Inspired Living with Rochelle

At the age of eight, I gathered a small selection of rocks from the driveway. With care and precision, I delicately scrubbed each rock clean, and proceeded to paint vibrantly-hued flowers using my Bob Ross painting kit. I gave both my mother and father a personalized stone, proudly explaining that I would be selling my creations to the neighborhood. Perhaps my bullheaded determination deterred my mother from explaining that my painted rocks would not likely be a booming business venture, but it did not seem to matter, as I painted several rocks, sold them for about fifty cents a piece, and lost interest. I lived in what could be considered the country: Yakima, Washington, surrounded by horses, cattle, and apple trees. 

I also had a brief stint during which I attempted to create my own line of cosmetics at the age of nine. I scooped large handfuls of Vaseline into little jars, and, using a q-tip, used food coloring, glitter, and even mint extract to create my elegant palette of lip glosses. I also utilized my mothers talc powder to create a selection of eye shadows. Alas, my cosmetic line never made it to market, as I quickly discovered that the creations were difficult to package appropriately, and I sensed that the long-wearing abilities added by the food coloring would not be greatly appreciated by potential customers. Although I dismissed my business interest in cosmetics as a fleeting venture, I discovered that I had an obsession with all things make-up. I enjoyed drawing, and was considerably talented for a nine-year-old, and begin creating my first of countless "Makeover Books", showing a series of dramatic before and afters, describing in rich details the products used, as well as step-by-step instructions for the complementing hairstyles.  

At the age of ten, I was introduced to what would soon become my passion, income generator, as well as the key factor in leading my across the country to the state of South Carolina. My mother met the father of a well-known harpist (the harpist's name was Gary Garritan), and a discussion regarding the harp ensued, involving an exchange of information that would lead to my mother setting up harp lessons in Kennewick, Washington- over a one and a half hour drive from our home. Fortunately, I was homeschooled, therefore I was able to spend the time weekly- about five hours roundtrip, including the hour to hour and half lesson- to begin my life as budding harpist. I adapted quickly, as I had been playing the piano for several years, and the similarity of the instruments enabled me to pick up the instrument with little difficulty.

It was love at first sight...and touch. It was not my aspiration to become a music prodigy or live the life of a professional musician, yet I became enchanted with the beauty, sound and feel of the magnificent instrument. I became eager to learn more and continue with lessons, and within two years my mother was driving me three hours each way to see a master instructor, as qualified harpists are not abundant- particularly in Washington state. 

As a homeschool teacher, scrapbooker, and homemaker, my mother was devoted to her four children: my brother, Bryndon, two years my senior, myself, and two younger brothers, just sixteen months apart. As we were all homeschooled, we spent a signifcant amount of time together. Fortunately, my mother made efforts to include us in various activities, which made our lives quite active and exciting. I was involved in classes that involved all my passions: hip hop and jazz dance, horseback riding, American Sign Language, acting, piano and the harp. By the age of eleven, I also began modeling locally, working with several accomplished photographers as well as modeling for the local mall. I discovered that I loved modeling as well: I not only enjoyed the hair and makeup that was involved, but I also loved seeing the creations that were created, the artistic visions combined by both model and photographer. My mother encouraged and supported me in pursuing all of my passions, spending countless hours driving me to and from the many classes,  spending her time waiting for me at a scrapbook score or scrapbooking, as photography and scrapbooking were her two passions. 

I began playing the harp at weddings at the age of thirteen. My first wedding was a friend of the family, and I remember finding myself in a dreamlike state during the ceremony. Every element of a wedding: the gown, the ambiance, the romance, the flowers, the joy and happy tears- I found it all incredible, thrilling.  I began playing regularly at weddings, and I would make mental notes at each, figuring my own wedding would be no longer than ten years down the line. I began collecting bridal magazines, which assisted in helping brides when planning their weddings, but I also would gaze with adoration at the pictures of the majestic brides. It was then I realized I was a romantic...but I would not realize I was a hopeless one until several years later.  I would model in bridal shows, as well as rent a booth with my harp. The shows were always a tremendous success, as I typically would book up to twenty weddings on the day of the show, with phone calls pouring in for months. Through out high school, I would often turn down bookings as I had no availability. A typical week would involve two or three restaurant gigs, and one or two weddings. I also had several harp students. I greatly enjoyed showing the beauty of the harp to both young children as well as eager, mature adults. 

The harp led me to many experiences, many realizations, and opened doors that created opportunities that I can describe as nothing less than surreal. I met incredible and influential people, witnessed the unions of hundreds of beautiful couples, and created a lasting connection to music and the power within. I lost two friends during high school, both of which I played the harp for their funerals. One  of my friends was a firefighter who had just graduated high school and began her new career three weeks before, the other was a handsome football player that took his own life.  The harp was not an outlet I had considered in honoring their lives nor displaying my grief,  yet it did so by instilling their memories in moments that I play the songs I had prepared for their funerals. I found that the harp was not only an outlet, but a piece of me in a strange way, a statuesque yet fragile beauty that now too often stands alone.

During my junior year of high school, I visited the University of South Carolina, in Columbia, South Carolina. I had been offered a music scholarship for harp performance, and my mother encouraged I look at schools all over the nation. I visited schools in Virginia, Tennessee, Texas, California, and South Carolina. I realized that this would be my opportunity to branch out, to discover new territory, and I found myself enthralled with the notion of moving cross country. A professor at USC recommended I also visit the College of Charleston. During a particularly turbulent plane ride from Columbia, SC to Myrtle Beach, SC, the young attractive women next to me mentioned she was a student at the College of Charleston, and encouraged I visit. My mother and I rented a car, and made the two-hour trip to Charleston.

Upon arrival to Charleston, I was not won over with the city. The drive into town exposed a dirty, unpleasant picture of the town, and I found myself wondering what I was thinking for wanting to leave the natural mountainous beauty of the Pacific Northwest. Within an hour, upon arriving at the spanish-moss laden entry way of the Randolph Hall at the College of Charleston, I found myself speechless. Strolling the cobblestone sidewalks, and making our way past the bright-hues of the historic homes called Rainbow Row, I noticed a harp in the window of one of the mansions.

This is it, I thought. This is my new city.

The next day, while visiting the school, I felt a bit overwhelmed with how perfectly the city suited me. The streets lay rich with history, yet Charleston thrived with shopping, restaurants, and sightseeing, all perfectly situated in the heart of downtown in the intensely romantic and picturesque southern city.

The next year, I packed up to make the 3,000 mile journey to Charleston, South Carolina. I had made the transition from homeschool to attend a public high school, where I enjoyed my time as a cheerleader, however I found my heart lay somewhere far away.  I left my high school sweetheart, who would soon after move to San Francisco. Our wedding plans faded every week I spent enjoying my new life as a college freshman. I was ecstatic at the opportunity to live in such a vibrant city, eager to begin my life as an adult. I knew the harp would always be a major part of my life, however I also felt that my career would fall into something that was my heart, my core. The hopeless romantic in me still envisioned me being happily married by twenty-two, with children waiting until I had pursued my aspiration to be an actress. 

Nine years later, I look back on these moments with a tinge of nostalgia, yet no regret. The years following my arrival in Charleston have proven to shape and mold me in many unexpected ways, however I have found that many of my younger years pointed me in my direction, long before I could grasp what my rather random and eclectic collection of talents and passions could mean. 

Upon arrival in Charleston, I would begin my first job as a server at a high-volume, tourist-driven seafood restaurant located downtown. Thus would begin my life in the world of Food & Beverage.