Last night, the wind was howling.  Those winter winds remind us just how un-winter-friendly and drafty this house is.

So last night we curled up with quilts and got to work at our desks.  Martin ordered a space heater for us to try out.  I can’t wait to hear that loud UPS truck barreling down the gravel road.

Later last night, Martin was designing a circuit board; I worked on the layout of a new journal. I think those were our ideal happy places.

I really want it to carve out a story.  All the pages were being piled here and there.

Last night, I used a red pen all over the layouts.  The old editing symbols my mom taught me sure came in handy.  Do you remember those?  Like “DS” or the fun little slash with a loop at the end?  Some pages had more red than black in the end.

I love watching that creative process develop, draft after draft.

Last night, I made the final changes… at least for this draft.  Then I thought about how thankful I was for each of you, and I hoped and hoped and hoped:  Please don’t let your house be as drafty!

Happy *warm* Thursday.

If we lived somewhere with malls, this probably wouldn’t have happened.  Never mind if we had stores that sell absolutely nothing but organizing equipment!

I suspect if we lived near a Walmart this wouldn’t have happened.

Heck, I might have even stopped at a KMart.  But we didn’t have that either.  So this is what happened instead.

I needed a few decorative containers for storage.  Where oh where to go?  Ah ha!  I found these really cool silver-plated dishes at the only container store I could think of in town:  the thrift shop.

Silver is pretty much the last thing you’d expect to put in a tire house.  (I’m thinking hubcap fruit bowls would fit a little better.)  But I didn’t have any used hubcaps, and I don’t want any thanks-so-much.  I’m going to give the silver a shot, though.  Their price tags pretty much did me in.  They spelled L-O-V-E:

One for $2.50, $2.00, and $1.00!  All three dishes for only $5.50?  Yes please.

Then the clerk did something incredible.  She slashed the price by 22%.  ”It’s Arctic Blast Discount Day!” she said with a warm grin.  A 22% discount for going out in 22 degree F weather?  (-6 C)  Double the yeses.  So I happily walked back to our car, mailed all of your lovely journals, stocked up on groceries, and zipped back to the country with my loot.

The only problem with my silver was the intense tarnish all over it.  You can probably guess that I don’t have silver polish at home.  Meanwhile, I’m guessing that I probably couldn’t find polish very easily in town.  So in walked Mr. Google.

Apparently you can polish silver with one basic ingredient:  baking soda!  I read two theories and worked on them simultaneously to buff up my bootie:

1.  Line a pot with aluminum foil, add a bunch of baking soda, and heat the water.  Drop in your silver and let sit.  Wipe off any remaining tarnish spots with a cloth and rinse.

2.  Build a baking soda and water paste.  Massage into silver and rinse.

Off I went, heating water, polishing with baking soda – the whole works.

Already a huge difference!  Can you see the tarnished areas versus where the grim has already come off?

Polishing silver is a lost art.  To watch the experienced women in my family has always felt like watching beauty – like kneading bread or hand stitching.  It’s moving.  It’s watching something that’s so comfortable to their hands.  It’s the creation of something restored and beautiful.

To watch me?

Let’s just say:  wear goggles.  There may be a few unidentifiable chunks of goo flying as I buff away.

Then again, maybe not.  You can probably stop by without goggles for now.

We’re out of baking soda.

Today, I’m sharing a third post in the series, Small Business Tips.  You can catch the first post on fear and the second on living abroad & researching.  I’ll do my best to make these posts both relevant to small business and life so that non-business folks can reflect and enjoy, too. It comes from my journey with my online shop, Gadanke.

Today, my helpers – my own my brother and sister - are ready.  Are you?  Here we go…

You have to believe in yourself and your creative ideas before anyone else possibly can begin to.

I struggled with this idea for a long time because I didn’t think I was supposed to have a creative career.  I didn’t think I was good enough or artistic enough to create something that people would actually want to pay money for.  What could I possibly make?  How could I pay the bills with making?  I was trained to be a left-brained thinker.  I told myself there was no other solution.

I journaled and journaled about it, never really noticing that perhaps it was indeed all this JOURNALING that could ultimately become that creative business outlet.

Tell yourself that your ideas are okay.  Your craft is good enough.  You are good enough.

I want to tell you a little story.

For a long time, I was our family co-pilot.  (I’ve written about that struggle here.)  It’s so much easier to follow in the shadow of your spouse than dare to meet your own potential.  Plus, in my case, it’s really cool to hear Martin’s stories about aviation or how he’s studying renewable energy.  People love that stuff!

So I got a pilot’s license, and I’ve been determined never to be “just the co-pilot” in our life together ever again.

My life as a life pilot was recently tested.  A few weeks ago, the owner of the tire house had a friend who would be staying with us for a couple of days.  She was really excited about Martin’s professional plans.  We weren’t even past the front door!  She was just so excited to hear about Martin’s dreams.

Being polite, she naturally turned to me after a bit and asked what I studied back in college.

“Business and English,” I told her.

“Oh, that’ll get you, what?  A good waitressing job?” she asked, and flung her hand into the air.  It felt like she was throwing out me and everything I was with her arm in that simple gesture.  Clearly, Martin’s focus was COOL; mine was nothing.

I retreated to my journal that night.  I wrote, “I AM ENOUGH” over and over.  Like I said, you have to believe in yourself for anyone else to.  I kept confident from that night on.  By the end of her visit, the woman was fascinated by Gadanke and my mission.  In fact, we sat there and brainstormed about all the things I could do and the stories people could capture as she flipped through the books I have made.  I hold her in the greatest of regards today.

At first, it’s going to be hard to justify what you do when you chose a path that doesn’t fit into a box.

As far as I know, there is no checkbox that says “professional journaler” on a list of career choices.  In fact, “journaler” isn’t even a word in my dictionary.  But I’m okay with that.  I’m starting to define myself as “journaler”, and I’m starting to LOVE that.

What are you becoming?

Be okay with who you are and what you want to do.  In fact, celebrate it!

Practice telling yourself, “I am a ____.  I am a ____, and I love it.”

There’s something to be said for following your heart.

Start telling your family, “I am a ____.”

And finally, tell the people you don’t know.  Declare it!  And yes, they might brush it aside at first or forever.  But that doesn’t matter.  There will always be people who truly believe in you and your idea, and there will always be YOU.

You can do this.  You can.

In the comments today, I’d love to invite you to fill in this sentence:  I am a ____, and I love it.

Am I really sharing this on the internet?

My thumb is sticking to the spacebar key.  I haven’t managed to get all of the adhesive off of it.  (This weekend has been all about making a new journal that’s all about repurposing and recycling.  It’s so beautiful.

Now each time my thumb sticks, I pause.  I think.  Am I really sharing this?

Yes.  I think it’s time.

This is the first minibook I ever made.  It started seven years ago when Martin and I met.  (I’ll spare us all and not share the particularly verbose pages of college girl obsession.)

We cruised around town in a little stick shift with a loose clutch.  I was the driver.  The roads in town were steep.  (It was a mining town where we met.)  I do not suggest a crafty girl take a mechanically minded boy out on such roads.

But I do suggest going into the sky with him.  I do suggest listening to Frank Sinatra croon Fly Me to the Moon.  And then, I do suggest getting a first kiss up in the air… preferably right above the little pond where you and your brother learned to use lures when you graduated from bobbers.

A few days later, go do the things you love in the thickest coats you have because January around here is colder than cold.

Now I guess you can move 1800 miles away to transfer to a women’s college if you want.  It’s what I did.  That’s kind of hard.  But it’s important to keep your goals going even when you’re so crazy for someone you don’t remember how to walk straight.

I promise.  He will visit, and you will explore.  It’ll make you stronger and make your relationship stronger.  Document that.

Then start a business years later that is all about helping other people capture these stories.  There is nothing more beautiful than flipping through your own stories years later.

Sometimes I forget to take everyday pictures around here.  The temperatures have been below freezing for a week.  I’m used to that.  I’m used to winter sun.  I know what to expect when I drive up the mountain pass to get to town.  I know to watch for deer, especially in certain places and at certain times.  I’m used to empty streets and abundant, abundant parking.

But for most people?  It’s completely crazy.  It’s completely not normal.  So I thought I’d show you my “normal” in my American winters.

(Picture a shivering, red-nosed girl driving in a down coat with a thick hat and wool gloves until the car warms up, snapping these shots.)

Shots of a Berlin, Germany winter here and here for a little contrast.

I have this basket.  It’s supposed to be a really empty inbox that demonstrates how on top of everything I am because guess what – I took these pictures last night after I finished filing.  Yeah.  After.

You can see the problem.  I’m dong working, but my basket’s not empty.  Call me a glass half-empty gal on this one because I’m pretty sure… yep… it’s not even half empty.  Ever.  So much for being a filer.  This photo is all about being a PILER.

None of these papers have a place in our home.  I don’t know where to put them.  So there they sit in my inbox where I constantly shuffle through them and decide, “Yep.  I still don’t know where to put them.  Huh.  I’ll just leave them in the inbox.”

It is another one of those places were I am not organizing my life.  I’m just shuffling my stuff.

So here’s the deal.  I need to declutter this stack once and for all because I’m tired of how it brings me down Every Time I head off to file papers and pay bills.  I’ve got two choices:

1. Corral everything into folders and bins. I can’t make the tire house look magazine-ready (unless we’re talking Popular Mechanics-ready!), so there’s no pressure to have a sleek and shiny organizing system.  I just need something that works.
2. Ditch it already. What if instead of poking around with labels and matching markers, I got rid of my stash?

I might only be talking about a little stack of papers today.  Yet it makes me wonder… just how many corners are we constantly re-organizing when we should really just declutter?

Nothing drives Martin bonkers more than to hear me struggling into the door with a heap of organizing supplies in my hands.  I see his point.  (sometimes)  We’re buying and consuming more than ever, and the only way to keep our lives managable is to go out and buy stuff to hold it all.

So there’s my answer.  Ditch it already, Katie.  Ditch it or do something with it.

*poof*  *empty!*

What?  Dumping everything on the floor behind me for a photo shoot doesn’t count? (big sigh) You know what I’ll be tackling tonight.