The Adventuring Lifestyle

Tallyho Thailand! The six-pack sails again!

2010-01-25T14:48:00.000-08:00

Four years ago three couples met up in Athens, Greece and assembled themselves aboard a 40' sailboat named Daphne. Amidst the tubs of olives, crates of feta and bottles of ouzo was
one bonafide sailor, one sailorette in training and four extremely enthusiastic and completely inexperienced sailing crew. The "six-pack" would spend the next two weeks exploring at free will the Cyclades Islands in search of the perfect calamari....

But that is a story for another day...and I promise to tell it if you make a request.

Fast forward four years. Since I do a lot of business with Thailand it seemed only sensible to schedule my planned December trip to Thailand to coincide with the itinerary of our friends, Gar and Nic (enter bonafide sailor and sailorette-in-training from previous sailing trip in Greece---only now sailorette's training is more than complete and she is bonafide first mate) who are on a five year sailing journey around the world in their 40' sailboat Dreamkeeper. Yes, I said five years. No, I don't have time for the whole back story now but if you simply must have the details, visit svdreamkeeper.com (it's a wildly fun site, and totally worth checking in on regularly).

Of course, Billy and Deanne (enter two of the four enthusiastic and completely inexperienced sailing crew from Greece) had been planning to meet up with Dreamkeeper for some sailing/climbing in the south islands so the trip quickly shaped up into a full fledged six-pack reunion...sailing the seas of Thailand in search of the perfect pad thai.

I had a meeting scheduled with my silver dealers in Chiang Mai so Gar and Nic parked DK in a marina in Phuket and flew up to meet Mike and I for a few days before Billy and Deanne flew in and we set sail. My purpose for this trip was twofold: one was that I'd begun to do a great deal of business with a particular silver dealer in the past year and, while the quality and service had been stellar, I couldn't rest easy until I'd met in person the people who were making the raw materials for my jewelry business. Call me a skeptic, call me suspicious, call me downright paranoid if you must but I am a "hands on" kind of gal--and it is of grand importance to me to KNOW the people I work with. Besides, with weekly reports of baby formula laden with formaldehyde, drywall infused with carcinogens and dismal working conditions for children who should be in school rather than working I needed personal confirmation that the silver scene was just as beautiful at it's origin in Thailand as it was when it finally landed on my bench.

Secondly, I'm a big believer in mixing business with pleasure whenever possible and since my back had unexpectedly decided to "break" on me three weeks prior to our departure--and I was therefore taken off the climbing team roster--Nic and I decided instead to use our time together to focus on making pictures. Quick note on picture making: as most of you already know, Nic is responsible for 90% of the images you've ever seen associated with my brand and it's in this picture-making space where I feel we connect most deeply as friends. Some girlfriends connect by shopping together. Some girls connect by drinking together. Some girls connect by talking deeply. Some girls connect through sport. Now I'm not saying that Nic and I can't shop until our husbands threaten to present us with divorce papers or that we haven't been known to toss back a margarita (her) or two (me) together or that we can't kill a good four hours underwater together studying the patterns on giant clams and parrot fish. Oh we can. And we do--but when we are making pictures together it is a very special place for us as friends. It's almost as if we slip into a perfect rhythm with our hearts and visions concatenated as we march toward the exact same undiscussed destination. For me, this is the place where the lines between work and play become absolutely blurred and I'm so pleased to announce that it happens with overwhelming regularity. Mike puts in his time as reflector holder

So after taking a tuk tuk to my meeting with my silver dealer (which is my idea of a perfectly fun mode of transport to a "business" meeting) I breathed a huge sigh of relief at discovering about six cheerful Thai women and men sitting at spotless jewelry benches chatting away and crafting custom silver beads and pendants for my spring/summer 2011 line (which, if I may toot my own horn for a moment is coming along swimmingly!). I could now officially erase the image in my mind of a dark and damp factory full of malnourished retired one-armed Thai prostitutes perched on cement benches hammering and soldering my next seasons collection and instead talk story with my dealer a.k.a new friend for the next few hours. Uh-oh, lines blurred again.
Remind me again why we have lines in the first place?

A quick note about my epiphany in the tuk tuk ride back to my hotel (you are growing impatient with my quick notes? I'm sorry, dear reader, break for a cup of tea if need be). About three years ago I was in a work crisis. I was teaching yoga and working as a medical rep and satisfied in many ways and yet deeply unsatisfied in many more and I felt I was on the verge of...something...something very special but not yet certain WHAT. I was lying torpid in the cockpit of Dreamkeeper as we floated lazily in the atolls of the Tuamotus, French Polynesia where Mike and I had joined Gar and Nic for three weeks of sailing and pearl-hunting. I was expressing my dissatisfaction with my work situation and we four were slurping on fresh papaya spears and brain-storming my options. I knew what I wanted. I knew all the components of what I wanted and yet I was unclear about how to achieve them. Gar asked me what I would be doing if money were no object and I could simply "live my bliss." I wrote a list that night. Here is my list verbatim.

1. I wanna always be authentic
2. I wanna make stuff with my hands
3. I wanna travel internationally
4. I wanna meet interesting folks from all corners of the globe
5. I wanna be surrounded by creativity, color, shape and texture
6. I wanna help make other people feel really good

In the tuk tuk ride home I thought about that list and realized that I was living every single item on my list right now and yet, at the time, never could have predicted it. The mystery of life never fails to delight me and I certainly don't mean that in an oovy-groovy way. I just simply mean that my god life is mysterious and magical and painful and hard and fun and spectacularly surprising sometimes.

For the record, Chiang Mai is a must. It quickly made my top three favorite international cities list alongside Buenos Aires and Rome. It is a smallish city nestled at the base of lush electric green mountains where the Hill Tribes people live and work making fantastically intricate and decorative textiles and silver work. The food is excellent (in fact, the best pad thai was actually consumed in Chiang Mai) and inexpensive and there are lotus blossoms on practically every street corner. Tight, perfect unopened lotus buds in every shade from honeydew to magenta. I flipped out over these lotus buds. If the gang would suddenly notice me missing, they could be certain I'd be across the street kneeling in front of a bucket of lotus buds exclaiming to myself about their beauty. The Thai people are lovely. I've got nothing against muslim countries but I so prefer traveling in buddhist countries. There is a gentleness and reverence for beauty that I find absolutely tranquilizing in the buddhist countries I've visited. Being greeted with a smile, a bow, hands in prayer and the cheerful sing-songy "sawasdee ka" just really works for me. It feels so sweet, so relaxed, so human-like. You can't help but be cheerful!

The four of us flew to Phuket and spent the day provisioning Dreamkeeper with kilos of bananas, papaya, pineapple, sweet chilis and Singha. We stowed luggage and tightened knots, charged batteries, rigged sails, organized gear and prepared to set sail early in the morning once Billy and Deanne arrived. I vaguely remember seeing Billy's bald head and big smile coming down the companionway late that night from my bed in the salon where I'd already been asleep for four hours. I also vaguely remember having a moment of sheer claustrophobia as the reality of six adults and their luggage, including climbing gear were finally stowed and we were all nestled in our respective sleeping quarters. From my bed space in the salon (I call it a bed "space" because there are very definite lines of what space is available for me what space is available for Mike and our general sleeping position is one of two straight sticks lying side by side, flipping in unison so as to maximize our collective space most efficiently) I can see all of Nic in the V berth, most of Gar asleep beside her and if I lean out and crane my neck just a bit I can see both Billy and Deanne from head to knee in the quarter berth. Communication is easy. From our lying down in bed positions, we can all six have a conversation in our normal inside voices! My moment of sheer claustrophobia had completely disappeared by noon the next day as I sat on the rails at the bow of the boat, wind whizzing through my hair and I felt the expansive growing feeling in my heart brought on by the joy of being with five other humans I love fiercely.

Dreamkeeper, our home. The dinghy, our car. The islands, our playground. The fun of it is almost painful at times. Painful because you know that ultimately the trip will come to an end but yet so fun that I'd catch myself spontaneously giggling for no apparent reason other than a giddy overload of joyful emotion!

By day we'd load up the dinghy with climbing gear, camera gear and food and zip out to deserted climbing islands accessible only by boat. Nic and I would drop off the climbing crew and then take the dinghy scouting around limestone formations jutting out of the water and secret paradise beach bays looking for interesting sites to take pictures. In the afternoons we'd come home to Dreamkeeper, anchored peacefully out in some gorgeous and empty bay and put on goggles and go for long swims to shore to explore OUR beach. Longtail fishing boats would buzz up to Dreamkeeper in the early evenings and sell us freshly caught gung (shrimp) which we'd douse in butter and garlic and barbeque up for dinner. After the dinner dishes had been done, we'd all sit in the cockpit by candlelight sipping Singhas and sharing stories of our separate life experiences and our ideas for the future...both together and apart. Being together, so easy; there is such comfort in friendships that feel as natural as being alone.

A quick note about living aboard a 40' sailboat with five other adults, sometimes not going ashore for a few days at a time. In order to maintain sanity, there needs to be not only a strict organizational code that all parties adhere to but a high tolerance for virtually zero personal space. Billy's clothing hammock was lashed to the bookcase just above my bed space so that when I was in bed the hammock and I looked like two small seals hovering parallel to one another. Alternately, my toiletries were stowed hanging on the door about seven inches from Deanne's head so when I'd creep in to get my vitamins in the early morning hours she'd have to exercise extreme patience and compassion when I'd accidentally spill a container of Q tips all over her sleeping head. No space onboard was truly private, including the bathroom, and if you needed alone time or privacy you'd simply have to go overboard to get it. Which is precisely why I developed my own patented program of DWS.

Many people go to Thailand to go DWS, or 'deep water soloing,' the act of being taken out to a remote vertical limestone crag to boulder/climb unroped so that when you fall you simply fall into the ocean. On my last trip to Thailand, I went deep water soloing and, make no mistake, it is great fun!! However, my new DWS program combines stealing a moment of absolute privacy with a necessary daily bodily function. I proudly introduce Thailand's best DWS: deep water shitting.

The concept was conceived of by sheer accident one morning when I decided to take a long swim and was caught unawares with the "urge" far from both shore and the toilet aboard Dreamkeeper, but by the end of the trip it was a preferred method by more than just one of the six-pack crew. When you are anchored out in a sailboat the waste from the toilet is pumped directly out into the ocean and immediately becomes fish food. Because we only had one toilet aboard Dreamkeeper, we all had to be mindful of each other's pooping schedules. Nic, conveniently, is a first-light pooper. Every morning I'd hear her quietly swish past my bed in the salon and soon after the bathroom door hatches were latched came the telltale sound of the manual pump flushing out the lines and making space for Mike who was usually followed within the next hour. Gar is a nighttime pooper and by day three aboard Dreamkeeper, we all had an easy routine of rushing through our bathroom chores of brushing, flossing and washing faces before 9pm when we would be ushered out by Gar as nature called at the same exact time every night. There was generally much cajoling around this time of night but by the time Gar emerged with a magazine in hand, we were all safely nestled into our beds with our own books.

The bottleneck happened at about 9-10am when Deanne, Billy and I would all lunge for the bathroom at the same time and ultimately the two who didn't win would stand around hopping from one foot to the other and loudly urging at the door for the person who did win to please make it speedy! So when I chanced upon the concept of DWS I was rather smitten to find the experience not only highly relaxing and entirely private but also supremely clean! This only backfired once on me while anchored in an a bay which boasted a higher than normal number of tiny stinging jellyfish and therefor rendered me unwilling to swim too far for my DWS experience. I can still see Deanne and Mike sitting in the cockpit sipping their morning tea and shouting out derogatory encouragements to me as I tried to ignore them and relax enough to get the job done. Then, as my luck would have it, the current was moving swiftly toward Dreamkeeper and...well....you can imagine...this is probably an appropriate place to end this topic of DWS.

We spent a week anchored out at Railay where we ran multiple daily shuttles of dinghying in to drop off climbers, pick up swimmers, play on the slacklines, meet the hikers, drop off laundry, pick up models for photoshoots, gather for cocktails with friends--old and new--that we'd chanced upon on our travels. About the time that Mike and I were due to depart, via longtail boat to Ao Nang then fly out of Krabi, I was just beginning to settle into this watery rhythm of life aboard Dreamkeeper. I was beginning to hear myself say..."I could really get used to this."

Gar interviews Bron and Mike one last time as they depart Railay

We had a final six-pack send off breakfast and we all walked to the beach and Mike and I clambered onto the longtail with our freshly washed hair and our one set of non-salty traveling clothes. We stood on the longtail and waved at our four friends on the beach as we sped out to sea and we all continued waving until they looked like tiny specs of black on the sand. This is a moment I'll never forget in my life. I cried the entire boat ride to Ao Nang, as we zoomed along past the limestone cliffs that we'd been sailing through and climbing on for weeks and now felt so familiar to me because they represented a bedrock bank of memories that I'll always cherish in the deepest and most protected chambers of my heart.

The six-pack crew in Tonsai: Nic, Billy, Bron, Mike, Deanne, Gar

There are moments in my life when I experience what I've come to think of as "moments of piercing feeling," and they happen most often when I'm traveling. Perhaps I seek these moments and that is why I travel so often. Our everyday lives are swamped in narrative but there are sacred in-between moments of silence when I'm far away from my routine, my regular life and suddenly new and important questions yawn before me and it occurs to me with laser-precision that I'm exactly where I should be at that moment in time. I will forever continue to simply surround myself with people whom I love and who love me back with such relentless abandon that I may radiate my highest purpose in life: to be happy.

Aboard Thai Airways, the attendant greets me with an unopened lotus bud. I smile and bow.
Bronwen

The Dance of Marriage

2009-09-29T16:43:00.000-07:00

It's my 9 year wedding anniversary today.

I'm kind of up in arms about it, actually. In fact I'm having trouble swallowing even as I see these words take shape on my computer screen. We are talking about nearly a decade here, folks. That's 3,285 days. 78,840 hours. In my book, that's
just plain and simple a LONG TIME to be institutionalized, no matter how good the food.

I am, at once, the biggest proponent and the biggest critic of marriage.

On the one hand I feel as proud as if I'd just completed the Tour De France (which, for me, is a feat I render utterly legendary) and on the other hand I find myself shaking my head in a state of half-horror and whispering, "oh lordie, what have I gotten myself into?"

Tell me you've never had this thought before.

I'm not a gifted candidate for marriage and my husband will be the first to endorse that statement. Through the years we've spent many a night at our kitchen table negotiating the terms of our marriage and that's probably why we fall asleep together every night in spoon formation...instead of miles apart with a blanket of silence covering all things left unsaid. Things don't go unsaid in our marriage. Even things that are hard to hear but need to be said simply because they are the truth.

A few years ago I went to Italy by myself for a month. Needed space. Needed perspective. Needed to remember how it feels to travel alone and meet other people in the context of being just Bronwen as an individual. I needed to rely only on myself instead of the comfort/ease of relying on a partner. My girlfriend said, "I can't believe your husband is letting you go alone, my husband would NEVER let me." I remember feeling a rush of gratitude that we'd negotiated not needing permission from each other to go out and do something that was really important. That I was dropped off and picked up at the airport by my husband who had a hug for me at both times.

Needs are different than wants. If we don't assert our needs, how are we supposed to get them met? If we don't negotiate for our wants aren't we settling for less? I'm certainly not suggesting we deserve to get everything we want in life, I do recognize the value in compromise but isn't negotiation a critical component to compromise?

I can't name a single married person (no pun intended) who would claim that having a healthy and fulfilling marriage comes really easily. In fact, I wouldn't even put the words 'fulfilling' and 'marriage' and 'easy' together in the same sentence. And if you're like me, whose idea of a "fulfilling" marriage means that it's wildly adventurous and passionately steamy and comfortingly secure and highly romantic and bedrock stable and deeply loving and humorously joyful and intellectually and emotionally challenging and unquestionably committed and radically honest and spectacularly fun.....well...you can understand why some nights at the kitchen table it's my husband shaking his head saying, "oh lordie, what have I gotten myself into?" Our wedding day, Santa Fe, NM 2000

This week my parents are celebrating their 43rd wedding anniversary on a six day backpacking trip in the north cascades of Washington. I kneel down before them in full prostrate bow.

I'm baffled by marriage and the more I talk to people about it, I find that they are baffled too! I don't have any alternate lifetime partnership models to recommend but with a divorce rate of 50% or higher, I am suggesting some modifications to the current institution in the spirit of upping the statistics. Updates if you will. Perhaps grandfather in a clause that all wives take mandatory yearly trips to Italy alone. Any takers on that, girls?

I mostly love being married and I certainly love my husband like I love no other human on the planet. And for today, I'm going to focus on that.
Bronwen

Putting the Hammer Down

2009-09-29T15:57:00.000-07:00

Recently, upon completion of a long ride, my husband paid me the compliment of the century.

"Your really putting the hammer down, Bron."

Among our cycling friends, Mike's nickname is Lance and it isn't because he has the same hair cut if you catch my drift. So if in fact Bron truly was "putting the hammer down," as Lance allegedly claimed, well that's just not a compliment to shake a stick at.

disclaimer: I do realize that ending a sentence with a preposition is a big NO-NO in the Lodato family but "at which to shake a stick" just doesn't SOUND good!

I've invented a little game I call 'cat and mouse' (yeah, thanks it's original). I start out on a ride about 10 minutes before Lance (the cat) and we see how long it takes him to catch up with me (the mouse). For some reason the fact that I know I've got a good little lead on him and that HE WILL eventually catch me actually makes me ride harder! Just that modicum of fear that the next time I peer over my shoulder, he very well may be barreling around the bend, legs pumping, a determined grin on his face--literally drives me to "put the hammer down, " if you will.

Seems, not unlike most three year olds I know, I like being chased.

It occurs to me too what a huge motivator fear is in life. I make a daily conscious practice of not making ANY DECISIONS based on fear and yet isn't fear a critical component of risk taking? What makes a risk a risk if not for the element of fear? Might there be a way to use our fear to positively motivate us instead of paralyze us? To help us "put the hammer down" when we really need to?

I'm starting to think about other areas of my life that could benefit from some "putting down of the hammer." For now, I'm gonna work on increasing the amount time before the cat catches the mouse. Makes for a good chase.
Bronwen

Change is good...but making it sure ain't easy

2009-08-26T16:45:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had a lover that made you feel simultaneously:
a. like you were shooting 100 cc's of dopamine 3x daily between meals and
b. like you were trying on the same damn pair of shoes over and over and over only to remember that they are a 1/2 size off

Well that's how I feel about my town right now. I'm not kiddin', it's downright tempestuous.

Honest to god I complain about dressing head to toe in wool all summer, I complain that I can't see my mailbox through the soupy fog, I complain that waiting in line at Whole Foods for 15 minutes is JUST TOO LONG and that with every second I spend in traffic so grid-locked I don't move out of first gear, the very essence of my small-town girl soul is slowly ebbing with the retreating tide.

For all intents and purposes, it's time for a change.

And then, magically, the sun comes out and I've instantly forgiven my town for any trespasses against me I've ever claimed. Gone. Irretrievable. The fog ain't all that bad. Traffic? It's a meditation. Chilly? It's good for my Pitta firey dosha...balances me. Yep, everything is just hunky dorey here in the beautiful San Francisco Bay Area.

Recently, my husband Mike and I had a naked gun day. We call them naked gun days because of that movie from the 80's where the couple is shown dining out, going on cruises, taking walks in the mountains, touring museums, on a train in the countryside...and you think it is the span of like a three year relationship but it is actually just one afternoon? Well we occasionally (ahem, often) have naked gun days here in the Bay Area and they remind us of all the reasons why so many people LOVE living here.

We started out on our road bikes from our house in the Berkeley Hills and we rode down the hill to the little local farmer's market in our neighborhood to have a quick fresh-baked pastry and shot of espresso. Fueled up for the first leg of our ride we took the bay trail along the shore where kite boarders hung suspended beneath colorful sails and just the tips of buildings were becoming visible across the bay in San Francisco as the morning fog began its slow daily retreat. We rode as close to the bay bridge as possible then hopped on BART, peeled off our first layers of wool and got off at the first San Francisco stop where we emerged from underground smack dab into the middle of the Gay Pride Parade in full swing.

Perhaps it's just the nature of Gay Pride Parades everywhere but they are a spectacle to be reckoned with! There were whips, chains, leather dusters with nothing underneath, large breasted women, small breasted women, one-breasted women, piercings in all imaginable locations, men that were half-women, women that were half-men, steel contraptions affixed to penises in all shapes, colors and sizes, long term married couples with children, politicians and celebrities flying rainbow flags, old folks, infants, fluffy pink bunny suits with giant Samoan men inside them, 80 year old women riding banana seat bikes with nothing on but crowns...you get the idea. People-watching at its finest.

From there we rode along the Embarcadero to the ferry building for a late morning snack of oysters on the half shell, sparkling lemonade and a quick sunshine session (get it while you can!) and then made our way along Crissy Field and over the Golden Gate Bridge. From there we rode a heart-stoppingly gorgeous 30 mile loop along the coast and through the Marin Headlands before making our way back home to Berkeley, stopping only for a fabulous early supper at a hip cafe near our house. We arrived back at our house sunburned, windburned, fogburned and with that delicious tired feeling you get after a really fun day. Or as my niece says, "rhully rhully fun."

Perhaps because since leaving my home in Washington State for college, I've never until now lived anywhere for 8 consecutive years and I've actually had time to develop a deep love for the Bay Area. The kind of love that makes you forget, in one instant, that you had any complaints the moment before. The kind of love that, on good days, makes your heart swell to the point of bursting and on bad days swear that Omaha, Nebraska really is where it's at.

I listened to myself tell a friend the other day..."change is good"...and I felt like an imposter. Like I was posing as someone who actually practices what she preaches.

Oh sure, I'm a huge fan of radical change and I do believe with all my heart that change IS good. But does it make it any easier? I'm having trouble making change and it's all because I live somewhere that I simultaneously love wildly and would love to leave.

If I do ever leave, I'll certainly be leaving my heart in San Francisco....at least a big piece. But isn't that what it's all about?
Bronwen

Balance....The Eternal Quest

2009-03-19T15:07:00.001-07:00

Michael (my hub) walks the line. Phra Nang Beach, Railay, Thailand 3/09

I have a confession.

I seem to have accidentally slipped and fallen in love.

In fact, slipping and falling is literally what I've been doing for the past two weeks and I don't think it'd be a stretch to say that I'm borderline obsessed. You see, I'm learning to slackline.

Slackline, the art of dynamic balance. It is akin to tight rope and high wire but uses tubular nylon webbing. Rope walking of one form or another has been around for at least a couple thousand years but has always been the realm of acrobats and daredevils. This is no longer the case. A slackline revolution is brewing and I'm joining the ranks!

Clearly, finding balance is the eternal quest.

Andy and Bron admire Jenny's aptitude for pregnant-slacking in Tonsai

Google "finding balance" and you'll become exhausted by the number of pages that come up. We practice yoga to balance our stress from living in a society which places too much importance on work and not enough importance on play. We take primrose oil to balance our hormones. Women resist motherhood because finding a healthy balance of career and family seem so unfathomable (ahem, not mentioning any names here...)

We all have our own forms of meditation. Things to quiet the chatter in our minds. Look within. Slow the breath and heart rate. A vehicle for non-negotiable concentration and absolute focus.

Bron hitting her stride (peanut gallery on sidelines, sipping Singha and critiquing)

Slacklining is a challenge that will never cease to humble you and
simultaneously make you feel like you own the world.

It's been a long time since I discovered something that makes me feel quite like I do when I'm walking the line. Slacklining brings me one wobbly step closer to that seemingly elusive thing we call balance.
Bronwen

MEN AND JEWELRY...THEN AND NOW

2008-09-12T14:26:00.000-07:00

There is something
about a man
in jewelry.

But long before Johnny Depp and David Beckham were around to show us how well it can be done (ahem, it's getting hot in here..) men were wearing jewelry in every region of the world....and they weren't shy about it.

In Africa, when power was concentrated in a ruler who controlled valuable resources--marketable commodities like gold and ivory, for example--he generally encouraged the development of arts and crafts, both to express his power visually and to have offerings to give to the gods out of gratitude for his privileged position.

Today, objects of adornment are part of a multilayered communication system in all African societies. Jewelry, particularly beaded jewelry, communicated cultural values in a symbolic language that expresses rank, religion, politics, and artistic attitude. Beaded jewelry is central to the lives of all Africans--and its ability to reflect a cultural heritage is still more pronounced in Africa than in any other part of the world.

At least eight thousand years before Europeans crossed the Atlantic, Indians were making, wearing and trading beads of shell, pearl, bone, teeth, stone and fossils.

North American Indian languages appear to have no word for art; artistic expression was fully integrated into many aspects of life and not treated as a separate activity. Objects of adornment were created to serve a host of functions, both secular and sacred. The extent of their complexity depended on the lifestyle of the group and the resources available to them.

The best known shell bead was wampum: small, cylindrical, centrally drilled white and purple beads made primarily of the quahog clamshell. Strung on leather thongs or woven into belts, the wampum was sometimes worn as decoration but developed far greater significance as currency and was used for objects commemorating major political and ceremonial events.

In 1497, Jacques Cartier, a French explorer wrote, "The thing most precious that they have in all the world, they call it esurgny; it is as white as any snow: they make beads and wear them about their necks as we do gold, accounting it as the most precious thing in the world."

Until it was absorbed into China in 1959, Tibet was a Buddhist theocracy ruled jointly by a powerful hierarchy of monks and nobility that recognized the Dalai Lama as their spiritual and temporal leader. It was by far the most influencial country in the eastern regions of central Asia, with Ladakh, Bhutan, Sikkim, Nepal, Mongolia and Chinese provinces functioning as cultural outposts of Tibet.

Jewelry in these countries shared important similarities with Tibet. All personal adornment had religious significance. Tibetan jewelry is often monumental in scale, to express the rank of the owner and is sturdy enough to withstand life on the road. There is an exuberance of color in Tibetan jewelry, characterized by liberal use of turquoise, coral and amber beads.

The use of all adornment in Tibet, including beads, was outlawed during the Cultural Revolution and the Chinese repression of Buddhism in the 1960's. It has since reemerged.

Worldwide, jewelry continues to tell a story of our cultural history and values. Wearing jewelry proves to be a universal human need.

It's time to give men more options.
Bronwen

*credit: The History of Beads, Lois Sherr Dubin, copyright 1987

Rocky Mountain High

2008-07-07T13:07:00.001-07:00

Sure, we've all heard the John Denver song but only those of us with a weakness for pristine aspen groves, afternoon thunderstorms and high alpine meadows truly understand that 'Rocky Mountain High' is an actual bodily phenomenon, which is contracted by frolicking in the state of Colorado.

It all begins by meeting up with old friends who know and love the state as much as you do.
The high comes on nice and smooth and by the time you rustle up some mountain bikes and make a few phone calls to old pals, you're beginning to wonder how long this feeling of euphoria is gonna last.

Chance upon an aspen grove suited perfectly for a jewelry photo shoot and the high quickly intensifies to the point of needing to pinch yourself periodically to make sure you are still capable of feeling pain.

Spend a few days camping in fields of lupine with snow capped peaks surrounding you and your symptoms now become a incessant verbal exclamation about the astounding beauty and a ruthless self-interrogation of what prompted you to move to the city from this paradise in the first place???

Throw in some serious girl time and and a little hubba hubba and you're beginning to understand the full magnitude of the affliction and wonder if you might be able to buy it on the street corner in east Oakland.

The high next localizes in the upper left quadrant of your chest in the form of swelling. You monitor and treat the swelling with plenty of fresh food and wine as you participate in the marriage ceremony of two humans that are so cool individually that the official uniting is almost too much to bear...so you dance wildly for a few hours to take the edge off.

Like any good high, 'Rocky Mountain High' leaves you wanting more.

And like any good high, a hangover is expected.

However, if managed properly with great photographic reminders (thanks primarily to Nic) and vivid memories, 'Rocky Mountain High' settles into a feeling of gratitude and the resolve to return for more.
Bronwen

Old...it's the new new

2008-06-25T12:02:00.001-07:00

I love all things ancient.

Unintentionally, I cultivated my fascination with ancient things while in college. I simply kept taking the interesting courses and and lo and behold four years later I walked out of Boulder, Colorado with a degree in Anthropology.

No intent to dig.
No intent to teach.
No intent to collect data (at least in the career sense anyway).

In fact, I spent a lot of money on a college education that has done virtually nothing for my career path...but one that has seriously shaped the manner in which I look at objects in the world. I love objects with a history. A story. A meaning...and therefore, value.

The more surrounded I become with objects of mass production, the more I feel myself gravitating to objects that have been around for a while. Things that look a little rough around the edges. Things that have been around the block a few times. Things with some real live grit and life to them.

I dress almost exclusively in used clothing.

My most recent obsession is antique trade beads. African, Indonesian, Middle Eastern, Native American, European...beads that were really truly traded as gifts of power and a form of currency before we had coins and bills. Beads made of glass, horn, bone, tusk, teeth, clay, coral and stone. Beads that were artfully crafted by hand and assigned a value. Beads that today still carry value, and will continue to increase in value because we can never again make a trade bead that was made in Africa in the 1700s.

I used to gasp at price tags on antiques. I don't anymore. Now, I appreciate.

As container ships line up to pull into the port of Oakland, packed with shiny new chotchkies fresh from a factory in China, India, Vietnam...my appreciation for all things "old" deepens. I think old is the new new.
Bronwen

Eco~nfusion

2008-06-08T22:39:00.000-07:00

In the eco-fashion world, it's become a bit of a quest to discover the new "it" item in sustainable style. Hemp is passe but bamboo is smokin' hot. After all, it reproduces faster than Angelina Jolie and when mixed with lycra it can make any garment feel like your PJs. Organic cotton has simply become mainstream (and it's about time).

In the accessories division, the lines have become so blurred between recycled, reclaimed, repurposed, fair trade, eco-friendly, greener-than-green...I reluctantly admit that at times I find myself almost virtually incapable of thinking critically about sustainability anymore.

I was shopping in Portland, Oregon recently and passed a store front displaying a bedroom set which made my heart immediately leap up and pay attention. My eyes were literally watering. Rough barn wood that was so perfectly worn and mismatched yet so masterfully put together.....my body turned at will and marched in.

The label on the furniture line read "Eco-Furniture" and at once it seemed too good to be true! I inquired about the history of the pieces, the supply chain, the origin of the raw materials, the design process, manufacturing...and the saleswoman eagerly shared information about this "Eco-Furniture" line. I learned that the wood was, in fact, reclaimed from old barns in Brazil (oi! one of my favorite countries on earth....was meant to be!!!) then shipped to America where a team of designers set to work on the plans for the perfect bedroom set. From there it was sent to Indonesia where it was meticulously crafted by...well...we weren't quite certain whom...and then sent back again to America where the drawers were lined with...well...we weren't quite sure with what...and placed in this very window where I stood outside waiting for it....like a long lost lover.

The price tag flirted with me with it's "Eco-Furniture" prelude to the $7,500.00 retail price. My heart and brain were in conflict as I tried to quickly calculate the fuel used for shipping from Brazil to America to Indonesia and back again, the questionable labor in the manufacturing process and the ingredients used to treat the furniture......but it was "reclaimed" barn wood afterall.....and therefore pronounced "GREEN!"

I'm confused. And I find myself going back to the basics for reference. I came home from Portland and by chance met a woodworker who specializes in handcrafting all non-toxic furniture from dead-fall around the Marin/Sonoma area. He collects it in his old rusty truck, drives it back to his shop and magically turns it into the most incredibly beautiful, rustic, local furniture you can imagine. We sat on a sawhorse and discussed my ideas for the design. We shared an apple. We talked about costs...his business...my business...his children. We connected as two human beings face to face, who share a common concern for the planet and transparency in our actions.

To me, this feels organic. This feels "green." Somehow I think my new furniture will have more meaning to me this way. I like this version of "green."
Bronwen

Viva Baja

2008-06-08T21:28:00.001-07:00

Spent 10 days in Baja recently. 5 days sea kayaking down the west coast of the island of Espiritu Santo in the Sea of Cortez. Stunning. Desolate, arid landscape meets tropical ocean complete with healthy living reefs festooned with fantastically colorful fish, mantas, turtles. With the exception of a local pulpo fisherman, we saw and spoke with no one else but eachother and I found myself thinking much about "place." Our place as humans on this planet...and my little place in the midst of all us humans.

Spent the other 5 days exploring southern Baja and found it rather perplexing. It seemed every other vehicle had either a California, Colorado, Washington, Oregon or Montana license plate. Modern adobe homes with staggering pricetags sprouting like agave in every imaginable color on the mexican spectrum. The owners of the shops, galleries, restaurants, and hotels..... American.....and the Mexican wait-staff speak almost exclusively in english. The dollar/peso exchange rate apparently a formality. We paid more for migas in Todo Santos than we do at home in San Francisco. The newspapers are in english.

The world is getting smaller. And it's happening so fast.

We have to trust that we will all end up in our right "places." Clearly, I'm still trying to find mine.
Bronwen

Adventure Chic Jewelry

2008-04-23T14:13:00.000-07:00

Girls just want adventure...and jewelry!

When I was leading backcountry trips, I found myself longing for jewelry that I could wear on expeditions and journeys abroad: jewelry that could withstand rapids and rock climbing....but that would still traipse through Tuscany or go dancing with me Buenos Aires. I wanted sturdy yet sexy. Simple yet sophisticated. Delicate...yet powerful as the women wearing it. I set about designing a line of jewelry for women like me—adventuresome women who want to accessorize without compromising FUNction, fashion…..or the environment. www.bronwenonline.com

Vertigo....the ultimate adventure?

2008-04-21T18:02:00.000-07:00

Seven weeks ago, I woke one morning with severe vertigo. Not just your everyday run of the mill morning dizzy spell. Full blown vertigo. Violent spinning. No up, no down. No gravity. Simultaneously falling and whirling. Lots of vomiting. In short, no reference point whatsoever. Disorientation at it's finest. At one point, I literally found myself asking.....who the hell is this Bronwen character anyway?!

It was the most painfully incapacitating three days of my life and I hope to never experience it again. Talk about cramping my style!!! I'm a horrible candidate for incapacitation. I'm pleased to report that I am on the mend and only now get "dizzy" occasionally, which I've learned is normal following a bout of severe vertigo. Oddly, I've come out of the entire experience contemplating......pretty much everything I've ever learned from society.

When we step out of our normal world and leave behind us all the usual barriers and prejudices, we tend to become more adventurous.

Sometimes when I travel, I purposefully get lost. Sometimes I end up in a bummer place and get hungry and grumpy and the whole getting lost thing kinda sucks. But more often than not, I uncover a place or a person or a thought that becomes very important in my life. Allowing ourselves to get lost......the adventure takes on a life of its own.

The same is true for our THINKING. The more adventurous we become with our thinking, the more opportunities exist to uncover something that you actually believe at your very core. I mean believe with your heart and your body and your mind. Not because everyone else says they believe it or a book tells you to believe it. But because it makes sense and feels right to YOU in your gut (or as my 3 year old niece, Wyatt, calls it your "gutlet"). We all want to feel good in our gutlets, right?

I'm not saying that severe vertigo is any great ride or anything like that. But I am saying that sometimes we need to be tipped upside down and whirled around, spun wildly, and perhaps even vomit a few times god forbid, to even question our own thinking and believing.

The adventure continues.......
Bronwen

Find Your Rhythm

2008-04-07T11:26:00.000-07:00

Find Your Rhythm Lifestyle...a shared passion for physical recreation in the outdoors, relentless world travel, mental/emotional fitness (this means an equal balance of employing our brains and our hearts as guides) and general health-promoting habits. We're talking about being free in our hearts so we can:

find the rhythm in life that feels most authentic and meaningful to us
express this authentic rhythm to the world---it's what nature intended

My authentic rhythm happens to be one of constant CHANGE. I have a self-proclaimed, perpetual case of wanderlust. Just the mere mention of a new adventure or distant journey and I immediately perk up. My husband lures me to our more mundane tasks by attaching the promise of an adventure to get me interested. Instead of, "C'mon Bron, we need to go grocery shopping," he'll wisely say, "Hey Bron, we need groceries badly and there is a new Whole Foods in Oakland. We'll take the bikes and ride through a really seedy area of town to get there..it'll be a real adventure!" And I'm already clamoring to slip into my biking shorts. It's really that easy.

I am painfully paralyzed by predictability; I thoroughly thrive in change. What am I gonna do? It's my rhythm. It's what makes me feel most alive---the best version of Bronwen possible. I'm learning to love it.

What's your rhythm?