Time. Treasure It. By Karen McGovern

I don't know how to start this post. As I sit here I am fraught with anxiety because I am late.  I'm late to begin this post, I'm late to go grocery shopping, I'm late to feed my bajillion critters, I'm late FOR EVERYTHING because I don't have enough time.

Time.  TIME.  That elusive, ephemeral, intangible thing WE ALL STRUGGLE TO FIND. Sometimes I HATE time. I hate how fast it passes and how little of it I seem to have. I sometimes hate what my time is often filled with. Minutia, stress, RIDICULOUS PEOPLE. 

I also fear what time can represent. Age....UGH...mortality....UGH AGAIN. I think a lot about time these days--when I have the time to think.

There are upsides to the passage of time as well--don't get me wrong.  Wisdom (hopefully), focus, acceptance, tolerance, love, embracing ADULTHOOD (can I get another UGH here??).

I would like to think I am on the track to finding focus.  For me that means taking time, even when I don't think I have any, to be conscious of  what I do in my life. I try to remain aware as much as possible. WHAT THE HELL IS SHE BABBLING ABOUT, you ask? Well, it's hard to describe.  My close friends of a certain age (WE'RE ALL PAST 50, OKAY?) get what I'm talking about.  Self awareness. True self awareness. I'm working on it. I think it's reflected in my artistic life as well. I'm focusing on work that feels right to me, speaks in my voice. I'm not 1000% there yet, but I'm on the path. 

When I turned 50 I wrote this poem. Maya Angelou influenced, but how I felt in that moment, how I still feel. The words fit perfectly with a necklace I created for a photographer friend of mine. It features photographs of vintage nudes wrapped in steel. That's what we are as women--curves and beauty wrapped in steel. Some of us may feel caged, but we're strong...so strong. Central is a pendant with a crowned mirror, vials of affirmations feature throughout.

I'm almost on the verge of liking myself right now, and time, that elusive BITCH, is precious to me. NEVER feel the time you take to create is stolen or wasted. IT'S VITAL, it's the time that makes the rest of our lives fuller, makes us fuller as individuals. Take time. MAKE time. Appreciate time and EMBRACE time. You are worth ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD.

I mean, seriously, it's not like we can dodge time....so I'm trying to befriend it. 

What age am I you ask?

I'm the age where I answer to no one but myself

I'm the age where the opinion that matters most is my own

I'm the age where my hair, my clothes and my body are configured, adorned and displayed to please only me

I'm the age where a great sense of humor and a strong sense of self

are a thousand times sexier than any muscle a man can flex

I'm the age where the people I love and choose to spend time with understand what that time is--

A GIFT

I'm the age where time has meaning and if you waste mine you have stolen from me and I will have none left for you

I'm the age where the brand, make and model mean nothing, but quality and craftsmanship mean everything

I'm the age where art is like breathing and I choose to breath deeply

I'm the age where I can weep for the world--and I do

I'm the age where I could choose to look away--but I don't

My age is a wave that carries me across time, and I'm riding the swell as long and as fast as I can

My age, in a word, is ENVIABLE.

Now, go make something AMAZING!

Caterpillars Do Not Do What You Tell Them and Other Life Lessons by Karen McGovern

This post isn't really about jewelry design…Sorry.

Last Saturday was my birthday. I turned….50.

The week prior, I found myself the caregiver for over a dozen monarch butterfly caterpillars on four milkweed plants.  I realize that most people played with caterpillars in kindergarten, and learned all about how butterflies grow from first-hand experiences that occurred before the age of 10.  Well, not me.  While I have always been fascinated with nature and all things wildlife related, I had never seen, up-close and personal, caterpillars becoming butterflies other than illustrations in books and bad film strips.  Chalk it up to being the last of seven children to parents that were, frankly, exhausted by the time I rolled around.  Or crappy schooling, or whatever.  So, when my good friend and fellow artist Norm Gitzen (check out his website, ladies, his sculptures and metal works are OUTSTANDING) arrived on my doorstep with milkweed plants covered in tiny caterpillars, I was as pretty darned excited and set up my new family on my screened-in back porch.  BTW, Norm also keeps bees, so I'm very grateful he decided to bring me caterpillars...

I’m also a bit obsessive.  I am a conservation biologist who takes care of critically endangered species every day.  I happily threw myself head-first into this whole caterpillar thing.  I photographed every bug, and posted daily updates on my Facebook page.  I plucked aphids off each leaf. I did a caterpillar head-count several times a day and searched frantically for stragglers that decided to explore beyond their pots, returning them with firm admonishment to stay put (because they obviously understood the giant alien abducting them was only trying to be helpful). I watched them shed their exoskeletons and grow from a creature smaller than a grain of rice to a 3 inch monster in open-mouthed awe.  I watched them poop like tiny cows, covering my porch in “frass” (that’s the technical term for caterpillar crap—thank you Google), which I learned is fabulous fertilizer.  But nothing prepared me for the ultimate transformation—from caterpillar to chrysalis. 

Hannibal

The first and largest caterpillar to transform was named Hannibal.  Hannibal taught me many, many things.  He taught me that next to eating continuously, pooping continuously is a caterpillar’s favorite thing to do.  He taught me that monarch caterpillars are cannibals.  Yes, he earned his name (and, BTW, I have no idea if he was a “he” or a “she”, but for the purposes of this story, we’ll go with “he”).  While happily crunching away on a milkweed leaf, he vacuumed up one of his tiny siblings (?) without missing a beat.  Google confirmed that monarch caterpillars will mindlessly eat smaller caterpillars if they happen to be in the way of the non-stop eating machine that is a caterpillar.  So, I immediately separated all my caterpillars, made sure each had its own branch of milkweed to munch, and relocated any that moseyed too close to one another.  Aside—by this time the eye-rolling from my husband over my constant caterpillar updates was EPIC. 

Anyway, one day Hannibal refused to stay on his milkweed.  He kept crawling off the plant, off the pot, and wandering.  I picked him up and put him back over and over, but he just wouldn't stay.  In my mind he had decided living with me was the worst thing on the planet and he was risking death to get away from me.  I finally gave up and let him be.  (Again, my husband was totally cracking up behind my back).  Turns out, Hannibal was ready to change—transform into a chrysalis.  I learned that this is what they do—when ready to transform, they leave the plant (usually) and search for a safe, protected place to form a chrysalis, the last stage before becoming a butterfly.  AND WHAT A STAGE IT IS.  They hang upside down forming a “J” shape, secure themselves in place with a strong strand of sticky silk, and then, several hours later, SLIDE OUT OF THEIR SKIN IN THE FORM OF A GIANT, WET, GREEN ALIEN.  They shed their skin like an old pair of pantyhose, twist violently around and fling it off, then hang there all gooey and green and CRAZY LOOKING!  The first time I saw this I may or may not have screamed the entire time it was happening, which is amazingly fast.  Once ready to go, they split and shed their skin in under two minutes.  An hour or so later and they dry up, forming a hard, beautiful green chrysalis dotted with gleaming spots of bright gold.  HOW COOL IS THAT?!?!?!

10 days later, Hannibal emerged, again amazingly fast, in his final form.  The chrysalis turned transparent, and I could see the butterfly inside, all curled up.  He popped out in less than a minute--a gorgeous monarch butterfly.  It took a couple hours for his wings to expand and dry, then he flew away out the back porch door (which I had propped open), rested briefly on a ficus tree then hit the bright blue sky.  WHAT AN ADVENTURE!

Note the artistic use of silk fibers to tie Hannibal's chrysalis to a twig.  ART!

Now, I am an old pro at this.  I have 12 more chrysalis on my back porch.  Five under a wood folding table, four on twigs right near my kitchen window, and three I tied to chopsticks because the chrysalis were on weak leaves and I didn't want them to fall.  Three caterpillars remain on the milkweed, they each have a few days to go before transforming.  I still photograph and film like a crazy person, and am loving every second of this entire process.

NOTE: As of this writing, three chrysalis have popped out butterflies, all of whom are now in the great blue yonder!

  

Life is pretty miraculous.  So many forms, so many transformations to reach maturity.  You know where I am going here, right? I turned 50.  That is nothing compared to what these caterpillars turn into.  I was prepared to throw such a mental hissy-fit over this birthday, and instead I became completely enraptured and caught up in something totally outside of myself.  I know Norm had no “grand plan” in mind when he gave me the caterpillars (BTW, he’s single, ladies—chat him up), but this journey has been one of the best birthday gifts I have ever received.  Well, this and the 50 roses my husband gave me.  Fifty. Roses.  Yes, I know how lucky I am. 

So, my advice to anyone out there that is trapped inward, focusing too much on whatever you perceive to be your flaws and foibles, to simply look up.  Look outside.  Get a milkweed plant and just wait, you’ll be witness to something so amazing, so magical, so OUTSTANDING, you can’t help but realize how silly most of our mental gymnastics are.  From me worrying about getting “old” to trying to make a caterpillar do what I wanted--pfft.  It’s out of our hands, people.  Enjoy the front-row seat and marvel at the passage of time, the potential for growth and the power of transformation.

Happy Birthday to EVERYONE!