Laurie Beth Jones Blog

The Gate by Irene Jones

The Gate
Years ago my mother painted a canvas showing a gate half open towards the sea.  There were steps leading up to it and beyond the gate was a horizon of azure blue.  As she showed it to me she said  “This is the scene I want you to remember when I have passed away.  I am also showing this to Kathy and Joe so you all will know that this is how I see my future.”

Yesterday the call came.  The one I have dreaded since I first could remember fearing the loss of my mother.   It was my sister sounding calm and strong, saying “Mom is dancing with the angels now.  I was with her right up to the very last moment, and it was beautiful.  I held her hand and stroked her forehead and told her she was free to fly.  I told her she could now go see her grandfather Otto that she loved so much and the little baby she lost at birth and was never able to hold.  I told her I was wearing the butterfly ring she gave me and I chattered away at times and sometimes I cried and the music that was playing on the CD was ‘It’s a Whole New World.’  I stepped outside to take a call and then when I came back into the room Mom was no longer breathing.  Charlie the cat came in and sat by her bed and one of the hospice nurses said  ‘We have to open the window.  It is a tradition.’  And then everyone held each other and cried and people were kissing Mom goodbye and just like that she was gone.  It was so strangely beautiful.  I feel like it was a dream—it has all been just a dream.”

Just like that.  She is gone.  As I was driving up the coast to my client’s headquarters yesterday a huge white flock of birds came towards me, then hovered and dipped in a figure eight right in front of my car. I thought “How strange.  I’ve never seen birds playing over a freeway before” and now I know what it was.
It was Mom waving goodbye.
Just like that.  She is gone.

When the call came I couldn’t stop the tears and my clients hugged me and said “Go home. You need to be with your family now.”  So I drove home and called some friends and cried and then slowly I got so happy. So happy that she now can speak clearly again.  And sing. And dance.  And see.
She had told me years ago she had no fear of dying.  Having survived two heart attacks, a broken hip, a stroke and the gradual loss of her vision she still maintained good spirits and was always looking for—and finding– a reason to laugh.

Two years ago my sister came to take Mom for what she knew would be her final trip to El Paso.
It was a moment we all had dreaded.  Mom loved Sedona with a passion, so much so that we feared it would keep her there beyond all reason.  And yet two years ago Mom had called and said finally “It is time.” So after the last load was in the truck Kathy stopped and asked, “Mom, do you have anything to say to Sedona after being here twenty years?”  Mom looked back at the red, red rocks she loved and shouted “Hasta La Vista, Baby!”
That was my Mom.
Last night when I finally got home I sat on the couch and took a deep breath, and then— there she was.  The essence of her right beside me.  And…she was giggling.
Just tickled with it all.
After the stroke happened many months ago Mom’s ability to speak clearly came and went.  Sometimes she could form whole sentences and sometimes all that came out of her mouth seemed like childlike gibberish.  When she realized she wasn’t making any sense she would stop talking, make a funny face, and then just shrug her shoulders with a sigh and a smile.
But today, for this moment, she could speak clearly.  I asked her “Mom, what are you feeling?” She paused and then said slowly “I feel tickled.”  “About what?” I continued. “Tickled that you all keep coming to see me when there is so little of me left.”

I remember another time Mom felt “tickled.”
She had moved up to Sedona by then and was immersing herself in her passion of being a full time artist.  She called me one day and when I answered all I could hear was her laughing.
I asked “Mom, what are you laughing about?”
“Colors, Honey!  Just COLORS.”   And then she said “Goodbye.”

I’m thinking about that gate painting today—this first day after her freedom. I’m realizing that for the first time since I took my first breath I will be going to sleep without my mother being here.
I always feared that her leaving would make me feel like I was in box.  I feared hearing that lid close shut with a finality that said “Your mother is now gone forever.  And you are left in a much smaller world.”
But today I feel oddly liberated.  Her going is not an ending, but rather an invitation.  An open gate leading to a deep blue sea.  The blue is a blue you could walk into and never, ever look back.

The gate is not shut at all.  It is now wide open.
Part of me wants to go with her.  To know even as I am known.
But my time is not now, I understand.  My friend Catherine reminded me “You can’t go yet.  You need to stay here.”
There are things to do this side of the fence.
So in the meantime I will keep Mom with me,
Laughing.

Celebrating Joy and Wonder

The Christmas Play

Last Sunday I was delighted to behold the Christmas Play at a local community church.  The age range of talent was from four to sixteen.     As all Christmas Plays tend to do, this play had a part for everyone.  It was as if the playwright was instructed “Don’t forget about the donkey!”

This play was a bit unusual because the group had decided on a humorous updating of the Nativity.  When the words were read “It came to pass” two teens actually threw a football to one another.   When it came to the verse “And the angels were sore afraid” the angels started moaning loudly, and hobbling about like they had sports injuries.

We all guffawed, however, when the scripture verse was read “And Mary was delivered” because a five year old yet apparently very pregnant Mary came in standing up precariously on a UPS hand cart wielded by a teenaged angel.

As in all Christmas plays some of the narrators forgot their lines, and had to be loudly coached from crouching adults.

At one point, little toddler Mary, having been “delivered,” grabbed the baby Jesus doll by one foot  and dragged it thumping down the altar stairs as she sucked her thumb and climbed out of the Nativity scene, obviously having decided the fun was over.   Joseph, a child  like Mary,  decided it was his turn to climb in the manger, realizing that was where all the action was, and knowing a vacancy when he saw one.   At this point the parents and the director had to intervene, all while the narrator continued blithely on reading the Christmas story.

The talent in charge of the prop removal was a little distracted, so some props were left on stage and others that were necessary didn’t make it on time.

A trumpeter couldn’t grasp the trumpet easily as it seemed tangled up in the fishing line.  How the story of Joshua at Jericho and Jonah in the whale became part of the Christmas story is all part of the wonderful celebration of the old and the new, (and perhaps because there were more youth than angels needed, at which point the director decided to do time lapses and cut in scenes to establish the context, of course.)

Apart from the cognitive dissonance of seeing a pregnant five year old hobbling toward the altar, I had a very good time.

It seemed like a microcosm of life itself—missing trumpets and tangled lines….too many props or not enough… The image of the little girl dragging the baby Jesus doll by the foot thump thump thumping down the stairs tore at my heart strings.

I wondered how often I do the same thing to the Christ child as I go about my business.

How very patient the Lord is, indeed, with all of us in this Christmas Play.  How very insistent the Author was that we all could have a part in it, even as it comes to pass.

May this Christmas and Holy Day season be filled with joy and wonder– and trumpets– in all the right places.

Blessings to you,

Laurie Beth

San Diego Fashion Institute of Design

A Boost Up onto Wild Horses

Amidst the curved glass walls with bright orange etchings, and the grey modular sofas forming “S” shapes instead of “L’s, sat my brown leather saddle displayed on a wooden pedestal.

As nervous models huddled in a back room and party coordinators checked on finishing touches,  friends and fashion lovers gathered around the food table, selecting their wine and eateries and visiting with one another.

This was no ordinary holiday party.  It was both a launch and a benefit put together by entrepreneurs who want to do well by doing right.

Joanna Wasmuth, former director of microfinance marketing  for World Vision, has a dream—that small businesses can grow by helping other small businesses grow.  She calls the movement “Erase Poverty,” and has designed a plan that allows business owners to contribute to microfinance enterprises through cause marketing.  She has established the first cause marketing firm of its kind in the United States, and this party was designed in part to benefit the cause.

My part was the product launch of my LBJ Lifestyles line—which are “unique accessories for the creative life.”

Joanna shared her moving story of seeing poverty up close in more than 60 countries around the world, and knowing that small loans of even $25 can help end poverty one family at a time.

I thanked our venue sponsor, The San Diego Fashion Design and Merchandising Institute, who had donated their fabulous facility overlooking Petco Park.   I thanked the “Snooze” restaurant for donating the food for the evening.  I thanked the volunteer catering coordinator, Sean, and the photographer, Leyla—all who were giving of their time and talents to make a difference in San Diego and beyond.

Launch Location for LBJ Lifestyles

And then I took the microphone, set a Santa Fe styled suitcase full of my first prototypes on an orange chair beside me, and began to speak.

I told of how I got started in business with a microloan of $500 from my mother.  I had ideas, energy, and talent, but at the time no way to move beyond my minimum wage paycheck to launch myself into business.   I pointed to my saddle on the pedestal, saying that many people know where they want to go, and know how to ride, but need a boost up to get into the saddle for the journey.

I then one by one pulled out pieces from the suitcase, telling their stories of origin.

This wrap around leather journal was made on a rainy day, after determining I would make my own art piece journal rather than paying $1200 for something similar at a high end designer store.

This piece, a combination rabbit and leather draped over a notebook, was made from scraps I had laying around.

This piece was made from black and white speckled goatskin and a red purse strap I salvaged from a thrift store.

As I pulled out each piece the people oohed and ahhed and nodded.

I shared how one day I woke up at 5 in the morning to ride my horse, then showered and got in a cab to the airport, only to find myself at 7 pm in a boardroom in New York City, still missing my horse.   How I designed the saddlebag purse, now named the Cheyenne, so I could carry the memory and closeness of that ride with me even into the boardroom.

I told how one day I noticed that nearly everything I was touching was made of aluminum, plastic, or synthetic material, and it made me long for the natural touch and feel of leather and fur.

I shared that my goal with these pieces is to honor the animals and the beauty of their after they are gone, and to be able to keep them close to me all through the day.

My products are designed with minimum bling, desiring that the eye marvel at the natural whorls and colors of the rich leather and cowhides…..that I wanted the products to almost feel like you found them in a forest.

The Models and the Merchandise

I shared that standing in the midst of this fashion setting was in honor of my mother, who studied at Pratt Institute of Design in New York City, with hopes and dreams of being a fashion illustrator, only to have her dreams crushed by the Depression…causing her to work as a book keeper for the next forty years.

I shared that I believe that we can all be “spiritreneurs”—people who can say yes to these three things…I am honoring God with my work,  I am honoring myself and my talents with my work, and I am making a living full time doing both of the above.

I shared that my pieces which hold both iPpads and journals are a desire to inspire us to return to Renaissance thinking….with my mother teaching that Renaissance thinkers made such an impact on society because they took the time to observe nature and also record their thoughts.  I wondered if we were losing that mindset today, with a constant barrage of synthetics and technology, causing us to be passive rather than proactive in our destinies.

And then I signaled to Ebony Aldridge, the fabulous director of LBJ Lifestyles, to signal the models to begin their walk, each carrying a different piece and saying who they were and why they liked it.

Out came Jessica with the rabbit fur on buffalo hide “De Leon” saying she appreciated the fact that the piece could be worn with casual or dress up clothes.

Next came Diana with the “Tuxedo” white rabbit fur with black feather journal, saying she is always sketching her thoughts down in journals, and now could use this instead of writing her thoughts down in throw away notebooks.

Then came Justin, sporting the Cheyene saddle bag in black leather, stating that he loved it because he could take it on his motorcycle  as well as into work.

Then came Amy, my niece Tara’s best friend, carrying the “Fling” rabbit fur covered journal with a red leather strap, saying she would find it handy to make notes for her students.

Snooze Eatery Donates for LBJ Lifestyle Launch

And finally came Tara, my beloved niece, who laughingly shared that she loved her deep brown/red Brindle leather iPad cover because it matched her hair and was handy at her work, as well.

As they all did their final walk around and posed for pictures, I unveiled the table covered with a black tablecloth, full of merchandise, and the people clapped and then rushed over to view all the available pieces.

I had asked for feedback and comments, and people were excited and gracious, sharing ideas as I tried to swallow some of the delicious food and mingle and talk at the same time.  Realizing this was not going to be possible, I ditched the food and chose mingling and talking.

Here is what came out of that event so far.

Erase Poverty raised over $1,300 for microloans, and made many new friends to help carry the word.

Erase Poverty and LBJ Lifestyles Partners on Micro Finance

Christmas gifts were purchased from the existing product table, with several more put on hold for personal delivery later.

Ebony got an offer to teach a course at the Fashion Institute in her spare time.

And one person there, a celebrity stylist with her own shop and fashion magazine, requested an urgent appointment for the next day, saying she could sell every piece we have, and more.

As of today she has pledged to help us find not only a rep in New York, but also match us with celebrity “endorsers.”  She told Ebony that these pieces were fresh, original, exciting, and that clients would eat them up.  She also warned that copy-catters would hurry to knock off, and we must be wise in our approach to market.  We are scheduled to meet next week to strategize master planning.

The next day Ebony went into her shop and the woman showed her the rabbit fur/leather “De Leon” purse matched with a $6,000 ball gown.

Ebony said it took her breath away to see it.  The woman smiled and said “That’s why I am so good at what I do.  And that is why your product is going to hit it big.”

Today Ebony is in Las Vegas for a long scheduled birthday celebration for her sister and friends.  I am heading to El Paso to see my mother, sister, and best friend Catherine.  Joanna has lined up two more showings for the product line.

Right now my saddle is thrown over the sofa in my living room, amidst a jumble of left over party props and prototypes.  I smile as I realize it is being “ridden” again on horses of air, leaping impossibilities and running free with wild imaginings.

With God, and a boost up micro-loan, all things are indeed possible.

Laurie Beth