Hi. I'm Jenna McGuiggan.
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Entries in love (9)

Friday
Feb062009

Her Morning Elegance

I don't know what I love more about this, the lyrics or the video. The artist, Oren Lavie, is new to me, but feels comfortably familiar. This video seems to be sprouting up all over blogland. Treat yourself to a cup of daydream and a few minutes to soak this in.

Sun been down for days
A pretty flower in a vase
A slipper by the fireplace
A cello lying in its case

Soon she's down the stairs
Her morning elegance she wears
The sound of water makes her dream
Awoken by a cloud of steam
She pours a daydream in a cup
A spoon of sugar sweetens up

And she fights for her life
As she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
As it pours
And she fights for her life
As she goes in a store
With a thought she has caught
By a thread
She pays for the bread
And she goes...
Nobody knows

Sun been down for days
A winter melody she plays
The thunder makes her contemplate
She hears a noise behind the gate
Perhaps a letter with a dove
Perhaps a stranger she could love

And she fights for her life
As she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
As it pours
And she fights for her life
As she goes in a store
With a thought she has caught
By a thread
She pays for the bread
And she goes...
Nobody knows

And she fights for her life
As she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
As it pours
And she fights for her life
As she goes in a store
Where the people are pleasantly
Strange
And counting the change
And she goes...
Nobody knows

Saturday
Sep062008

It's All Happening: Mondo Beyondo Update

heart in Union Square, San Francisco

At the beginning of the year, I wrote a retrospective on 2007 and a Mondo Beyondo Prospective for 2008. (Find out more about the Mondo Beyondo concept.) I named 2008 my year of Opportunity, Abundance, Prosperity, Plenty, and Creation, and made a list of intentions for how I want to live and what I want to do. I also named and claimed some Mondo Beyondo dreams for this year and beyond. I'm amazed and joyful and humbled and pleased to see several of them coming to fruition.

I wanted: "to start creating mixed media art and find my own path as a visual artist." Next week, I'll go to my very first art retreat, where I'll take a painting and mixed media class. I'm also taking a travel journaling class and attending the Superhero Life workshop. I'm particularly excited about this last one, as it's being taught by the Super Duper Andrea Scher of Superhero Designs. I met Andrea very briefly at the BlogHer Swap Meet this summer and can't wait to learn from her. Plus? Her lovely assistant will be Jen Gray, who I "know" through blogging and a few emails. (It's hard to know if the word "know" is really the right verb in these cases, isn't it?)

And as if that weren't enough, Jonatha Brooke will be providing camp fire music, Boho Girl Denise will be running around taking artist portraits, and Kelly Rae Roberts, one of my favorite artists, will be hosting a discussion about living the creative life.

But wait! There's more! I was serendipitously connected with Kelly Barton of Camp Indigo Soul to share a rental car between the airport and the camp. After connecting with her, I realized that she is the woman behind one of my favorite Etsy shops. And speaking of serendipity, I'll also get to meet the inspiring Liz Elayne Lamoreux of Be Present, Be Here and The Little Room Etsy shop. (Remind me to tell you the funny little story about how we "met" online.) I'm also looking forward to meeting Kirsten Michelle from In the Land of the Lovelies.

I have a feeling that once I get back from New Hampshire, I'll be gushing about all of these women and more, as well as the whole Squam experience. (fair warning!)

I wanted: "to uncover and be at peace with my decision about having a child." Although I haven't reached a decision or a place of total peace yet, I have had a major epiphany in this realm, which has helped me to understand the swirl of emotions surrounding this issue for me. I'm not ready to tell that part of my story yet, but the plot is definitely taking a few twists and turns.

I wanted: "to spend a week at a writers' retreat somewhere beautiful, comfortable, and nurturing." Earlier this year I reconnected with a writer friend from college (hi, Jamye!). Several months ago, she asked if I would be interested in joining her and some other women on a writing retreat. The details are still unfolding, but it looks like this little dream will come true the first week of November.

At least one other Mondo Beyondo dream is in the works and looks like it will become a reality. And that's just what I can see. What if all the others are unfurling in their own way and time? I don't know where my dream cottage is yet, but I'm sure it's out there.

There is more of the year behind us than in front of us, but there's always time for dreaming and scheming. What are you up to lately?

Friday
Aug012008

Life After Death


Thank you to everyone who left a comment on the last post, emailed me, or sent their support via Twitter. I appreciate each of you so much. The flurry of activity that surrounds death came to a head with yesterday's funeral. Now comes perhaps the hardest part of all: the denouement back into everyday life.

I've been removed from my normal routine for more than two weeks now, what with traveling across the country, spending days at the hospital, and grieving with family members. I'm weary in body and spirit. Trying to jump back into the fray of normal life has been hard. I long to get back to my easygoing routine that barely qualifies for the word "schedule." I want to cook dinner, weed the garden, sit on the patio, do some freelance work, laugh with my husband.

But this morning, I didn't even want to get out of bed. Still, I did. And I managed to take Gatwick the Catwick for one of his periodic haircuts, return library books (on time!), pick up a few groceries and household goods, and do two loads of laundry. This means that we now have some vegetables in the refrigerator and I won't have to shower with a paper towel, like I did this morning. I also wrote 19 words of an assignment and stared at my notes for said assignment.

I'm glad I spelled it all out like that, because I was feeling a little loser-ish and a lot overwhelmed. But now I see that I did accomplish something. Several things, in fact. One thing at a time. Living is always that way: one thing at a time.

Sunday
Jun292008

What We Call Ourselves (Part 2)


I sit down in the chair at the hair salon and Stacy, my stylist, says to me, "I have to tell you something. My name's not really Stacy." She's completely deadpan about this. I ask her if she's in the witness protection program and suggest that she not reveal her true identity. I don't want to end up at the bottom of a river somewhere. She glosses over my joke and says, "My name's not really Stacy. It's Jody."

Turns out that when Jody started working at the salon, there was already a Joni working there. And the receptionists couldn't distinguish who clients were asking for over the phone. So Jody, being the newbie, was forced to choose a new name. Thus, Stacy was born.

About a year after I started going to Stacy, Joni quit. And Stacy became Jody once more. But here's the thing: She was totally a Stacy. Even now, I sometimes have trouble remembering her real name. To me, Jody is the essence of Stacy.

What's in a name? I disagree with Shakespeare. I'm not so sure roses would still smell as sweet by any other name. Words in general, and names in particular, mean a lot to me. Just a small change in spelling affects how I perceive a word, even if the pronunciation doesn't change. For me, the words "gray" and "grey" are completely separate colors and ideas. (Grey is always much nicer, by the way.) Start mucking about with the pronunciation and my world turns topsy-turvy. An American to-may-to and a British to-mah-to might as well be completely different vegetables. (Okay, different fruits.)

What we call ourselves shapes us. Our names meld with us, becoming part of the fabric of our being. They also give us shape, acting as a sort of architecture on which other people can hang their understanding of us. Names become nearly inseparable from who we are. But what do you do if you don't feel like your name fits?

I had a friend in college named Katherine, but she went by Kat. After she graduated, she decided that Kat didn't really suit her and started calling herself Kate. That was fine for her new, post-college friends, but the rest of us had trouble letting go of Kat. I still have a hard time adding that extra "e" and remembering to make the long vowel sound in the middle. To me, Kat(e) will always be Kat, even though I honor her wish to be called Kate.

My failed attempt to rebrand myself from Jenn to Jenna wasn't the first name makeover I'd attempted. When I was much younger and people called me Jenny, I decided on "Jennie-with-an-i-e" instead of "Jenny-with-a-y." I chose that spelling, of course, because it seemed so much more sophisticated than "Jenny-with-a-y." But really, how sophisticated can the name Jenny get? It's young and cutesy. Perky, even. It's also the term for a female donkey. So essentially Jenny is an ass. It's also a type of bird, a jenny wren, which is rather sweet. (As is the Paul McCartney song of the same name.) And also? Jenny is the name of the world's oldest gorilla in captivity. It turns out that Jenny is really quite diverse.

Nowadays, the only people who still call me Jennie are a few family members and one friend from college. (She's Jessie and I'm Jennie. I think we should be characters in series of children's books about solving mysterious crimes.) The year I lived in England, people automatically shortened my name to Jenny. I'd say, "Hello, I'm Jennifer." And they'd say, "Hallo, Jenny!" I let it slide due to the accent. (That accent will let you get away with a lot. Just try it. Tell off the next person you see using a British accent and see what happens. They'll probably ask you out for fish 'n chips. Or spit on you. Proceed at your own risk.)

I never really liked my name until I discovered that it derives from Guinevere, which was Gwenhwyfar in the original Welsh. Still, I hated how commonplace Jennifer was. (This belies deep-seated insecurities, I'm sure.) When I grew out of my Jennie phase, I needed something more mature. This essentially meant that I needed something with as few syllables but as many letters as possible. And so Jennie became Jenn. I loved that second "n". I cherished it like it was my lifeline to individuality. It showed the world that although I had the most common name for girls my age, I had put some serious thought into my nickname. It gave me an edge. A certain je ne sais quoi. That's a heavy burden, even for such a stout little letter.

I still go by Jenn to almost everyone who ends up knowing me in person for longer than a month. But here's the thing: I think I might actually be a Jenna. I squashed that urge 14 years ago, but it's been floating around in the back of my consciousness ever since.

Would it be weird to start calling myself by a new name at the age of 32? Could my friends ever add that final vowel with any real level of comfort? Or would they forever be saying "Jenn" and then tacking a hasty "a"' on the end so it sounds like "Jenn...a"? In my professional and online worlds, I introduce myself as Jennifer. But when people actually call me Jennifer, it feels a bit foreign. In essence, I guess I could end up with four names: Jenn to most of my existing friends and family members; Jennie to a select few; Jennifer to business contacts; and Jenna to anyone I meet from here on out.

I'm not ready to make any changes just yet. Names get into our being. They're part of the story we tell to ourselves and about ourselves. I don't know if I can cast aside Jenn or Jennifer for Jenna. Plus, my husband is the only person who calls me Jenna. Do I want to offer up that name to just anyone, or keep it as a sort of sweet secret between us?

What do you call yourself?

Monday
Jun232008

What We Call Ourselves (Part 1)


It's the first or second week of freshman year. My new friends and I are at a college-sponsored freshman mixer, complete with dancing. Magic fills the air. It could be from the twinkly white fairy lights strung around the stone patio. More likely it's from the cosmic longing for love that can only be generated by amassing a group of lonely and slightly scared 18-year-olds. It feels like anything could happen here under the dark night sky.

We've been meeting new people for days now. I'm tired of introducing myself, mostly because nobody remembers my name. "Hi, I'm Jenn," I've said several dozen times. And always, always, they -- the boys especially -- forget. They remember everyone else but me. Allyson? No problem. Melissa? Check. Erin? Gotcha. Sara? Howdy. ...And you are?

Fed up with feeling invisible, I decide that the problem must be my name. I'm not a wallflower. In fact, sometimes I cringe at my own outspoken nature. I know I'm not the hottest girl in the dorm, but I'm pretty sure I'm not hideously ugly. (If I were, maybe people would remember my name. As in: You know, Jenn, the lady troll.) I realize that I'm fairly normal looking; a bit plain, I suppose. This, coupled with my all-too-common name, makes me forgettable.

Being named Jennifer is a curse that links me to thousands upon thousands of American girls born between 1970 and 1984, which turned out to be the extended high season for baby Jennifers. (The name spent 14 years at the very top of the charts.) If only I had a more interesting name, I reason, maybe then the boys will remember me.

So on the night of the mixer, I make a spur of the moment decision. I figure I need a new "hook;" a new "handle," as it were. Something that keeps me close enough to my roots that I remember my new name, but something with just enough zing to make me stand out in the beige sea of Jens and Jennifers. (Incidentally, I go by Jenn with two n's, but nobody asks you to spell it in conversation.) The round-the-circle introductions get to me and I blurt out, "Hi, my name's Jenna."

And my friend immediately blurts back: "It is?!?"

I don't remember what I said next, but I never introduce myself as Jenna to anyone ever again.

Fourteen years later, there is only one boy who calls me Jenna. My husband didn't go to college with me, but he always knows who I am.