Sanctuary Living--Manifest Who You Are in the World

Robbi (Kraft) Rino

2011-06-28T16:54:00.000-07:00

How much more there is now to living! Instead of our drab slogging forth and back there’s reason to life! We can lift ourselves out of ignorance, we can find ourselves as creatures of excellence and intelligence and skill. We can be free! We can learn to fly! --From the book, Jonathan Livingston Seagull...one of Robbi's favorites.

Her adoring family is deeply saddened to announce the passing of Robbi (Kraft) Rino on June 20, 2011. Though she was one of the strongest people you would ever meet, Robbi yielded to serious health issues and passed away peacefully in the comfort of her Mission Hills home with her loving Joe by her side.

As a young woman moving from Eugene, Oregon to San Diego, California, Robbi was a pioneer who blazed trails in the fashion industry to become a renowned expert in her field.

“Beauty” was not only her business but the way in which Robbi lived her life. Growing up, her children Beth and Ron remember with fondness the remarkable aesthetic which was as much a part of their home as it was the people who were an enduring part of Robbi’s personal and professional lives.

From her foundational years as a fashion consultant for Marsi’s to her formidable service as Fashion and Special Events/Publicity Director for the renowned Bullock’s Department Store, Robbi delivered excellence and knew how to bring out the best in all those she encountered. She was a luminary in the San Diego community— she founded the renowned Fashion Scene Agency, managed the trend-setting retail store Something Mad, produced hundreds of sensational and successful fashion shows and events for Bullock’s, consulted and wrote for dozens of retailers and designers as President of Kraft Style and represented the fashion community at San Diego Home Garden Magazine.

Robbi knew how to work hard, but it was her captivating sense of play that her grandchildren will most remember. Frequent outings to her well-loved Balboa Park, the Zoo and Wild Animal Park not only educated but delighted three generations—grandchildren; Kelli Kraft, Katie Lyons-Petry, Kyle, Cameron, and Quinn Kraft plus great grandchildren; Courtney Riddle, Jacqueline, Mitchell, and Jason Rino, Cole, Conner, and Collin Fraas, MacKenna and Matthieu Petry. And no one knew how to put on a birthday party like Robbi—her Mimosas and chocolate delights, adorned with ever-present arrangements of protea and pincushions, were legendary.

In her later years Robbi indulged in extensive travel with her beloved sister, Barbara Hartung and enjoyed extended visits to Barbara’s home in McCall, Idaho where she and Joe loved skiing and golfing and taking in the breathtaking landscape there. McCall was her slice-of-heaven.

Robbi was passionate about philanthropic service, dedicating abundant time and talent as board member, affiliate, and volunteer for remarkable organizations such as The Fashion Group International, San Diego Historical Society/Costume Council and Showcase House, Fashion Careers College, FIDM, San Diego Museum of Man, Klee Wyk Society/Indian Fair.

Her “Robbi time” was devoted to culture and conversation as she coveted her season tickets to the San Diego Symphony with dear friend, Joann Woodall, her monthly encounters with Nanci Washburn and “The Fashion Group Divas,” weekly golf and walks along Mission Beach with Joe, and time with Terri Keefner who visited frequently during difficult days. And while not always easy, Robbi's appointments with her long-time physician, Dr. Howard Williams, filled her with peace and confidence that his attentive care was healing both physically and emotionally.

Countless articles have been written about Robbi and her contribution to the fashion industry. She was honored to receive the Lifetime Achievement, "Golden Hanger Award" from Fashion Careers College. But it was her family and friends of which Robbi was most proud. She is survived by her husband Joe Rino, children Ron Kraft and Beth Lyons, their spouses Janene and Art, fourteen grand and great grand children, former husband Ralph Kraft and thousands of friends and colleagues she held dear.

Robbi was a pioneer, seeker, lover, and teacher. In her honor, a Celebration of Life and Faith will be held at 10am on July 15, 2011 in the beautiful Prado Garden Terrace in Balboa Park. In lieu of flowers Robbi would delight in donations in her memory to the Costume Council
(619 232-6203 x102).

Robbi and Joe skiing in the mountains of McCall Idaho...Robbi's "slice of heaven."

THE PROCESS OF BECOMING

2011-05-26T19:29:00.000-07:00

It's the time of year when colorfully-embossed cards start pouring in announcing Graduation of young men and women I rarely hear from who ‘belong’ to men and women I love.

While bold and enthusiastic, the obvious pride of the collective educational community embodied in mascots (Indians, Jaguars, Wildcats), can’t begin to compare to the overflowing measure of joy and honor reflected in the names printed inside.

I run my fingers over the letters as first, middle, and last name not only depict an immeasurable pride but anchor in the accomplishment of the present and recall that day when each was first chosen and spoken~
BLAKE ANDREW PELLMAN. SHELBY ANN TRUAX. EMILY GAEL KENNEY. MACKENZIE ANN-MARIE REILAND.

At once there rises a confounding notion that nothing purchased could measure up to this grand accomplishment of being, this PROCESS OF BECOMING. And while graduating from high school or college may be the cause for celebration it is, for me, the SHOWING UP that wins over my heart and causes tears to flow. May we never take for granted, especially now and BECAUSE of now, that our children manage not only to survive but thrive despite and within the chaos of a busy world.

Community is a warm cocoon that wraps us in the knowledge and understanding of ourselves. If we are blessed, we see the best of ourselves reflected in the eager eyes of another who seeks us out in a crowd. In acknowledging this we understand how grief and joy inhabit the same space as the cocoon breaks open and releases the butterfly.

Beyond friends and hallways, dorm rooms and libraries, families and cozy clean-sheet beds is a relentless unknown that is big and hopeful, challenging and inspiring, anonymous and heroic…

No matter if the leaving is of high school or University the BECOMING never ceases. If we’re wise we view the process as a great hunt—YOU being chased by average and complacency, THE PATH unfolding as the unwillingness to accept anything less than YOUR personal best.

That our BEST IS ENOUGH is the focus as we are mindful not to allow our eyes to wander to someone else’s lane. Graduate, yours has been prepared just for you. Its length and depth and bredth have been designed to rise up and embrace each step you take.

I pray that your path is risky without being dangerous. I pray that your feet will ache from the pursuit of honor and integrity as you find and follow your call.

It is important for you to know that I loved you first because I loved and admired your Mom and Dad. It is more important for you to know that I love you now because of who YOU are in the world.

BLAKE

Your boyish grin and piercing eyes reveal at once a rebel and scholar. You are one with whom to be reckoned as you will quietly insist that the world get it right.

SHELBY

Your external beauty may catch their attention but your breathtaking interior is what will cause others to linger. Through body, mind, and spirit you have much to say and the world will listen.

EMILY

Your grace in submission and reverence for others is matched by an unbridled spirit that points to a glorious confidence in self. Your future will be as a well-loved leader in service of others.

MACKENZIE

Your unquenchable curiosity and keen intellect have enabled you to not only “take in” but discern what is worthy of keeping. Your loyalty to people and cause will position you as indispensible in all you do.

These four may not know each other. But they are linked and not just because of me. They are sisters and brother finding their way. They belong one to another—responsible to themselves and to the community and world they are creating. What Blake does in Washington will impact Shelby in New York. The choices Emily makes in Colorado will affect Mackenzie way down in Georgia.

I close my eyes and run my fingers over and through the embossment. Class of 2011. I don’t have to see it to know that it’s there. Like what lies ahead as these four BECOME I can feel it. And it feels good.

Things I Learned from Jackie

2011-05-05T22:24:00.000-07:00

In honor of Mother's Day...and Jacqueline

Take the high road
Keep your chin up
Brush your hair
Wash your elbows
Rise above it
Avoid gossip
Everyone has a story
Be kind
Lipstick is essential
Red isn’t good on everyone
Always serve dessert
Stand up straight
Be a stand out
Don’t sit on the bed
Pay attention to the unseen
There is a sixth sense
God is watching and watching over us
Keep your promises...
to yourself
and others
Give away clothes you don’t wear
Your best accessory is a smile
Make love while you can
Never give up
Have children
A little denial keeps us sane
There is beauty in everything
Everything has a place
Remember your roots, especially the French ones
Don’t dye your hair
Travel more
Be first class
Love up one side and down the other
Be with your babies
Marry for love
Don’t waste your time
Extend grace
Be graceful
Choose your words
Chew with your lips together
Hide some money
Open your heart
Close your mouth
Die with dignity
Attend funerals

Live with intention
You can do anything you set your mind to
You’re stronger than you think
Small people make big impressions
Life leaves when you least expect it
Go out in style
Create your own sense of style
Say something nice to everyone you meet
Make a beautiful picture out of you
Pretty is as pretty does
People are mostly good
Expect the best
Everyone has a story
Forgive
Honor thy mother
Be an honorable mother
Cherish laughter
Burp out loud
Be a lady
Learn at least one dance step
Let him lead once in awhile
Pick up after yourself
Leave the room scented with your memory
Live lush
Be luscious
Entertain often
Keep a beautiful home
Everything matters
Good enough is NOT good enough
Do what you can yourself
You can do more than you ever thought possible
Stay in touch
Collect lovely people
Create lifelong friendships
Be a magnet
Be generous with your heart
Trust your daughter’s husband
Wear big jewelry
Always choose designer
Seduce the camera
Flirt
Resist the temptation to pluck
Be surprising
Have a secret
Cry less for sorrow and more for joy
Laugh with your whole self
Make giving a common ritual
Bake
Collect recipes from your favorite friends
Handwrite your Christmas cards
Send thank you notes
Be grateful
Make the most of what you have
Remember where you come from
Be present
Sing
Cuddle
Touch
Wear the highest heels you can find
Be hip at any age
Don’t be afraid to cut your own hair
Be there
Develop a mean golf swing
Repeat yourself but only once
Pray
Pray again
Never give up
Give yourself
Play more
Pay attention
Insist
Give in
Make your own colors
Paint what you feel not what you see
Stay
Sacrifice
There’s always more of you to give
Raise your own children
Be deliberate
Know what you believe
Know someone you’d die for
Tell them
Make scrapbooks
Remember
Serve tea
Dress up at every opportunity
Watch television less
Listen to music
Memorize
Recite
Never forget a name
Eat small portions
Make a big impression
Don’t snack
Think less
Love more

A GOODBYE

2011-03-31T18:26:00.000-07:00

Gabriel: January 25, 2001-March 20, 2011

I see you dipping your great body down to say hello to a smaller friend. You try hard not to intimidate even to the point of discomfort. In your bending you are so graceful, so intentional. I watch and smile, learning from you that our posture matters when welcoming a new friend or making way for those with seemingly smaller stature to take the first position.

Face all up and into mine with that big, soft muzzle and doe eyes searching for signs of love. Adoration was the quiet undercurrent, ever-present though not always spoken. A glance over would reward me with your grand head nodding in agreement that we were connected, not just in the moment but over a space and time that spanned more than 88,000 hours.

To love a creature so purely bent my heart in directions of gentleness. You were a gentleman, after all, teaching me that submission is not so much a giving up as a giving over to a trust that breaks bonds of fear and rebellion.

I was never lonely with you there. Even when everything around me was foreign and new you drew people to us and caused not just commotion but a surprising connection that peeled away pretense or suspicion to reveal a mutual and captivating delight. . .

You brought out the best in people. Gabriel, my “go before,” your startling combination of playful majesty took their breath away and then eased them into rich conversation that slowed the pace of our day to invite, share, reach out, stop. The phrase, “divine appointments” was the definition of your spirit.

I watch you in my mind running across the park, full speed into the moonlight, your eager gate spanning feet in seconds. There was no stopping you when you got started. It didn’t matter where you were headed; you simply ran because you could and because you were made for it. May I never take for granted the blessing of being designed for the doing and then doing it with abandon.

I cleaned your bed. I washed your face. The incessant vacuuming of your coat, everywhere, has become “trademark.” On fuller days the waking early to attend to you seemed silliness to those whose definition of importance sweeps them away to coffee and rush hour. In service of your needs I found a softer place in me that seems, even now, such benefit to those who know me as more assertive.

To say, “I love you,” and to laugh as you tried to say it back was not just some parlor trick we practiced but evidence of communion. To speak in words was not your nature yet your longing to please compelled you to fill the gap. Leaning in—such beautiful and rare extension of humanity from one not so “other” after all.

We tried hard, you and I, these last two weeks to give you more. Though the days did not stretch as far as we both would have hoped the richness of what was could not have been better. Let me never trade better for more.

At each encounter I would introduce you as the boy with the wings on his head. Gabriel, the angel, the sentinel, the eager messenger. Your name again and again defined you.

In the end, even as you struggled to breathe your amazing grace took my breath away.

I DO

2011-02-14T10:11:00.000-08:00

The condition of your heart surpasses all my trivial notions of what it is to love. To gaze into those unseen places where kind intention flourishes FIRST and before my own limited and muddled interpretation would surely bring about such understanding that would surpass all expectations.

“Hear my heart,” you plead when words are not enough to convey all that your soul contains. Meaning is lost between disappointment that circumstance brings and the imperfection of two, yet separate people longing to be likeminded and as one.

At the “I DO” there became US and yet within such a tiny word contains the possibility and passion of the universe. To endure the world and at once recognize its faults as not our own but separate from the perfection of our union would be perfection in itself. For all that comes outside and apart from US is of the world and does not exist within the promise of this new, singular creation born at the altar.

In giving me, then and now, I move to new territory where boundaries are less defined and vulnerability becomes thick as air. We breathe, yet moment-by-moment, that sacred trust that blazes new trails in the heart so that pain becomes inevitable yet sweeter through the gain.

You who have given all to this exploration are mightily revered even as you agree, once and again, to pay the consequences of commitment. To stay, though life and love lead often to more treacherous waters, is the definition of a man not only a standout amongst other men but a gatherer of God’s affections.

And though weakness and sorrow inevitably fade the boldness of the hue, let the soft changing color be cause for celebration, for that which remains is of our creation, a perfect, lovely painting of a life, together, well-lived.

2011-01-14T10:20:00.000-08:00

My day begins with the chime of bells rising up from the village church steeple far below our hillside Sanctuary. I’m not a morning person but these sounds of glad tidings always manage to embed peace within my heart even before the prompting of praise rises up and onto my face in more obvious indication that it is well with my soul…

Smiling, in the morning, is not one of my strong suits. But the daily hymn which follows the singular chime and its count of “seven” never fails to transform my mood and draw my attention to a Creator so adored and sought after that thousands of these “love poems” have been scripted to him throughout the ages.

If I know the words, I sing along. And I imagine an entire community whose hearts are humming with me even if their minds aren’t consciously aware of what their spirits have already defined. We are, after all, created to seek Him whether we like it or not.

Composed, in gladness and grief and trial and triumph, the songs of “praise in the midst” bend me to a softer way of being so that body, mind, and spirit are more pliable, more usable for what the day may bring.

At noon, yesterday, the hymn that follows rang from the steeple. And even though it was written more than 300 years ago its themes are relevant and revelational still. No matter your belief let this exquisite expression of the human condition soothe your soul.

(Thank you, dear Holly, for sharing the words…)

Praise to the Lord, the Almighty

________________________________________

Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of creation!

O my soul, praise Him, for He is thy health and salvation!

All ye who hear, now to His temple draw near;

Praise Him in glad adoration.

Praise to the Lord, Who over all things so wondrously reigneth,

Shelters thee under His wings, yea, so gently sustaineth!

Hast thou not seen how thy desires ever have been

Granted in what He ordaineth?

Praise to the Lord, Who hath fearfully, wondrously, made thee;

Health hath vouchsafed and, when heedlessly falling, hath stayed thee.

What need or grief ever hath failed of relief?

Wings of His mercy did shade thee.

Praise to the Lord, Who doth prosper thy work and defend thee;

Surely His goodness and mercy here daily attend thee.

THE SANDBOX

2010-12-20T19:43:00.000-08:00

God reveals things to me when I’m sleeping.
Perhaps it's the only time he feels that he can get my full attention.

During these what I call, “Sleep Sessions,” the messages are clear. When I awake there is a deep sense of awe that God’s desire to commune with us is so powerful that he speaks to us even when we are not consciously aware of the conversation—

It is 5:45 am on this Monday morning. My eyes are open but my mind is focused not on what I see but what I have just heard—words spoken as a whisper in that realm in-between:
Our job is to remain in the sandbox a little longer to teach each other how to play.

I imagine children in the park and then become one of them as I vividly feel the hurt and resulting anger of being offended by the others. I gather my toys and stomp away, making hateful remarks under my breath and even out loud in an effort to cover up the tears so that the others won’t see what I feel~isolation, betrayal, mistrust. In time I learn that sharing my heart, like bucket or shovel, is risky business and that it is better to avoid the sandbox altogether.

In recent days I watch and read how often we take offense...on the road, in our homes, over something said or misconstrued. In our grown up years we react and behave as if we never really learned how to get along at all. I am struck by how much easier it is, even in my own life, to create grievances instead of extending grace. It’s almost as if we are looking for an excuse to isolate ourselves, one from another.

It’s hard to coax a wounded heart from the protection of offense. Perhaps we are looking for error in another to offer as excuse for remaining distant and detached. It’s as if we are in a constant battle between taking our toys and running home and wanting desperately to belong.

By nature we need each other...to learn to trust, to share, and to say what we feel in a way that creates connection rather than conflict. When my husband and I are arguing and he senses I am shutting down and slipping away he declares, “Hear my heart!” In those three words he is asking me to listen more to what is meant than what is said.
It's not easy to keep my heart open. Today alone I counted six opportunities to take offense and disengage. And then I remembered that my job here on earth is to stay. Body and soul. Head and heart. Let all of me remain to teach myself and others how to play.

This Christmas, extending grace is the greatest gift of all.

REMEMBERING SEATTLE

2010-12-07T22:06:00.000-08:00

By Janene Kraft

I'm remembering Seattle. It’s not unusual for my mind to make its way to the long days on Lake Washington’s crystal coast. In the beginning I lost my mind there. That first night desperately seeking sky and stars through clouds as thick as tears. Gradually, I lost my heart there. Like seedlings fighting their way toward light my spirit broke the surface and roots grew with surprising vigor.

Fleece was my number one enemy.
And North Face was most definitely not my friend—a bit of chill should never separate a woman from her fashion. Despite retaining my singular sense of style I was anonymous. Being anonymous isn’t so bad really. My ‘reputation’ disappeared like a shadow hungry for the sun. But I learned to relish being weighed and measured in the moment. Who I am. Now. I discovered that people know who you are, the essence of you, if you do.

The women in Seattle are fabulous. They are at once guarding their territory and longing for real connection. Like the bundles they wear to ward off the cold, there are layers to be shed. It took awhile to let me in. At first, discretion yielded to superficial companionship. But over time the ones with the breathtaking hearts came out to play. Loneliness and grey gave way to a disposition of light reflected in the faces of those who agreed, along with me, to trust.

There are some “don’ts” in Seattle—

Hosing off your deck in winter is ill-advised. Particularly barefoot. That surprising moment of clarity which comes from remembering where you are can be exhilarating even when face-planting on the walkway. Speaking in elevators is frowned upon. For heaven’s sake don’t use an umbrella when it’s raining. Don’t stare at the naked cyclists stripping off the mud from their ride through Bastyr. Never go too blonde. Pulling up ‘dead things’ in December leads to bare spots in the spring. And bulbs are not just something you hang on your Christmas tree. Never park uphill in a snowstorm. Oh, and never, ever wander into salmon spawning territory.

There is nothing like a Seattle neighborhood. Kirkland to Freemont, Capitol Hill to Madison Park each has its own vibe that immediately draws you in. Walk to your favorite “Cheers” and the cold gives way to intimate spaces electric with Husky madness and Microsoft gossip. There are the Saturday markets and meandering parks all with a relationship to water—on the water, view of the water, walking in water—you get the picture. But by far it is the architecture that defines the mood. Belltown hip, Capitol Hill austere, Freemont quirky, Montlake old world charm, Holmes Point contemporary, Madison Park chic—I wanted to live in every one and gave it my best try.

My list of “loves” in this City I adore makes one understand why it is the most-filmed place in the country, why writers go there seeking inspiration, why despite the rain families move there in droves—much to the contention of the long-timers and home-towners. I understand their frustration; you can always spot a newbee when she exclaims, “I’m going to Pikes this weekend!”--one must never desecrate the Market. Driving on the floating bridge is sacred. Not once did the Yukon travel over this concrete sanctuary without honoring a moment of silence to take in the majesty. On a clear day, Rainier would take my breath away. Once on the other side Gabriel and I would stroll through U Village and pay hommage to the flagship Anthro store. Montlake’s floating footbridges let me walk on water while skipping through the rain. I threw the wedding of a lifetime in Clise Mansion, rebuilt the 100-year-old White House and created my beloved Bella Luna. Gabe and I ran through the snow at midnight in Waverly Park. I kayaked off Vashon. On Saturdays I gathered flowers at Pike. The ferry boats awed me. And gliding in a float plane over the islands to Victoria was the most fun in a small space that I’ve ever had. Except for the Bella Luna pantry. Madison Park homes and cafes. Quiet coffee chats. Wine with heart friends looking out at the Space Needle. The one-and-only Molbaks. Weight training at the Y. Christmas Ships and cocoa. Martinis at Cactus. The view of the Aurora Bridge. Pacific Galleries and my store called, "Whim." Dinner at the Pink Door. Two-am wakeups to gaze at the stars.

My son went to the University of Washington and brought back a girl. Even before she moved to San Diego Erin knew how to peel off the layers. She’s girlie yet strong, nurturing and loving in a childlike way. Like me, Erin misses her Seattle. The chill of the place and the sincerity of the people. Make no mistake, the warmth doesn’t come easy. But as with a tiny ember, just the right amount of coaxing can create a radiant fire.

A CALIFORNIA CHRISTMAS

2010-12-02T11:27:00.000-08:00

by Janene Kraft.

This year I’m having a bit of trouble ushering in the season. After all, my nearly six years in Seattle got me so used to pine trees, powder-white walkways, and those breath-taking boats aglow with thousands of twinkling lights parading across Lake Washington to kickoff the Holiday festivities.

It’s not that the glorious sunsets and the sweeping coastline aren’t remarkable here. They’re just not, well, very Christmas-y. Putting all in context, you can imagine my thrill upon looking out my window last evening to see at least a dozen brightly-lit boats cruising along the Laguna Beach shore. “Christmas Ships!” I delighted while believing that ‘my’ Christmas season had finally been officially ushered in. Hurrying to the refrigerator I popped open a bottle of extra-dry and selected my most-beautiful flute to accompany the merriment.

Upon arriving home minutes later my husband, Ron (with eyesight clearly intact), hurried out upon the deck to see those glorious Christmas Ships that inspired me so. Not wanting to spoil the pageantry but always one to tell the truth, he could hardly contain his laughter when informing me that those luminescent lights were, in fact, Squid boats harvesting their catch.

“Alas, oh season that eludes me,” so crestfallen and morose was I. But then, a quick change of spirit so as not to spoil the fun, “A toast to calamari!” I exclaimed as I raised my glass to fisherman everywhere. “Merry Squidmas” and let the blessed season begin!

GABRIEL'S TWILIGHT

2010-11-10T09:59:00.000-08:00

At twilight we chose the path that runs along the canyon wall, it’s starting point so close to the edge that my heart begins to race a little.
My legs, not as strong as I’d like at this stage in the game and my shoes, still worth that second glance but old and worn, so much like the grand old man on all fours leading the way.
Even in my tentative spirit Gabriel’s passion for the quest is contagious. And so we press forward along the canyon face our feet nestled in the thick, fall grass so lovely that I forget for a moment to notice the sea and its sunset in the distance. Gabriel’s nose is relentlessly buried in the tall blades, his enormous muzzle disappearing from view. I imagine the stories those great nostrils are speed-reading along the crest as he stops and scurries and stops again. My shoulder is aching from the pull of the leash and his unbridled intention until at last we are across the ridge and standing in a broad opening that feels at once expansive and intimate. My repeated commands of, “with me,” have ceased in the knowing that we are standing on sacred space. The hush and the long, thick green of fall is all around and under foot and paw yet a sensing of something remarkable reveals that much of this meadow we have come upon is flattened as mats thrown open for meditation. I imagine the soft underbellies of the magical and majestic creatures that make this space their evening bed, rugged and torn hooves digging in, pressing down and then relenting to the irresistible need for rest. On other excursions we’ve taken note of these beauties from afar but this time Gabriel and I have come upon their quiet place, a protected alcove on the hillside where they look out and upon their ever-diminishing territory, not with sadness and regret, but with what I imagine to be a sort of understanding that what remains is precious and rare. With fawn coat and immense ears Gabriel looks as if one of them, even being mistaken as a family member from time to time in days past. “Dear?” they jest. “To me, yes,” I would reply.
We belong here. And we don’t. So we remain and then depart as quietly as we came. The grand old man, exhausted as much from the smelling as the walking now breathes heavy on his cozy bed beside me and I, not able to sleep, imagine the stories told to a Dane amongst the grasses at twilight.

THE DETAILS MATTER

2010-11-08T09:48:00.000-08:00

The details really do matter--more than we know...

On Saturday, I visited my beautiful 81-year-old mother in law, Robbi Kraft, in the rehabilitation center where she is recovering from surgery to repair her broken hip. As we were devouring her words of wisdom (she's quite the philosopher) she was eating up every bite of her turkey and mashed potatoes. Noting that the food was a little bland, Robbi noticed a little hand-written card that the chef had apparently placed on her tray. It read, "Do not serve patient bacon, ham, or pork." Robbi's husband, Joe became a bit agitated, "You love these foods and I'm going to find out what this is all about!" About two hours after we had kissed goodbye and made our departure we received a call from Joe. He was laughing so hard he couldn't get his words out. Apparently, while (forcefully) inquiring why Robbi was missing out on the foods she loved the manager of the facility retorted, "Well of course we wouldn't serve her these items...she's Jewish!" "JEWISH? Where did you get an idea like that?" The manager replied, "Well her name is Rabbi Kraft, isn't it?"
It's amazing how one tiny little letter can change everything! So, of course, being careful with the details is the essence of Sanctuary Living!

LOVING SOMEONE TAKES TIME

2010-09-21T09:17:00.000-07:00

It doesn't take any time at all to judge someone. In less than ten seconds our eyes and ears can deceive us into believing we know who a person is by how they look or what they say. Defining another makes us feel better about ourselves--and in the definition we can diminish, manipulate, and dismiss. The world is full of soundbytes. In fact most of what we read and believe we understand about a person or situation is captured within the framework of thirty seconds-two minutes. Judgement requires nothing of you other than the activation of the most menial aspect of the human brain.

Loving someone, however, takes time. It mandates giving a piece of yourself. It requires looking someone in the eye and allowing them to see YOU in all your frailty and vulnerability. Love necessitates abundance, an opening up rather than a shutting down or off. Love goes beyond thought to engage the heart. And in that place, true wisdom resides.

Today, take the time to love.

A Prayer for God~

2010-08-24T09:09:00.000-07:00

Today God, let me pray for you instead of praying for myself. You have a big day on your hands. Mouths to feed. Calamities to suppress. It’s a big job being you. But look how remarkable you are! I am in awe of your leadership even while you seek to be my companion. I marvel at your serious wisdom even as you remember to laugh. I applaud your righteous hand even as you demonstrate mercy.Let me be more that kind of person. Let me remember, always, that I was created in your image and not the other way around. Therefore, let my knees hit the ground more swiftly when I contemplate all that you are. Let me ask for less. And let me be profoundly grateful just for the chance to gaze into your beautiful face…to be held in your mighty hand. jk

SANCTUARY LETTERS--One Life, Lived in Sanctuary, Changes Everything

2010-05-27T16:26:00.000-07:00

We all have opinions about someTHING. Blogs are filled with information about people, places, politics, programs…and the list goes on. Yet, despite all the availability of ideas I find myself getting more confused and more removed from real relationship than ever before. It’s as if information has replaced the invitation to open up, to share not about what’s going on in the outside world but what is really going on from within.

So instead of writing about someTHING I’ve decided to write to someONE with the intention of connecting personally and honoring thoroughly one life that has impacted mine.

Each week I will select one person who, in small or abundant ways is living in Sanctuary. It may be that this person is going through something that I understand. Or it could be that he/she has impacted who I am. It may be that I admire the person's work…or, perhaps I am simply struck by something that he/she did to make the world more beautiful. It may be a time in his/her life that requires a little support. Or it may be that my writing is in celebration of a special time or place that holds significance.

No matter the motivation, One Life Lived in Sanctuary is a spotlight of spirit, a placecard for a special guest who understands the essence of Sanctuary Living.

In honor of One Life,

Janene

SANCTUARY LIVING-ONE LIFE

Honors Ms. JoAnn McDonald Truax

Dear JoAnn:

For most of us strong-willed women the word “surrender” isn’t in our vocabulary. Armed with our unquenchable determination we will ourselves to achieve, to conquer, to win even at the expense of our health, our well being, our very lives. We are women who know how to dance. We know what is required and we alter and accelarate our steps to remain in perfect rhythm with those who want it done…and done with perfection. We are “first responders,”—the go-to gals who will stop at nothing to accomplish the goal with a far greater and more exquisite outcome than anyone expected.

For us, your WHITE FRIDAY carries significance far deeper than the mere thumbing of a day of precisely opposite color that we, as retail professionals, alternately delight in and despise. Both Black and WHITE Fridays are of our creation—one a metaphor of our frenetic, desparate need to attain, the other a reflection of the inexplicable peace that comes from letting go.

Herein lies the power of surrender. On Friday, May 28th you will open your hands and capitulate to a deep and abiding understanding that now is the time to move on.

And while you leave behind people and a place that you adore, you take away the knowledge that the industry you love, loved you back and with gusto.

Nearly 20 years ago I had the pleasure of working with you on projects that we threw our whole selves into. We were passionate. We were dedicated. We were unstoppable.

The fire in our bellies hasn’t changed. But what fuels that fire has. Through the years I have watched you from afar. I have been in circles when conversation turned to how lovely you still are. I have noted your accomplishments through industry news. And I have watched as your mentors and superiors speak of you with high regard and a sense of contributory pride. The fuel that feeds your fire is the people who love and admire you. Not for what you’ve done. But for who you are.

Through the years you have brought the authentic “you” to the party, time and time again. You are steadfast. Loyal. Capable. Remarkable.

On my tombstone I will have written, “lingering is gauche.” Most of us stay on the same stage too long hoping, somehow, to perfect our performance by repeating it to the same audience over and over again. For you, there is no need to continue to perfect. We know who you are. And who you take with you no matter where you go.

In this season of new discovery I wish you many “White Fridays” ahead, days when you surrender what is good to make room for what is best.

My Love and Congratulations,

jk

SANCTUARY LETTERS--One Life, Lived in Sanctuary, Changes Everything

2010-05-13T12:47:00.000-07:00

Dear Georgi:

Let it first be said that there are many who could write a letter about the wonderous blessings of knowing you. I consider it a gift to be sharing space on this earth with you at a time in its history when intrinsic beauty has never been more rare. As a woman I struggle with the absence of grace and ‘simple pretty’ in the young girls I encounter everyday. As if to camoflauge the lack of ‘knowing self’ they adorn their bodies with brands and labels in an effort to create a diversion—a distraction from the who to impress with the what. What they lack—that sense of self and innate, unduplicable style--you make up for in abundance.

Your life has never been about 'having things' but creating Sanctuary. You never miss an opportunity to share your passionate appreciation of 'lovely', from how you acknowledge and edify others to your intense and nearly obsessive notice of all things rare and special. From a page in a magazine to a comment written on Face Book, your keen ability to identify real value in person or object is nothing short of breathtaking.

You haven't owned all that you desire. And I know that frustrates you at times. But let me tell you what I know to be true about what you do possess:
• Your taste level and true understanding of style far out-reach those who have the resources to purchase whatever they choose.

• You could never own enough to match your generosity of spirit in appreciating other people’s gifts and treasures.

• No one knows how to capture the true elegance of the “small space” better than you.

• You are an artist whose ability to paint-a-moment in time is equal to the masters.

• You have taught your family and others to recognize true beauty.

• You never tire of believing the best for the ones you love.

• You are as original as your name.

Georgi girl, my fierce understanding and appreciation of who you are has cemented a life-long friendship that is rich and adoring. And in those dark little moments when you wonder and doubt, picture the woman we all know you to be. She is simply magic.

My Deruta tea cup runneth over.

Much Love,
Nene

Aka “Obi One”

About the Author--Through print and video, Janene Kraft creates Sanctuary Stories to celebrate special moments and original people.

SANCTUARY LIVING: ESSAYS BY DESIGN

2010-04-25T20:41:00.000-07:00

Try Dreaming More With Your Eyes Open

by Janene Kraft

My 19-year-old dreamer, Cameron Kraft--this was not

posed but what he did when I asked what he really wanted in life!

I love to go to bed early just so I can dream. My dreams have always been vivid and I often remember them so clearly that when I awake, I weep at the loss of them.

Can you imagine dreaming of something so passionately that it makes you cry?
Most of us have heard that we can have anything we want if we…

Work hard enough

Go to school

Make enough money

Know the right people

Perservere

But there is really only one thing needed to get what we want—we have to KNOW WHAT we want!

THE DREAM is everything. We have to be connected with what I call our “Passionate Purpose.” Most of us go through life never being consciously, clearly aware of our desires.

Out of fear of being disappointed or lack of belief that we deserve it, we bury our dreams deep in our subconcious and allow the demands of the day to direct our paths. Instead of focusing on the WHAT we get busy with the HOW hoping that the flurry of activity will make us feel important and worthwhile.

But it is our dreams, not our distractions that guide us into becoming the whole, fulfilled, extraordinary people we were meant to be.

What is it you dream of? Do you know? Are you clear?
What is distracting you from living it?

Identifying what it is you’re really here for and eliminating everything that gets in the way is your ultimate gift to the world. Are you wondering what you can do to change the course of humanity? Try dreaming more with your eyes open.

SANCTUARY LIVING; ESSAYS BY DESIGN

2010-04-09T16:34:00.000-07:00

ARE YOU PICKING AT THE SHEETS?

Excerpt from the essay, Picking at the Sheets from the book, SANCTUARY LIVING

by Janene Kraft

When I was a little girl my Daddy took me to see my Grandpa in one of those places we all avoid.

Grandpa George needed the kind of care and attention that Grandma Zola was no longer able to provide. So once a week on Sundays the family would dutifully share our love in the only way we knew how, in a place where only love mattered anymore.

In an attempt to avoid the sadness and boredom that permeated the room, I roamed the hallways of the Home looking for something to get into. Darting in and out of other Grandpas' rooms, I was, admittedly, curious about their varying states of “near deadness.” Though there really wasn’t much to look at, one detail continued to catch my attention room from room. At first I dismissed it as a nervous habit, like biting your nails. Or maybe they were knitting, or believed themselves to be so. But the fidgeting wasn’t gender specific. Like some strange old-people ritual the manifestation revealed itself again and again in small dark rooms, in quiet, unoccupied moments. There, lying amongst the covers, with no one to bear witness, these ancient versions of myself were “picking at the sheets.”

I can’t tell you precisely when I realized what was going on. But I can tell the “knowing” has changed forever the way I view death…and life even more.

For all of us, dying is a process. For those closest to the end, that process involves the body’s intuitive sensing of the spirit letting go. This “spirit lifting” creates a sensation of floating, a detachment from the here and now both physically and mentally in great proportions. Yet while the spirit hungers to separate, the body wills itself to remain. Even while the mind is unaware the act of anchoring begins and the hands, in their last attempts to grasp tightly to the things of this earth, begin their final, desperate act of “picking at the sheets.”

You don’t have to visit a senior center to witness this phenomenon. In fact, the “picking” is closer than you know. Think about the last time you did something with deliberation and conviction. Was it last month or even last year? Now think about the last time you felt agitated, stressed and over stimulated. In the last twenty-four hours? In the past fifteen minutes? Isn’t it ironic that as full as our lives have become there’s a communal sensing that something’s missing. No matter what we do, it’s not enough. We feel displaced and detached from people and places, work and play. Our distraction is evidenced in the way we walk—head awkwardly jutted out ahead of our bodies as if on a frantic mission to find ourselves. And how we speak—incessant, preoccupied text-messaging acronym versions of ourselves. We have dined so long on the superficial that we don’t even know how to digest the real meal. And as our minds are invaded our essential selves are floating out of view. Superficial and Spirit cannot occupy the same space at one time. We are the generation of “pickers,” literally dying to be alive! In our frantic attempt to fill the void our neglected spirits have taken leave.

If you sense that something is missing in your life, chances are you could be right. But searching for it from the outside will never satisfy…

SANCTUARY LIVING--ESSAYS BY DESIGN

2010-04-01T14:15:00.000-07:00

(Real) Curb Appeal
by Janene Kraft

Several years ago I was privileged to work on the team that developed, named, and opened the Kodak Theatre®, home to the Academy Awards®. I’ve never seen so much black as I did during that time. After all, we were working in L.A. In that part of the world, black is the uniform du jour. It’s curious how the wearing of the color black gives one the ability to embody two simultaneous yet contradictory messages—“I am powerful.” “I am playing it safe.” Wearing anything ‘other than’ carries with it the prospect of being analyzed, evaluated…and, God forbid, wrong.

Poking fun at “playing it safe” is what has made the HBO series, Curb Your Enthusiasm, so screamingly popular. In it Larry David (writer, co-creator, and producer of Seinfeld) plays an amplified version of himself in real life. He is droll and dry and anything but enthusiastic. His nonchalance reflects a pervasive attitude of being void of emotion in an effort to avoid feeling vulnerable.

It takes a great deal of energy to suppress the real you. And when you curb your enthusiasm you CURB YOUR APPEAL! In my mind, there is nothing more attractive than someone who knows who they are and is not afraid to show it.

When you’re clear about the inside, the outside follows. It’s no surprise, then, that I love homes that have an opinion. An interesting house is a great indicator that there’s someone interesting dwelling within. It doesn’t have to be fancy. Or my preferred architectural style. Like dogs, great homes are simply studies of the humanity of their people.

Appealing places are never some “wannabe” version of what everyone else is doing. They are true to themselves and their inhabitors. They are original, not ordinary. Stylish, not stand-off-ish.

Real Curb Appeal is an unbridled enthusiasm for life reflected in how you live. If you want your home to look appealing. Be appealing. That’s how it begins. Creating Sanctuary is as much about you as it is your environment. It starts with knowing who you are and being willing to express it in a way that draws people in and makes a lasting connection.

2010-03-25T15:44:00.000-07:00

SANCTUARY LIVING—ESSAYS BY DESIGN
By Janene Kraft

GIVE MEANING

Nearly every corner of my home inhabits a story.
The intrinsic Process of Sanctuary is founded on the belief that our surroundings, our environments, are not some externalized, detached entity to be gazed upon and admired but extensions of who we are. Our environments are our history…archeological digs which reveal what we are drawn to, who we love, what excites and motivates us, what we hold dear and what we find to be interesting and lovely.

Imagine, for a moment, that you are now an extinct civilization. Putting aside issues of disintegration and decay, what would a dig team determine about you if they came upon the remains of your environment? Would the external manifestations of how you lived tell an accurate story of who you really were?

We have all been told that ‘things’ are meaningless. After all, we can’t take them with us. But in buying into this concept, we’ve become poor stewards of how we spend our money. In fact, rather than creating a ‘spend less’ mentality, this idea has created a buying frenzy which rewards wasting money and reveres buying on impulse. As a result, we carelessly purchase things that have no relationship to who we are, in places that have no resonance, from people who are distracted, disinterested, and downright rude. When this leaves us feeling empty, we start the process over in an attempt to once again fill our space rather than our soul. The result is an over-assertion of clutter in both home and heart.

I’m amazed at how much we do in life with little connectedness to the act. To avoid the internal conversation that begs to know the “why,” we disengage head from heart and simply respond to external stimulation. In the end, the “what” suffers. It’s no wonder we fall out of love so quickly with items that never really mattered to us in the first place.

To test this idea, let’s look at what motivates your choices—
Is it Price?—if we “lead with money,” we will, most certainly, never get what we really want. Either we will spend too much, believing that higher prices or designer tags somehow validate our taste level or the value of the thing. Or we will spend too little, seduced by cheap imitations, poor quality, and mass production that is completely counter to individual style. No matter what the motivation, nothing good can come from leading with money as our first priority.

Now let’s look at Popularity—if buying what everyone else has is our motivator then we will never truly be at peace. Trends change almost faster than anyone can keep up with them. In fact, by the time a trend reaches the masses it’s already out-of-fashion. Following an externalized mandate or definition of style will only lead us farther from cultivating an outward persona that is internally, unquestionably singular.

Finally, let’s explore the motivation of Pretty—we are accustomed to seeing only with our eyes even though we possess six senses (if you count intuition which I most certainly do). When we let our eyes make the choice alone we purchase things that are out of context, not only with who we are but within the framework of our environments. Like a crow to a shiny object we allow “pretty” to seduce us in the moment. It’s no wonder we have so many trinkets lying around, boxed up and stored, and stuffed away in closets that over burden and make us wonder why we ever bought them in the first place.

So, if Price, Popularity, and Pretty aren’t the proper motivators of purchase, then what are?

This is where the real fun begins. Because from here on out the motivator will be YOUR STORY. To tell it, you must first become clear about who you are. After that, the what will naturally follow. Let me show you what I mean…

Two years ago I completely gutted a century-old, wood-sided house with a breathtaking panorama of Lake Washington and the Seattle Space Needle just beyond. From its architecture to proximity within walking distance of a charming European-style village, the home just seemed to be screaming, “Tuscan” from every point-of-view. The year-long recharacterization resulted in a remarkable articulation of all things Tuscany including the addition of several charming, deep niches carved into plaster and brick surrounds. One of these niches was perfectly poised at the bottom of the newly-created staircase that led from master sleeping chambers to an intimate sitting room on the main floor. Every morning as I descended those sixteen stairs I would notice the lonely niche just waiting for a reason to be there.

A beautiful vase would have worked. But as often as I passed by that niche, as apparent and visible its position in the home, I was compelled to not simply fill the space but finish it with an object that gave it a sense of completion.

About this time my dear friend, Trish, called to tell me that her dream of adopting an Ethiopian baby boy was about to be fulfilled. An orphanage in a remote village had identified a little boy, Biniyam, who would ultimately belong to Trish and her husband, Tim. As if this news wasn’t wonderful enough, Trish shared that they had chosen Ron and I to be his Godparents. This glad tiding became the inspiration for one of my most-precious pieces. The very next day, while shopping with a client in one of my favorite flea markets, I noticed an unusual little statue from across the room. Upon further inspection I discovered the figure to be that of a little boy, carved in a dark, nearly black stone. Covering the stone was a creamy patina created from years of lime deposits leaching to the surface (see closeup image top left).

The symbolism of the statue became immediately apparent. This was my Biniyam, my beloved Godson I had yet to meet, his dark Ethiopian skin overlaid with the color of his new, Caucasian mama’s loving hand. I always say that I am never sure whether I find the object or it finds me. But I am certain that on this day a sweet sweep of divine intervention guided me to this remarkable treasure that found its ultimate home in the niche at the bottom of the stairs.

My “Boy” has traveled with me, from home to home, city to city, and works aesthetically into any environment no matter the style. And even though he wasn’t expensive his value is immeasurable.

Since my three boys were little they’ve heard me say, “Everyone has a story.” Over the years they’ve grown to not only understand but live the meaning of this phrase. People are unique. Each and every one of them embodies something no one else can ever share—a perspective, a way of being and seeing, that is different in all the world. Absorbing the magnitude of this idea changes who we are. We become more interested. And forgiving. More connected. And redeemable.

So what is the narrative that you have to tell?

Filling your space with story rather than stuff will not only create peace within you but an evident calm within your environment. Those who reside within will experience a palpable turnabout from chaos to calm. And those invited in will be affected on levels more felt than seen.

From a very early age I realized that what surrounds you can have an impact on what’s inside of you. Even more powerful, the converse is true. Whether you’re building a personal sanctuary, or one for others to enjoy, your environment should be a soulful extension of the best part of who you are.

Real design integrates person with place— so that both are equally and elegantly represented and a sense of soul is captured and conveyed.

2010-03-15T12:18:00.000-07:00

Some things are inspiring because that make you laugh. Some, because they make you think. And then there are those that inspire because they make you better. When I heard this quote (below) I imagined the frail, old woman who said it, laying on the wild grass while her granddaughter massaged her tired, bound feet. Surely she spoke from from all her life embodied. But I have to ask myself, would her life have been different if it had not become what her mind contained? Belief is a powerful thing. It can transform condition and transcend experience. What we believe not only changes us, but the lives of those we love. Today, I will be careful what I tell myself…and others—Janene Kraft, Sanctuary Living

Inspired by Japanese quote, Women are grass, born to be walked on.”

What I believe—
Women are pillars, born to be leaned on
Women are temples, born to be worshipful
Women are paintings, born to be admired
Women are flowers, born to fragrant
Women are brushstrokes, born to be works of art
Women are caterpillars, born to be transformed

Now I invite you to add a few of your own...Women are--

2010-03-12T13:29:00.000-08:00

SCHOOL OF TRANSFORMATION...

Sanctuary Living is a school of transformation disguised as a lifestyle design company--Janene Kraft

We've all had moments that have defined who we are...this one's mine. Enjoy.

I was born in Chicago. But it is my years in Kansas City with which I most identify. My first experience with the great migration of monarch butterflies through the midwest came when I was only nine years old.

Shaking the branches of a sourgum tree and watching thousands of perceived leaves take flight changed everything about the way I viewed the world. To be so sure of one thing, “a leaf on a tree,” only to discover that one thing isn’t what you thought it was at all, “a monarch butterfly,” embeds a sense of wonder and possibility into the very core of who you are. To stand in the midst of all that color, to melt into the landscape of gold and copper fluttering in your hair and landing on your fingers makes for more than mere childhood memory.

Throughout my life I’ve discovered that transformational beauty isn’t something created but something awakened within. The inherent wonder of a person or place is hidden there. Often undetected. What is required is a little, “shaking of the trees,” to get things moving.

Over the years those butterflies have reappeared in the most unexpected places. In a tired rambler along the Lake Washington shoreline. In a Quonset hut overlooking Puget Sound. In a burnt and battered old colonial nestled on a point. On a derelict street in the heart of Hollywood. In a neglected bungalow along a vibrant citystreet. On an asphalt parking lot in the center of sin city.

No matter the condition, the vision for these places took hold and those tree-shakers that joined me in the fun were as altered and impacted as the spaces themselves. Parking lots blossomed into play-filled destinations where families reconnected with one another. Dirty streets became home to red carpets and rewards for a life’s work well done. Homes morphed from centers of chaos to sanctuaries of peace and connection.

I’ve learned that what happens in our surroundings impacts who we are. And what happens in us, impacts our surroundings. It goes both ways. It always has. Just because we don’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Inherent beauty is everywhere you look. You just have to inspire it to fly.