New Awesome Plan

Run away to become a Gypsy.

If you have known me a long time, or were my kindergarten sunday school teacher*, you know that this is a possibility I've been contemplating for years.

In an incredibly thorough (and obviously logical discussion) I worked this out with my friend Liz earlier today:

Me: I want to be a gypsy. The End.
Liz: hahahaha. but seriously. amazing.
Me: mean. i really always have wanted that
let's consider this: 
1) lots of driving?  love it
2) journey to many different places? great
3) travel with your dearest friends/family awesome
4) wear pieces of mirror in your hair and play sexy violin music   ... hmm, sure?

Now, I know what you're thinking at this point of the discussion:

AMC- that is just a terrible stereotype of a complex and beautiful life style!

or, if you're my parents, you might be going the: your-grandparents-would-kill-you-if-they-were-here route.

ALL OF THIS IS TRUE

However, I firmly believe (not true) that the image of Gypsy-ing (go with it) that I treasured as a child speaks volumes about what I now value as an adult, and can help me analyze my true desires and goals. So, there! (she said maturely and wisely..... yikes)

Also, Liz contributed an excellent point:
Liz:  uhhhh, YES. also 5) dancing with a tambourine? clearly on board with that. 

As you can see, we are not messing around here.  Trained professionals that we are, we know how to ask the difficult questions and develop practical stratagems on achieving goals.

STEP 1- buy this gypsy mobile: 21st Century Gypsy digs

ok. perhaps not.

The moral of this story, however, remains clear:

Extensive hours of playing "dress-up" with scarves and crazy 70s clothes during a child's formative years can seriously skew their trajectory in life. SWEET.

Secondary Moral:  It's Friday, and my brain is clearly the worse for wear.

PS Dear Mom and Dad, do not panic.

*This poor woman asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up.  My answers (keep in mind I was five) were:
1) Bank Robber -- she promptly informed me that stealing was wrong and Jesus wouldn't like it.
2) Write a book of the Bible -- Jesus would have to like that more, right? no? oops....
3) Gypsy Princess.  We decided, together, that this was my best option.  I'm pretty sure that poor woman was scarred for life...

Tiny Spaces, Big Hearts

Tiny Texas Houses is running an essay contest to promote their newest prototype.  If you are not familiar with this company, or their adorably sustainable designs you should check out their website: fascinating website

You are guaranteed to fall in love with their ingenious and petite dwellings!


The theme of this contest struck a chord with me; the fascinating idea of reworking the refuse of our past into a beautiful future.  With a little urging from my awesome coworkers, I decided why not toss my hat in and try to win a tiny house!

Below is my submission, for your perusal (and hopefully enjoyment).   

Did I mention that I was limited to 300 words (not including title)?  If you know me, you might doubt that this is possible, reserve your snark and read on!

The Hum In My Heart and The Song In My Voice

I grew up bouncing between two worlds: vibrant Austin; and tranquil Muldoon- steeped with tradition and surrounded by rugged Texas beauty.

My Austin hands played piano, drew pictures, consumed fiction, sculpting an entrepreneurial life in the arts.  The Muldoon blood, however, led my feet down wooded paths, kept my eye on the giant sky and my heart dead-reckoned on the gentle hum of country life.

My family owns land in that small Fayette County hamlet, but that is not why I call it home.  No, home is seeing four generations of your family in one small cemetery, learning trust and gentleness in the workshop of agriculture, and knowing everyday that nothing you do is temporary.

My brain thrived off the energy of ever-changing Austin, but my heart was nourished by the sustainability of home.

When I was a child, my grandfather loaded me into the truck, bounced me through a thicket of cedar and into an open field.  At first unimpressed, I grew ecstatic as he explained that this very field, its huge rocks, blanket of freshly planted oats, and fortress of cedar was mine.  He was giving it to me.  Suddenly, I was a part of this fabric stretching backwards into family history, and no other field would ever look as beautiful.

Remarkably, I later learned that my great-grandfather bought that land, and built a cabin (now vanished) for his children to have a place to start their lives.

I cannot think of any sentiment that resonates more strongly with me at this point, as an artist and human, than wanting a place to start and anchor my life. A place that is rooted in tradition, connected to (or salvaged from) the past, and all the more beautiful as I lend my own voice to its story.

it's not you, it's me

ok.



sooo....when you get a blog, the idea is to post on them.  point taken.


interwebs, it's not you, you're wonderful...and overwhelming.


i promise to post.  next week.