Sole Mates

“A lie can travel half way around the world while the truth is still putting on its shoes.” – Mark Twain

“Is it time to go home yet? I keep clicking these d@m* shoes, but nothing happens.” Robin Hecht

“A man hasn’t got a corner on virtue just because his shoes are shined.” – Ann Petry







“I never put on a pair of shoes until I’ve worn them at least five years.” – Samuel Goldwyn




“I was sad because I had no shoes, and then I met a man who had no feet. So I said, ‘Got any shoes you’re not using?’” – Steven Wright




“Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you are a mile away from them and you have their shoes.” Jack Handey



“I still have my feet on the ground, I just wear better shoes.” Oprah Winfrey






“The time has come,” the walrus said, “To talk of many things: Of shoes and ships – and sealing wax – of cabbages and kings.” Lewis Carroll

“What becomes of the broken hearted? They buy shoes.” – Mimi Pond

“If the shoe fits – buy it in every color.” – popular saying

“Cinderella is proof that a pair of shoes can change your life.” – T-shirt Wisdom

“Two things you can never have too many of. Good friends and good shoes.” – common women’s knowledge

 “I did not have three thousand pair of shoes, I had one thousand and sixty.” - Imelda Marcos (Yes, but did she have that many friends?)

“All God’s children need traveling shoes.” – Maya Angelou

“Good shoes take you good places.” – Seo Min Hyun

“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. You are the guy who’ll decide where you’ll go.” – Dr. Suess

Aye! Muy Caliente!

Well, as I’m sure you already know, the oracle has predicted. Yes, people, the little beastie named Punxsutawney Phil was rudely awakened from a sound sleep yesterday, yanked from his burrow on Gobblers Knob to forecast six more weeks of winter by the ominous sign of his shadow. Really, who is brave (or dumb enough) to stick their hand into a dark hole and roust a hibernating critter?

In other words, Happy Ground Hog’s Day.

Speaking of nature, did you all get a look-see at this week’s “Wolf Moon?” It was advertised as the brightest and largest lunar view of the year. Named, I reckon, for the canis lupus howling at it. If regular full moons have such pull with the ocean, making people loonier than normal, I wonder how influential this celestial tide will be upon personkind.

The timing of this satellite spectacle segues beautifully into a letter I just received from a woman nicknamed Snow White. Gee, I just realized I have all these people in my life with curious monikers such as Groom, Kimmmm, BeeBugg, Chakra Girl, God’s Minion, Zolo King, GoatMama, and of course me as Cinderella.

Snow White inquired about the jewelry classes we’re taking and asked if we have “a lot of fire” in our charts? What an interesting question, a curious thread worth pulling. Here’s the longer of the short answers. I have very little knowledge or experience of astrology. What I learned, I learned as a child. The first birth chart I heard reference to was the famous one those three Wise Men computed that led them by starlight to the baby Jesus in Bethlehem.

The second was that greasy pick-up line from the late 60’s or early 70’s, “What’s your sign?” Although I was a mere babe in arms, my favorite answer is still, “the dollar sign.”

In order to answer Snow White, I did a little investigating and sure enough, she called it. Groom and I both have a balance of fire and air in our natal charts. No elements of water or earth - just fire and air.

Too much and the conflagration dies out. Not enough and the blaze consumes. As Groom and I recently marked 21 years as a couple, apparently we have the appropriate amount of oxidizing and combustible materials in our energy fields to keep the home fires burning.

This trail of thought opened up something for me to consider in a different light. Cinderella is the archetype, the blueprint of my life. I had always looked at my birthplace and life-path in terms of the Cinderella story, but until Snow White asked, I hadn’t thought about them in terms of the fire story.

For starters, take the name itself. The fairy tale princess, Cinderella, is really Ella of the Cinders because much of her work revolved around the hearth. And you’ll remember that Cinderella Lucinda is also a blood relative from the 1800’s as well as the name of our whimsical line of jewelry.

Secondly, I was born in the Land of Ash. Most of you know it as Ashland, but the meaning is clear.

At the time of my birth, our house was located in Phoenix. The phoenix, also known as a “fire bird,” is a symbol of the sun and is legendary for rising from its ashes.

My first name, a diminutive of both Cinderella and Lucinda (Cindy) means “goddess of the moon,” which is a reflector for the sun and is how we got started on this celestial topic in the first place (the wolf moon). My middle name, Rae, means “a beam of light.”

Okay, now I’m just cracking myself up as I follow the crumbs. A root of the word incendiary (containing a substance that burns with an intense heat) originates from the French incindere – to kindle, or incendie – fire. Say “in Cindy.” Hmmm, Incendie, in Cindy. Fire is in Cindy. As an Aquarian, I’ve never quite understood why this air sign is symbolized as a water-bearer. However, with all this talk of les incendies, perhaps it’s wise to have an urn of H2O in the ready.

Groom’s name is Donald and with his golden mane and red, fiery beard, it is no surprise that he is a Leo of Celtic descent. Considering today’s theme, I’m finding it quite fitting to discover that Leo is the sun sign. Donald, a clan name in Scotland, means “great chief” or if you go with the sound Dawn, it means the first appearance of light. Dawn is the beginning of a new day, something that begins to appear, develop, come forth. Perfect for a burgeoning photographer!

In the Chinese zodiac, I was born a dragon, a fire-breathing creature. One of the first descriptions of a dragon person when I googled it was “Dragon people are balls of fire! They are full of vitality and love life.”

For those of you who have ever broken bread with us, you know this to be true. We eat food of epic heatness. Some try to woo with chocolate, but those in the know come bearing gifts chock full of capsicum. People try to outdo themselves in discovering spices and sauces, powders and peppers with units rating high on the Scolville Scale.

Mmmmm, pyrotechnic peppers such as jalapenos, hildagos, orange habaneros, thai, caribbean reds, devil’s tongue, or white ghosts. Sounds almost druggy.

Confession: Eating fire is a little bit (okay a lot) addictive. When those rascally chemicals from the peppers crash land on the taste buds, the experts claim “the body is tricked into believing that it is in pain and releases the pain-relieving endorphins.” Oh, let me tell you, my body is not tricked into believing it is in pain, in that moment, it is in pain. But what a delicious pain. Those endorphins come rushing in and gotta love the ride!

This brings to mind the seed of associating heat with the kitchen. A pleasant early childhood memory involves my mother playing Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire on her reel-to-reel tape player. The machine sat directly on top of the stove, “It burns, burns, burns…” sounding like her theme song. Mother was a musician, not a cook. The fact that music came from her oven and not food, well, that’s my mom.

In last week’s entry, there was a caricature of Groom and myself. It showed cartoony red circles drawn on my cheeks. Alas, I really do have bright, red, flame-colored cheeks. Some people are kind and call them “rosy,” but a rose by any other name is still as red. I’ve been distraught at times by their Rudolphian quality, but after considering Snow White’s fire question, it makes much more sense now.

For Christmas, we received two CD’s. One titled Rio del Fuego – River of Fire by joe scott and hannah alkire http://www.acousticeidolon.com/ and the other, On Fire, http://www.michelcamilo.com/. Coincidental?

If Simon Cowell, the smug (as in contentedly confident in one’s own superiority) American Idol judge, were to read this week’s entry, he might say in his distinctive British voice, “I find this to be quite self-indulgent.” And he’d be right. It is totally self-indulgent. But it’s also self-discovery. Perhaps for you, too.

What does your name mean? What sounds or vibrations does it carry? Where were you born, do any of these reveal clues to your path? For us, they were hidden in plain sight.

All this time, Groom and I have been surrounded by an effulgence of fire symbology (yeah, I don’t care if I used that incorrectly, language is rubber and I can bend it like Beckham), and we didn’t even know it. Drawn to metal and the desire to work/play with it, we’re discovering our own fire for the first time. We’re handling kilns and torches and soldering irons, heating metal and glass to their melting points. It’s fun and suddenly, all the fire we have makes a lick of sense.

Short answer Snow White? Yes, Groom and I have a lot of fire in our charts.

Update: Some jewelry tools have trickled in, so we can take a magic marker and scratch off some of those items from The List. Things like a soldering iron, a fire-retardant surface, a soldering tripod with screen, a charcoal firing brick and a crucible. A phone call from Zolo King says a crock pot, a vice and a ball peen hammer are on the way. We purchased two die cutters on eBay, a dapping set from Harbor Freight and have a rain check for a flex shaft.

If you’re still reading and your eyes have not glazed over, thanks for playing in my self-indulgent sandbox.

Confessions of a Name Junkie

“What’s in a name?” queried a frustrated Juliet. Shakespeare’s famous question aside, what IS in a name?

Identity.

A name represents who we are and very few of us enjoy it when our name is the object of ridicule. The schoolyard mantra of “sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me,” is great in theory, but is usually repeated when unkind words have been splattered like mud on a brand new shirt.

Names have power. I remember a bully from church camp. Her rampage of brutality did not last long after I discovered her last name. It was gross. I had never heard the term for yucky and vulgar as a last name before and a smile very deep and wide spread throughout my body when I made this discovery. I knew she would not torment me a moment longer, for I had the power over her name and thus, over her.

As an added bonus, the first name she was given morphed easily into “Piggy” by a single vowel. The next time she tried to corner me near the swimming pool and say something cruel, I chose not to use my fists to end her tyranny, but my words. I looked her straight in the eye and said something like, “I seriously doubt a girl named piggy gross has anything more to say to me.” She stopped in her tracks. In that moment I had the power and we both knew it. And that was the simple end to her bullying me.

Names hold power. Top tier celebrities need only one, corporations go to great lengths to protect theirs, items can be made with the right one, and people given odd ones can have a more difficult time on the playground. Johnny Cash’s “A Boy Named Sue,” springs to mind.

Each name carries its own vibration, meaning and sound. Some are pleasant and carry strength while others are grating and weak. I didn’t used to love the name Leroy until I heard it in French; LeRoi means “the king.” Cool beans, man. I have a friend whose last name is Strong and she is. I sort of envy all those last names, which express the current of wealth. You know, names like Finegold, Goldrich and Richman.

Okay, fine you say, but what does that have to do with anything?

Identity.

In the last year, this blog has taken several twists and turns. For those of you who have been following it from day one, you remember it started out as a vehicle for my Frida doll that was handmade by Vickie Getchell and presented to me by Kate McKinlay. The occasion was to celebrate a photo taken of Kate, her mother Gay McKinlay, Kimmmm Still and myself on Frida Kahlo’s 100th birthday when we dressed up as an homage to the great artist Frida. This photograph found its way into the hands of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art (SFMOMA), and they included it on their Legacy Wall when they held a retrospective of Frida Kahlo’s artwork.

As Groom and I traveled around the Pacific Northwest selling our whimsical line of postage stamp jewelry, we took Frida doll everywhere, photographing her like the Travelocity Nome and I wrote of our adventures through her eyes. We named the blog “Frida Chiquita Kahlo: The Everyday Anthropologist” so I could write about my observations of human behavior.

Then, in September, after much fun and frivolity with our new cameras, we grew bored of only taking photos of Frida doll and began posting some of what we consider our arty shots. Our weekly entries then transitioned into a photoblog. We toyed with calling our new line of photography, to distinguish it from the jewelry, “The Language of Light.”

The transition seemed logical and linear to us, making sense as we came to these adjustments a little at a time.

Until…

Until I finally had an afternoon to play on the computer. This is a rare event indeed. A friend of ours, Octavia Hunter, has a fantastic website and photoblog called Araxastudios.com and she had just completed an amazing food shoot for a magazine. Her work is stunning, I can’t encourage you enough to check out her work.

Perusing her website, I started laughing. Hers is so straightforward while ours takes a meandering path. When people who know us log on every Wednesday to see and read the next installment, they understand the how’s and whyfor’s, but I finally looked at our website through the eyes of a brand new person and a dozen question marks appeared over my head like a cartoon character.

Our website, called Cinderella Lucinda, is for our jewelry. The blog site, however, is called Frida Chiquita Kahlo: Everyday Anthropologist and the “About Us,” describes The Language of Light photography. What the heck?

I am laughing at myself (or is it with myself?), my rubescent cheeks blushing red with embarrassment. I admit, humbling as this is, that I have had a bit of an identity crisis and looking back on my history, I see that I have expressed the various stages of my life through name changes.

Yes, I am a name junkie.

I could spin doctor that and simply claim my Native American-ness and tell you that I am participating in my cultural heritage and while that may be a factor, the reality is that in 18 years creating jewelry, we have changed our business name four times.

It started out as a “Wearable Art,” line, but too many people thought we made clothes. Then, feeling that strong anthropological pull, I wanted to emphasize how many different cultures we represented with the postage stamps plus my Native American ethnicity, so we tried Tribal Rhythms. This was fine, to a point, until we realized everybody thought we made pow-wow jewelry. Duh. Didn’t think that one through.

Then I tried what I thought would be a simple approach, just using my last name. Nope, too hard to pronounce and nobody could remember it anywho.

Aaargh. Then, while my sister was tracing our ancestors back to the Reservation, she discovered a great-great relative from the 1800’s by the name of Cinderella Lucinda. Bam! That’s it. Humorous, fun to say, easy to remember, is part of my Native American background and represents the whimsical nature of our jewelry line.

And the best part? My entire life is a Cinderella story. If you’ve read that fairytale, then you know my life. Which as I’m typing this, brings me to my actual point. Since my life is straight out of Grimm’s imagination, why fight it? There is no need for an identity search or further diversification. If anything, focus would be best.

This is why we are transitioning from Frida Chiquita Kahlo: Everyday Anthropologist to Cinderella Lucinda: Once Upon a Time…This Week for a more streamlined approach so that everything aligns, our jewelry, photography and blog.

We still intend to share our photos and our weekly adventures, but desire cohesiveness. Pardon our dust while we remodel and we appreciate your patience as we discover who we are.

Some of you are blessed to know right away while for us, it’s as the Beatle’s describe, it’s been a “long and winding road…”