the winds and waves were kicking up, the white sand tried so hard to stay, hiding things underneath while letting selective things grow. It wasn't ready for the change and tried to pretend nothing was happening.

It's just winds and waves said the beach and those who came - this is how it always is. You think something will happen but really, it doesn't. We pretend to ooh and ahh and watch the show but truthfully, it's just show.

But then a storm really came; trees were down, power was out for two days, hurricane winds pelted down over 6 inches of rain in 24 hours. The view from my flat was usually beautiful but I couldn't see through the rain or clouds and at night it was pitch black with no solace from a candle. It was an isolating, scary and humbling three day period because no one was really prepared.

When the worst of the storm was over the dog and I were itching to walk and so to our beach we went, expecting just to see some big waves and dark skies as before. Yet when we arrived we found the beach very much changed.

It was bare - there were no people or beach; just new cliffs with a small bit of sand below full of seaweed. It wasn't safe to walk on, it smelled bad from everything washing out - then back - to shore. It was in transition and no one - and nothing - wanted to be there. And so we left wondering if it would ever be the same as before.

Of course it wouldn't. Nothing stays the same after a storm.

A few more days later I went back to the beach and found it once again transformed but this time, into something much more beautiful and interesting. The cliffs were still there but now gave way to a new kind of beach. One that lacked all the comforting soft white sand and instead now had boulders everywhere that were hidden for who knows how long. They were beautiful, mysterious, filled with life in all their nooks and crannies.

And they were slowly being discovered by people who had returned after the storm and wanted to see the beauty of change.

Usually it's a quick walk on the beach but today the dog and I lingered, even played. We got trapped on boulders, walked through the cold water, talked with some surfers who loved the new waves. I marveled at how quickly it had changed.

Even though the storm was scary terribly scary to be in and the transformation of the beach was hard to watch at first (I was sad to see my struggling flowers die), it produced a dramatic change back to what it once was. It just did it; no gathering of people to dig away the sand, no permission to get, no questions asked if it was ready - it just did it.

And that doing produced an old beach that had been hidden for so long and made it new again for itself and those who came to it. It became a beach that truthfully, was a little more fun than the last.

It's not in me to wear a yellow slicker during storms but I still go out in them. I prefer not to wear hiking shoes whilst hiking yet have been to the top of more mountains than anyone I know. I don't like pants when using power tools or putting up dry wall. It's just not in me to be in anything other than a skirt or dress.

But people are often uncomfortable with this. I have friends who, for years, have tried to fit me in jeans or make me "hip." Girlfriends who think because I wear a dress that twirls I'm prissy when I am only wearing one layer to their 5 (who put more thought in and worries more? Not I). There is an assumption because I dress like a girl, I must be limited to phrases such as "princess" and only wear pink. I have never used the word princess and I don't own anything pink.

My adoration for dresses and skirts come for my love of pretty and my laziness. They're easy, versatile and simply, me. And they've made me a target of a lot of people's jokes, assumptions and insecurities. But that hasn't ever changed how I feel about them.

Besides, wearing them on blustery days has given me great reflexes.

It seems as though everyone looks for "signs" as whether to do something or not. Let the stars guide me, they say. They'll randomly flip through passages of books to find "words of meaning" and direction. They'll count to 10 and if a bell rings they know to move forward. Everyone just wanting reassurance from some other super force that they're on the right track.

But what I've noticed is when people look for "signs" they're really only looking for the "yes." No one really looks for the "no." If they don't get a sign, they try a new trick. Show me a sign that he loves me! I need a sign if I should move! Give me a sign to take that job! But if nothing happens, almost no one every takes it as a no. They just simply look for another sign.

I've always believed that when you ask advice, you're really just looking for confirmation of what you already know but you're just not ready to hear it. Sometimes I wonder if all the "sign seekers" already know the answer, too, but just aren't ready to accept that they already have the answer and the power.

At a restaurant the other night I saw at a table just a bit away a man I once knew years ago. And when I say knew I mean that we were, for a few weeks, on set together and our interactions were always brief but always enjoyable. We never divulged personal information or had each over for holidays but we shared stories and laughed during the time we worked together. And I can remember almost every day so clearly and so many of the funny little thing's he'd do - not in a smitten kitten way but because somehow even the mundane was interesting with him.

My first reaction upon seeing him was to say Hi and reconnect. But I hesitated; he wouldn't remember me and if I just start talking like we know each other he'll think I'm a crazy fan. Or if I ask about that project he wanted to want to do he'll wonder why I remember that after all these years - am I a stalker? A loser? A User? So I kept to myself, not even mentioning to anyone at the table that over there was a man I once knew.

However, about thirty minutes later he approached and asked me if I'd ever lived in Vancouver. Yes, I said, for a few years in the mid-90's. Then he smiled and said, "So nice to see you after all this time, Alex. Do you still have that skirt?"

This man is an A-List celebrity; he has met thousands of people from around the world as is bombarded with people daily. Yet he remembered a skirt I'd worn on set (it had layers and layers), a very bad joke the director told to us, the wiggly worm dance (you'd have to see it), the mittens, and the little cafe nearby that made the foam just so. When he recounted these events he did so with ease, as if remembering is just what we're supposed to do and not traits of a crazy, loser, stalker user person. But just a fundamental human curiosity.

I remember so many details from years ago; about people, places, polka dots on wallpaper, the way the light hit, that dirty joke. I fall in-love with the little things, people's mannerisms, moments in the every day but feel like I'm not supposed to. To remember or even notice in the first place has become a sign of obsession, weirdness, boredom, loneliness. After all, if you're busy it means you must be doing well and if you have time to remember it means you're not.

I'm busy, I've done a lot but I remember because I'm present with each and every person I talk to and am extraordinarily curious (probably far too much for my own good). I don't half-ass this life - not even an every day conversation. That's off putting to a lot of people (especially in LA when you're always supposed to be looking for the next cooler person to talk to. But when I'm talking to you, I'm talking to you. When I'm writing, I'm writing. When I'm walking I look around and because of that I just notice so many things and just simply don't forget.

But it's not cool to care, it's not hip to pay attention, it's not top dog to notice others. So I have learned to keep quiet about all the little things I remember - especially about people. I can fall in-love so easily with little things about people and miss them almost the moment they're gone. But I don't think they'd ever know it as I'm told by most people I come off as aloof. However, I'm anything but. It's why I still have a little note attached to the book that isn't really all that interesting or funny; it's just the thought of the note, the effort of the note, that is charming to me. And I want to remember the good of where that came from. Sounds crazy, no?

But after spending the evening dishing with my friend, my friend who should be Far. Too. Important. And. Busy. to remember the layers of skirt I once had, I felt a bit better about all the details I hold back on sharing. Not full on ease but perhaps I'll send a note back or ask someone about the event that they probably don't even think I heard them talking about.

This past spring/summer I worked with a company as a "Director of Community and Talent Acquisitions." Fancy! It was to help get experts into different web sites and build out community on the web. Working with the company's content team, we rocked out.

As a reward the VP offered to take us to the movies. Uh, no. That is no fun and fun was what we needed. So I offered bowling - what could be more fun? Just watch and you tell me:

Yes - those are wrist sweat bands! My team had them and I swear, they gave us magic powers. Video taken by Pixie and myself - apologies for the sideways shots we had no idea. Editing by me and fun had by all.

PS: Foxy makes an appearance - she's everywhere!

From my favourite book, The Little Prince (the original version - not the one with the blue cover).

I was working with a company this past spring, creating a "Director of Community & Talent Acquisitions" role, building out a media product and working my ass off. But hard work always has to be balanced by fun or what's the point? And why work with people if you don't really connect and laugh with them? So one day a trip to the toy store was taken so that an attack on the financial guys could be sprung. The lead? Miss Foxy With Whip herself - a wonderful girl who I gave the (much deserved) nickname to.

The only thing is, we weren't prepared to be attacked back.

Music editing by me, giggles by me but fun had by all.

I had been in LA only a month but that was all it took to encounter one very bad haircut. So when I saw someone with gorgeous hair I asked her where she got it cut - Jessica Tingley at Frederic Fekkai was her answer. That was enough for me to go to the salon. Jessica was more than enough to keep me coming back.

Instantly we hit it off; the dirty jokes came out first cut, the laughter kept going and some kind of connection just happened. But she was now my stylist and I didn't think that line could be crossed. Especially since there is that cliche saying in Hollywood "your friends are the ones you pay." I didn't want that to happen.

So for three years I'd look forward to going to the salon (a first since I hate it) until one day she said to me, "You know, I really want to be your friend and hang out."

"Me too!"

And there we were.

Why it took 3 years for us to get the courage up to say "I like you, let's be friends" is beyond me. Fear of rejection, of crossing some stupid line, of not being cool enough - they're all inane whatever they might be.

Oddly though, I still tend to feel this way when I encounter someone I immediately adore and what to have coffee with. But usually my shy self just remains "knowing" them instead of befriending. I often then wonder how many great people am I missing out on, simply because I haven't said, "I want to be your friend."

I've talked often about how I don't give actual gifts but instead the gift of time. For my mothers birthday, I decided to give her the gift of travel and took her back to Denmark with me to celebrate both our birthdays (which are two days apart).

I arranged for us to fly into New York first, stay a couple of days to discover the city (and say a hullo to some of my dear friends) and then fly out to Copenhagen to take the city by storm (only we did not know it would be so literal...!).

For two weeks we drove all over the country; saw old homes, old friends and family. There was a lot of family I'd never met but they welcomed me just the same. Each time saying, "you are so like your mum." This made both of us smile.

I fell in-love with Copenhagen all over again. I fell in-love with girls in dresses biking in the dead of winter. I fell in love with coffee at 10PM and the candles all over. I fell in-love with being snowed in, my cousin's cat, and that feeling of hygge that is just so Danish.

We spent the last night at the Hotel D'Angeleterre - Denmark's finest. Somehow we stayed in the H.C. Andersen room - someone I greatly adore and secretly wish to be like (but without some of the messy bits, thanks). It was a fitting farewell and we were both sad to be leaving, because really, we'd both wanted to stay.

But to New York for one last night and then her off to one destination and I off to another. And there we were; two Danish girls who had a marvelous trip and who were already planning their return.

I have, at the very least, been on 27 flights since 2007 began. That's about 26 more than I'd like; I'm not a flyer. But I am the sort that likes to see new things and create experiences. So despite the fear, I keep booking flights, printing my boarding pass, and pray to little baby Jesus that nothing will happen.

And, truthfully, nothing bad ever does. The fear, the build up, it's always for nothing. The plane touches down as do I and I begin my walk towards the new and always glad I came.

So here's to one more flight next week. A one way ticket back home, home for at least awhile. Home to where things are brand new {new flat, new job, new eyes}. Am I scared? Well, I'm not a flyer but oh, how do I love to see and do new things...

Today is my 33rd birthday and I'm in Copenhagen to celebrate it. So far, 33 is pretty wonderful.

I was surprised at how quickly and easily I fell in-love with New York. Especially since just the day before, in Santa Monica CA, I began the process of looking to buy a condo. But even though I love Santa Monica there is a lot I don't like about L.A.. But it's familiar; I know how to live here. But then being here, in New York, I wonder how I can go back.

Perhaps it's the fact I can walk anywhere or hop on the subway as I've been doing all morning. Perhaps it's because New York is such an "up" city - tall buildings that just beg you to keep looking to the sky. Perhaps it's because you're anonymous here - even in a bright coloured jacket. People just do their thing without wondering how it looks. Perhaps it's the diversity; women in furs shopping alongside punk kids with $2 to their name. Perhaps it's the energy - everything is moving and you can see it. People, cars, subways, it's all going on. Perhaps it's because people just don't work in the city, they live here too. Dog parks next to subway stations and famous landmarks. Perhaps it's a strange sense of community that happens when you don't expect it. My friends Felicia and Summer who I met up with yesterday (along with Sara - finally!) mentioned this. And I didn't quite understand it until today. But somehow, despite being solitary and anonymous, there's community. LA it's everyone out for themselves - you feel like someone's going to screw you over at any time.

When I wandered with Felicia later on, she would tell me about the areas, little background info and dish, which cafe she loved, the good bookstore and so forth. And I was smitten; it was a first date and I was already planning the wedding.

Oh, it's cold. It is full on sweater, jacket, gloves and scarf weather. But the upside is rosy cheeks and an excuse to stop into cafe's for tea a lot (which I've done).

New York reminds me of Paris in many ways and I remember my younger self who thrived in these places. The energy, the challenges, the constant state of awe. I love to live in awe - of people, of places, of beauty, of things, of words. When things are too easy, when things are too nice, when things are boring as all, I fade. I'm not fading here.

I was 18 here and my best girlfriend and I had just arrived in Banff Alberta and were staying at Chateau Lake Louise. Because we were strange girls, I wrapped a tensor bandage over my face and she painted a face on top. She then dared me to walk around the famous, 4 star hotel that was filled with celebrities due to a yearly screening that was going on.

We got into the elevator and it stopped on the next floor. In walked Jason Priestly* with his entourage and they kept looking at us. We kept very quiet, trying not to laugh or say anything and he kept looking, probably wondering what the hell was going on with my face.

Finally, my best friend whispered to him, "burn victim" and he just got this very solemn look on his face and nodded. He got off the elevator before us and we busted out laughing for the next three floors.

I think I lasted a whole walk of the hotel - and it's a big hotel.

*we didn't know it was Jason Priestly at the time or who he was because we didn't have television. We only found out later at an after party. When we were introduced he said I looked familiar and I had to tell him I was the burn victim.

Mr. Jack Darcy

It has been an intense week of meetings, talking, work and cold, rainy dark weather. So when the sun appeared today I decided that I needed to take some time off and head to the hill country for a long walk outdoors.

It was good to meander along the river, watching Jack drink from it for the first time and discovering that he loves water (which makes me look forward to swimming with him in the summer). Walking with him for the first time on a trail was an experience; he sniffed everything, discovered little trails I might have overlooked and not walked, sat to watch people and played with other dogs as they passed. Usually when I walk it's at a pretty good pace though I thought I still noticed things such as who in my neighborhood has just moved in, who has new landscaping, a tree that's fallen, where the mean dog is, where the nice kitty is. But on this particular walk with the dog and a slower pace, I began to notice even more. And I began to forget about the intense week and the one coming up and the chores that had to be done.

About half way into the trail, we met a young girl about 9 who stopped and asked what my dogs name was. "Jack Darcy," I said and she scribbled it into her notebook. I asked why she was writing it down and she said, "I'm taking notes! Lots of notes. Four pages already! It's full of interesting things. I noticed them but then I don't want to forget them. It’s so easy when I'm bored to think I never do anything. This makes me pay attention and remember that I do."

I asked her what kinds of things she had written down and she began to recite her whole list to me; the wooden squirrel, the horseshoe tracks, a broken tree (two actually), a dog named Sadie, a dog named Griffith who was missing a tooth, small fish, a very yellow butterfly, a rock with four wholes and so on. I asked her if they were in the direction I was headed to which she assured me they were.

So as I walked the trail I began to look for these things I might otherwise not have noticed. And I saw them - every one.

They say that children and dogs change you because they force you to look at the world differently. I didn't realise when I met Jack just before Christmas how much I needed him to help change me back to me. I thought because I was always relaxed, easy going, happy go lucky, walked and noticed things that I was still that way. Because I had this idea in my head of who I was and clung to it I hadn't realised just how fast paced my life had become. When friends called me a "Jet Setter" I'd always deny it because I didn't see myself that way. When people kept saying I had the most going on I'd down play every bit of work because I wasn't a workaholic. When people kept noticing details I was missing I downplayed it that I'd notice them too if I cared and I didn't care (but I did). The truth is - I just didn't have the time because I'd become consumed by being "busy" and just hiding behind the fact that I loved what I did so busy wasn't bad. But it was. It usually is.

There is a scene in the movie Tuck Everlasting that has haunted me since I first saw it; it's when the Tucks are making a cherry pie and they take each cherry and individual pit it. Think of how many cherries it takes to make a pie and there they were, pitting them one by one. When I saw that scene I knew something was off with me because I wanted that experience but at the same time kept thinking what a waste of time. So I slowly began to incorporate slow living back into my life. I resisted having a microwave, a blender, a beater so that when I baked and cooked it would be as manual and slow as possible so I would be in the moment and not rush. However, I very seldom did this and ended up eating out all the time instead. So I could be in the moment when it suited me which just wasn't very often.

But today, today I can say with certainty that I was once again. Things slowed down, I slowed down. And that didn't mean that things weren't done or tasks fell to the wayside or that I'm never going to work or jet set again (I have four big meetings coming up, two transcon trips and one to Denmark all in a matter of 16 days!). It's just that there's a place and time for everything. And sometimes there's just time for looking for horseshoe tracks in the mud and sometimes for working out business deals. The trick is to being present and truthful in both.

Last week a woman came into the store, grabbed one of the "stay in touch" cards and walked off. Half an hour later she came in, handed me the card then literally ran out of the store. Her behaviour was really odd and when I looked at the card, I understood why.

The address and name portion had not been filled out but there was a note on the back that was pretty sarcarstic and said something along the lines about how nice it was for us to send out our catalog after the Tsnuami to show that we care. It also said that they had just seen Al Gores "An Inconvienient Truth" and they were so glad to see that our store kept all its lights on all night long wasting electricity.

There was no contact information and she didn't stick around to hear an answer to her concerns; she'd already made up her mind that the store was the problem. However, had she chosen to create a dialogue with anyone who worked there over what she thought was wrong (a store that didn't care about Tsnuami Victims or electricity) she would have learned that the store had donated hundreds of thousands to the Tsnumami victims as well as clothes and supplies. And she would have further learned that the halogen lights the store kept on all night were run by solar power and that, for the most part, the store was off the grid.

I understand her concerns and agree with her on trying to do something about them, but I didn't understand her tactics. I find so many people point fingers at the wrong places or wrong people and continue to do so because they never ask questions or listen to an answer that might not be what they want to hear. Had she really been concerned she would have asked the question and stuck around for the answer - but she wasn't open to actually changing something. She was open to attacking and feeling "right."

And that's almost as futile as not doing anything at all.

When I was perhaps eight or so, my class and I sewed trees together just like the ones pictured here. It's a very simple, basic sewing project you can do with a machine or by hand (we did it by hand). Our teacher didn't invent this pattern I'm sure; she'd probably seen it around when she was a child and passed it onto us.

There's a store I work at every November-January and this year I was fortunate enough to help open one. The theme for the winter holidays, given by the corporate office, was "tree farm." Every store has a team of full-time visual designers who then interpret how that will play out for their store. Our store chose it very literally by bringing in dozens of trees which we put in brand new silver cans made to look old and by also sewing hundreds of these trees in lots of different colours and patterns.

The idea came about in a very organic way; a group of visual and crafty girls sitting on a couch with coffee, pouring over magazines with a sketch book in hand. Eyes lighting up when an idea really hit or cringing at things that were off. The process was more basement crafters than corporate store and these simple trees, which I discovered many of us had made during our childhood, were all something that people thought would be a great idea.

Lots of things just get made in the store without "reporting" back what we're doing but for our opening, we had a team from the head office out to help us open. And they loved our ideas, ideas go back, and then other stores and the site incorporate them. People get really giddy over the visuals and love to share. There's no agenda with that - just designers wanting to create.

Last year, Stephanie of Little Birds made some of these trees and showed them on her site. Stephanie, for me, is a huge inspiration. Not just with what she makes but with her family. So many simple ideas have I taken from reading her blog over the years. Truthfully, none have really ever come to fruition (I'm still wanting to make her TV Coverlet) but they're in my brain, waiting for the perfect moment.

It was in a recent entry she wrote a charming post about her vintage finds that were cups that Anthropologie is now duplicating and she mentioned that she saw the trees on the site. I believe her intent was just to post about things she loved (thrift finds) and how a store was now selling them - simple and interesting, I thought. So I was taken off gaurd when the comments (and emails to me from my own comment to the post) seemed to quickly turn against the store and attack. While I can totally understand not wanting to pay $10 for a mug (I wouldn't) when you could potentially thrift it for $0.69 I had a hard time understanding how it was intrepreted that Anthropologie must have read Stephanie's blog and then "stolen" her tree idea. But the hook for me was when one commenter said in one paragraph that she thought it was bad that the store used Stephanies ideas but then followed up by saying, "and I'm going to take your idea and make them, too!"

I should mention that the trees the store made are not for sale. A person cannot buy them now or after the holidays and none of us in the store can take them home. So if it were in fact true that the store "copied" dear Stephanie's trees to use as display, what is so different than anyone else who read her blog? For me, I don't think there is any difference at all. But it's just so easy to attack something one doesn't like.

But the truth is, Anthropologie didn't steal the tree ideas from Stephanie. They've always disclosed, however, that they are so often inspired by people, places and things from around the world (and their sister company who runs under the same umbrella, Free People, has a new blog that shares a lot of inspiration, too). The president, Glen and his real-life partner of 32years Keith (who travels the world for finds) love antiques, indie designers, thrift store finds and good living which they incorporate in their home in NY (which is so often written about in magazines and books) and reflect that passion in their stores. They'll travel to France, fall in-love with a headboard, then reproduce it so others who might not be able to get to France can buy it or they'll bring back the original and sell in the store. All the visual designers feed off the world in which they see - no different than I do or any other artist I know. It's why I, like so many others, blog - to share ideas and information that perhaps someone will find useful or interesting. I would hope that if someone does not find this to be true of anything (blogs or stores) that they'd move onto something that does appeal to them rather than wasting their time getting worked up over problems and criticising things created in their heads. Or in the case of Stephanie's blog, joining a bandwagon of hate when the basis is just a mass amount of misinformation but it's cooler to "join the group" then to take a different opinion based on truth.

Now, although I do love Anthropologie and have worked for them over the past three years, I am one of the biggest pains in corporate's ass. I'm continuously sending them emails and on the phone wanting better rights for their associates (the people who work in the stores), I'm always asking them about taking on new artisan products and I'm always questioning their corporate practices. They have an open door policy so it's very easy to get your voice heard and even easier to get answers. Yes, they're expensive for a lot of things but you know, the visual team and often the girls that work there are just people who really love art, love a certain aesthetic and want to share it with others who feel the same. If you asked a lot of the girls what they're studying in school or what they want to be outside of the store, so many of them want to design, run business, make things, craft things etc. And the stores are individually run to a large extent by these girls who, just as the commenters on Stephanie's site, are so enormously in-love with things visual. And in the corporate office, you actually have a lot of the same which is why the stores have a more organic, visual feel than say a Gap.

You can walk into that store and sit on the couch for hours and not buy a thing but be inspired by the design and products alone. You might see something there which you think, "I could make that!" then you do. I assure you the store won't turn around and say "you stole that from our store!" The store is attacked a lot because people do not understand it or feel they can't afford it and assume it's all corporate with products made solely in China (a lot of the home goods and decor is made from small U.S. Artists. The glass ornaments currently in the stores are made from one woman in Pittsburgh and the soft ornaments are made from two Danish girls and Bono's Edun line is carried in the store along with several other organic cotton t-shirt companies). It's not perfect - I totally get that and the things I feel there are issues with I assure you I ask questions about.

But the thing is - I ask questions. I try to get the answers. I don't just assume and hate. I don't criticise based on how I feel. I criticise based on what I know.

The point of all of this is not to defend the store but to defend the idea to not jump to conclusions so quickly. It is so easy for one to critise and hate what they don't understand or fear. The truth is often not as glamourous, exciting or as scary as the swirl one can put around it. There is good and bad to everything and everyone. Rather than getting worked up over something you don't really know the facts of to sound "right" or "smart" - if it's important enough then take the time to find the truth. If it's not so important to your life then move onto something else that is.

In April, I wrote something similar to this based on the quote from Abraham Lincoln:

I am missing fall and charm; it's really just that simple. When it's just cold enough for a sweater and hot chocolate. When the windows open and you feel the cold brush in. When boots and tights come out to replace flip flops and cheeks are rosy. I miss cosy.

I'm trying to be mindful of the future but not at the expense of the present which means that although I know I'll be moving again, I've still got to feel at home and live here now - not put it off until I think I've got "it." So then I've taken to buying furniture for the first time, painting a few walls to make it mine, weatherstripping like there's no tomorrow and unpacking every single box - even those that have been packed for years.

There's the old saying, "Be better than your current circumstances" and that's my motto as of late. The current situation is far from ideal but there is a purpose. And as long as I use that purpose to make the next goal then, perhaps it will make missing all the things I love a little easier to bare. If not, there's always tea.

Things I love about living in Santa Monica/Los Angeles:
- living 6 blocks from the beach.
- Never having to use my car because I can walk to Whole Foods, a favourite cafe, the post, shopping, the beach, the bank
- having California near the top of those pull down address menus
- Not needing air conditioning
- The weather (72F most days with cool nights)
- Luke Wilson
- access to anything and everything
- a little fancy
- free premieres and screenings
- Anthropologie
- Mari & Jerome
- Patricia & Wayne
- My hairdresser, Jessica T @ Frederric Fekkai who makes my nappy hair somehow work
- Diversity
- Disneyland
- a little glamour
- Easy flight access
- living two turns and one road and twenty minutes on a good day from the airport
- Cafe Dana on Montana @ 13th
- Elixir on Melrose
- Spanish Latte's from Urth
- Maki from Ole Henriksen
- Driving up the coast to Malibu or Santa Barbara
- Colours everywhere
- Driving San Vicente in Santa Monica from 7th until 26th
- Montana Ave {especially Shabby Chic's first store and their sales}
- Palm Trees
- access to healthy eating {important to a gluten-free girl}
- Squirrels that terrorise me in my flat
- Saying that I live in LA

Things I do not love about Santa Monica/Los Angeles:
- the people
- constant horn honking
- cell phone drivers
- selfish, superficial souls who always have an agenda
- the barista at Starbucks and every othe place being a frustrated actor
- traffic
- smog/air quality (Air quality is measured on a scale of 0-100, 0 being the worst. Los Angeles is a 0)
- weird black film on everything in my flat from the air
- relationships always being businessy
- crazy high rent even in a rent controlled flat
- cost of living
- cost of doing anything
- everyone "on" and trying to "be"
- Noise. So. Much. Noise.
- Living right over a back alley and hearing people go through the rubbish 24/7
- The stupid girl voice.
- Small dogs everywhere
- Neighbours all over you (I live in one of the most dense 15 blocks in the US)
- Street parking {I am SO looking forward to having parking!}
- Valet parking
- Brentwood Whole Foods; always crazy, insane because of terribly self-absorbed "Brentwood" people
- "glue gun" fancy
- having to either keep secret about who you know or what you do or having to be all about it
- insincerity
- not being able to rely on anything or anyone
- the beach
- Hollywood
- the fact that a size 2 is huge and pale is sickly
- squirrels that terrorise me in my flat
- saying I live in LA

Last week when I went to put my key in the lock of my front door, I heard this humming and bumping noise. Looking up I saw a hummingbird flying and hitting the skylight over and over again; the light confused him as he thought it was a way out.

Worried that he'd die of exhaustion on one of our hottest days, I ran into the flat where I luckily had some bright red tissue paper. I made a mixture of sugar water in a large bowl which I placed out on the stoop above the tissue paper, hoping that this would somehow lure the bird down.

It did.

A few days later, the same thing happened. Again, I got the tissue paper and water to lure the bird down.

Again it worked.

Today when I came home, once again the same hummingbird was caught flying around the skylight, trying to get out. I no longer had the tissue paper and I didn't know what else to do. How many times should I save the bird from the same problem? How would I explain to that bird to come down and never go back? It can't understand. How often am I to get involved in the same issue and worry myself over its fate?

I decided that sometimes one shouldn't get involved and let things happen.

When I came out later I didn't hear the buzzing and looked down. There was the hummingbird still on the ground. So beautiful and intact as I think it died of exhaustion fighting the same problem for so long.

I picked up the little hummingbird and took him down to the garden. I dug a small grave, buried him and said a little something {I'm not well versed in hummingbird burials}. I felt a little sadness over the whole thing but decided that sometimes one has to stand back and let nature take its course. With birds, with people.

From a great article in the Los Angeles Times

We were running out of time to find parking; the concert was going to start in just five minutes and we'd been circling the city street for nearly twenty minutes looking for any garage that would have space or be open when we'd get out. But there was nothing and we were sure we'd miss the show.

So imagine how we squealed when, right across the theatre, a parking space opened up. I parked the car and my girlfriend went to check the metre. A man came out of the building in front and started talking to her and she got back in the car.

"This is a tow-away zone," she said, "and he told us we can't park here. I told him we had to get to the concert and he said he's a security manager for this building and he'll let us in the parking garage! We just have to drive around the corner and he'll open the gate!"

We were so happy with our luck. Free parking, across the street, with moments to spare. Random act of kindness stowed upon us. It was good times.

After the concert we walked back to the building and chatted a bit with the security guy as he walked us down to the garage where he'd let us out. He stood by the gate and we got in our car and before we went out, my friend rolled the window down and thanked him so much for helping us out.

"Well, I did this so that you now know that black men aren't scary and mean and that you won't be so afraid of us." He smiled a huge grin, trying to be kind, thinking what he just said was helpful in some way.

We drove out of there in complete silence. Neither of us knew what to say. His skin colour had never occurred to us nor his reasons. Our reaction to his kindness would have been the same if he was white or a woman - we just thought it was human helping human.

But it made me wonder how much racism is real (a lot of it I know is) and how much is just ingrained in us to believe without cause. He assumed that white girls were afraid of black men. That's what he carried with him. He expected it. He assumed it. But what if he let go of that? What if he assumed that no one cared and dealt with the few who did? How would life change for him and those he interacts with?

There is a show on Bravo where a white and black family swap places by using incredible make up artists who transform them into the opposite colour. The white teenage girl becomes black and goes into a clothing store that I have gone into frequently as well. As a black girl, she applies for a job and the owner is polite but says they have no applications handy and brushes her off gently. When the girl walks out of the store she says that woman is racist and that when she was white, that never happened.

Like the bible, you can twist anything to be anything.

I've gone into that same store and if I'm dressed young and shabby, I'm so, so, so ignored. It's Montana Ave. It's an expensive boutique. If I go in dressed nice with clean hair, I get a little attention. I also know that they do not hire teenagers to work there and that when the teenage girl went to apply, she wasn't appropriately dressed to work there nor would she have been old enough. Could it have been race? Sure although in my shabby dressing days there a nicely dressed black woman got the attention while I got dirty looks. Could it have been ageism? Sure. It could have been just general Santa Monica snootiness? My guess? Yes.

This is along the lines of the post I wrote about women; when you make assumptions that people are going to respond to you a certain way because you are X you are sure to only see those responses. I could make assumptions people react to me because I wear clothing that isn't hip or trendy so I don't fit in or that I have a slight accent when I speak, or that I'm blonde, or that I look really young, or that if I laugh I can't be serious and on and on and on. But I don't. I go into every situation completely blank, assuming the best of human nature. Sometimes I get thrown on my ass for this because I'm not prepared if I do get some snarky remark or judged harshly but I'd rather look at the world a little Pollyanna than to always assume someone is out to get me, to hate me, or to fear me.

Because how does that ever create progress or help anyone either connect or understand?

If you dream of country life, or like the idea of a simple world coming to life with real stories but have neither the time or ability to make it a personal reality, then might I suggest a really good way to live vicariously: Katherine Dunn.

A woman who tells the most incredible stories with words and in pictures has captured my heart and imagination for years but never more so than when she created Apifera Farm.

It's on this farm in Oregon that she talks about raising lambs and lavender and tells the sweetest stories about the other animals (I dare you to not be taken by Pedro and Juanita). But what is the most amazing thing to me, in all over this, is how she invites people to be a part of it.

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I immigrated to the US in 1999; it took a lot of time, money and emotional effort. It was a really hard thing to go through and I sometimes questioned if it was all worth it. Since I've been in America, I've paid my taxes, adapted to American culture (though I keep my culture at home) but haven't become a citizen because I plan at sometime to return home. But while I'm here, I plan to be here legally and fully.

So for me, its really bothersome when people come to the country without having to go through the steps I went through. I wasn't rich, I didn't have a degree, I probably wasn't "desirable" but I went through the legal steps and have paid my dues since. And I'm not walking around the country I tried so hard to get into, waiving a flat of my old country. I don't get why people do that in protests.

Living in LA I could tell you why from experience, illegal immigration doesn't work. The rich really benefit from it here and the poor immigrants just stay that way and the poor/middle class legal residents suffer the most. Illegal immigration does take away jobs from legal residents. Why? If you didn't have illegal workers, you'd have to pay more for the jobs to get people who wouldn't normally work them, work them. LA is expensive; a lot of people can't afford to work under the table except those who have no choice. Who does the help, really, in the long run? I'm sure a lot of people would take housekeeping jobs on the legal side but can't get them because most of the jobs are underpaid and under the table. I've worked for countless producers who have illegal immigrants for staff. These producers are bazillionaires and on average, pay around $100 a week for a live in housekeeper - all illegal of course. The producers get cheap labour and the illegal immigrants get some money but everyone keeps a bad cycle going.

And I can tell you from personal experience, it's a bad cycle. Because before I went the legal route on my own, I started off with the promise of help. I was so desperate to live in the U.S. that I found a family outside of Nashville TN that said if I worked as their nanny, they'd help me file the paperwork to get a green card. I was young and in need so I believed them.

It started off OK but things quickly went sour. It became an abusive situation, the things I was asked to do were crazy and I know had I been a legal resident who had options, wouldn't have been asked to do it. Each week they kept finding reasons to dock pay ("We called you in on your day off and you told us you couldn't come in. We had to pay for babysitting and it comes out of your pay") so I kept making less and less. I had no legal steps to take, no one I could tell because I needed to be paid to survive. There came a point when I realised they weren't actually filing papers and that I couldn't keep going doing this. So I left and went about things on my own. It was tough but much easier than being at the mercy of people who know you have no choice.

My first year in America I made $7,000/yr that my boyfriend and I both lived off. I had to work really hard to prove to immigration over a three year period that I should be allowed to stay. The paper work alone cost about $4000 and I had to work my ass off to get it. Was it fun? No but I made the choice and I think anyone else who wants to go to another country has to make choices and then deal with the consequences of that choice. Sometimes it works out how you want it to, and sometimes it doesn't. But that's legal life. I don't like people getting a free ride - especially when they don't contribute back. Don't tell me that picking berries or cleaning someones flat is contributing. Because if they weren't here to do those jobs, it would change the way those jobs are done and paid for. And if we didn't keep saying in this country that "those people" do "those jobs" then maybe more Americans would stop being so fucking elitist about work and thinking that everything is below them if it's less than being a bazillionaire reality television star.

If you choose to go to a country, I fully believe you must go through the system and then be a part of that system and that country. You should learn the culture, learn the language, pay your taxes, be in the system. And if you don't agree with that then really, are you someone worth having in the country?

Four things I've learned whilst in Austin:

1. If you wear big sunglasses, unlike LA, you will be known and recognised for them and should expect to hear at night "Aren't you the girl who wore the big sunglasses?" a lot.

2. If you have long blonde hair and a foreign accent and attend a tech convention, you will be called M'Lady at some point.

3. You'll meet a lot of people. But the person you're most likely to connect with (and makes you question if you were seperated at birth), lives only four blocks from you back in L.A..

4. If you lose an award, going out with great people afterwards will make you feel a hell of a lot better.

When I attended a BlogHer panel today I left really, really frustrated Both the panel and the audience, and perhaps rightly so, seemed to be very "grrrrl." Everyone seemed to reflect each other both in dress and in speech and it everyone seemed to be just so focused on the pain of women, how women writers need to tag everything they do as "women" and how we need to kick some ass (ours! theirs!) and get angry at not being "equal" or as perceived as smart as men because lord knows we're better. There was an energy in the room that for me was really uncomfortable. It was as though everyone was just riled up and angry at anything not "grrrl" oriented. In talking to a several people after about it, I wasn't the only one that picked up on it. But then, none of the people I spoke to were "grrrls" (actually, a lot of them were really hot women who held engineering jobs in Google and Yahoo. Their openness made you want to talk to them. Their brains made you want to listen).

Despite having the word "girl" in many of my site and creating sites based on women and for women, it has never, ever been at the expense of men. I do not feel the need to be "PRO WOMAN" to get ahead. I get along fine with the fella's, can talk business and smack with the best of them, and am taken seriously too. It's why with almost every site (even the ones "geared" towards women), my readership is always almost 60% female and 40% male. I tend to do things universal because I just believe we're all here to connect. And I don't care if you're in a dress, pants, blue hair or blonde. It's what is interesting and useful to me that counts and not defining myself in a small group to try to gain power.

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Like Kottke, I so identified with this quote and loved the article on Introverts.