daily notes

a small tribe

Cicely's daughter and the orange dress.

Cicely's daughter and the orange dress.

July 19, 2016 - Daily Notes, From the Editor

A small tribe is a meaningful treasure.

A group of female farmers in Rwanda grew my coffee this morning. While the barista poured rich brown liquid into my charcoal gray mug, I read the Starbucks card explaining it. They are known as Hingakawa, a mantra meaning, "Let's grow coffee."

I paused to imagine them and in my mind's eye saw a small tribe of women who support one another in a myriad of ways. It involves a lot more than growing coffee, I bet.

I realized Lucia is like that, too. My weekend was woven with a glistening thread of connection. It touched nearly every woman in my tiny tribe, the muses and heroines who make up this magazine.

There was the Friday morning creative meeting at the kitchen table of our online editor, Sarah, while her daughter corralled the "fat cat" behind couch pillows, drew Olympic mountains on a sketchpad, showed me her solar system, and tapped away at her pink plastic laptop in the window.

There was the tall glass of cold cucumber water in the late afternoon at Cicely's house, one of our contributing writers. We decompressed and discussed aging parents, children, lovers and life while her daughter plucked purple lavender buds which, in contrast to her orange sunflower dress, quietly shouted July.

Saturday came with an early wake up to go walk the "Power Promenade" with Amanda, our editorial advisor. We ventured into the wilds of a hidden urban forest and then, she held the sweetest party at her studio, The Institute of Moves, Muscles and Eternal Optimism. Champagne and laughter sparkled, a story was shared, and her clients gathered to celebrate what she has created. 

Mid-day, Karly, our design advisor, called me from somewhere between Colorado and Utah just to say she is skipping Wyoming in favor of returning home early. We spent ten minutes catching up on each other's emotional status before the signal dropped. We promised each other we would schedule a real call, soon. 

Then I hopped the busy afternoon ferry to Southworth to spend the night and celebrate my mother's birthday on Sunday with waffles for breakfast. We walked the woods with my sisters and niece. I helped care for my Dad as he continues the slow and steady crawl toward recovery.

If I am to share the truth about the creative process that underlies Lucia, it must be said that it has everything to do with a small tribe of women and weekends like this. We did not all sit down together around a conference table. We did not wear hipster hats. We did not shout out ideas in great gusts of inspired enthusiasm. We did not force ourselves onto social media just to have something to post today.

We held each other. We shared found things. There was reverence, awe, laughter, play. We scribbled in coloring books with the children. We moved and walked together. We celebrated one another's accomplishments. We helped. We called just to say, "I'm heading home." We grew the proverbial coffee. We loved, we created, we lived.

Hingakawa. A small tribe is a meaningful treasure.

xo
laura


Laura Lowery is the founder, editor and publisher of Lucia. She does her best to lead a creative life. Whether triumphant or stumbling, Laura shares daily notes (that are often weekly) here on luciajournal, including stories, behind-the-scenes happenings, little doses of inspiration, and large quantities of curiosity and heart. She is pleased to meet you.

things take longer

Things take longer than we think.
— My counselor

July 7, 2016 - Daily Notes, From the Editor

The lavender I planted when I first moved into this little white fairytale house four summers ago has not grown quickly. I envisioned each plant reaching its full potential by the following summer, but the ground here is hard and full of tree roots. The cedar I love so dearly drops soft needles that affect the soil Ph. Last year, I barely had any lavender blooms but this morning I noticed my plants are a bit bigger. Things take longer than we think.

My father is 83 and of Cherokee stock. I've always known he will live to be at least 100. Ten years ago, his kidneys were damaged by an adverse reaction to a combination of prescription drugs that two doctors didn't catch until it was almost too late. Somehow, though, he has managed to stay off of dialysis for a decade. The simple surgery last month to place a port in his abdomen in order to begin dialysis was nearly impossible for him to recover from. His body simply could not eliminate the anesthesia and pain-killers like the rest of us would.

We all thought, "Oh, once he starts the dialysis, he'll feel so much better right away." But he did not. The Fourth of July weekend was spent sleepless. I went home on Saturday to help my mother and my siblings came too. We are all taking turns going about this slow work of nursing and loving and cheering and praying. He is getting better. Things take longer than we think.

Reading to "Papaa."

Reading to "Papaa."

I am tender this week. Quiet, observing, processing. My job is to bring healthy food and cheer. I am going back today with heaps of both.

I want, so badly, for the lavender to be huge and abundant this year, like the massive purple mounds that grow in giant fields in Sequim. I want, so badly, for my dad to be well tomorrow and go back to watering his plants, tending his garden, and going out to lunch with his next-door neighbor on Tuesdays.

July reminds me these things take time, lots and lots of time. Growing, healing, recovering, changing...takes longer than we think.

This morning I am wearing a hot pink sequined heart tee-shirt because it might make him smile when I arrive later this afternoon. And if it does not, hopefully the steak and mashed potatoes and vegetables will.

May your July be slow, restful, healing, and touched with the magic of lowered expectations. Embrace the new normal, and find beauty in the small tufts of lavender that are tough enough, brave enough, to grow each year there under the cedar trees.

xo
laura


Laura Lowery is the founder, editor and publisher of Lucia. She does her best to lead a creative life. Whether triumphant or stumbling, Laura shares daily notes (that are often weekly) here on luciajournal, including stories, behind-the-scenes happenings, little doses of inspiration, and large quantities of curiosity and heart. She is pleased to meet you.

grapheme letterpress

Mandolin Brassaw, owner of Grapheme, with Pantone tea and her letterpress.

Mandolin Brassaw, owner of Grapheme, with Pantone tea and her letterpress.

July 1, 2016 - Daily Notes, From the Editor

She makes a soft impression, the sort that is subtle yet embedded richly with possibility and curiosity.

Handing me orange mint tea in a Pantone mug, she asks where I grew up. We're seated on the sofa in the big front window of Grapheme, a letterpress and creative shop in Seattle, and I am about to realize that Mandolin Brassaw and I played soccer on rivaling teams twenty years ago.

It's funny the way people make impressions. Now that I know she grew up in Silverton, Oregon, less than fifteen miles from my family's farm north of Salem, she does look familiar. I can recall a ghost of her in a jersey on a playing field in my memory. We reminisce about growing up rural in the Willamette Valley, and I ask about the path that brought her here, to own her own shop in the heart of Seattle's rapidly changing Central District.

"I was an English major at Willamette," she said. "I thought I'd become a professor. Later, I discovered I don't really love teaching prescribed things."

She was in graduate school at the University of Oregon when she bought the press from Stu Rasmussen, the mayor of Silverton and, incidentally, the first openly transgender mayor in the United States. 

"Stu and his partner were looking to get rid of it and said 'Make us an offer.'" Mandolin was a broke college student and the press was probably worth in the neighborhood of a few thousand dollars, she tells me. But she wanted it. She mustered all her reserves and courage and humbly offered them the $300 she could scrounge up, expecting to hear thank-you-but-that-will-not-do. 

"Stu said, 'I appreciate the offer, but I think it's too much. How about $200?,'" she recalls with a little smile that holds a fond memory and still beams from the inside with gratitude. 

I admit to Mandolin I did not know what a letterpress looked like until today, and ask if she'll show me how it works. The pressure from a large, heavy, smooth metal cylinder makes a permanent imprint on thick paper as it rolls over it. I think quietly to myself that certain people become impressed upon our hearts this way, too. Whatever lies beneath is what winds up making the mark.

Mandolin's father built the shelves for Grapheme's walls to complement the hanging divider she created out of old wooden printer letter boxes she purchased from a rummage sale at Seattle's School of Visual Concepts. 

On the shelves are many of her own designs, beautiful cards and artwork pressed with intention and inspiring curiosity, like star maps, solstice trajectories, and renderings of the way the moon moves and reflects change.

"We've sold nearly all our copies of Lucia," she tells me. "Everyone who sits down here picks it up and they have trouble putting it down." I beam when I hear this, of course.

Mandolin lives above her sweet shop on Union Street, with her husband and one-and-a-half-year-old daughter. On certain days, she teaches. Not prescribed lesson plans of collegiate level English literature, but the enormously more ambiguous lesson of how to use a letterpress to take what's inside you and make a permanent impression with it.

Visit her online at: grapheme-seattle.com. Take a class. Buy a card. Or an entire constellation. Be inspired. Tell her Lucia sent you.

xo
laura


Laura Lowery is the founder, editor and publisher of Lucia. She does her best to lead a creative life. Whether triumphant or stumbling, Laura shares daily notes (that are often weekly) here on luciajournal, including stories, behind-the-scenes happenings, little doses of inspiration, and large quantities of curiosity and heart. She is pleased to meet you.