I love having a studio.  It's not something I'd ever dreamed of, or even thought was a reality of adulthood.  Though I'd seen other artist's studios and garages-turned-workshop, it seemed like one of those far off things.  It sometimes feels incredibly strange that it feels so incredibly normal:  I've had an art studio for almost 7 years.  I absolutely love where my studio is now, at Art Explosion.  Very different than the last studio I had, the artists I've met here have been some of my biggest influences and an incredible amount of support.  Artists are working consistently, any hour of any day, you can find the halls full of conversation and the smell of paint. 

My studio feels like a little shop, a front window full of items, and a long wall full of work.  More and more these days I think about opening a shop on some little side street.  Funny thing is, the shop is something I'd be returning to:  A reality of adulthood many years ago, when my sister and I owned a little destination shop in NYC. 

In the meantime, I'll keep doing what I'm doing (a new series of little cigar boxes) and let the shops I know and love run things on the street.  I'm loving that 8mm ideas is represented in so many of these amazing stores:
Green Apple Books
The Booksmith
The Desk Set
Daisy's
Library Store
Paper Sky
Skylight Books
Perch

And you,
you can stop by and see what we're all up to at Art Explosion's Annual Holiday Show.  Maybe it'll get your own inspirational vibe moving and grooving just in time for the new year.

It's ARTICLE time!

 There is so much I wouldn't know if it weren't for the power of my mother's scissors:

 And this, is one of my favorites.
('a must' click to read)

Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it. 

~william arthur ward

Sure, you can say 'thanks' anytime, but today seems like an awfully good time to say it to everyone.  Happy Thanksgiving.

Other People's Lives

I have an addiction.  And usually, the first step, is admitting it.
Problem is, as long as their are estate sales, flea markets, boot sales and sidewalks with stuff for sale, I'm never getting over this one.
Every month, I think the same thing:  I probably have enough stuff by now.  I've got thousands of old photos, and hundreds of old letters, multiple family photo albums, many, many notebooks,  dictionaries galore and an untold amount of playing card collections.
Other peoples stuff. Mine now.  Who's later?
I asked the owner of the estate sale company, Guy, if this job made him more of a hoarder or more of a minimalist.  His answer, both surprising and inevitable, was minimalist.  With a caveat of trying to live by the motto of letting one thing go when you bring another in.  Yeah, I've always told myself I do that, too.
And it's true, to an extent.  Though I'm not sure RK would agree, I think I live by this motto at home.  I absolutely in no way apply this same rule to my studio.  Whatsoever.
And that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is how I justify buying one more photo, another letter, the filled-up photo album, the half-empty notebooks, and the Webster's of a different year.
This past weekend was no different:  the photos I came home with will be up at my blog other people's lives all this coming week, the 10 wood boxes I came home with, and lovingly cleaned, will be turned into new work by the time of the next open studios, the geography book is a piece of history that can only be read to be believed and the 2-foot snapshot of the Forks and Knives club of San Francisco has already entertained RK and I for a good hour.  I HAD to get it!  I'm still a little sad I couldn't get both of them.
Bring in:  BUYERS REMORSE!
I think because my sister, a fellow collector, has a few more years experience, she's better at saying 'no'.  As in, 'no i don't really need that, because i don't really want that. moving on!'  I often think I must have something and then curse myself for spending the $5 on it when I get home.  This is a hoarder/bargainers brain.  I live with it.  RK constantly telling me to 'let it go', by which he means either let it go out of your brain or let it go in a sale.
So, I let it go.  Out of my brain.  Mostly.

But I do have to get to the flea market next week... I just know there's something I need.

Animal Love, Anyone?

Just because I know my own dog is gorgeous and sweet and adorable and juicy...doesn't mean I can't appreciate the cuteness in others.  Even cats.

Until one has loved an animal,
a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.
- Anatole France

We can judge the heart of a man by his treatment of animals.
- Immanual Kant

all images from the fabulous website Trend Tablet

Today's date is 11.11.11
which is really pretty cool.  As cool as 4.4.4 and 5.5.5 and 6.6.6, etc
but, we're talking about today.
I don't think it has any huge karmic significance or that things are going to 'happen' because of this interesting time scale.
But, it is cool and pretty neat and fun to think about.


Just like this monkey.



And this amazing project by Amy Krouse.

i took that image and i stitched it carefully into the hem of my own life

I didn't hesitate a bit last week when a friend handed me her half-finished (evident by a classic bookmark:  the book flap) copy of Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert.

I'm one of few people I know personally that really, really liked the book Eat, Pray, Love.  
I  liked it so much I bought multiple copies and gave them to a few very good friends, including my sister.  I thought each one of them would love it in their own unique way.
Only one of those people actually finished it.

That's cool.  It's not for everyone.
Mostly the feedback I heard was that they didn't like her voice.  They didn't like her.
Her is Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of this very autobiographical book.
They thought she was whiny.
And she's the same reason why my friend handed me her not-quite-finished copy of Committed.

I must say... during the reading of both of these books, I never even thought of her. 
The words she wrote, I applied them differently to my life.
The same way I think we all do, with every book we either love or hate.
A book on one end of the spectrum or the other, for you, most likely has a recurring 'thing' about it that just doesn't let up.  But, to me, books are a bunch of mundane or pretty good or fantastic lines of poetry.  I get caught up in a good story as much as the next guy, but really, for me, reading is like a river that you dip your toes in and out of.  Words pop out at me as beautiful, and little stories in themselves.  Put together in an arresting sentence, well, you've got me.  And, I wasn't an English major in spite of this fact, but because of this fact.

As evidenced, I'm not thinking of Elizabeth Gilbert.  I've only ever seen her on the book-jacket and I've never heard her speak.
I don't know anything about her but what she told me in the book before this one.
So, I jump in and find the next beautiful word, wherever it may find me.

ps: i really did enjoy Committed (title of post paraphrasing a line from the book)  i've even recommended it a few times now, but tend to mention it's available at the library...

pps: it's a great big world out there, you don't want to loose your place...may i recommend this collection?

 

bookmarks:  checkit

The Way To Start A Monday

God Says Yes to Me
by Kaylin Haught

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes



sent to me by my friend, catherine, who's always ready with a 'yes yes yes', as well.

Dating Myself

My sister is a HUGE fan of Rick Astley, always has been, but she tries to play it off like I'M the huge fan and is forever taunting me with moments of Astley:  She had pencils made for me that say 'rick astley fan club';  She calls me from whatever dressing room or restaurant she's in and holds her phone up to the speaker that's blasting his tunes.  Yesterday, she sent me the above image.  Ahh, it takes me back to her youth.

It Tends To Happen When You're Not Looking

If your parents are anything like my parents, you get a lot of forwarded emails:  Bad jokes, pictures you can't quite see, political items that verge on the edge, religious ideas that are on it's 15th forward and, every once in awhile, some really great quotes.  Then, sometimes, you get one of these forwarded emails from your parents that is right up your alley:  They do know you well and are often paying attention to things you like, rave about, or are just plain interested in.  This morning, I got one of those.



It's a beautiful way to start the day... And it puts me in mind of my own RK, who's done timelapse photography for years and is perfecting it each time he does another.  Flowers were his obsession for awhile, but he's caught the longest day of the year, as well as the moon.  It passed us by while we slept...as these things tend to do.


 

of course, all videos are always more enjoyable in full screen: So, hit it to get it!

It Takes Class

I'm thrilled to be getting ready to teach again at my sister's annual Art of Craft weekend that takes place the end of January... and there's a question that I've been pondering a lot.  It's also struck me that the answer is probably very different to each individual (individualism being what it is and all...)
So, Readers, I turn to you for an answer:  What makes a good class?
You're an adult, you're paying for a class, what makes it a memorable, 'i'd-like-to-do-that-again' kind of class?

I've taken a number of classes over the years and I've stood in the wings on a number of others and I'm trying to come up with some concrete things that make a good class... but I'm really interested in what others think on this one:
What do you appreciate the most?  What detail stands out to you?  Was it the craft itself?  The teacher?  The supplies?  The techniques?
Do tell!

(all photos:  from the various (1, 2, 3) classes I've taught)

Raining Dogs, no cats

Sometimes it feels like writing feels like a luxury I just can't seem to afford....
So, with that knowledge, I leave you, dear readers, with images that are worth a thousand words:  Perfect for a rainy day, dogs shaking the water off their back.

All photos by Carli Davidson for her series "Shake". 

it's just like that

If you had told me twenty years ago that as I grow older, time would get faster,  I wouldn't have believed you.  It won't be speeding up for everyone, you tell me, just myself and the people my age and people older than me.  The kids I teach, the hipsters that hang out at Dolores Park, the young sons and daughters of friends, they won't have the same concept of time, therefore, their 24 hours a day will last much longer than mine.  I won't be able to do all that needs to get done while I'm awake.  I will never feel bored again and I will wish for more than seven days in a normal week.  I will look forward to the weekends, when I can work on my own time.  If you had told me this feeling of not enough time vs. how much needs to get done can be so overwhelming you freeze.  In mid-thought.  And just decide to eat a grilled cheese and read Vanity Fair until you finish every article.  Well, i Just wouldn't have believed you.
This concept is now nothing but a reality.  And some days, it's really quite difficult to swallow.

I know my mom will tell me "i TOLD you that!" and my dad will say, "isn't it weird?", while my older siblings can only shake their head in acknowledgement.  Some days, it doesn't pay to even think about it, let alone give into it.  Some days, it's better to just believe all our 24 hours are the same.


 
(video:  a big blog thanks to a woman who seems to have 72 hours in her 24 and shares it with the world)

I LOVE MAIL

8mm ideas' cards are in this super fabulous, cooler than cool shop down under and now the owner, Stefanie, is holding this competition for all you letter writers!  I, myself, cannot wait to enter and be part of their gorgeous window display (check out their facebook page for photos of all their current juicy stuff!)

I encourage anyone and everyone who loves mail and would love to see it come out of it's slump and keep on coming, snail-wise, to enter and enjoy!  Feel free to tell Stephanie 8mm ideas says 'allo'!
And here's a little mail inspiration, courtesy of my dear friend Melissa, to get you going...

A kid by any other name

If Stella were my kid, which she's not, I totally realize that, don't worry,
but IF she were my kid, she's the best kid I could hope for.

the stella coat, priceless

It's not that she's perfect, I don't believe in perfect, that would be silly, and stupid, and inane, and a way to drive yourself crazy, 'cuz perfect doesn't exist, but she's really awfully close.  The good, the bad, the lack of wetting the bed, the lack of crying all night, or talking back to me... it's all there.  She's a good friend, she's a bit of a soothing therapist, she sleeps in like a log and she's totally potty trained.  The list is endless and I only wish that everyone could have a kid dog this fabulous. 

Goodbye's Suck

It's funny when you meet a new friend
and quicker than you can say, 'sheesh, i love our friendship!'
they're moving back to Australia.

Sometimes it's the people that we spend the shortest amount of time with that influence us the most.  My friend, Catherine, has been that for me.  Besides being a person brimming with knowledge and excitement for life and a great eye for design, she's also quite clever at connecting the dots and recommending the brilliant finds around her.  Over the last year, she's turned me on to quite a few things I'd known nothing about and this latest piece is at the top of the list for numerous reasons: We Are All Savages Inside.  It must be read.

And before she left, Catherine gave us the sweetest little book, inscribed to all three of us:  Me, RK and Stella, of course, in her incredibly thoughtful way, called I Like You.

I like you and I know why.
I like you because you are a good person to like.
I like you because when I tell you something special, you know it’s special
And you remember it a long, long time.
You say, Remember when you told me something special
And both of us remember
—-

You really like me, don’t you
And I really like you back
And you like me back and I like you back
And that’s the way we keep on going every day
—-
I like you because I don’t know why but
Everything that happens is nicer with you
I can’t remember when I didn’t like you
It must have been lonesome then
—–
I would go on choosing you
And you would go on choosing me
Over and over again
That’s how it would happen every time
I don’t know why
I guess I don’t know why I really like you
Why do I like you
I guess I just like you
I guess I just like you because I like you.
 -- by Sandol Warburg


So long for now, Catherine.
We're awfully sad to see you go.
We'll see you down under.

This was our neighborhood in 1916.

I keep it on my desktop to remind myself, sometimes the best way to move forward is to peek backwards at how far things have come...

Here's to filled weekends and moments of grace.  A happy Friday to all and to all a good night.

It's Contagious

I think this video has probably been making the rounds for a couple of years, but I just saw it this morning and it made me smile ear to ear. I am this guy. This guy is me: At every concert, at the sound of any good music wafting through the air, in a shop that's rocking tunes, I can't help but move to the groove.  When I'm listening to my walkman and headed down the street, I'm barely making a straight line for all the foot stepping and arm waving that's taken over my body.  I wouldn't have joined this guy on the grass that day, I would have already been dancing to the music, too busy to notice a crowd had gathered.

(thanks to RK who always picks me up when he shows me a great little video and loves me because the music moves me)

I've Been Everywhere, Man

I have been to many places, but I've never been in Cahoots. Apparently, you can't go alone. You have to be in Cahoots with someone. I've also never been in Cognito. I hear no one recognizes you there. I have, however, been in Sane. They don't have an airport; you have to be driven there. I have made several trips, thanks to my friends, family and work. I would like to go to Conclusions, but you have to jump and I'm not much on physical activity.



(i don't know who wrote it, but it's my mother who sent it;  thanks mom!)

Like My Mother Before Me

I am my mothers daughter.
Just as she is her mothers daughter before me.
ie:  We are all our mothers!

Now, I know many would disagree and tell me, 'i'm nothing like my mother!'  But I would ask that you take a closer look.  When you make a certain movement, did you learn it from her?  When you say a certain phrase, do you say it like she did?  Do you press your garlic the way you saw your mom do it?  For me, in all these ways, the answer is yes.

One of my favorite things learned from my mother, learned from her mother before her, is the sending on of newspaper clippings.  These clippings derive mostly from the local paper, but sometimes it's a magazine article, or a great ad seen in a flyer.  And not very often, but every once in awhile, it's someone we know from the wedding or the obits page.  My mom always laughs and says she can't believe she's sending the articles on to me, but her mom did it to her and now I do it to others, as well.

Today's clippings in the mail ran the gamut:  One was on book making (my latest and one of my greatest phases, for sure) with a note at the top 'so sorry about the spills on this- it was next to the stove', while another was an editor's letter with a photo that clearly looked like me and my mother's handwritten note said, 'oj said "who do you think this looks like?"'  OJ is my brother.  It's a nickname he earned when the grand kids were little and they couldn't say John and said uge-J instead, which morphed into OJ.  He's a trusted right hand man at the kitchen table in our house, scouring the LA Times with an eye like no-one else.  So, of course he'd see me in a photo that isn't really me.  And then, the third clipping, I knew it was coming one of these days... a quick jot from my mom that ended in two exclamation points:  More reason for you to move South!! It was an article about the naked dudes in SF.  Not just any naked guys, but more and more naked guys in this wacky city.  And they're not just walking around naked, but sitting down on the same seats you and I sit on.  So, a city ordinance is being talked about here and hopefully is put in place before my mother comes to visit!

Two Big Events in One Small Town

When it rains, it pours and it's pouring this coming weekend...
I'd already signed up for the ever exciting Rock Make Festival when our Open Studios, at Art Explosion, were then announced on the same weekend!  But I'm making them both happen and looking forward to the totally different experiences they are.

First and Foremost:  Rock Make Festival, in it's 4th year, is a rocking and rolling street fair with a band stage at either end of the closed off street in the Mission.  I've gone to check it out every year and always thought, 'I should do this!'  So, I've enlisted RK and we're going in with style!  I'll be hawking wares of far and near, somethings brand new, others are old favorites.  RK will be hawking his organic dog biscuits and showing the world how a real dog should be 'treated'!  His dog treats are always a big hit and now it's time to introduce them to the rock&roll kids that cruise the Festival.  And our big treat for that day, if it all works out, is to take photobooth-style polaroids of peeps and their dogs in our booth. 

Surrounding the outdoor festival is Art Explosion's Open Studios weekend.  I'll be doing OS on the Friday night, which is always a fantastic party, missing it on Saturday (where you'll find me at Rock Make) and then again on Sunday, for a final wrap-up of all those people who haven't yet made it through.  Open Studios is always a great gathering, bring a whole lot of random, fabulous people together just to talk about art.  It's great feedback and exciting to see so many artists in their element with their doors wide open to the public!  It's a gallery show explosion and so much fun!

How Can There Be Any Sin in Sincere?

I LOVE barbershop quartets.

A definite hand-me-down from my parents, I've always been a big fan. 

The singing starts and it stops me in my tracks.  

And a real plus? I actually feel really lucky to love 'em;

some people positively hate barbershop quartets! 

City Livin

I wrote the third police statement of my life this morning.
The first one I had to fill out, about 15 years ago, was a tear-strewn mess, with myself as the perp.
The second one was seven years ago, on the eve of our wedding day, when a conversation with our drug-fueled, upstairs-neighbors went terrible awry.
And today's statement took place before 9AM, while we were finishing our coffee.
Only in the city, man, only in the city....

We were having our daily dog-park roundabout, with about 8 or so of our other dog-owner friends, when I saw a guy punch a girl in the face and keep on walking.  She ran after him screaming.  They were gone from our sight very quickly.  We all thought we heard shots... and then, way off in the distance, someone saw this same guy jump over our neighbor's fence.  Within minutes, the police were there and asking us to fill out paper work.

What's strange about this is not the scenario itself, but the fact that this didn't really feel all that strange.  A wonder, an unfortunate incident, and curious, most definitely, but quite of the norm, really. 
City Life.  It is the way it is. 
And since the bug of city living (all the highs and all the lows, all the good, all the bad, and of course, all the ugly) bit me years ago on Carmine Street  and never let up, I just believed once a city dweller, always a city dweller.  How could I possibly give all this up?!

I'm also not the least bit unique to have the idea of packing up the few bits you own, heading for the hills, keeping your eyes out for a little house and a huge backyard, to get as far off the grid as possible and not look back.
I just didn't know this idea would be so damn persistent.   The country vs. The city?!
With the conversation in the past, it always ended with a 'yeah, but what in the world would we do?'  Nowdays, it seems to end with 'yes, oh gads yes, but where shall we go?'

...and so she comes to dream herself a tree.

why can't we all just get along?

i mean, if they can do it...why can't we?

I love mutts, too!

My sister sent me this fantastic walk thru the history of dogs as portrayed in the art world,
LISTEN & WATCH

and I've decided to add a collection of photos of the beautiful mutts I've met since living with my mutt, Stella Marie.

felt mutt

patrick bru's mutt

car watching mutt

cutest dog contest mutt

street market mutt

street market mutt who hears his dinner bowl

museum mutt

insanely cute flea market mutt

toulouse flea market mutt

stella's first swim and her mutt pal, penny

regal, sleepy mutt, nemo

lupe, a guatamalan mutt, hugging stella

three mutts on the beach, lupe, stella and penny

People Are Strange When You're A Stranger

some good advice via 8mm ideas

Friends say they think I have some sort of gene or scent or something that attracts strange, weird and interesting people to me.  Really doesn't matter where I am, I usually have some sort of encounter with someone that ends in a story that must be repeated.  Often, when I'm in a shop, people assume I work there and start asking me questions that, funny enough, I tend to be able to answer.  Or, I work really hard at helping them find the answer.  To the point of feeling like I should ask for a paycheck from said shop we're in.  It's that kind of above and beyond and I just can't help myself.  I've always been amazed that with a little bit of effort, a sincere interest in others, and a serious curiosity about human nature, you can talk about almost anything with anybody.

Just a couple nights ago, at the shop I actually do work at, a man came in with long white hair and a Harley Davidson t-shirt and was sauntering through the aisles when I asked if he needed any help. He turned to me, put one hand over his neck and spoke in a way that I knew he no longer had a voice box in there:  Some dude is smoking next door in the bar, he growled, and it's bugging me out, so I had to get away from it.  I made some comment about how he must not smoke anymore and next thing I knew he was encouraging me to look down into this hole in his neck to see if I could glimpse his lungs.  Sounds strange, but it didn't feel strange.  Even when I told him I didn't think I should look down that hole in case I saw something I couldn't get over anytime soon, he pushed it, asked me to get a flashlight and insisted if I'd never experienced this before, it was a long time coming. We talked for quite awhile about it:  How it happened, what he can and can't do anymore (riding his Harley, yes, diving for abalone, no) and how one time he almost drowned in the shower.  He answered all my questions, wasn't insulted by my ignorance and truly was in the mood to talk.
Luckily, so was I, and that's usually the case.
But, sometimes, all this constant interaction can take a toll on me and I clearly need a break.

This past week, coming home from a long week away, where our social conversation/interaction meter was on high, I plopped into my middle-seat on the airplane, plugged in to my walkman, opened my magazine and got ready for six hours of relaxation.

This relaxation I speak of, this did not come in great waves.
I just happened to sit between two women who brought absolutely nothing to do on the plane and were ready to talk.  When the woman on my right started in with how happy she was that I seemed so nice because she hates sitting next to people who aren't nice or who won't share the armrest or who glare at her when she gets up from her seat, well, let's just say she was ecstatic it was me at that moment instead of them.  I got through her initial seat-mate excitement bit and again, put both earphones in and spread my magazine open a little wider to let it be known that, yes, i'm nice, it's true, i can't say no, BUT I am going to relax and I am not available for small talk for the duration of this flight, and that's when the woman on my left leaned forward in her seat, made crazy-eyed contact with me and began to talk.  At first I wasn't sure what she was saying (mainly because I'd just plugged into my own happy space), but then I slowly took out my earphones and heard her little voice talk about a party she and her brother had just been to.  Okay, that's nice, thanks for filling me in.  I sit back and recline my seat as far as it will go, out of clear eye contact and burrow into my fake private space.

It was a short time later, the woman on my right decided to tap my arm and ask me a favor.  What could I do?  I unplugged, I sat up and I listened:
I know it seems strange and you'll probably think me crazy! But I'm scared to go into those little bathrooms and have the door shut and I'm in there all closed up and I get very claustrophobic and so I usually don't drink anything on these long flights because I don't want to have to go in there, but I've had some water and some apple juice on this flight and I know I'm going to have to go to that little room but I'm very very nervous about it and I was just wondering if you could do me this small favor, I'm sure you'll think I'm crazy but if you could help me out that would be just great, if you could just, when I have to go, when it's time for me to go up there to the bathroom, if you would just hold your hand in the door?  so the door doesn't close in on me... I would just need to see your fingers, you know, not the whole hand, but your fingers like michael the archangel, holding my lifeline and then I could go and then it would all be okay.  okay? would you do that for me?  when it's my turn to go? You'll hold the door for me so I'm not closed in there? Yes? Yes? Okay? 

OH shit.
Okay.
No need to go into details.  It happened exactly the way you're imagining it.  I walked up with her to the little room, I held my hand in the door, I was very discreet about it, it was over and done and we both went back to our seats.
So, now I figure I've friggin earned my alone time for the rest of the flight for that one, but it turns out, no.  Seeing me help this lady on our right, this common seatmate of ours, must've triggered something for the woman on my left who waited until I'd come back, sat down, put on my walkman, opened my magazine and reclined in my seat before she leaned all the way forward to make eye contact with me and start speaking.  Again, I can't hear her for the music blaring in my ears, so I remove my earphones and very politely say, I'm sorry, what?!
Well, I don't even like cake, but this party we just went to everyone was eating cake.  All around us were different cakes, laid out, in all their cake forms and I don't really like cake.  I don't eat cake, but I felt like I had to eat cake because there was so much of it and everyone else was eating cake.  It was funny, but I didn't know what else to do, so I ate cake.  Do you like cake?  I don't.  I know a lot of people do though, it's cake.

Oh shit.
Part deux.

Well, it keeps life interesting.

Tall Tales

When one has an epic summer of epic travel....one usually ends up with epic tales of highs and lows, of wonderment and the unknown, of magic and sunburns. 
And I do. 
I have all of those. 
I've had an epic summer of epic travel.  The trouble is, I've done had it all... and now I don't know where to begin to try and sort out the stories, the tales, the shaggy dog notes,
to put it all right, from top to bottom, and to share the wealth.

Slowly, I guess.  It'll all come together slowly. 
And probably well out of order.

You & Me, kid

Stella & Molly, a photo by tweetsweet on Flickr.

*I've got to be near you, Stella.
I've got to be with you, Stella.