|Pamela and Edward: the author and her subject.|
Ed. Note: The divine Pamela Terry of the sensitive, romantic, beautifully written blogFrom The House of Edward, has written a sumptuous book about Edward with whom she is pictured above. I asked her to please write something for us -- I knew she could do it far better than I -- about her book, her life and the subject of her book. If you would like to read an interview with Pamela, please go here:
In Pamela's words. . .
In Pamela's words. . .
Just because I was a dreamy little girl of bookish bent who spent most of her time in her head, it didn’t necessarily have to follow that I would also be a lackluster, and woefully unenthusiastic, participant in team sports. But that is precisely what I was. I’m sure there were plenty of little girls equally besotted with Mary, Queen of Scots, the Bronte sisters, Camelot... and football. I just wasn’t one of them.
I have to admit it. I possessed neither the ability nor the interest in any athletic activity save riding. (Riding, of course, involved horses and like most little girls of dreamy personalities, I was besotted with horses.) My high school gym teacher was a hardy soul who tried, oh how she tried, to light the wet kindling of my enthusiasm for sports during the years I spent under her tutelage. I still remember her encouraging, yet fatalistic, expression whenever I walked up to bat during one of our springtime softball games. If ever I managed to connect that bat with the softball hurtling towards me, so great was my amazement that I would sling the thing out of my hands as I ran for first base, nearly decapitating anyone who had the misfortune to be waiting their turn behind me.
I still can recall my poor teacher screaming from somewhere off in the distance...”Pamela, do not sling that bat!”. She rarely had to yell out that admonishment, however. I rarely had a hit. Back then, I was a bookish, daydreamy little girl who never gave much thought to what I’d end up doing with my life, but one thing both I and my gym teacher knew with absolutely certainty - I would never play sports.
Turns out I ended up becoming an interior designer, and thus made good use of those decades of daydreams. For what is the creation of beautiful houses but the manifestation of someone’s dreams? I loved my years in that profession and still take on a few jobs here and there that catch my fancy. But in the summer of 2008, I, along with many of my peers, experienced a fairly dramatic change. My business, which had been ceaselessly busy, suddenly stopped cold. Overnight, sources that I had relied on for years became shuttered and bare. The design world changed so quickly it felt instantaneous and the creative channel I had depended upon to launch my dreams and ideas suddenly closed.
I felt antsy and irritable. It was during these unexpected quiet days that I began to listen to my heart and I realized it wasn’t just the economy that had changed, but I myself was in dire need of reinvention - a new path to follow, new vistas to explore. So I decided to write a blog. Couldn’t be that difficult, right? I’d name it for my wonderful companion, Edward, I’d write about the design world and show pictures of my work.
But a strange thing happened, as is so often the case when we dip our toes into new seas. The words for the blog began to come, not just from my love of beautiful design, but from my love of beauty itself. All at once, a window opened wide in my head and my lifelong penchant for observation and fancy had someplace to go. From the House of Edward became a place I looked forward to entering each day, a colourful bazaar to wander through - picking up an idea here, a memory there - magical boxes to open up and share. After a little while I began to receive e-mail after e-mail requesting the blog be compiled and put into book form, which I’m thrilled to say is now a reality.
The finished product turned out to be even more beautiful than I’d dreamed, with its lovely illustrations of Edward by artist, Amber Alexander, and its gorgeous lavender velvet spine. I sit and hold it in my hands, often astonished at the twisting, turning path of my very own life.
|Essays on Edward. For more, click here.|
None of us can plan our time here on earth, the poets have told us this for centuries. Our task, as I see it, is to remain welcoming to change. These days, Lord knows, change is more of a constant in our lives than ever before. Rare it is for someone to continue in the same profession till the end of their days. It’s vital to keep both one’s eyes and one’s heart wide, wide open. That unspoken dream, that hidden desire, might just be your next reinvention. I am now in the middle of writing a novel. Who would have thought? What’s next? I wonder.
No, it was obvious early on that I was never going to be an athlete. There were many occasions, I’m sure, when the aforementioned gym teacher would look at me standing in the outfield - watching the clouds drift high overhead, oblivious to the game going on around me - and shake her head. No doubt she had occasion to wonder just how I’d turn out.
But coming to a sweetly full circle, as I was signing copies of From the House of Edward just last week, a familiar name was placed before me. My old gym teacher, whom I hadn’t seen since high school days and who is now living in another state, had ordered my book. That made me smile.