soulhome

A friend of mine once mused, If there are soulmates, maybe there are soulhomes, too. 

A soulhome. What a romantic thought. A place where your heart is destined to rest, a special and mysterious location where your soul has intricate ties. 

I personally don't really believe in soulmates. The One. 

I think relationships take work, you choose to love. I do think that my husband and I are great together, and that I prayed for him from the time that I was a little girl. I knew I would marry someone someday, and I wanted to make sure God knew all of my requirements, things like "loves Big Red gum". 

I don't think anyone could ever love and appreciate me the way my husband does. In all my weirdness. I cherish him. Sometimes I like to say we're soulmates, because he's my one, the man I've chosen. We work hard at our relationship, and our commitment to each other has been blessed. 

But as far as real soulmates go? I believe we as humans are irrevocably flawed, and therefore if there even could be such a thing as soulmates, we would have ruined that whole deal a long long time ago. We would have married the wrong people and messed up the soulmate order for everyone. 

I remember thinking about that when I was around 10 or 11. I had a moment of pure panic, thinking of someone accidentally marrying my soulmate before I got to him.

Perhaps the first and only soulmates in the history of the world were Adam and Eve, and we all know how that turned out. 

But let's imagine for a second that soulmates and, more importantly, soulhomes are real.

Each one of us has, imprinted on our heart, a place that belongs to us. 

Born into the world with locks around our soul, a golden key is tossed out into the universe. And the moment we step into that place, the great expanse of desert in Arizona, the rolling green hills of Ireland, the towering sky-rises of New York, we hear that click. 

And we are unlocked. 

It's an absolutely stunning thought.

A lifelong quest to find each other, you and that distant land of destiny. 

I think I've experienced similar feelings of serendipity, which could easily be heaped into that nebulous overwhelming wanderlust. 

I think for most people though, myself included, a soulhome would be the place we've spent most if not all of our lives. There's a definite bond between a person and where they were born. 

Arizona is my place. The desert is where I have always belonged, it's where I feel most enchanted and most at ease. I understand it and appreciate it for all that it is. I feel really lucky in that way.  

But I've also lived other places and traveled to countries that I have fallen in love with. There are those dreamy trips that make us all swoon (Hollywood-driven, most likely), just imagining what the Eiffel Tower must be like in person, or thinking of riding in a Gondola in Venice. Growing up as an O'Neil and loving all things Irish, I would definitely say that Ireland was my dream place to live for a very long time. Irish blessings hung on my walls, green was my favorite color, Gerard Butler in P.S. I Love You is my favorite ever. 

Over the last few years of traveling, I've had my moments of, I could do this. I could live here for keeps. 

One of my favorite terms for my friends is kindred spirits. Unlike the idea of soulmates, I heartily believe and support the idea of kindred spirits. They exist all over the world, and come sneaking into your heart even when you least expect to find them. 

Arizona is my soulhome, but maybe I can allow my heart to find kindred places, too.

And what a long, lovely list of kindreds that will be. 

archives: a cat lady musing

circa 1990

This past week I posted this rather fantastic photo, one of my favorites from my baby years. I've always loved animals, and this picture is definitely proof of that. I gravitate to where the creatures are. 

(Unless they're sea creatures, because no). 

I thought I'd go ahead and reach back and re-post an edited version of an old cat lady post, dedicated to my love for the furry beasts. This week's archive. Enjoy!

I simply can't resist a cat, particularly a purring one.

They are the cleanest, cunningest, and most intelligent things I know, 

outside of the girl you love, of course.

- Mark Twain

I have a feeling that Mark Twain and I would have gotten along quite fine. Bosom friend status.

There's something about the cat-less population that I find quite sad. The cat-hater is typically a person that is missing something lovely, something like a cuddly spirit, a purity of heart, an affectionate nature. A soul.

The world needs its harshness, of course, but I find it hard to imagine dealing with it without a furry friend to guide the comfort levels of your home. 

A home without a cat -- and a well-fed, well-petted and properly revered cat --

may be a perfect home, perhaps, but how can it prove title?

- Mark Twain

I am sensitive, affectionate, romantic, loyal, devoted, warmhearted, friendly. And I am a cat lover.

Or am I those things as a result of loving cats?

World-changing questions.

I find myself changed by their sweetness, calmed by their presence, soothed by their tired, sleepy grins.

Happy to care for them, happy to be with them. 

I had a friend recently say that if and when we are able to care for them the way we do, vet bills and messes and all, we are good stewards. It made me smile and I think in most cases that's true.

What an odd little gift they are, such strange little creatures, like having my very own pokemon.

I can never fully put my trust in someone who hates cats. (I am also inconsolably sad for those who are deathly allergic). The cat-loving world is like the best of secret societies, really -- you hide your adoration, knowing in your heart that 1.) others will never truly understand 2.) you have something precious that they cannot have 3.) you're not alone in the world.

 When a man loves cats, I am his friend and comrade,

without further introduction.

- Mark Twain

You pass by cat-related merchandise and point and laugh, or show your friends, secretly knowing if they weren't there you'd probably make it all the way to the cash register with it before realizing you could never wear it in public anyway, because people would shun you.

You are unnaturally thrilled that cat sweaters and graphic Ts have become a somewhat quirky exception in the fashion world, allowing you to partake in cat-attire. (Cattire?). 

How much is too much? The cat lady will never know.

I do know that my life has been measured by the constant embellishment of animal interaction. Sweet little souls within beings that make me laugh and cry. 

Every home I've ever lived in has had cats. They have been my accessories of life and activity and playfulness. 

It's how I was raised, how I love to live, and how I live to love.

The wide-eyed way in which I take in the world, and come home to the purrs of a day well spent.

Mark loved cats...and pool, or pocket billiards. 

Whenever he played pool, he'd tuck a pet kitten into a corner pocket. The antics of the cat as it pawed at passing balls amused and relaxed Mark Twain...sent him back in high spirits to write the stories that endeared him to all.

Americans today have the same shrewd understanding that one relaxed moment 

helps you work and fight harder.

- Royal Crown Cola ad, 1940s 

(original post)

sir paul mccartney

On Tuesday around noon I received a text message from my dad:

"You busy tonight?" 

Nope! Why?

"Father daughter date, just us two!"

Oh ok! Sure! 

My dad is a rather fabulous fellow, fun and exuberant and loving. He has brought a lot of joy to my life, including a large portion of my taste in music. He also loves surprises. Probably at the top of his list is "surprising" my mom with some extravagant gift from Santa every year, though she has always disliked the idea of Santa. Which might be why he does it. Despite her decades-long protest, Santa has never missed a Christmas at the O'Neil house.

I've mentioned before that I love the Beatles. That's all dad's fault. I stole his British Invasion CDs at a young age, twisted and shouted probably before I could walk. 

Dad and I left for our dinner date around 530. He told me it was a new restaurant opening up, something he called "Sororise", that had groovy ambience music that he thought I would love. It was a private opening that apparently required tickets. As we began our drive he handed me a piece of paper and said, "I printed the address here, can you look it up?"

Unfolding the paper I discovered a ticketmaster ticket.

To PAUL MCCARTNEY.

Liar liar pants on fire! I had been tricked, swindled, kidnapped, surprised.

He of course began dancing like a maniac and we blasted Paul McCartney music all the way there.

He was so excited he exclaimed, grinning, 

"We gotta take a picture in our seats with the stage behind us. Selffiiieee!!"

It was one of the most surreal (and wonderful and exhilarating and life-changing) moments of my life. I kept crying because I felt like I had always dreamed of being in the same room with Paul McCartney. With my dad. Of course this room was actually a gargantuan stadium with thousands of other humans, but the dream was still being realized.

This was the incredible set list of the evening:

Eight Days a Week 

Save Us

All My Loving 

Listen to What the Man Said 

Let Me Roll It

Paperback Writer 

My Valentine

My Love

The Long and Winding Road

Baby I'm Amazed 

I've Just Seen a Face 

We Can Work It Out

It's Just Another Day 

And I Love Her

Blackbird

Here Today 

New

Queenie Eye

Lady Madonna

All Together Now

Lovely Rita 

Everybody Out There

Eleanor Rigby

For the Benefit of Mr. Kite 

Something

Ob La Di Ob La Da

If We Ever Get Out Of Here 

Band On The Run

Back in the USSR

Let it Be

Live and Let Die 

Hey Jude

Day Tripper 

High on Life

Get Back! 

Yesterday 

Helter Skelter

Golden Slumber/The End

As you can see, it was a pretty extensive list. It was three hours of musical history, rock and roll and beyond.

The giant screens were active the entire time, showing photos and videos of the young Beatles (also made me cry) and other artistic displays. I find it fascinating to imagine myself in the 60's when they first arrived. What must that have been like? What were they like? What was life like for them in those days, writing music and finding love and stumbling around as the headmasters of Beatlemania.
It's amazing to be here now, to see how it all turned out for those young strapping British boys that the whole world fell in love with. It's an honor to hold the knowledge of their story, in all it's bittersweet glory.

The band was phenomenal and watching Paul perform was so fun. He's so full of life and talent, and we were just seeing a glimpse of the music he has written in his lifetime. It's absolutely astounding.

Some of my favorite moments included, obviously, the earlier Beatles music. He performed "Paperback Writer" on the original guitar he recorded it on! 

He also performed a ukulele version of "Something", which was a beautiful and sentimental tribute to a fabulous song written by the late George Harrison. 

I think my heart would have exploded if he had sang "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds", but even so, it was fit to burst. 

Needless to say I've been listening to Paul McCartney all week long!

I will remember that night forever. What a wonderful gift to spend a night with my dad and his favorite Beatle, honoring the musical legacy he has cherished and passed on to me.

wanderlust wednesday

Snapshots from San Gimignano, Italy. March, 2014. 


San Gimignano is this rather unreal little medieval city about an hour outside of Florence, Italy.
It's mystical because it feels quite literally like you've waltzed through a time machine, leaving all modern contraptions behind as you sit amongst old stone and tall towers and local white wine.
This city hosts, by far, the best gelato in the entire galaxy at the Gelateria di Piazza. Don't argue, just go and you'll see. I don't joke around about frozen treats.

It also featured inifinitous (I like making up words) Tuscan vistas and exquisite little details like wildflowers, olive trees, chirping birds, open-air markets, wild boar sausage, and garden terraces for artists and live music. And for the occasional weird tourist (cough: us), flower-crown-making. Shops were filled with mouth-watering balsamic vinegar, colorful leather and alabaster trinkets.

It's one of the only places I've ever been to that I truly absorbed, I drank it in. Gulped it with the urgency of determined hiccups. I cherished it, letting it sink right into my skin and down deep into my memory. Wouldn't it be amazing if we didn't have the ability to become complacent, and lived our entire lives that way?

I love to close my eyes and imagine that place, remembering the feel and the smell and most especially the taste of that blackberry lavender gelato. Or perhaps the ricotta and blueberries. Or maybe even the saffron cream. We had a lot of gelato in San Gimignano.

(see all wanderlust wednesday posts)

remix: hummingbird dress

collection of old posts: 1 // 2 // 3 

Me and this dress go way back. 

These photos are all over the place, taken over the course of a few years (and a few camera upgrades), but I really wanted to show the mixology of this one simple piece. It is probably the most creatively layered item in my closet. I generally love a good dress because it's so independent, but it also plays well with others. Wear it alone and it's good to go. Tuck it into a skirt, and it's a secret blouse (no one will know!). Layer a sweater or loose top over it, and it's a featured skirt. With a tank-top dress like this one, you can also get really creative in the winter using a thin turtle neck or button-up to layer underneath. And obviously a dress with a fun print can take part in all of this grand layering while also dabbling in pattern mixing!

The funny thing is, this dress would definitely be labeled as a Spring dress. Yet most of the photos above were taken in generally cool/cold weather. I laugh in the face of seasonal dresses. 

Be bold, and wear hummingbirds in the snow, my friends.