Writing Group

Koseli Cummings June 27, 2017

Have you ever been in a writing group? I'm new to one. It's a small, group of only women. We meet once a month. Last night was my first time and I left feeling so inspired, excited, and happy. Despite sharing The Me in My Motherhood and Year of My People, essays I wrote on a whim I wrote for this blog in 2015, the group was super complimentary and supportive of me expanding the essays into a series. I'm so excited about the idea I think I'll start sharing monthly posts on the topic.

I'm finding more and more there's power in a group. Gotta have the accountability.

Textures

Koseli Cummings October 7, 2016

This is my first post in Artist in Motherhood Residency series. You can read more about it here.

I wonder what Vincent felt as he blended sunset hues or scraped greens of every shade. Did he ever get hungry? It's hard to imagine a genius getting hungry. I imagine him, head down, blending blending blending, then tool to canvas, deliberate and sure. Brows bunched, muscles tensed and stretched. Perfect awkwardness translating a perception in his head into an image of such depth and beauty.

When I saw these paintings this summer at the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen, I froze. I had just seen this sculpture, which is the most beautiful work of art I have ever seen. (I had just seen the original Christus, so this is saying a lot.) They were so beautiful. I had never seen these paintings by Vincent Van Gogh in any book. I felt a little miffed that I never knew these existed. As if the world had some obligation to me that I should know every work of one of the world's most famous artists. It struck me: somehow Van Gogh painted these masterpieces, in his own corner of the world, and so few (proportionally) knew or know of them. How does this happen?

Recently, we lost a family friend. Not just a family friend, but someone we really, really loved. He was like family to us. His name is Aaron. I can't say "was" because it's still surreal that he is gone. He was a really good person. So sweet. Really funny. A really weird, surprising sense of humor that bubbled out in this warm, quiet way. It manifested itself in surprising texts that truly made you LOL. When he talked to you, he really listened. He made you feel loved and cared for. He was exceptional. Above and beyond in all the things that really matter.

I'm feeling the textures of my life. The paint pushing up against the canvas, the imposing shades of light and dark. The sun setting every evening leaving exhaustion and frayed nerves, or gratitude and serenity. Perhaps it's okay if the artist admits defeat and sets the canvas aside to begin the masterpiece anew. Paint smudges on a smeared palette wait nearby.

On Salad and Motherhood

Koseli Cummings May 14, 2015

Sat down and wrote this in one spell while the baby was sleeping. Felt so good to write. Thanks for sticking around even when I write more posts in my head then I publish. xo

Last week, I made a salad that would make angels sing. No, really. And it didn't even have bacon in it. Local market arugala, organic spring mix, really good olive oil, salt, pepper, and half a lemon's juice tossed together. If I'm feeling crazy, I slice heirloom tomatoes on the side, and throw in chunks of nectarine. AMAZING. Oh my gosh. It is magic. When I eat this salad, I feel like a freaking queen. This fact could either be incredibly depressing, or you could be a person like me who's not very good about sitting down and eating your vegetables. Or food you love. In a quiet place. On your own plate, with nice utensils, an icy drink, with greedy chubby fingers no where to be seen. You could be a mother.

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In the background of my mind I'm always chanting simplify, simplify, simplify but my legs and mouth are running. I'm torn between boundless energy and depleted self, trying to direct money and time and me towards the best possible people, places, things, preschool activities, playdates, family, brands, food, freelance, etc., etc. It's a lot. Raising kids is just a lot. But it's not just raising kids; it's doing everything else you have to do on top of raising kids. And I have it so easy so I'm embarrassed to say it's challenging. If there's one thing I'm learning, and I'm only a few years in, it's that it's worth every ounce of fight, assertive push, "no", and amount of money to (re)assert your Self as a mother. You owe it to yourself. You're a person, you're awesome, you're somebody amazing regardless of your baby(ies). You love stuff, you deserve to love the stuff you love, you thrive when you follow your heart and do the stuff you love, and nobody can tell you you're bad, thoughtless, negligent, or wrong for doing just that. It's your life, your motherhood. Yours.

---

I have a thing with salads—I love them, but I've never been able to make a good one. I'll make it but it's got a million things in it and I get a few bites in and I'm like, Ugh, I kind of just want a quesadilla. It's a texture thing. It's a tired thing. (Pretty tired to be too tired to chew celery?) But then I found my new signature salad, this arugala and mixed greens with a light lemon vinaigrette and I feel so good. I feel like I found the salad I'll be serving at dinner parties for the rest of my life. I'll never have to think about what kind of salad to make, because I'll know: the arugala and mixed greens with lemon vinaigrette. It's exactly what I like, I stand 200% behind my salad, and I feel really good about feeling disproportionately passionate about a stupid salad. I love my decision that much.

---

More and more I'm realizing it's so much more about weeding out the stuff you never wanted in your salad in the first place. If you feel you've retreated, side-stepped, or even disappeared behind more colorful happenings or bigger personalities or trying toddlers or a body you don't know or friends you once had or ideas that stretch, now is the time. It's your time. Step up now. Laugh to yourself when you sit down to the most beautiful, colorful, delicate salad when you feel full and good and You. You did it. You're doing it. You do you, mama.

Lemon Arugala Salad

Fistful Organic arugala

Fistful Organic spring mix

1/2 Organic lemon, squeezed

Drizzle Olive oil

Dash salt

Dash pepper

Toss and enjoy.

You're here now.

Koseli Cummings January 29, 2015

There isn't a moment that goes by that I don't wonder what I should be doing. Should I be working full-time? Should I share that post? Maybe the dishes instead of laundry? Can I write? Is another show too much? When's the last time we ate, Does anyone know what time it is?, Is it more than a cold? One commitment, or another. There are so many, but sometimes it feels like there's not enough. A dear friend once told me her mom would always say, You'll fill whatever time you have. Isn't that the truth? But when you attempt to trace the points of, I did this, or Oh, I finished that, it's hard to recall. Or is it hard to recall for just me? (I'm so tired.)

Something I didn't realize before I had kids is that you can't just teach your kids how to sleep. I mean, you can, in like a hundred different ways and those can really, really help but babies are still people (I forget that.) and sometimes they can't be put down like sleeping robots only to wake up after the sun is up twelve hours later. There's nightmares, wet diapers, thirst, strange noises. It all adds up to a wail from the other room, or pitter patter feet to the bathroom. (Or our room.)

I don't want to look back on now and think, I wish I had been there more. I'm here all the time but I don't want to have regrets. I think the only way to fulfill that wish it remind myself every day. You're here now. They're this little now. It doesn't have to be perfect, the hard stuff is temporary, it's already gotten easier. Look at his baby hands. Look at his brother's slappy feet and easy smile. Look at that backwards shirt, those rosy cheeks, smell them they smell like outside. It's going to go by so fast. I know it. Hold on.

Yesterday our oldest slipped out the back door and when he looked back to see if I saw him, I laughed. He smirked at me and said, "Mom, what's wrong with your eyes? I can't see your eyes when you waf." Later that day, when we put the baby down for bed, he jubilantly yelled, "Nite nite Sondre Star Sondre! Wuv you!" and Sondre solemnly waved, waved, waved back at his brother, sleepy and just as serious about their nighttime traditions as his brother. Si trotted his brother's warm bottle up the stairs because "it's too heavy for you, mama. Too heavy when you have to carry Sondre too." and pushed it over the top of the crib bars, into the bed, just where Sondre would find it.

There are few things that feel clear when my head is tired, but I feel so full. I feel so lucky. It turns out Year of My People is a team effort.

Year of My People, and Sibling Love

Koseli Cummings January 8, 2015

The boys are asleep and the house hums with the sounds of the dishwasher, Sarah Sample lullabies, and the train in the distance. Our house is always a little cold—single paned windows and what I guess to be zero installation in an old two story. I love this house. I want to do so much with it and at the same time I'm letting it settle. Figure out exactly what I want.

Si started preschool this week. A part-time set-up close to home with kind teachers, an indoor treehouse, and lots and lots of outdoor time. We picked him up in the sunny afternoon and I saw him before he saw me. He was talking with a little girl, perched on a bike much to small for him, his hair gelled and a peanut butter smear on his right cheek. He looked a little sun drunk, a look I know and love. (A signature Silas look when he's played outside long and hard, just the way I like it.) She was telling him something with persistence, he responded with confident staring and a few words I couldn't hear. Then, he glanced over and saw me, looked away, then looked again. It's like I could see him shifting worlds. His new 'school world' and his 'home world'.

All he's ever known is his home world. Keenan and I. And for the last year, Sondre. Friends have come and gone, apartments, playgrounds, cousins, even grandparents as we traveled and trekked the first three years of his life to pursue career opportunities. I'd like to think we helped him see a kind side of the bigger world—exploring New York City together since he was three days old. (Even the taxi ride to the hospital in active labor was exciting.) He's played on the carousel in Central Park, eaten chocolate ice cream under the The Brooklyn Bridge, chased pigeons in Strawberry Fields, learned to hold on just so on the subway. Not uncharacteristically, our move across the country hasn't been a big deal for him. He's adaptable, observant, and most of all, a really chill guy. But it all comes back to home.

Once, on an awful, awful mom day, where I yelled and cried and looked at the clock one million times, I saw Silas as a person. (A three-year-old person with no pants and chiclet teeth, but still, a person.) I realized that this is his whole world. This. Us. Our House. What we do at home. What he eats in the morning. His favorite show. His favorite grey lounge pants. Books. His blankets, his sippy cup, the toilet even. The way he likes to ring the doorbell and the bond he feels with our car. The things he learns at church, his friends, his observations that are never more than an armslength (it seems)—from me. From both of us. I was so ashamed. It's like I betrayed the sacred trust he and I had that it's about people first. Us. Us first. Then everything and everybody else after. It's love first and then everything else. I had forgotten that most important thing somewhere between hangry, bored distraction and mopey, self-inflicted creative unfulfillment.

Now they share a room. Just yesterday I pushed their beds to nearly touching. Brothers. They sleep better together. We sleep better having them together, down the hall. (I get teary even saying brothers, gah.)Maybe sibling love will help fill in the parental gaps?

For 2015, my goal is People first, everything else after. I love changes and I know 2015 will bring many. I feel grateful for that. That my life is full enough that there are peaks and dips and things happening all the time. I love living like that. Keeps you on your toes. 2015 will be the Year of My People (<in big banner letters>). Also, I'm going to eat more vegetables (specifically leafy greens), become a blog or magazine contributor again(on the hunt!), and publish something(in print I hope!). I'm excited.

By the hair of your tiny mullet

Koseli Cummings December 9, 2014

He turned one in October, walked in November, pointed in December. Four teeth and a whisp of fluff. And I didn't write a thing. Me. The writer. Writer. The journal keeper. Everyone tells you how much busier you'll be when you have another but I've been living that flurry and haven't resurfaced to report just how true that is. The demands never end. If insanity is it to be avoided, then you have to dig deep and find some kind of lever so you can shut off your brain and be okay with everything around sitting half undone and a little behind. It's hard if you're a perfectionist; it's hard if you're not. It's hard if you work; it's hard if you don't. I feel like I'm constantly rallying myself—my own cheerleader, coach, shin guards, Neosporin. Never has anything taught me more self-reliance than being a mom. Most of the time I feel fine and feel like we're doing an okay job raising our humans. But some nights before bed I take the thought step by step until the weight of raising a couple chubby babies who are always with me turns into raising responsible children, then teenagers, then adults and on and on. The impossibilities, the fears of something happening to them, the things I lack or am not teaching them. There's not enough Rocky Road in the world to help me figure it out. I've already picked out a couple people I know for sure could raise my kids better than I can. The hope is that somewhere between the tantrums and the cartoons and the scrambled eggs all over the floor is a love that links what I lack and what they need. We can only hope.

Quentin Blake's House of Illustration

Koseli Cummings July 19, 2014

The House of Illustration in England will be the first place totally devoted to illustration as an art form. We have Quentin Blake to thank for that, signature illustrator behind the Road Dahl books. His drawings paint my childhood and pre-teen years when I was a shy-away-from-home bookworm. I'll always love the authors who wrote the books that kept me company then. Forever favorite.

P.S. Heard this news through a friend's Twitter, Bret Helquist. Also an insanely talented illustrator.

Maria Kalman on Portrait of Creativity

Koseli Cummings July 17, 2014

I'm a huge fan of Maria Kalman. This Portrait of Creativity video is an insightful interview into her life growing up, creative inspiration, her love of New York City, and some of her recent projects, like the book out called Girls Standing on Lawns. Meeting her at a Creative Mornings a couple of years ago was one of my bucket list moments. She told me she loved my name, we chatted for a minute about New York, and she signed my illustrated Elements of Style book. Pinch me.

Reports on the Afterlife by Kurt Vonnegut

Koseli Cummings July 12, 2014

Last weekend, I listened to a radio show on WNYC while I cleaned out my boys' closet. Between sorting onesies and wool sweaters, and trying to match tiny shoes and old socks, I heard Kurt Vonnegut's 1998 recorded interviews with "the dead, or almost dead". He wrote short fictionalized clips for WNYC where he talks about traveling through a blue tunnel to meet up with various deceased characters. He meets a woman on death row; Dr. Kevorkian; Lee Harvey Oswald; a woman who's obituary was botched by the New York Times. They're political, opinionated, understated, funny, and dark. What timing and word choice. If you want something brain-stirring, or something to do while you're cleaning out a closet that smells like "old house", this is a good pick.

P.S. I have a secret wish to host a podcast or write for radio one day.

Trouvé Magazine

Koseli Cummings January 13, 2014

Lately we've been thinking a lot about 'home' and what it means to really—I mean really—love your home and neighborhood. I think the things we love have evolved over time, and changed as we've moved across the country and our family has grown. There are the physical bones of our home—the exposed brick, the wood flooring, the slightly slanted threshold—and there are the sentimental bones that really mean so much more. Like, where I was standing when I found out we got the job or where the baby took his first steps. We have yet to own our own home, but I can proudly say we've made every apartment our own, even if we knew it was pretty temporary. I like a house to feel like it's ours, with our things on the mantel and our pictures on the wall. I need that to feel settled and secure and in place.

I recently discovered the online magazine, Trouvé. Have you heard of it? I'm skeptical of online long-form reading because I truly prefer to read printed magazines but Trouve blew me away. It has me completely rethinking online magazines. Trouvé Magazine "celebrates a creative lifestyle and those who live it" and even though this is their first issue, it felt like they've fully developed that message in a sincere and wholesome way throughout every article and image. I especially loved the article about 'home' featuring Caroline Lott's beautifully decorated home.

A home is a second skin, the one that protects and identifies. It is not just bed and bath—it is our distinctiveness and our gift to others. We "open our home" and find we are also baring our soul's character. With each invitation, that character will soften, brighten, and quake for more of such goodness. Such light.

Other articles include tips on creating a rustic winter gathering with friends (with a slow-cooker recipe that looks delicious and super easy), an interview with John French and the Bastilles, and there's even a link to an amazing winter playlist. This is a curl-up-on-the-couch-with-a-cup-of-tea type of read. And honestly, I'd be more than happy to pay to read it. I really can't wait for the second issue. You can read Issue I here on your iPad, desktop, or mobile phone.

A New Year

Koseli Cummings January 3, 2014

I'm not much for New Year's resolutions. I tend to pick at myself—and others—far too much, so the idea of resolutions is great in theory but only sad in reality. However, I do try to think of an idea or a theme for myself at the end of the year. Something that I don't guilt myself about, but something I can stay mindful of throughout the year, and ultimately, I hope, for the rest of my life. I want to reverse the the new year's resolution idea from something I know I will fail at, into a broader, more encompassing feeling or mindfulness that I won't forget or hate myself for occasionally misstepping. I think there's room for being more kind to ourselves, always. (Honestly, that's been the theme of my 20s--learning to treat myself more kindly.) On the other hand, I do love a good solid goal and trust me, I have a few of those. (See new running shoes and healthy eating the last two days. Yay!) I'm excited about them. I feel energized just thinking about the process of achieving them. But I'm leaving them open and flexible. And private, because I'm just kind of like that.

This last year was another year of incredible learning. We experienced ups and downs but we came out on top and I can honestly say 2013 was a very special, good, good year for us. It started out in a total blur—the first four or five months of pregnancy are a total mess for me because I'm so sick and not myself. But it was so worth it for little Sondre and a really amazing, smooth birth that I will forever be grateful for. We love this new little boy so much. Close behind was our epic summer where I kind of dropped everything and did all the fun things I could think of with Silas. It was amazing. I think it was my favorite New York summer yet. I had the realization that it was our final stretch with just the two of us and I wasn't going to let it pass lightly by. We were going to go out in a bang, because I knew the two kids thing was going to be much, much harder logistically in the city. (That has proved very true. Oh man.) We swam, went to the beach, went to the playground every day, adventured in the city, flew home to visit family, went on early morning bagel runs and late night ice cream runs, watched stars out our bedroom window, read and sang and prayed before bedtime, and watched lots of high-entertainment, low-quality tv. It was awesome.

I had a million ideas and so many hopes for this blog and only executed one—Sondre—but I am at peace with that because the time I spent with Si and Keenan this last year was special. Our daily life together was simple; we supported Keenan completely; and I focused my energy on taking care of myself, my family, and being content. I have to read and write to feel half myself so I continued to write for Design Mom (my dream job), and began contributing weekly on sweetie Erin Loechner's new site, Clementine Daily (another dream job). The timing was right for me to pull back and focus on our Cummings microcosm. And I loved it. I have no regrets.

But I love a new year. A new season. I love to move the furniture, switch out a few pillows, scribble in my journal, and take note of where we're going. Honestly, by the time the holidays are over, I'm ready for the next thing. I'm super excited for our next chapter. And I'm really excited to share pieces of that here on Original Archiving.

Thank you so much for coming along. I can't wait to share more discoveries with you all—from design and illustration, to internet goodies that are too good to pass up; to personal anecdotes, book recommendations, new brands, and tips about city living. I'll go where the winds (my ever-changing interests) take me and I think that as long as I'm feeling it, you'll feel it too. Best wishes for 2014, dear friends. It's going to be a good one. I can feel it. xo

Don't Let Olivia Pope Stop You From Reading

Koseli Cummings November 21, 2013

framing_a_story-30ed60d0638874fe2629163fbbe23495b2c4bdff-s51.jpg

Image via NPR.

"I think stories are necessary, just as necessary as food and love. It's how we make meaning of our lives." — Chimamanda Adichie

I want to learn something new every day. Lately I've been feeling a little lost intellectually — partially because I have a three-week old (but mostly because I recently discovered Scandal (Olivia Pope's outfits!!)), my brain has regretfully shrunk. I'm also a big reader but just haven't been keeping up with my typical reading schedule. I'm really feeling it. But. I discovered the TED Radio Hour on NPR. Do you listen to it? The most recent show surrounded the topic of stories:

Stories ignite our imagination, let us leap over cultural walls and cross the barriers of time. They affirm who we are, and allow us to experience the similarities between ourselves and others. In this hour, TED speakers explore the art of storytelling — and how good stories have the power to transform our perceptions of the world.

I could not agree more. More times than I can count, a story (whether it be from the lips of someone I know, or from words on a page) has altered my judgement, pricked my humanity, and I hope I can truly say — changed my life. I cannot wait to dive into these segments, learn, and feel a little deeper about the chemistry and purpose of storytelling.

But only after I'm caught up on Season 3.

On Selfies, Social Media, and the Days app

Koseli Cummings October 2, 2013

I've been rolling this post around in my head for months but it wasn't until today that it felt like it all came together. I'm hardly the early-adopter tech guru or social media socialite, but I think that's why my opinion can and does matter. Pictured above is a shortened grid view of September 16, 2013. Highlight of the day? A trip to the pediatrician for his two-year appointment. (But really the walk to and from, which is beautiful.) For him? That sucker. Pictures below were all taken by me on various days from the last 218 I've posted on Days. I will not lie: Scrolling through hundreds of pictures to find a few made me cry and feel incredibly grateful for my sweet family and our wonderful life. Wow.

I'm not a 'selfies' person. You know, flipping my iPhone camera around and snapping photos of my cute new haircut or oversized sunglasses while fellow New Yorkers snicker as they brush past me. I'm eternally embarrassed of taking pictures of myself. I think I'm fine looking and happy with myself generally (despite an ever-growing baby belly) but I really don't see the point or want to take the time. Or I didn't. But now I do.

A few days ago, I glanced at Days, like I do everyday, and realized I'd reached 218 days posted. No fanfare, no likes, no free stuff. Just a little button that read 218. It gave me pause. I began scrolling back through my feed, through time, re-living my favorite moments from the last four months. For every photo there was a small memory, and a picture in my mind that I had not just photographed but remembered. Each was a mental link to a memory to a another memory. Reviewing the pictures stirred up super sweet memories of my son beginning to talk, Springtime in New York, final goodbyes, cutting off 15 inches of my hair and a modeling casting for Si (so weird!), my June birthday, finding out the gender of our second child in a small dark hospital room, and all the learning and emotions that go along with working and raising a family.

There was also a second birthday for our little boy and a growing baby bump. And then there were the five months of morning sickness and exhaustion and the frustration with just not feeling like a functioning human being, because I was growing one. It was cathartic, (like re-watching a familiar and favorite movie that I had seen a thousand times). I crave that thoughtfulness and quiet and it's difficult to find a device or technology or app that can actually facilitate that in my own busy life.

I'm not an over-sharer (I think?) but I find myself utilizing Days like a personal record. I take pictures of my house, clean or dirty; 90% of my pictures are of my son and I don't give a second thought as to whether that's "baby picture overload" or whatever; my captions are sometimes personal/sometimes matter-of-fact; sometimes my days are "fully" recorded; sometimes just a single moment to mark that the day had passed What I'm getting at is that I don't feel social pressure or performance stress from Days. That makes me want to yell with happiness and say, This is it! This is not Facebook! This is not Instagram! because it is so refreshing to just be and let be. I feel like I have real ownership of how I use it and it feels so good. There's no set standard or Days etiquette—it feels like unchartered waters and the privacy settings and interface allow it stay like that. You could take a million pictures and filter the heck out of every photo and seriously create the most beautiful keepsake to print/tweet/share to everyone you know. Or, you could share your Days with the one person who knows you best as a way to keep in touch that no text or status update could rival. The user has the power to iterate and interpret the app like none I've ever seen. I am so excited to see what's around the bend in Version II.

(And yes, I take lots of pictures of food. Just like everybody else. :))

To Stay Conscious and Alive, Day In and Day Out

Koseli Cummings May 16, 2013

After a particularly long, dull, blah mom/woman/wife/person day, Keenan shared this video with me. A commencement address by David Foster Wallace, clipped into its key messages and made into a short film. It's spread like wildfire and I now know why.

It is about simple awareness — awareness of what is so real and essential, so hidden in plain sight all around us, that we have to keep reminding ourselves, over and over: “This is water, this is water.” It is unimaginably hard to do this, to stay conscious and alive, day in and day out.

It turned everything upside down, for the better. This may be the best way you spend nine minutes today.

Thank you, David Foster Wallace. Reading these words stings of tragedy since the world lost you, but we'll remember your sage advice in the dullest, or hardest, or happiest times, and say to ourselves, This is water, This is water.

P.S. — I also featured this video and quote on Design Mom today. The comments remind me how similar we all really are.

The World is Too Much With Us: Late and Soon

Koseli Cummings March 20, 2013

"THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US; LATE AND SOON"

          THE world is too much with us; late and soon,
          Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
          Little we see in Nature that is ours;
          We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
          The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
          The winds that will be howling at all hours,
          And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
          For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
          It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
          A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;                         10
          So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
          Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
          Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
          Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

1806.

I recently read a beautiful post commenting on our cultural tendency toward wearing "busyness" as badge. I ended up making a very long-winded comment on the post and thinking about the purpose and place of productivity and work all day long. Amy also included this beautiful poem by William Wordsworth. Will's always laying it down, right?

Do you find yourself apologizing for not being busy enough? Do you think you're too busy? The more I thought about busyness the more ridiculous the word sounded and clouded the meaning became.

TGIF

Koseli Cummings February 15, 2013

Happy Friday everyone. I'm not feeling super great today but, it's sunny(!) outside and warmish so that's working wonderful magic for my winter blues.

I'm feeling happy for the weekend so we can slow down and catch up on The Mindy Project (crucial), some baby proofing, and a little decorating around our apartment. Hope you have a good one! Here's my favorite posts from around the internet this week, and, this past week's posts on Design Mom.

Social Media Etiquette by Design Sponge: Follow the 1/3 Rule: Personal, Promotion, Resource and you'll be good as gold. I love following smart, positive people on Twitter. I like hearing about your new projects and blog posts and I love when you share others' work that is super cool, too. I like a little funny and an occasional picture is great too.

City Sage: Anne Sage's Letter to Valentine's Day (Anyone else love Anne, too? I think she's so great.)

Besotted Blog, a new favorite of mine. I love her Pinterest Curator series. It's lovely!

And on Design Mom—

Louise Fili Postage Stamp, with a sweet personal thought in the comments from Gabrielle (a.k.a. Design Mom herself) about her interview with Louise when she lived in New York. I LOVED this so much!

A Peter Pan Collar. A crochet pattern for a little girl collar, or adapt for adult. So cute!

Valentino Spring 2013. Gorgeous dresses, of course.

Tiny Room Series. Because I am obsessed with miniature everything. Tiny suitcases!

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Valentine's Day 'Come Hither' Haiku

Koseli Cummings February 14, 2013

Happy Valentine's Day!

Last year, two friends and I collaborated on a secret love project we dubbed 'Come Hither Haiku'. We pulled together some love tips and tricks, I wrote the haiku, Linsey designed them, and Mara shared them with the world, because after all, her blog is all about love. We're bringing them back this year for a very special Valentine's Day present for you. You can print them, cut them up, and tuck them in your special someone's shoes, put on their car window with a flower, or hide in their pillow case. Or add them to the special gift you're already giving tonight. Or email privately, mail snail mail, post to Facebook, or pin them on a secret board that you invite only your love crush to, or for the daring, pin them to your underpinnings. (Ha!)

I love this day. Though I tease about these haiku, I really love Valentine's because it's about expressing love and appreciation to all the people we don't know what we'd do without. And, for doing something special for ourselves. I love the saying, "Treat yourself gently" and today that especially applies. Happy Valentine's, friends! Hope it's a very special one.

Dockwood, a graphic novel by Jon McNaught

Koseli Cummings February 7, 2013

Do you read graphic novels? My husband does and I've slowly become more and more curious. Everything about them blows my mind. It's difficult for me to understand how someone could have the patience and skill to illustrate each tiny box. Is that just me sounding like such a lazy American?

Dockwood looks so beautiful. It would make the perfect gift for a reader, designer, or art lover.

Write a Personal Manifesto

Koseli Cummings February 5, 2013

How do we know who we are if we don't declare it?

Write a personal manifesto.

Per Jasmine's encouragement at Alt Summit, I'm writing my own personal manifesto. As a copywriter, words are how I best visualize what I am, what makes me unique, and what I'm about. I've written brand mission statements and manifestos for huge corporations as well as one person Etsy shops, and it always surprises me how quickly they focus a brand's vision, design, and identity. They can be internal or external. A manifesto details exactly what the brand stands for in straightforward, concise language. The voice reflects the brand. They're always written, but can be presented visually. I love Kinfolk's manifesto film. Nike's always the best, too. When you start to lose sight of your original vision or are lacking inspiration, it can be a reference point, a sentimental founding, and a grounding statement to get back on track.

Do you have a personal manifesto? A business manifesto? A family mission statement? Is it private or do you share it? A personal or business manifesto can be a wonderful jumping point for a powerful About Page. If you'd like help, I write manifestos.

Shakespeare, Illustrated

Koseli Cummings December 17, 2012

Every summer we go to Shakespeare in the Park. It's an annual reminder that this city is magical and that I should stay. We go early and wait in line, talking and hanging out. Then we buy a tuna sandwich at the cafe which comes with Rick's Picks pickled green beans and pickles and take our seats. At our first play, it was opening night of Twelfth Night. Anne Hathaway was the lead. A raccoon darted across the stage during the shipwreck and the entire audience giggled like happy-drunk children. Crickets chirped, the sun set bloody orange behind the outdoor stage, and Hem serenaded the night. Hugh Jackman and his wife sat four rows in front of us and after the show, he dropped his tickets on the ground and we picked them up, hyped on Shakespeare and perfect moments. I don't know what we did with the tickets.

Buy these beautiful illustrated plays here