I Like Girls Who Wear Abercrombie & Fitch

Another blog post of the next chapter of my "Meg and Dia" Story Series. For the first few chapters read these posts: "Here", "Here", and "Here". These posts about how my first band started out, the process of "getting signed" by a major label, all the ups and downs.

Dia and I performed a few more times after that gig at The Electric Theater. With our practices becoming more and more rare and our enthusiasm tanking, I decided to pack a bag and try the "college" route.

 I placed a stack of neatly folded jeans into my suitcase with my father's voice echoing from down the hallway, "You're only young once. You ought to keep at it." I shrugged off his advice and reached up for a few photos on my wall that I wanted to bring with me to my dorm. "You're going to regret this. You really don't need to go to college." I glanced up from my packing. Really? What kind of father gives his child the advice NOT to go to college. I had to convince him over and over again that I needed an education to find a real job, a steady income. I needed stability, and my sister and my little dream and our gigs around town weren't going to give that to me.

Of course, I didn't want to leave Dia to fend for herself at home while I went off to college. I realize now, looking back how hurt she felt and abandoned at my leaving. I tried to play down the enormity of my decision, because although I would never admit it out loud, leaving Dia was one of the hardest parts about my "grown up" decision. I held back tears and succeeded in my goal of showing no emotion. Why I couldn't have simply given her a huge hug, balled my eyes out, and asked her to beg me to stay, I'll never know. 

I basically lived in a closet for a year, sharing half of the tiny space the University liked to call a "dorm room" with another really religious girl who frowned upon my cut-off jeans and late curfew. (I actually ended up becoming really great friends with her.) I did all the college "activities". I attended some really lame parties, drank a beer on a rooftop in the middle of the night with strangers, fell in love with a tortured artist, and flunked Political Science. 

You know, it's true what they say. The professors at the U of U really do give their students personal attention. I remember one afternoon, while away on a weekend trip, my Political Science professor called my cell phone. My service was terrible, so I called him back on a pay phone. There I was, in a parking lot in who-knows-where listening to my professor tell me that I "didn't give the class my all" and he knew that "my new girl friend I was hanging out was trouble", and that he was prepared to let me take the class over again for free. And I didn't even know he knew my name the whole semester!

I worked at Abercrombie & Fitch while attending college. Aside from one really good friend who I could talk to about dreams and personal aspirations, I could never quite find my stride in retail. I passed the time avoiding the automatic perfume sprayer thingy from the ceiling. (I'm very sensitive to smell!) My boss would catch me in ten minute intervals darting behind display tables every time the pungent scent misted from overhead.

I had my epiphany, if you will, while working one of my afternoon shifts. I played a game in my head, listening to the repetitive techno music and trying to figure out the chord progressions of the songs and the intervals of the vocal melodies. That day, I'm not sure if the  smell became a little too much for my sensitive nose or if thinking about Biology finals made me anxious, or standing at the entrance with that plastic smile on my face reciting the same tired line, "Have you heard about the new Emma flares?" was the straw that broke the camels back.

All I could think was…

Really?

What am I doing?

This is what my life has come to, huh?

After my shift I ran out of my place of work with all the little people who live inside my brain jumping in triumph. Later that evening I called Dia. Our conversation went something like this: 

" Dia, you have got to get up here?"

"What? Why? I'm still in high school."

" I know, but high school isn't that important!"

"You're starting to sound like dad."

"So."

"So. I'm not coming up there."

"School isn't quite what I thought it was. My job, although I'm grateful, is not what I'm supposed to be doing with my life!  We need to start playing music again. I've written a few songs. We'll find a new band. Just come up here... Please?"

"No."

"Please? There are cupcakes in Salt Lake..."

"Okay."

Honestly,

MEg

July's "First Thursday" Design Pre-Order Begins Today!

So I released the first batch of "Stupendous Chandler" Keychains in May when I was on tour with my sister, Dia Frampton. Before I left I wasn't able to have all of them ready. That batch sold out during the pre-order before the actual release date.

I'm releasing the rest of that batch and a 2nd batch to make up for that! 50 are available this time:)

Available in my CHANDLER SHOP!

Honestly,

Meg

How To Learn To Play The Guitar In 4 Easy Steps

Altitude Design Summit

O.K. So most of my posts are about jewelry and music, but I thought I'd share this bit of information with you guys, since I've been getting a few questions about how I started my blog, and about the photos I take, and yadda yadda.

Now, I'm no master. I'll state that right now. One of my favorite things about making jewelry and having a blog is how I'm continually learning about all aspects of being a blogger/designer.

I already told you guys about my mentor Christi Friesen when it comes to making jewelry out of polymer clay. Now, I'd like to share a website that I used quite often to take online classes from when I was touring and on the road to continue my learning process.

They have a whole new lineup for July. You can visit their website HERE, if any of you creative nerdy types are interested in doing some online learning of your own during the month of July. Hope you can find something you are interested in, and may we always strive to learn something new!

These are the classes that I'm looking forward to taking:

"Photoshop For Bloggers"

"A drab, disappointing photo can overshadow all the great written content on your blog. Could your photography skills use a little help after the fact? Are you at a loss when you see the letters RGB, DPI, and CMYK? Why don’t your photos look as good online as they do on your computer? In this class, Photoshop expert Mike Loveland from Nicole’s Classes covers the basics of web images, including choosing the right resolution and improving the overall appearance of your photos."

"Graphic Design For Bloggers"

"Blogging is more than just photos and ideas, it’s about pretty layouts and typography. Basic graphic design elements will be taught with a visual blogger’s needs in mind to help you create the prettiest styled layouts, style boards and collages you can minus the graphic design degree."

#thanksbing for making helping to make these online classes available for all of us to enjoy!

Honestly,
Meg

I Know Jon Cheese

Playing music for the sake of playing music is a beautiful thing, even after an artist is still recovering from a small defeat. So, Dia and I booked ourselves a gig on a Saturday night at The Electric Theater without the Jade Harbor band backing us up. 

We packed our arsenal of songs and sang our hearts out for an audience of about 20-30 preoccupied students.  Although we enjoyed performing, the excitement for us took place about 10 minutes after we finished when the headlining band began their foot-stomping set. A display of musical theatrics that our small town had never experienced before. Do you guys remember Limbeck? They used to be a Doghouse Records band. In my young  eyes Limbeck was the real deal. 

They tumbled out on stage, belligerent, sweaty, road--worn in all the right ways. They just sounded so together and smooth, like a real rock n' roll band. The lead singer even had that "thing" that all lead singers seem to possess. At that moment I stole a sidelong glance at Dia and then up at the singer on stage, secretly scheming how I could rip a few holes in her jeans without her knowing and perhaps get her to stop brushing her hair for a week or two.  

Back then I would have given an arm and a leg to be able to travel in their beaten-up, 15-passenger van, heck I'd give up half my limbs to even sit shot gun around the block with all of the band members hanging their arms out the window, cigarette smoke hot-boxing our conversation. (A decade later, I feel slightly different about traveling via van and even more intense about cigarette smoke, but back when I was 17, those smelly bench seats called out to me with a vengeance!)

After Limbeck finished their set, Dia and I took our places behind the merch table, arranging a few demo cds and  two horrible t-shirt designs on the folding table near the entrance of the venue. The task proved difficult because a pair of ankles clad in worn sandals kept stomping around in our very compact space. I looked up at the man hopping around on the table. His giant pirate mustache muffled his hollering, "Limbeck CDs! Two for 10!" With every hoot and yell his head dramatically swooped back and his auburn, curly-hair waved around excitedly. I didn't know if I should be concerned for his safety. He looked as though at any moment he might slip on a cd or t-shirt and fall to his doom.

Usually Dia and I, wearing a sweet little expression on our faces with a "please sir?" in a Tiny Tim voice usually does the trick when it comes to selling a cd or two at the merch table, but we didn't have a prayer to outshine this energetic salesman's techniques. Really? Running around ON the merch table? There has got to be a "fair practices" rule book for touring bands somewhere!

"Excu-, Ex-, EXCUSE me SIR!" I nudged a few people away from the merch table to attempt to bring sanity to our selling space. "Would you mind stepping off the table? I really don't think that it's fair for you to be calling attention to yourself in such a manner."  He seemed to not even notice me. "Err…" bright-eyed and glowing with this bright  orange aura he finally responded, "Hmm? Oh yes. You know, you guys were just… great. Just fantastic. I've done a lot of touring in my days, and I've just never seen… Just so different. I can't really explain…" "The name is Jon Cheese," he tried again reaching down his hand. I stood up on my tippy toes to shake while introducing myself and Dia. 

He hopped down from the table, tumbling backward into one of the merch bins, knocking over a member of Limbeck, who didn't seem at all festered by the impact. Mr. Cheese folded his arms on his chest and leaned into the table. "I want to help you guys. I'm just a merch guy. I don't really know…much. But I want to help you. If you ever need anything. If you ever have any questions, give me a call." He handed me a ridiculous looking business card with his face drawn out in a cartoon complete with the signature wild hair do and mustache. Such curious words to hear from a complete stranger. Well, at least he had a business card. I guessed that that was something. 

Visit his website HERE

The rest of that evening Dia and I learned a little more about Mr. Cheese and his travels with Limbeck, and although he seemed a lot to take in, being from a mysterious and faraway state like New Jersey, we both decided: we liked him.

So, I kept his card in my wallet for the next 8 months, and just like the guitar in its case under my bed, there it stayed collecting dust.

Honestly,

Meg

Director In The Sky

We started small, taking tentative little steps forward, dipping our toes in the water, making sure the temperature felt o.k. While we busied ourselves with band practices and local performances, my dad kept an eye out for opportunities outside of our small town. He never tried to play the part of "super manager-dad", the character you hear about who paces back and forth in the kitchen in his sweat pants, cigarette dangling from his lips, cell phone tucked between his shoulder and earlobe. He simply loved us. We told him the dream we held for ourselves, deep in our hearts as starry eyed pre-teens, and he listened. 

He quickly located a music conference in Los Angeles called "Taxi", a company that takes independent writers' songs and "supposedly" finds placement for them in movies and video games etc… He called the conference an opportunity. Dia and I called it…something else, but regardless, my father never failed to drill home the reasons why we so desperately needed to attend these events, "You never know who you'll meet…"

 Dia and I enjoyed ourselves. We met a few friends, developed a crush or two on a few young fellow songwriters, and didn't take much of what any of the "industry experts" said too seriously. That is to say, until we attended the last panel of the event which consisted of all the songwriters bringing along their little demo cds to the show to be judged. We shyly handed our demo up to the intimidating panel of judges. Four "professionals" shared the judgement duties in order to comb through the anxious crowd quicker. We ended up with a pleasant looking woman. "She won't be too hard on us" I whispered to Dia before we stepped up to the plate. She smiled down at us, popped on her cd player's headphones, and proceeded to listen to our masterpiece with a totally blank expression. Dia and I squeezed each other's palms and shared a quick nervous glance. 

After about 30 seconds into the track, she set the headphones down and gave us her two cents, which we didn't quite know to accept as bad news or good news. "I don't know if it's just because I've been listening to really bad music all afternoon…but I think this is really great!" My dad pounced on the opportunity to go for the hard close of his sales pitch. He reiterated all of the details of our short history as a huge local hit, buttering up some of the details for effect. She handed us our cd back. My dad gave her our card. He shuffled Dia and I out of the conference room. Once we passed through the double doors, he leaned in between us with a glimmer in his eyes, "She's the one! She's the reason we came!"

I know you've all heard the advice: "It's all about the connections". I've heard this so many times, my stomach churns on cue when I hear the phrase. So please, save yourself from hurling when I say, "It's all about connections!" That being said, I'm sorry to explain further that this advice sort of turns out to be fruitless at best. 

You see, you can't go out yourself and find these so-called "connections". They find YOU.

Just like my dad said, she did call as if prompted by some mighty director watching the scene from the clouds above shouting to his production assistants, "O.K. They've just unpacked their bags, and they are so exhausted. Ring telephone NOW!" That call marked the beginning of an adventure which included in no particular order, a real demo cd complete with real studio musicians, a meeting with a major record label (woohoo!), professional photos, a signed management deal. A whirlwind of a journey which ended up being the first of many false starts. Success is never an easy road. Wish I could have yelled up to that director in the sky, "Come on, man! Throw us a bone, already!" to which he would have shouted back in fury, "What in the Hell do you think that just was?!"

Well, where's the "calm before the storm you mentioned in your previous blog?" you ask. 

A scene took place. A small, biting blip in my memory. Before the new manager lady would take on Dia and I as her clients, she flew out to Utah to watch an intimate performance of "Jade Harbor". She shook her head after the show. "The band has to go." she said softly. One of the biggest regrets I have in this life is letting them go. Did we not understand loyalty back then? Did we not understand heart? I guess not. We allowed fiery visions of fame and fortune to get the best of us. So we wrapped up our little band in a little paper boat, set them in the water, and watched them float away.

I wouldn't call our experience with her a "failure". She shared a kindness and hope with us that  set Dia and I in the right direction. One time, she drove us out to the west coast. Dia and I sat on the sands with hopeful eyes as we sang our simple melodies to the passing skateboarders and toned, sun-tanned mothers pushing strollers. Our manger lady dropped the only lonely dollars into our beat up guitar case. She was the only soul on the beach who bobbed her head and listened to what we sang and actually enjoyed what she heard. She believed in us, but as only the big directer in the sky knows, the timing wasn't right. 

"Cut! Change scene!"

Honestly,

Meg

Letter From Vanessa

Hi Meg!

Jeremy gave me the wonderful custom bot you made for me from his design. I LOVE it so much!!! I was wearing my Aviator Chandler today, but I had to switch him for my new bot instead because I was so excited lol. Thank you so much for taking the time to delicately put together my brilliant, special little robot. I truly appreciate it. We were both very excited to see what he would look like in real life, and he's PERFECT! We decided to name him "Chester the Robot." Here are a couple pictures of us, while I'm wearing Chester =] Thanks again for sharing some of your talent!

PS. I can't wait to get a Teacher Bot sometime too, to add to my large Chandler the Robot collection.

Much love and thanks,

Vanessa Miller 

P.S. I've been receiving quite a few requests for custom orders, and unfortunately I've had to tell quite a few people I'm not able to make custom orders right now. I took several at the beginning of the month and I'm a few weeks backed up at the moment. Please keep your ideas in mind, and I will let you know as soon as custom orders open up again!

Thanks!

Meg

Road Trip to Vegas to Attend Dia's Performance At Club Pure

"Not Meg" and Meg

Dia and I and our little friend in the background. What the?

Work it girl!

Happy reunion with the dudes for an evening:)

Photos From Earlier This Year @Highline Ballroom in NYC

All photography by Devan MIckell. Thanks Devan!

Jade Harbor

"What are you doing?" I screeched as I watched Andrew yank the tuning pegs on my guitar around and around, strumming the detuned string as he went with his thumb. The guitar sounded like it was dying a slow agonizing death. "I'm tuning your guitar to 'open E' ", he replied calmly, not at all deterred by the painful expression on my face. "See? Now all you have to do is strum the guitar and hold down one of these two top strings, or both, and you're playing like a pro!" His stupid grin only made me more aggravated. "Give me that!" I started to move my index finger around on the low E string, Dave Mathews style, and realized that Andrew, much to my surprise, held wisdom beyond his years. Thanks for that Andrew, now there's the front door, I'll take it from here.

Open E, the tool that guided my first few songs, the catalyst that paved the way for my future guitar playing. If you've ever played in Open E, you'll notice it is a very sad tuning, perfect for my general disposition back in high school. Also, perfect for my playing level at that time: zero!

From there every memory flew by in a musical blur. I believe that in many situations ignorance and naiveté are a blessing, because you don't know how difficult things are really going to be, and if you don't know how difficult they are going to be, you aren't afraid to try in the first place. This is the reason my father is such a great business man. I've never known him to ever be scared of potential failure, and in the beginning, I wasn't afraid of failure either.

I wrote a few songs, thought they they were fantastic and didn't need a single adjustment, proudly showed them to my parents who showered me with praise. Their encouragement helped me find the confidence to form the first band: "Jade Harbor", formally known as Altamyra, named after the Greek God Athena's forgotten daughter. That's a lie. We named our band after our street name, o.k.?

But you see, if I decided to start a band now, I would never be able to do it like I did back then. I would never think I was ready enough. I don't have enough songs. The songs I do have aren't good enough. They will never measure up. I would come up with a million excuses…because I know better. 

I know that succeeding as a musician, as a band, is no small mountain to climb. I know the obstacles. I know where the cracks in the cliff are, the spot where the blizzard hits, the section of the cliff barely hanging on with loose stones. I know to bring extra water, more batteries, dehydrated dinners. And I still know, that even knowing all the pitfalls and preparing for all the disasters, still doesn't guarantee that I'll make it to the top.

But back then... Hell, I thought that our band headed toward stardom, I'm talking "U2 status" in under a week!

Our lead guitarist, a very talented man, soberly listened to the song ideas of a quacky teenage girl, and accepted them no questions asked. (Dia, you ought to be more like him. I'm kidding!) He always stood passively in a corner during performances and practice, happy to play his colorful, tasteful arpeggios on top of my simple chords. You could have wrecked his car right in front of him and he wouldn't bat an eyelash, in fact, in typical Juddy fashion, he'd probably make a really intelligent joke about how his battered vehicle looked like a bat late for a dinner party er.. something, and we would have laughed all night.

The charming bass player had a very convincing "Tom Sawyer-esque" quality about him. You'd be talking to him over lunch one day, and the next thing you know, you're begging him to let you clean and fold his dirty laundry. Don't ask me how it happens. It's dangerous to have one of those guys in your band don't you think? But, the girls loved him, and every band needs one of those guys, I suppose...

Sunny, kind-hearted, compassionate, would never hurt a fly. Funny, the only time you would ever see Sunny aggressive happened behind the drum set, and once the song ceased to be, the serene expression returns to his face and you could chat with him stoically about world peace over a cup of tea served with English crumpets.

The first band Dia and I started spoiled us silly. Great musicians. Amazing memories sharing entire bags of crispy bean burritos and apple empanadas after band practice. I loved them very much, wish we would have stayed in touch. This time spent with them was the calm before the storm…

Honestly,
Meg

"The First Band Practice"

Introduction: A lot of people have been asking me lately how the band got started, how they might start one of their own, how to get the ball rolling. Now, I think the time is right to share my story:

I remember them playing LOUD. I had never heard live instruments being played together (well sort of together) right in front of me. Only myself and my three girlfriends sat in the doting audience of this performance. The girls from Dixie High had ditched our usual bunch of  sweet guys from our school and chosen to do the rebellious thing (Gasp!) and accept the invitation to hang out at a band practice made up of a 5 unruly young men from our rival high school.

All of our adolescent hearts couldn't help but pound watching the front-man shout into his mic covered in saliva and sweat. He hopped up onto the back of the couch all of us girls were seated on in the middle of a song, feverishly swaying to the music as he attempted to find his balance. Ah, we all could have fainted right there. It took every ounce of strength not to reach out and touch him and scream in youthful delight. He might as well have been Jim Morison.

A HUNK if I ever saw one.

So maybe, looking back, my love for music may have started with a crush on a adolescent frontman.

Love. It's a bitch.

Filled with sultry images of their band practice and armed with an intensity to have my way or else, I begged my dad for a guitar. Funny he didn't put up much of a fight. Maybe his will bent like a willow tree because the previous week I had asked for a white pony and the week before that I asked for the private helicopter with suede fuschia seats, please daddy?

He drove me straight over to the only guitar shop we had in town. He knew the guy who owned it, so they chatted in the back of the shop while I stared in quiet awe at the beauties hanging up on the wall, gorgeous and dangerous at the same time. I didn't know the names of any of the great guitar players like my fellow geeky guy friends. I had never heard of any of the brands of these guitars.

I judge guitars the same way I judge cars: by color.

"What kind of car do you have?" "A white one" is my response. "Which kind of guitar do you want?" asked the kind man with the kind eyes. "The black one." I replied shyly. The guitar I picked was a Les Paul Studio and it sounded awful. (To be fair, this could have been because I had never played a guitar before...) Also it weighed, like a hundred pounds with the case and guitar together. While l lugged my new instrument back to the car I thought to myself, "Damn this thing is heavy. I'd seriously like to reconsider and switch to the ukelele if its not too much trouble."

 Once I brought that thing home, I remember admiring the hot pink satin covering and faux fur that the case was lined with much more than my black guitar. So, I set the guitar back in the case, slid that puppy under my bed, and that's where it stayed for the next six months gathering dust.

Honestly,
Meg

Free "Sherbot Holmes" Offer!

Free "Sherbot Holmes" anyone? I'll even pay for the shipping!

All I need from you is to help me get the word out about "First Thursday" today. So, if you'd like a chance to win a free "Sherbot Holmes", be one of the first 25 people to retweet one of my latest tweets that says "Happy "First Thursday"! Aviator Chandler officially released. Limited time!..." add #sherbotholmes, then email your shipping address to chandlertherobot@gmail.com with "Free Sherbot Holmes" in the subject line. Phew! That was a lot of instructions.

(my twitter is @chandlerrobot)

Sherbot Holmes Necklace

Thank you for your help! I have a lot of "Sherbots" that need some new families!

Honestly,
Meg

June's "First Thursday", Aviator Chandler released today!

For those of you new to my jewelry blog, each month I release a NEW limited edition design.

Happy "First Thursday" everyone! Sounds cheesy, but this month "take flight" with whatever you have going on in your life, seriously! June is going to be a great month!

To order your Aviator Chandler click HERE!

Thank you for everyone who pre-ordered! I will start shipping these out tomorrow and they should arrive sometime in the middle of next week (unless you are outside of the U.S. of course!) I'm only releasing 100 of these limited edition chandlers!

-each Aviator Chandler will include a unique numbered and signed "Certificate of Authenticity"

-19" adjustable chain w/lobster clasp

-robot height 2"

-materials: alloy metal with silver coating

price: $50.00

Honestly,

Meg

Now I Know Why They Call It "Angel's Landing"

I hadn't been sleeping well. I wanted to spend some quality time with my little sisters, since I haven't seen them very often while I lived in Austin. Also, I decided that I needed to be more active and be a little more adventurous, so I offered a plan to hike to "Angels Landing" in Zion National Park. Surprisingly, all three of my sister's eagerly agreed, and we immediately planned our expedition.

I had completed the hike a decade ago on a date for a high school dance. I don't remember the hike being extremely difficult, but because I'm older now and perhaps feel more responsibility, I couldn't help but be a bit apprehensive about leading my young sisters up a mountain 5,790 feet above safe ground, with the last leg of the hike only possible with the aid of intimidating steel cables plunging into the ground.

I decided to google Angel's landing. We all know this is a bad idea. Haven't we learned that whenever we see that tiny rash on our left elbow that the last thing one is supposed to do is google it? Photo after photo of the most gruesome elbow infections known to man pop up along with a lot of scary words and scary diseases. So of course, before I even finished typing "Angel's La-" into the google search box, "Angel's Landing DEATHS" came up first.

I ask my father, "Um, dad, do you think that the girls will be o.k. You know, because the trail is really... REALLY high up there?" I know I'm a fully grown adult woman who should be using her own judgement, but a little reassurance couldn't hurt, right? "If the path ever becomes to difficult, you can simply turn around." Thanks. Thanks for that dad.

The next morning we all wake up at the crack of dawn. My mom packs us a sushi picnic. (That's what you get when your mother's Asian. No PB&J for us!) I pack my sisters into my little white car along with pillows, books, and snacks. I turn The Shin's new album, "Port of Morrow" up, and we begin our drive to one of the most renown National Parks in the country which we are lucky enough to have in our own backyard.

My sisters are tough. I still didn't want to tell them about the "deaths" that I had read about the day before, but a sign, obvious and loud, right at the front of the entrance to the trail laid out the details of the dangers we were about to face." 6 Deaths since 2002. This trail is not recommended for small children, or anyone afraid of heights..." And then there was a small stick figure of a person falling to their death.

O.K. I might have made that part up...

The trial up to Scout's Point, which wikipedia describes as "generally the turnaround point for those who are unwilling to make the final summit push to the top of Angel's Landing" proved difficult. We huffed and puffed our way up the steep incline, passing wild chipmunks and cacti growing straight out of the red rock.

We passed a lot of foreigners repeating the same one or two English words over and over again in their thick accents. "Suuuppeh, Graate!" I muttered to my sisters, "If I ever make it to Paris, I'm going to make sure to learn other words in their language besides "super" and "great". Surprisingly, we passed a few husbands on their way down the mountain, who had swallowed their pride and refused to attempt the final hike up "Angel's Landing", later meeting up with their wives not really minding to continue the rest of their hike on their own with only the gorgeous views to accompany them.

There are a lot of reasons people choose to hike "Angel's Landing". For some, they hike to the top to get over their lifelong fear of heights.

Others hope to prove that they are capable of accomplishing great feats.

Some brave the trail to spend quality time with family.

I've got to tell ya, after all the sweat and exhaustion, once we finally made our to the top, I've never felt such peace. My sister's and I sat at the top in awe with the hippies who had found their way their only moments before us. No talk of the latest "tie-die methods" or "proper dread-lock cultivation", only silence in our rare, shared moment with nature.

I closed my eyes and felt the wind brush my face. All my problems, worries, concerns melted away into the majesty of the gorgeous view I soaked in. I could stay up here forever. But alas...

"Should we head back down now?" my youngest sister asked, shielding the eyes from the sun high overhead. I lugged my backback over my left shoulder as I grinned at my sister with a triumphantly. "Yeah, let's go."

Fearless

Honestly,

Meg

Take flight this month with June's NEW "First Thursday" design!

His cozy scarf swaying in the wind, protective eyewear, and pilot's helmet equip him with the tools to take on any robotic feat! With Aviator Chandler and his big heart to help you along the way, anything is possible!

Only 100 available of this "LIMITED edition" piece!

-includes a unique numbered and signed "Certificate of Authenticity"

-19" adjustable chain w/ lobster clasp

-Robot height 2"

-material: alloy metal with silver coating

To order click HERE!