Sarah Rebecca Leu. Age 6

This is "My Book About Me", circa 1979.

Written by a 6-year old kindergarten girl named Sarah Rebecca Leu. (That's me.)

The book is full of facts about me including where I lived, my favorite things, how many forks I had in my house, etc. I filled it in with my big fat adorable kindergarten writing. It sits on my studio bookshelf and I get a kick out of perusing it from time to time.

One of the most important things in a little girl's life is her favorite color. Though I still enjoy pingk and all colors, greegn is my preference today. Tomorrow it might be glurple and the next day something different.

Art is still my favorite subject just as "Hurt 101: Introduction to Emotional and Physical Pain" is my least favorite subject. I'm a very good student if it's something that interests me. I am interested in gobs of different subjects at any given moment and it changes constantly, as I get bored quickly and thrive on finding new brain stimulation. A handful of current obsessions include learning yoga, finding inner peace, clean eating, old R&B music, "Friday Night Lights", the victorian era, drawing with a black Sharpie, how to make my bulging arm veins look smaller, raccoons, this blog and this blog. I am an awful student if I have to figure out board game instructions, read a chick lit novel, follow driving directions, talk politics, or organize my junk drawer.

I still have several of my 6-year old girl qualities. This can be good, and not so good.

GOOD (the short, but very important list):

• My imagination

NOT SO GOOD

• Attention span
• Impulsiveness
• Not wanting to shower
• Paint/marker stained hands
• Spilling my almond milk, water, or whatever is in my cup.
• Finding dried food on my face several hours after consumption
• Finding dried food on my face the day after consumption
• Talking in robot voice to my family which used to generate smiles but now annoys them because once I start I can't stop.
• Talking in an English accent so I can feel sophisticated. This too, annoys everyone but me and goes something like this:

"Mom, stop it!"

"Why no dahlings, I'm bloody mahd and I musn't stope untel you clean up yoah bahthroom".

"Pleeeeeeeeease Mom! AAAARRRRRRG!"

"My. superiors. told. me. i. can. stop. if. the. little. human. with. blue. eyeballs. will. push. my. reset. button."

"Not the robot! Stop all the voices!"

Sometimes I am a 6-year old in a body 31 years my senior. Only my family and a select few of my close friends see 6-year old Sarah. If you met me, you would think I was friendly and outgoing and I pull off 30-something very well.

As I said before, drawing has been on my study list so I've been goofing around with a single black Sharpie and learning how to digitally color said drawings, along with writing and letting my imagination wander into the 6-year old world of Sarah Leu.

Because zebras enjoy straws even more than I do.

We would also shoot trap wearing our matching ripped-at-the-shoulder plaid flannels and trim the split ends on each other's mullets. If I can keep my 6-year old attention span focused, I'd like to create a series of "If I Had a..."

Only this blind, wise owl knows when the world is really going to end. And when my PMS is going to start.

Sushi had a difficult time keeping friends because she was such a square. I enjoy making up nonsense like ridiculous names and combining things that just don't go together like Beatles songs and geometry.

Many of the items I sell in my vintage shop come with a story. Some of these become drawings like the one above, inspired by these slippers.

I try hard to see my cup half full as much as possible, but I absolutely have those moments when it is half empty or evaporated. Whether it's full or empty, it's almost always upside-down.

I moonlight as a professional dreamer.

When I wake up with a zit the size of a unicorn horn, I feel like Hattie. Have I mentioned that I love dark humor? Except when it's on my face.

I find the strange quirks, qualities and habits of people so charming. I did this drawing for a friend of mine who is not bipolar, nor a polar bear. She does, however, hate goat cheese and tissue boxes.

For a friend who cannot start her morning without a Mountain Dew.

Purple rain was pouring down all over him in his previous dream. Prince was holding the umbrella.

Old Blue Eyes on the ipod makes me want to croon in front of my mirror wearing my fedora. (Hey mirror, wanna hang out Friday?)

I'm a sucker for dots and plaid. And fuzzy caterpillars.

Totally crushing on Bill Withers lately. "Lovely Day" has been playing on repeat an awful lot. When Bill Withers is singing to me that he is going to have a lovely day just by looking at me, it makes my knees quiver. Drawing people has always been something that scares me.

Now when I get scared to draw people or share my art, I will tell my shadow to back the hell off and go annoy a peacock. And then I will draw people. Take that, scared self.

It would be even more fun if Yes came with.

My name is Sarah.

I think life can be much more inspiring and joyful if you look at the world through the eyes of your 6-year old silly and curious self.

I say put on your best pingk glow and give it a go.

Germ Freak

Sweet Love has pinkeye. Gross, green gunk oozing out of his nearly 6-year old eyes.

Today I had to drag him to one of my most feared places on earth.

The clinic.

I have no problem dumpster diving, digging through a barn scattered with mouse crap or bug infested basements looking for treasures. Hell no. I love that. I just know I'm more likely to catch acute nasopharyngitus from the pen that I used at the check-in counter of the clinic versus the filthy turn-of-the-century pharmacy bottles that I found laying in a dusty basement.

You see, I am a bit neurotic about germs.

I am the girl who quickly analyzes which door handle will have the least amount of sick germs on it before I grab it. {The furthest door on the left because more people enter on the right using the left hand door because more people are right handed} and then wrap my sleeve to grab it or use just my pinky finger. If I had better balance I'd probably open doors with my feet. It's always a good day if I can time it when someone else is going in and I can breeze through 3 inches behind them.

I am the girl who, if you have a snotty nose and phlegmy cough and enter my house, will disinfect the door handle and/or anything else you have touched after you leave.

I am the girl who only touches an elevator button with her knuckle.

I am the girl who would never, ever come close to anything in public that is constantly touched by people. I balance on escalators and cringe when my kids and husband grab hold of the rail. Then I see them touch their nose and I want to die.

I am the girl who goes into cardiac arrest when the kids come home from school and tell me someone threw up in their class. Followed by the question, "Honey, did you play with Suzie Throwup today? How far away do you sit from her?"

I am the girl who will do as much self diagnosing online as possible, so I can remedy the sickness without going into the clinic. Unfortunately, my PhD is in Family Guy episodes and not medicine so I cannot prescribe the drugs necessary to cure what ails me and my family. Since some cases of conjunctivitis call for eye drops, I had to plummet to the depths of germ hell for over an hour with Sweet Love and his green goop.

I scan the waiting room for the safest place to sit.

Not anywhere near the nose blowers.

We will sit in a galaxy far, far away from the lady hunched over with sunglasses on. Something tells me this is not just a hangover.

Sweet Love and I settle down across from an elderly lady with a walker and oxygen tank. Other than her breathing machine, she looks healthy as a horse, so I probably won't get some airborne virus by sitting across from her. She looks adorable dressed in a white nightgown with the predictable curly-white-old-lady-hair complemented by her white pasty skin. As I listen to the rhythmic hissing of her breathing machine, my gaze goes down to her feet.

Right below her age spotted cankles I see the shoes. A pair of killer old school moccasins with a beaded eagle motif. She has no idea the shoes she is wearing are super duper cool. She doesn't give a crap because at this stage in life, she's going for comfort.

I love her. This adorable little old lady with breathing machine and sweet kicks.

I wonder what her life story is.

Then I smile.

And I forget about germs for awhile.

My Play Room

A peek from the entrance to my newly redecorated work and play room.

A 1970 talking Cat in the Hat puppet was the last touch on my studio makeover.

I recently impulsively bought this well used and loved talking puppet and I am completely smitten. His perfectly sly smirk, crazy yellow eyes and non working pull string compliment his ratty tatty dirtballness. He sits on top of my desk lamp.

I am so in love with my new studio.

I did an overhaul and made my messy, unorganized, work space into something more inspiring.

Something that reflects my store aesthetic and my creative side.

A place where I can work and be productive.

But also, where I can play.

My studio (which now resembles Pee Wee's Playhouse on crack) is not only where Sweet Love Vintage happens, but it's where my imagination, inner artist, closet geek side, and quirky sense of humor hang out.

My window valance is made up of old game boards and school flash cards.

My wall of books containing mainly art books, reference books, and includes books by some of my favorite artists/authors: Seuss, Shel Silverstein, Edward Gorey, Brian Andreas, Andy Warhol and Marc Johns.

Vintage toys and tiny things used for my photography props line the blue metal shelves. I wallpapered the wall behind them in vintage piano music.

Sweet Love piano music cover sheet is my welcome sign at the door and an old Cricket chalkboard is hung for little reminders.

Near the ceiling I hung white lights and a teal feather boa. I spray painted cheap paper stencils from a local home improvement store and hung them with mini wood clothespins. Sweet Love and Curious are code for my two sons. The huge bulletin board will have an ever changing display of inspiration.

The flash card with the word neat on my bulletin board is rather ironic. I am a complete mess when I work. I usually have several projects going on at once on my desk. I take stuff out and don't put it away, then I take more stuff out. Repeat. It starts to look like a landfill of art supplies, dust, post-its, and vintage paraphernalia. The state my studio is in right now is heavenly. It's so clean and organized I don't even know where to start. And unfortunately, I can't find anything because it's all put away. This is out of my element. When I wander through the door I turn catatonic. I just sit at my desk and look around as I am mesmerized and instantly inspired by all the colors and silliness. I immediately think of things I want to work on, but I'm scared to take stuff out.

I know as soon as I start one thing, just one little creative endeavor, I'm going to fuck it all up with my messy shenanigans. I am, indeed, like the mischievous Cat in the Hat, and will trash this room in an instant.

My desk will never, ever look like this again. Now matter how hard I try, I know myself better than that. I just want it to look this way a tiny bit longer. I might sit in my catatonic state while drooling and blowing spit bubbles a few more times before I start tearing it up.

If only my Cat in the Hat puppet would have come with a couple of blue haired Things and a big, red, noisy cleaning machine.

His Dynamic Industrial Renovating Tractormajigger.

To clean up after my messy shenanigans.

Much Needed

I needed today. A day with my curious kid.

Curious, myself, and my 4 wheels.

On a spontaneous antique hunting road trip.

No plan, random stops, several treats

and very intellectual conversation

like much we love Pop Rocks

and why they crackle.

Which I couldn't answer.

Here he is drooling over antique coins:

I was busy drooling over a $1500 Victorian mourning shadow box filled with an artistic preservation of human hair. It was so fascinating I couldn't get away from it.

I also couldn't get away from my strange obsession with trying to find vintage marionette puppets. Something I've been looking for since I saw some "dancing" in a perfectly decorated restaurant.

I need them for my studio.

Like I needed that weird looking plush cat with weird looking plush eyeballs. Like something from a plush circus freak show. A force took over and I purchased this lonely weird plush doll.

Maybe it's because sometimes I feel lonely and weird.

"Mom! Come! On! I gotta show you this coin!"

This snaps me out of my looking-for-marionette-puppet-hyperfocus.

Even though I'm not passionate about coins, I appreciate and understand his excitement. I enjoy sharing this with him.

He came home treasuring his new (old) coins.

I came home treasuring the time we spent together.

That kid rocks.

Rocks more than a colossal mountain of Pop Rocks.

Letters To Edith

April 2nd, 1925.

A letter, addressed to Edith, is postmarked with that date.

There were many, many, many letters addressed to her. Boxes of them. Years of them.

Edith was a major-league saver.

She kept every single note, letter, card, and newspaper clipping that she ever received.

Including sweet ephemera like this innocent love note from her classmate Keith.

She bound them in pretty ribbons,

taped them in scrapbooks,

and put them in boxes.

This is Edith.

Or at least, I think it's Edith.

I never knew her. But it was neat to get a sense of who she was (packrat) at her estate sale.

All these written words clearly meant a lot to her, so in no way was I going to let those beautiful handwritten letters make it to a dumpster.

Edith would not have been happy about that.

I divided them into 4 collections and placed them in the shop.

A unique montage of letters, cards and notes to peruse, display, or use in some creative way.

I could waste an entire day reading them.

Screw the novels on the NY Times best seller list.

I'm reading letters to Edith.

Me Loves

Loves me.

Loves me not.

Loves me.

Me loves the Hipstamatic iphone camera app.

Hipstamatic iphone app loves me,

loves me not,

loves me. back.

Hipsta brings out my ridiculous playful side.

He doesn't judge my dork side. He embraces it.

I am so charmed by Hipsta's old school qualities.

and I don't mind when he over-exposes himself.

Here I am holding my Academy Award

for Best Supporting Goofball in a Self Photographer Series.

Which I dedicated to Hipsta, my biggest supporter.

He sat proudly in the front row.

Beaming though his lens and clapping loudly.

First Born Curious. The End.

I excel in procrastinating.

I also excel in obsessively working on a task until complete.

Once I decide to get 'er done.

(Larry the Cable Guy is way overrated. As is his overdone phrase I used annoyingly above.)

Here is the final product of my almost-10-year-old-curious-boy's-bedroom:

Probably the only time it will be a nicely made bed.

Curious and I both stinkaroo at bed making. Workin on it.

Well, he is. Me? Not so much.

I've never really understood the art of daily bed making.

Someday I'd like to learn it. But I've got better things to do for now.

Painted a section of black wall behind the bed to ground it in the room.

Added an old barnwood frame with a display of curiosities.

Wrote some random words around the perimeter of the paint with white chalk.

Next to the bed he has lots of places to store his gatherings:

A view directly across from the bed. His coin collecting desk area.

His favorite coins went into plain frames that he can easily access.

Fake wood clipboards are the el-cheapo version to display stuff.

No need for an expensive built-in window seat.

A set of wood and metal schoolhouse chairs does the job. Scored the whole set for $10:

His collections and curiosities are displayed on the black shelves in front of the black window wall. I wanted it dark so the objects would pop.

The 6 foot antique snakeskin mount became an unusual window dressing.

Not my original plan, but not planning is typical for me.

So is spilling food on myself daily.

I adhered vintage game cards around the window trim and Mr. Puffer hangs from Mr. Snake.

Last, but not least...

This is for the peeps who thought there's no way an old elk leg could look cool:

I know you're out there. And you still may not think dat's cool.

It's okay because I like it. Plus Curious is the only one I need to please.

And Curious loves it.

His room.

All of it.