tag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:/blogs/joanie-s-blog?p=2Joanie's Blog2022-11-07T16:54:17-08:00Joanie Strulowitzfalsetag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/65745552021-03-15T12:30:48-07:002022-11-07T16:53:28-08:00Quotations<p>I've loved powerful quotations all my life. One of my favorites:</p>
<p>"No great thing is created suddenly, any more than a bunch of grapes or a fig. If you tell me that you desire a fig, I answer you that there must be time. Let it first blossom, then bear fruit, then ripen."</p>
<p> - Epictetus</p>
<p> </p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/20235842021-02-17T09:03:57-08:002023-10-16T07:44:57-07:00Dear, dear Mercury Retrograde...<p>Dear, dear Mercury Retrograde....<br><br>Yesterday, I laughingly texted a friend, "As frustrating as Mercury Retrograde can be, I'm <em>almost</em> going to miss it when it leaves tomorrow. 'Cause ironically, I get so much good writing done when it's here. And now, I'll have to keep pouring out the words without its push. Hahaha!"<br><br>Well, it turns out the, "Hahaha!" was on me. Because, you know how we have to be careful what we wish for? It's obviously true.<br><br>I realized that today when an innocent looking grocery cart suddenly turned on me and grabbed my index finger in between the plastic and the metal, in a vice-like grip. My first thought was of how I used to joke that I wanted to insure my hands with Lloyd's of London. And my second was, "Oh, my G-d! I'm a right-handed writer, with pages I <em>have</em> to finish today...."<br><br>Anyway—the cart must've <em>really </em>loved me because it <em>refused</em> to let me go! (And it wasn't like I could have run for help with it clanging and banging down the aisle behind me.) So I did what any woman who was basically strong, basically self-sufficient, and had extremely good manners would do. <em>My eyes</em> found the two tallest men in the fruits and vegetables aisle—and <em>my voice </em>called, "Can you help me? Please??"<br><br>Thank you, thank you to the two sweet men who were finally able to pry the cart away from my finger. And to the darling woman who was running for help 'til she saw that I'd been "released."<br><br>So dear Mercury Retrograde. At first, the cynic in me wondered if you just wanted to make a grand exit at the end of this run. Then I realized—I think you were telling me, "Joanie, I'm still here for a few more hours. Go home, and write. I'll push you."<br><br>So thank you, thank you to you, as well. For surrounding me with wonderful people who helped make certain that my hand would be fine. And for giving me that push to shake even more writing out of my pen. That push that's like a huge, vibrant gust of wind in my sail.<br><br>This one's for you.<br>Joanie</p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/28679442021-02-17T09:02:48-08:002022-11-13T11:07:22-08:00Learning To Fly<p>I used to joke that I was footloose and fancy free. I still joke about it. But sometimes I feel like a square peg without even a round hole. So I keep on carving my own. Sometimes it feels pioneering, liberating, and very, very brave. But other times? The loneliness inside rears its head, and makes me feel like I'm free falling, without a safe harbor in sight. And then I remember that I'll always choose to risk falling—over risking not learning to fly.</p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/44632402016-11-11T21:54:15-08:002022-11-12T13:23:04-08:00Because Diversity Adds Life To Our Lives<p>Hi All....</p>
<p>Without diversity, we would be reduced to robots, and the world would fade to blah. Since the flip side of goodness is not an option for us, I'm trying to wrap my arms (via my words) around all of us everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. Because we care. And so our diversity can continue to help us stretch, grow, and add life to our lives.<br><br>Like so many of you—of us—I've been glued to my computer for so many days since (and before) the election, that I feel like my chair is part of my body. (Like if I stand up, it will come with me.) I've been posting to my website, FB, and LinkedIn. So my apologies if you see some of my posts more than once. But if they can help us laugh, feel safer, and help take the hard edge off of life—maybe we'll all sleep a little better at night.</p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/44631252016-11-11T19:04:25-08:002022-11-01T20:40:03-07:00Miracles Do Happen<p>Right now, because so many of us need to know, or remember, that miracles do happen—I want to share that my daughter, Jennifer Strulowitz, is living proof. 45 years ago today, she was born three months prematurely, at 2 lbs. 3 1/2 oz.—dropped to 1 lb. 15 oz.—and was given less than a 5% chance of survival.<br><br>Today, she has a smile that can light up a room, boundless compassion, and is an Outsider Intuitive Visionary Artist who says on her website below, "I am extremely honored that some of my works can be found in private collections around the United States, alongside works by celebrated artists who include: Pablo Picasso, Salvador Dali, Ed Paschke, and Lee Godie." <br><br>This is NOT to brag about my daughter, and NOT to advertise for her. It is to remind us that, as David Ben-Gurion once said, "Anyone who doesn't believe in miracles is not a realist." To remind us to keep celebrating life. And to say Happy, Happy Birthday, gorgeous girl!</p>
<p><a contents="www.jsintuitiveart.com" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.jsintuitiveart.com" style="">www.jsintuitiveart.com</a><br> </p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/44625182016-11-11T11:24:19-08:002022-11-07T11:58:02-08:00 Cheers To Peace, Hugs, Health, Diversity, & White Light<p>Hi All....<br> <br>Have you ever wanted to see the inside of hope, and of miracles, but you couldn't turn off your mind long enough to see them? And even running away wouldn't help—because you'd have to take yourself with you? Been there, done that...and sometimes I do it again. <br> <br>The changes we're all seeing, experiencing, and worrying about right now are what I call, "Not fun." So stick with me. Because I truly believe that together we'll be both stronger and softer. That together we can help take the hard edge off of life, and make the world a kinder place to be. And because, as I say on this site: "I joke that writing takes me inside myself, the other arts take me outside myself, and together they keep me sane. If my words can make you laugh, feel safer, and help keep the craving for the arts within us...then they will have served their purpose." <br> <br>Cheers to peace, hugs, health, diversity, & white light...<br> <br>xoxo, Joanie</p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/42621832016-07-03T21:06:14-07:002022-11-12T13:30:17-08:00Tribute/Letter To Elie Wiesel<p>Dear, dear Elie Wiesel....<br><br>The entire time that I sat reading NIGHT, the sky raged with a thunderstorm. I read the last page, closed the book—and in that instant—watched as sunlight suddenly filled the sky. You will always serve as a light for the Jewish people, and for humanity as a whole. How beyond fortunate we are to have you with us, even though you are no longer on this plane.</p>
<p>I first met you at a party in NYC when I was 23 and, for the first time in my life, was taking myself seriously as a writer. I've never been the type to bubble and gush when meeting someone who is celebrated. And I looked poised and sophisticated in my forest green gown. But YOU were ELIE WIESEL. So as I shook your hand and said hello? I babbled like Porky Pig. About your brilliance...about how I was seeking publication for my book for the parents of high-risk premies...and more about your brilliance. I was beyond mortified even as the words slipped out.<br><br>But you were beyond gracious; you said to send my manuscript to you, and that you would read it! Even in that moment, I knew there was no way that I would ever impose on you like that. But how could I write a note to thank you for your kindness without saying, "I'm the one who...." So I just hoped you'd forget me altogether.<br><br>Then, two years later, I was standing with a friend at another event, and turned around just as you were entering the lobby. We looked at each other...you paused in the doorway...and I burst out laughing.<br><br>"If you come in, I promise I won't bubble and gush over you tonight."<br><br>You got a huge smile...and walked into the event...beside us.<br><br>Thank you, thank you, Elie Wiesel. For being a light that will always shine, even from afar. A light that will always bring tears to my eyes.<br><br>Shalom, shalom, and l'hitraot....<br><br>Joanie</p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/38190662015-08-13T22:07:36-07:002022-11-01T20:58:38-07:00Holly Ramos: All Transformation Is Possible<div data-ft='{"tn":"K"}'><p>Holly Ramos doesn't experience life. She inhales it. Stands it on end when necessary. Then searches for the gift inside. Which is why she was able to close the door on anguish—and fill her life with love. Why it's her conviction that, "All transformation is possible." And why Holly's words speak directly, to our hearts. <br> </p></div>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/37833482015-07-19T09:24:25-07:002022-11-12T13:39:11-08:00P.S. To You About Maurice's Valises<p>Hi All....</p>
<p>I truly believe that J.S. Friedman's <em>Maurice's Valises</em> series, and its magical illustrations by Chris Beatrice, is destined to become an evergreen...a classic that our grandchildren will share with their grandchildren. Because it is timeless, ageless, and one of the wisest and most all-around gorgeous stories I've ever seen. I'd love it if you'll check out the site below. And if you feel as I do, please post it, repost it, and help to spread Maurice's goodness throughout the world. Thanks so much. - Joanie <a contents="www.mauricesvalises.com" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.mauricesvalises.com" style="" target="_blank">www.mauricesvalises.com</a><br><br> </p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/37833472015-07-19T09:16:45-07:002022-11-12T13:40:53-08:00Maurice's Valises<div class="_6a _43_1 _4f-9 _nws" id="u_jsonp_3_v"><div class="_6a uiPopover" id="u_jsonp_3_w">I never expected to fall in love with a mouse. Or to let him burrow into my heart and soul. But when J.S. Friedman gave us <em>Maurice's Valises</em> and its magical illustrations by Chris Beatrice—like the <em>ta-da </em>of a fairy’s wand, he brought his little traveler to life.</div></div>
<p>Now, every time Maurice opens one of his valises, a world of goodness and of light springs out. A world where differences bring us together. Friendship and truth cross all boundaries. And listening to the wisdom in our hearts, helps us find the way. - Joanie<br><br><a contents="www.mauricesvalises.com" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.mauricesvalises.com">www.mauricesvalises.com</a></p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/37013282015-05-10T00:49:37-07:002022-11-12T14:54:30-08:00To Mothers And Fathers Everywhere--Past, Present, And Future<div class="_5pbx userContent" data-ft='{"tn":"K"}'>
<p>Wishing you all the happiest, most beautiful Mother's Day, and early Father's Day, full of new experiences and sweet memories past, present, and future. So many of us who have lost our parents say the same words—that we think of them every day—they'll always be a part of us—and we wish they were physically with us now.</p>
<p>There are shelves of books devoted to parent-child relationships because even the best ones have rocky times. Still, some say we choose our parents before we're born. If that's true, then I unequivocally made the right choice. And would choose mine all over again.</p>
</div>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/33887802014-12-11T15:54:08-08:002022-11-02T09:25:56-07:00Frozen Grapes And Fairy Tales<p>When a friend texted me that she loves frozen grapes, it flagged a childhood memory of the bunches of "frozen" glass grapes that my mother displayed in a bowl in our living room. Gorgeous ones in the softest greens, and plum tones. Frosted in who-knows-what, but looking as fresh as if she'd taken them directly from the freezer to the living room.<br><br>I was old enough to know that the grapes weren't real. But I knew that fairy tales weren't real either, and I still believed in them. So, just in case, I licked the frost. And do you know what? It tasted good.<br><br>And do you know what else? When I told my friend, she said she'd done the same thing when she was growing up. Did you?</p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/33800362014-12-10T12:08:01-08:002022-11-12T15:05:43-08:00Boyfriends / Preschool Through 1st Grade<p>My mother teased me once that I had more boyfriends from preschool through first grade than the rest of my life combined! In preschool day camp, my first crush called me, "my little teapot." Who wouldn't adore someone so sweet?! So I did, until the day camp ended, and we lived too far from one another to play together.<br><br>My next crush was my neighbor's cousin, Timmy, who I thought was soooo grown up because he was six years old, and I was only four! I wrote him a long love letter, then showed it to my mother for approval. I don't remember what it said—only that Mom was sweet, and didn't laugh as she helped me edit it down to about two lines. But despite my heartfelt, "Can you come over to play?" I never heard back. It was a double whammy to my ego because Timmy aside, it was my first rejection as a writer! But the sting of it didn't stop me from having crushes on guys, or from writing; so I went outside to swing, and dreamed up stories to write.<br><br>Then, in kindergarten, a little boy with wavy hair and a big smile asked me over to play. When my mother said she'd known his family for years, and would talk to his mom, I was so impressed, it was as if she'd said she would call a movie star! The guy himself was really sweet, but I remember being shy when Mom dropped me off at his house. And later, sitting uncomfortably at lunch realizing we had nothing in common besides peanut butter sandwiches, and playing with baby chicks on the rug in kindergarten class one day. I was nice, but counted the minutes in my head until it was time to go home. (Ironically, I still remember that even their pretty kitchen seemed to have a gray light that came through the windows like a shadow, and totally reflected how I felt. Like it was foreshadowing for the fact that we never played together again.)<br><br>Then there was first grade. I <em>liked </em>boys, but I was <em>in love </em>with<em> </em>reading, so maybe the guys saw me as a challenge. Whatever the reason, Mom said the guys followed me around like puppies.<br><br>One day, I lifted my desktop, and found a beautiful bunch of hand-picked flowers inside. I don't remember what the note said; only that it was unsigned. And that I was so innocent, I gave them to my teacher, and told her, "Someone must have left these in my desk by mistake, instead of yours." I didn't realize they were meant for me until I saw the embarrassment on the adorable little redheaded boy's face. But I was six, and didn't know how to fix it, so we both pretended it never happened. (All these years later, I still remember Rick's name, and his sweetness.)<br><br>Another day, a cute little boy with a silver-gray crew cut, glasses, and his best friend knocked on my back door. When I opened it, he handed me a tiny, clear plastic box with a smooth lime green, red orange, and indigo paint- splattered rock inside. Also, a note that read, "Eat it. It's candy." The boy and his friend laughed a little when he handed it to me, so I thought maybe it was a joke I didn't catch. But I kept his gift in my little pink safe with my other treasures anyway, and every so often touched the smoothness, and wondered why he'd given it to me. How was I to know that he'd laughed out of shyness because he liked me?<br><br><em>(Oh!! As I'm writing this, it suddenly dawned on me that not only do I still have that same plastic box, I'm actually sitting five feet away from it all these years, and ten moves later! Only now it has different little childhood treasures in it, and is hidden deep inside my bawby's cranberry glass sugar bowl</em>—<em>which is shown under Photos on this blog.)</em><br><br>Anyway, the crowning story in first grade was when a tall boy with ruddy cheeks came over to my desk, and unexpectedly planted a kiss on my cheek. And when, just as unexpectedly, I hauled off and slapped his face! And then? I told the teacher on him. I was livid, "Because he kissed me, and didn't even ask."<br><br>I don't remember if there were others before second grade. And still have no idea what attracted them to me. Maybe it really was that I was busy being in love with first grade. And busy being in love with reading.</p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/32949312014-12-08T22:39:28-08:002022-11-02T10:10:32-07:00Hanging Out With Myself<p>Did you ever carve out your own private sanctuaries when you were growing up, and wanted to hang out with yourself? I found nooks and crannies everywhere. At five years old, I tucked myself inside my bedroom closet, then slid the doors closed so I could watch Mickey and Minnie on my little Donald Duck projector.<br><br>At eight, I sat with my heels hooked into the slats of our white ranch-style fence as I wove stories in my mind, or painted them with oils from the little art set that was a miniature version of my father's.<br><br>At eleven, I woke up early on summer mornings, and threw on my favorite shorts and T-shirt, so I'd feel cute when I rode my bike to Duck Creek Park to draw and write, with the trees and sky wrapped around me (and my peanut butter and jelly sandwich).<br><br>And as an adult? Years ago I had a job in a boutique that specialized in high-end men's fashion. One day I looked at a rack of the superbly tailored designer pieces, and started to laugh. Because I loved the niche where they were displayed far better than any of the clothes...and all I wanted was to curl up in that space, and write.<br><br>I will always find those little jewels. Always laugh at myself for wanting to curl up in them. And will do it whenever I can.</p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/33684192014-12-06T08:25:18-08:002022-11-12T15:11:42-08:00An Apple For My Teacher<p>Whenever my mother bought apples, she rinsed and polished them until they shone, then artfully arranged them in a bowl. It was a simple gesture, but she loved the ritual of honoring the fruit, and of making it special for all of us. I was too little to see the act as Zen meets art, but I read it on her face. And was always mesmerized by the faraway dreaminess in her eyes, and in her smile.<br><br>I wanted to be able to make apples shine—gleam actually—like hers. Especially since, as first graders, a lot of us used to take shiny red apples to our favorite teachers. So one day, I stood by our kitchen window and polished and rubbed the biggest red apple we had. Even with the sunlight pouring in on it, mine looked just all right. And even when I tried harder, it didn't measure up to my mother's.<br><br>So I gave up on her method—and polished it with shoe wax instead! I spread the thick, waxy mixture around on the apple, then buffed it like a pair of boots. Finally it looked as perfect as my mother's. With a huge sigh of relief, I wrapped it in plastic wrap. Tied the clingy fountain of plastic at the top with a little bow of yarn. Then proudly viewed my work of art.<br><br>And then? Without showing it to anyone, I threw it away. I mean really, would <em>you</em> have given <em>your</em> teacher an apple with shoe wax on it?</p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/33320442014-11-26T06:42:38-08:002022-11-07T14:38:12-08:00Turkey Notes<p>When I remember Thanksgiving at Bawby's and Zady's house, some of my favorite parts were the visuals, and the warmth. The gorgeously set dining table that...to the little girl I was...seemed to stretch on forever. Happily falling into the color of their heavy, cranberry-colored glassware. And the, "turkey notes," that my grandmother personalized, and put by each place setting. Notes like, "Turkey red, Turkey blue. Turkey turkey, I love you."<br><br>I still love those notes. Only mine sound more like the one I wrote for one of my best friends years ago:<br>"Turkey red, turkey blue. Sorry Paul couldn't be here, too."<br><br>We laughed together as she was sorrier than I was. Because Paul was Paul Newman, who she'd had a crush on for years!</p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/32923542014-11-16T11:44:08-08:002022-11-07T14:56:27-08:00My Boyfriend's Locker<p>All my life, people have laughed at my klutziness, but I never understood why until a friend stopped laughing long enough to tell me, "I'm sorry, but it's because you look so sophisticated that it's almost comedic.</p>
<p>To which another friend promptly added, "Yeah, you're like Phoebe from<em> 'Friends</em>.'"<br><br>And then they both said, "Totally."<br><br>I laugh too, now. But that wouldn't have helped when I was growing up. I mean, who wants to look sophisticated when everyone else looks cute? Besides, it's tough enough to walk into high school every day, <em>without slipping on ice, and skidding there on your tush.</em> And then, instead of having people ask normal questions like, "Are you all right?" Kids asked me things like, "How did you get up gracefully?"<br><br>My worst klutzy experience though (in high school anyway) happened once when the halls were completely still because everyone was in after-school meetings. I remember being glad that, since I had to draw attention to myself by slipping out of the meeting early, at least I had on my favorite outfit. A soft straight skirt of butter yellow wool, and a matching sleeveless sweater with its enormous turtleneck collar. Oh, and my shoes...butter yellow Pappagallo's that I adored.<br><br>Anyway, I adored them until one heel slipped on the top step and I skidded down the entire flight of steps to the landing below! People poured out of the classrooms like the children in<em> </em><em>The Old Woman and the Shoe</em><em> </em>to see what had crashed. And when I tried to get up quickly to cover my embarrassment, and assure them that I was all right? <em>My heel slipped again</em>—<em>and I tumbled head over heels down the second flight of stairs.</em><br><br>I remember landing like a rag doll gone <em>splat </em>on the main floor!. Lying there with my arms flung across one another, like an X. With my legs flung across one another, like an X. And as people rushed to help me untangle myself? All I thought was,<em>"I just landed in front of my boyfriend's locker."</em><br><br>This time, no one asked me how I got up gracefully. Which was good because I was beyond mortified. And do you know what the worst part was? Finally I had a chance to show that I was a kid like they were. But I blew it. Because I—being sophisticated—walked away <em>without</em> a bruise,<em> without </em>a rip in my clothes, and <em>without </em>even the slightest smudges on my butter yellow outfit.</p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/32741922014-11-16T08:21:51-08:002022-11-07T15:03:29-08:00A White Purse Without A Green Gun On it<p>Have you ever looked at who you were as a child, and felt like you were looking in a mirror? Because you're basically the same person you were then? And because you've returned to doing what you loved back then, or never stopped doing those things in the first place?<br><br>I see myself so clearly, I could wave to that little girl. I still wear ponytails, and still think that headbands should never have been invented. I'll still love blue jeans, black turtlenecks, and cowboy boots when I'm 110, but you'll never see me wearing bows.<br><br>And I completely understand why the four-year-old me asked my mom for, "a white purse <em>without</em> a green gun on it." And why I stressed, "But if it <em>has </em>a green gun on it, I don't want it." Because I'm still not a fan of guns, but will always be pro accessories.</p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/32711402014-11-07T06:10:09-08:002022-11-12T15:24:40-08:00The Lipstick That Could Change My Life<p>I'll never forget standing beside a friend in Woolworths, mesmerized by a makeup display of gleaming gold tubes of tangerine colored gloss. Mesmerized, and longing to buy a Tangee Lipstick so badly. Because it was Tangee, <em>the</em> lipstick for seventh grade girls. Tangee, the only lipstick our mothers would allow us to wear since, while it looked and felt so grown-up—once we applied it, the shade paled to almost invisible.<br><br>The only problem was that it cost thirty-five cents, and I was trying to be responsible with my allowance.<br><br>As I stood, letting the color and texture imprint themselves on my mind, my friend suddenly laughed. "Let's steal it," she whispered. "Quick, while nobody's looking."<br><br>Call me sheltered, but no one had ever suggested to me that it would be a lark to steal. Both of our families were very comfortable. And it was a given that stealing was wrong. On top of that, each of us had enough money in our wallets to <em>buy</em> the lipsticks. So none of it even made sense.<br><br>My thoughts raced past the obvious scenarios like, what if we got caught, and the store called our parents? And how my parents would have ranted, "You're too smart to be that stupid," then grounded me for life and beyond. But what really convinced me not to sneak the Tangee into my purse, and risk losing a friend because I wasn't <em>cool </em>enough to play her game? It was that suddenly, when I looked at the cherished gloss, all I could think was, "Do I really want to feel guilty for the rest of my life for stealing a thirty-five cent lipstick that I don't even need?"<br><br>So what saved me? I remembered what my mother had once told me. "Joanie, if anyone ever tries convincing you to do something you know is wrong, or that you don't want to do, just tell them, "My mother is a mean bitch, and she'll kill me." Then she laughed and added, "And you have my permission to use those exact words."</p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/32640822014-11-03T11:40:17-08:002022-11-02T12:51:17-07:00Growing Up - Scenes From A Sitcom<p>Have you ever looked back at vignettes of your childhood and teen years, and thought they looked like scenes from a sitcom? Or said, "Awww," because even as an adult you still feel exactly the same at times?<br><br>I'm going to be sharing some of the sound bites of my life growing up. Stories like: "A White Purse Without A Green Gun On It" and "My Boyfriend's Locker". If they flag your own memories, or help you and your children laugh and take life less seriously than I used to, let me know. I'd love to hear from you.</p>
<p> </p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/29850072014-05-31T18:41:58-07:002022-11-02T13:15:11-07:00Even In My Dreams<p>Last night, I dreamed that a group of people looked at me with total disdain, and nodded in agreement as one woman sneered, "You didn't even cook—y<em>ou made instant potatoes out of a box. </em>And now the whole house smells terrible, and everyone will know."<br><br>"But you don't understand!" I answered, as I tried to keep my rising hysteria down. "I'd rather write a chapter!"</p>
<p>Now, when I look back at that dream, it surprises me that I ever felt I had to apologize. Today, I'd be more apt to shrug and laugh. Because while I hugely admire people who love to cook...I joke that, "I microwave under duress." And will always rather write a chapter.</p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/13605402013-08-08T00:20:00-07:002022-11-12T15:29:26-08:00Frosting<p><span style="font-size: medium;">When I was growing up, I felt like frosting without the cake</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">and not great frosting at that. I knew I was pretty because I saw it in the mirror sometimes. (Although I felt that the image stayed right there every time I walked away.) And I knew I wasn't stupid.<br><br>But I also knew that I was different than most of the other kids, and never really fit in. Most of them saw it, too. How could they not when, even as a four year old, I looked pulled together and sophisticated while everyone else looked cute and adorable? And when they knew how to play, while I was more comfortable around adults?<br><br>I never told <em>anyone,</em> but I was sure there was something wrong with me. I just didn't know what. So I went to </span><span style="font-size: medium;">writing, painting, music</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">all of the arts</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">to find out, and to make whatever it was better. In the meantime, I tried to wear my insecurities on the inside where, hopefully, no one could see them. And hung onto my privacy like a life raft until some day when, <em>finally,</em> I would emerge fully and perfectly formed.<br><br>Seeing that my most heinous act was stealing rhubarb from a neighbor's garden when I was five years old, I've gradually moved away from caring too much about what others think of me. And to moving into who I am.<br><br>I'm still moving in. And always will. But now? I'm also taking time to play.</span></p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/12748052013-07-26T14:10:00-07:002020-04-29T14:28:10-07:00Me In A Sound Bite<p><span style="font-size: medium;">If you asked me to describe myself in a sound bite, I'd tell you, "My soul is my bottom line</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">and I'm not even joking."</span></p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/12038892013-07-15T17:00:00-07:002022-11-12T15:33:22-08:00The Amber, The Sand, And The Light<p><span style="font-size: medium;">At Laguna Beach, while happily playing in the amber light<i> in the waves, </i>I noticed that the amber <i>in my ring</i> refused to play along. Like a pouty child, it sulked even in the brilliance of the sun; and stubbornly rejected even the gentlest ripples that flowed its way.<br><br>But I knew the softness and strength that it had to offer. And</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">when I truly believe in something, or someone</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>I </i>can be as stubborn as the amber. So I refused to let it forget that it had so much inside.<br><br>I tumbled the amber in the sand, startled it awake with the tide, and watched as it breathed in the light. And suddenly</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">something inside it woke up </span><span style="font-size: medium;">and sparkled.<br><br><i>Which showed me</i></span>—<span style="font-size: medium;"><i>if we believe in ourselves when our lights are on dim? We can sparkle as brightly as the amber.</i></span></p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/11347022013-07-15T08:50:00-07:002022-11-12T15:43:05-08:00Overheard In NYC<p><span style="font-size: medium;">One day, while standing at a stoplight, in NYC, I overheard a woman behind me. "Honey, where would you like to go while we're here visiting?"<br><br>I knew how I felt about this city that is often thought of as "the hub of the Universe." So I couldn't help listening to see what someone else was drawn to.<br><br>"Mommy, can we go to a <i>library</i>?" answered a voice that was all of eight years old. A voice that was filled with wonder and hopefulness.<br><br>I felt like my head literally swiveled. I looked at this proud mother and her daughter. Her little girl who might have asked to go to any store in the City; yet she wasn't interested in shopping</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">not even in a bookstore. All she craved was to be in a santuary</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">for books!<br> <br>I told them they truly touched my heart because, as a writer who will always seek to a be the voice I was searching for, and to further the arts, their conversation was beyond golden to me. And because, more importantly, as long as there are people like the two of them</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">the arts will always be safe.</span></p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/11335672013-07-14T23:35:00-07:002021-02-17T09:05:39-08:00The Other Side Of The Horizon<p><span style="font-size: medium;">Have you ever gazed into the other side of the horizon? Reached into it with your eyes, and touched it with your soul? That's how I watch the ocean. In fact, it's a major part of why living on the Left Coast inspires me.<br><br>The ocean mesmerizes me on every level, and always has. But the horizon? It's a passport that allows me to see, aim for, and reach another world entirely; one where wonder and hope reside.<br><br>Because even as that barely visible line takes me outside myself, it takes me inside myself. Grounds me in magic and possibilities. And allows me to live where dreams <i>can</i> come true</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">and where wonder, and hope, are my neighbors. </span></p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/11246322013-07-12T17:00:00-07:002021-02-17T09:06:07-08:00Mercury Retrograde LOL<p><span style="font-size: medium;">Have you ever felt like you could be the Poster Girl, or Guy, for Mercury Retrograde? If so, you'll know how my day feels. And you'll understand when I say, "@!!#@?!#%#??!!!" LOL <br>xoxo, Joanie</span><br> </p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/10820202013-07-07T00:00:00-07:002022-11-12T15:47:50-08:00A White Light Drip<div>
<span style="font-size: medium;">Sometimes I joke that</span>, <span style="font-size: medium;">if I could</span>, <span style="font-size: medium;">I'd hook myself up to a White Light drip. One that would replace the space where negativity once lived</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">and fill it with the best of energy, and the best of calm, to make room for the most of who I am, and who I'm meant to be. And then? It would free me to accomplish what I'm meant to on this Earth.</span>
</div>
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<br><span style="font-size: medium;">Truth be known, I'm really not joking. But just <em>receiving</em> all of this would be too easy, right? So I'm going to have to free myself. And since I have to work to do it? I'm going to do so from an artistic point of view.<br><br>Which is why I've decided to become</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">ta-da!</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">an Architect of White Light. Is there such a category? If there wasn't before, there is now. Because my imagination just ran away with my pen. And do you know what they built? A Sanctuary to White Light. A tunnel where the purest of rock crystal encrusts walls that arch from floor to ceiling and down again</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">and whose White Light rivals the light of the sun.<br><br>Someday I'll take you there with me. But right now, I need to go inside to lose myself, to find myself, and to come out the other side.</span>
</div>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/9542582013-06-15T23:25:00-07:002022-11-12T15:51:05-08:00Fries And A Latte - Hold The Black Hole!<p><span style="font-size: medium;">Have you ever wanted to climb into a Black Hole, and pull it in over yourself? So you could scream, "GO AWAY!!" like a three-year-old child, if anyone tried to talk you out of it? Or maybe just pretend you didn't hear, like they were vacuum cleaner salesmen ringing your doorbell? I've wanted to.<br><br>The advantages to taking a vacation like that are: 1) we can <i>always</i> get a ticket, even on a moment's notice and, 2) we can rationalize our bad behavior and the bottomless quantities of Ben & Jerry's ice cream we consume...or hide behind an endless fog from cigarettes, or alcohol, that feels as tragically romantic as a movie star in an old Hollywood film. Also, if anyone criticizes, or tries to help us? We can blame our mood on anything from a less than perfect childhood...to work...to the angry driver in front of us.<br><br>If this all seems too good to be true, it's because it is. After all, a trip to the Black Hole is really costly. Because even <em>Monopoly</em> doesn't have, "Get Out of Black Hole Free" cards</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">so we have to spend time and energy digging our way back out. And because if we wanted to order sushi, or pizza, the restaurants might tell us, "Sorry, but we don't deliver to the corner of Sunset Blvd. and Black Hole."<br><br>So, after weighing my options, I've decided to go out for fries and a latte</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">hold the Black Hole. Want to come with me?</span></p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/6764912013-05-03T17:00:00-07:002022-11-07T16:24:53-08:00My Weekly Reader<p><span style="font-size: medium;">Every time I find a bulletin from the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators in my mailbox, the little girl inside me lights up. The little girl who waited by my front door with a mixture of anticipation and awe for the mailman to bring <em>My Weekly Reader. </em>The one who carried it proudly...reverently...then read and reread it until the paper practically shredded in my hands; and the only thing that saved it was the arrival of a new copy the following<span class="font_regular"> week.<br><br><em>My Weekly Reader </em>"understood" that I wasn't just a child. I was a writer who was going to be published someday. It believed in who I was, and what I felt, even when I was searching to find out. It always nurtured me and mentored me, just by being itself.<br><br>And the SCBWI bulletin? It's a reminder of what was, what is...and what can be.</span></span><br> </p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/6285642013-04-28T05:30:00-07:002022-11-07T16:25:58-08:00Art Rocks<p><span style="font-size: medium;">While waiting in line to order at Joan's On Third...an outstanding gourmet cafe/marketplace...I was completely mesmerized by two things. First, the personification of a badass, silently-angry-looking rocker dude paying for his order beside me. Second? The magical looking plates of berry-covered delicacies that he carefully balanced in his hands as he left the counter.<br><br>Which reinforced for me, one more time, that the arts are for all of us. And that even the toughest among us can crave, and appreciate, the softness that art adds to life.</span><br> </p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/5441402013-04-16T10:10:00-07:002022-11-07T16:29:15-08:00A Tribute To The Boston Marathon, And To Hope<p><span style="font-size: medium;">Sending white light and positive energy to the city of Boston, to the United States, and to people everywhere who have been touched by the unspeakable tragedy that occurred at the Boston Marathon, April 15, 2013.<br><br>To Mr. Fred Rogers' words, "Look for the helpers...." , I add:<br><br>I've seen people draw together in times of need, and of tragedy, even in world-renowned cities like New York City and Los Angeles (where all too often, residents are wrongly depicted as detached, or selfish). People who could easily have gone on walking</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">yet stopped to help, even if all they could offer was moral support. Seeing that, and being part of such communities of people, reminds me every time that</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">as literally horrific as these times are</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">they bring us closer to what truly matters in life; and bonds us with people we've never even met. It is a bond that crosses all boundaries. And one that helps keep hope and goodness alive.</span></p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/4338282013-03-28T11:55:00-07:002022-11-07T16:30:48-08:00P.S.<p><span style="font-size: medium;">P.S. Besides the fact that your hugely positive comments and thoughts make me so happy, I invite and welcome them because they serve as a lighthouse of sorts. One that lets me know if, and how, I'm reaching you. They also jog my memories so that other stories surface. Together they help to keep me on the course that I intended</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">taking the hard edge off of life through the arts</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">even while allowing room for serendipity.<br><br>So if you'd like to add your comments to my blogs, I'd love it. Or if you'd rather just sit back and read my stories and sound bites? I'd be totally thrilled with that, as well!<br><br><em>To Add Comments:</em><br>1) You're already on my website (joaniestrulowitz.com) so just click on my blog<i> - Joanie's Take</i>.<br>2) Click on "comment" under any post that draws you</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">and add your thoughts.<br><br><em>If You're Interested in Being on My Guest Book:</em><br>Just click on the Guest Book tab, and enter your email. I sincerely appreciate your visiting me here, and will never share, or sell, your information! I'll only contact you if I have special news to share. And when I start a newsletter, will <i>only send it once a month.</i> (If</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">due to some computer glitch</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">you ever receive duplicate emails, please let me know.)</span></p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/4239302013-03-26T21:45:00-07:002022-11-07T16:35:13-08:00Thank You<p><span style="font-size: medium;">Hi again....<br><br>Thank you so much to all of you who have taken the time to read my posts..and many times, to share your impressions in your amazing, thought provoking, and often hilarious comments. To those of you I know, and those of you who I'm meeting for the first time on my site...your interest, and caring, touch me more than you can imagine.<br><br>I had talked about doing a website/blog for more than a few years. But as I'm not technically oriented, the process of setting it up seemed daunting...even when one of my friends said that she could picture me writing a blog, and loving it. So I put it off, put it off, put it off...until finally...enough was enough. And when I pushed past my fear, and set this up?<br><br>I found out that my friend was right; and I actually love blogging. Because:<br><br>1) I genuinely feel that we all have a mission...something that we are meant to accomplish, or to help further, while we're on this Earth. It is more than my belief...it is my conviction...that <i>my</i> mission is to help take the hard edge off of life through sharing and helping to further the arts with my words, both personally, and as a writer. I don't even pretend to be perfect. (And finally gave up trying to be years ago.) But I will <i>never</i> stop trying to make a difference through, and for, the arts. And will never stop seeking to be the voice that I was searching for growing up. So I can help others to believe in their differences, and their dreams.<br><br>2) I'm a writer, but never thought of myself as a storyteller, until several people described me that way. I have to say that I love their description because I <i>always</i> want to write <i>to you, not for you. </i>So as much as I crave, and adore, the process of going inside my soul and excavating to bring out what I genuinely feel, think, and see...a writer cannot write in a vacuum. Thank you for cheering me on...and joining me...on my journey.</span><br><br><br> </p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/4144272013-03-26T07:00:00-07:002020-04-29T16:18:54-07:00Sophistication At Its Finest<p><span style="font-size: medium;">The first time I went to the Chicago Merchandise Mart</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">shortly before becoming an interior design consultant</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">I was so mesmerized by the brilliance of the showrooms on my left, that I didn't pay attention to what was on my right. And gracefully walked into a wall</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">with my face.</span></p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/4141612013-03-26T06:15:00-07:002022-11-07T16:37:29-08:00How I Survived Quicksand<p><span style="font-size: medium;">Okay<i>. You </i>know it was quicksand. But when I was about ten years old, no one else knew.<i> I </i>only found out because I was walking across the lot behind my home</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">and suddenly began to sink into the ground. I can still see myself slipping off my favorite penny loafers, seconds before they disappeared from sight. And can still feel myself tiptoeing across the "mud" to the gloriously green grass beside it.<br><br>I remember thanking G-d that my parents took me seriously when I told them I'd walked across quicksand; and how they verified it, and told our neighbors-to-be who were just about to break that very ground for their new home. The couple who had to have their land filled with logs first, instead.<br><br>Oh, and my penny loafers? The ones I adored so much that I picked them out of the trash every time my mother tried to throw them away? Like historical mementos in a time capsule, they are <em>planted </em>below the foundation of that house.</span></p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/3225322013-02-21T08:00:00-08:002022-11-07T16:39:14-08:00My Memories Of President Kennedy's Assassination <p>I recently found my old red journal from when I was in my teens, with the following note tucked inside it: </p>
<p>"Friday, Nov. 22, 1963 - President Kennedy was assassinated this afternoon. I'll enclose some articles later with the details. I know I'll never forget this as long as I live. I've never even imagined what it'd be like if....</p>
<p>"Now I know, sadly enough. I know what it means to have a good President who is no more. I'll think twice before I laugh at any of the President jokes again. (I was in study hall in 9th grade at Sudlow Jr. High when it happened.) </p>
<p>"Yesterday I had so many problems which seem like nothing now. When I came into homeroom today...English...I said to my friend, Nancy, 'Well, all's right with the world', and told her how all my problems were clearing up. </p>
<p>Oh, G-d. I didn't realize that I would be contradicted only hours later." </p>
<p>(Joanie, age 14)</p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/540822013-02-16T17:15:00-08:002022-11-07T16:42:09-08:00California Driving<p><span style="font-size: medium;">Okay. I'd had a car for most of my life. So how did I feel when I sold my last one, before moving to New York? Euphoric that I'd never have to own, sell, or drive a car ever again! Then, after more than six and a half years of not needing one? I moved to the Left Coast, where a car isn't just a car. It's your baby. Unless you're like me. When people asked what kind I wanted, I joked that I was considering a tank.<br><br>Now, after living in Los Angeles for nine months, I finally decided <i>not</i> to get a car. I've weighed</span>...<span style="font-size: medium;">and even rationalized</span>...<span style="font-size: medium;">the pros and cons, up one side and down the other. But the bottom line is</span>...<span style="font-size: medium;">driving bores me beyond beyond.<br><br>While I truly appreciate the aesthetics of a gorgeous car, my favorite part of my last one was the trunk. In fact, I pay so little attention to them that even when I drove Mercedes, I walked up to someone else's car instead of my own, more than once</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">as long as it was the same color as mine. And just a few weeks ago, when one of my daughters came to pick me up? I laughed, and told her, "It's lucky I recognize <i>you,</i> 'cause I <i>never</i> recognize your car."<br><br>Anyway, you're probably wondering how I get around an area that's as huge as Los Angeles.<br>1) I walk as much as possible. Because I process, and write chunks of chapters along the way. Which keeps me sane and grounded. (Although, at this point, you're probably wondering about the, "sane and grounded.")<br>2) I've always had family and friends who <i>love</i> driving...or don't mind it...or have motion sickness if they're not behind the wheel. Which works for all of us because I make a great passenger. I'm not good at navigating, but I'm great at talking a lot.<br>3) I'm also good at calling for taxis, which is an acquired skill as opposed to the intuitive one of hailing a taxi like when I lived in NYC. (The difference is a blog post in itself.)<br>4) Sometimes, I take a train.<br>5) And there's another option. After I've lived here longer, I can rationalize this...<i>again</i>. But I certainly hope that I don't.</span></p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/540492013-02-14T11:05:00-08:002020-04-30T15:16:20-07:00The "Edited" Email<p><span style="font-size: medium;">A friend of mine, who is a brilliant musician, emailed that he's having the happiest New Year ever, and hoped that mine is as well.<br><br>I wrote back, "Yay! This year really is tuning [sic] into a fantastic one!"<br><br>How lucky I am to have an angel with a sense of humor, who helps me edit my writing.</span><br> </p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/2860842013-01-21T19:40:00-08:002022-11-12T15:59:21-08:00Adventures In Cooking<p><span style="font-size: medium;">I was cooking an omelette just now, and suddenly burst out laughing when I realized it's the first time in my eight months in LA that I've used my stove for anything besides boiling water for tea! Today the burner, tomorrow the oven. (Maybe.)</span><br> </p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/2730032012-12-30T06:50:00-08:002022-11-13T10:53:15-08:00Never Just A Luxury<p><span style="font-size: medium;">The world of arts is as eclectic as the world we live in. It can be playful, provoking, or bring up a myriad of other emotions</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">but it can <i>never </i>be considered just a luxury. Because art is critical to life.<br><br>So critical that if we suddenly found ourselves surrounded by nothing but darkness</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">we would sift through our memories for a color, or a song</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">or would create art from the bleakness that was left.<br><br>How do I know? Because history proves that art is where we would look to find hope. And hope can keep us alive.</span></p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/2729882012-12-30T05:45:00-08:002020-04-30T15:20:52-07:00If You Could...?<p><span style="font-size: medium;">If you could only wear one outfit for the rest of your life, what would it be? Mine would be blue jeans, a black turtleneck, my green cowboy boots</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">and always, always accessories.<br><br>And if you could live on one food? For me, bread would win, hands down.</span></p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/2696452012-12-21T07:55:00-08:002021-02-17T09:17:30-08:00What Would You Do If...?<p><span style="font-size: medium;">I forgot it was predicted that the world will end tomorrow</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">so I've been writing all night. Which is ironic because <i>if I believed that</i></span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">I would have been writing anyway.</span></p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/2660892012-12-13T07:10:00-08:002022-07-31T19:06:21-07:00The Airbrushed Sky<p><em><span style="font-size: medium;">One day, while living in New York City, I happened to glance out my window</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">and saw a perfectly shaped, cornflower blue keyhole, in the middle of a sky filled with silver gray clouds.<br><br>As I stared through it, the keyhole expanded</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">pushed the clouds away</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">and let the sky float free. Which was the perfect visual of how the arts free me.</span></em><br><br> </p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/2613472012-12-04T04:45:00-08:002022-11-07T16:49:35-08:00Thanks!<p><span style="font-size: medium;">When I tell people that I'm a writer, one of the first questions they ask is, "Do you have anything online that I can read?"<br><br>For those who've wondered...and all of you who visit my site...thanks incredibly for your interest, and for caring. I'll be posting more of my pieces from time to time (excerpts from books in progress, various types of stories, stream of consciousness sound bites, etc.). I hope they sing to you.</span><br> </p>Joanie Strulowitztag:joaniestrulowitz.com,2005:Post/685982012-12-03T05:35:00-08:002022-11-13T17:04:13-08:00Who Am I And Why Am I Writing to You?<p><span style="font-size: medium;">One of the first things I learned as a writer is that characters</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">whether fictitious or real</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">have to live and breathe. Otherwise, why should the reader care about them, or what they have to say? That being said, I am the <em>character</em> who is writing to you in my blog. So who am I, and why would you want to hear my thoughts?<br><br>My definition of myself is, "With me, what you see is what you get. Whether or not you like me is up to you. But this is what there is."<br><br>Another definition came from a buddy who told me I was, "...like a puzzle</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;">and every day you get a different piece."<br><br>So...for better or for worse...here are a few stream of consciousness pieces of the "puzzle" that is me:<br><br>I've always said that my home is my castle; that it can be as big as my hand (like my studio apartment when I lived in NYC), but it is my castle. So how is it that in the last twenty-four years I've moved from: my house in Iowa to highrises in Chicago for 13+ years, to a 4th floor walkup in New York for 6 1/2+ years, and now to a sun-filled apartment in Los Angeles, for 7+ months? My daughter said maybe I have a lot of castles.<br><br>Call me irreverent, but when I love a book I jot down my thoughts on the pages...highlight words, and sometimes paragraphs, and do it again, and again every time I read it. Until it resembles a well-worn, rainbow-like journal. I bought two books by Louise Nevelson that I'd been searching for since forever ago. I hesitated for a few moments before reading them. And then...I started highlighting. I'm sure she would have understood.<br><br>If I could go back in time, I would have danced more. Literally and figuratively. In junior high, there wasn't room in my schedule to continue taking the art classes that transported me into a magical world. In high school, I finally had room for them, but thought it was too late</span> <span style="font-size: medium;">because everyone would be so much better than I. I wish I could have given that sixteen-year-old girl a big hug, and told her what I know now...that she was safe taking the art classes. Because creativity lives inside us...all we have to do is set it free.</span></p>Joanie Strulowitz