happy halloween

I have absolutely nothing clever to say about halloween here. I just really wanted an excuse to post my photographs of pumpkins.

thank you. that is all.

photobooth friday

I caught him eating waffles out of the trash the other day. there's a kind of quiet that settles over the house when ezra is up to something. it's an ominous quiet that jolts me out of wherever I am in my thinking, whatever I am doing. I drop everything and fly through the house, yelling his name. on this morning, he was nibbling on something near the trash can and when I saw it was waffles, I knew where he'd been.

he's also taken to waking up at 5:30 most every morning. which wouldn't be so bad if there wasn't head-butting involved. if he would wait until, say-- sevenish-- to run full speed at my belly with his tough little bedhead bowed and ready for contact, I might be able to pass it off as some weird, adorable little toddler quirk. I am absolutely not a morning person and probably never will be. and it really doesn't matter if I go to bed in the middle of the day, 5:30 in the morning still feels like the anti-christ to me. I am steeped in grouchiness until about eight and there's just no getting around that. the combination of all these things has stretched me in spectacular ways.

then there's the pinching. ezra takes great comfort in pinching the skin on the insides of my arms, near the crook of the elbow-- and he's figured out that bending my arm in just the right way allows for the most perfect amount of meaty, pinchable flesh. some of those pinching sessions have brought tears to my eyes, dear readers. those little pinchers are powerful weapons that should be registered with the U.S. government. I believe he pinches out of love, I do-- and comfort. and probably to get my attention. I haven't put a stop to it just yet, mostly because I'm genuinely fascinated by it.

I'm not as fascinated by the 'elbows of death' though. yes, that's what I like to call them-- the 'elbows of death'. ezra likes to pounce on me like an old grey mattress that's been left out on the side of the road. he's so joyful in the pouncing that I don't usually mind it. until I feel a pointy elbow dig in my neck or thigh and then I mind it very much.

and like so many toddlers everywhere, he loves (LOVES) running through the house pants-less. it must feel so good and free to zip naked through each room (which is why I allow it). the problems come when it's time to put the pants back on: when ezra sees me coming towards him with jeans and diaper in hand, he begins to spiral his body violently, comically. like a tiny cartoon twister. there's no containing him, no bribing him, absolutely no stopping him. I grab his ankles and pull but my arms start to twist too, at which point I give up until he's worn himself out. I keep waiting for him to bore a hole through the couch cushions, the sisal rug, the wood floor. I keep thinking he might end up somehwere near the center of the earth.

oh, but I am so crazy about that kid, so crazy-- in spite of these things, because of these things. I am crazy with love, so crazy that I think it probably comes out of my ears and eyeballs, from the top of my head, out the tips of my fingers. it's a love so alive it lights up like an electric sign that cannot be turned off. and you know that it's too much but you can't really stop from looking at it.



and here is where I give up the photobooth friday goods:

jesC
jek-a-go-go
the whole self
bobby S
acumamakiki
velvet vox
a.stray
jördis anderson
leSophie
under a pink sky

and here is something that makes me so happy, so jealous-- all at the same time.

I'm listening

"sometimes while she was writing, a slip of one of these street conversations insinuated itself into a poem, and what had been fleeting and anonymous was set down in print. so much of writing was about not saying this, not saying that, the obvious crossed out, whole pages of notes not used, and then, purely by chance, a stranger's talk suddenly mattered. unpredictably, a scrap of the world seized up and glowed."

(from holy skirts by rene steinke)

photobooth friday

I'm calling him lenny because it feels right.

and I totally believe he got caught smoking behind the tool shed more times than he would care to admit. he didn't have anything to prove, really-- it was a habit born out of nervousness. I think he ate large green pickles everyday for lunch and was very careful not to let the juice stain his crisp white shirts. clothes were important to lenny. he knew what he liked, he knew cut and quality, had an eye for the kind of details most people missed. this was a special gift, he thought. not to be squandered or taken lightly. I believe he winked at shy girls on the bus who then returned home to write secret poems about his dreamy eyes in small diaries with brass locks. by the age of ten, he had developed an original catch phrase, a personal motto and a 7-year plan that included moving to a small one bedroom apartment just outside the city. he would not settle for a small closet, though. the apartment could be small but the closet must be spacious, he thought. and he dreamt daily of selling shiny convertibles to women with platinum blonde curls and spectator heels.

lenny didn't understand anyone who refused the services of a good tailor. and he didn't trust anyone who failed to put out a dish of candy corn at halloween. once he lived on his own, the first thing he was going to do was track down a skilled tailor. and you can bet that he would never, ever forget to put out a bowl of candy corn the last two weeks of october. you could put money on that, he thought.

moremoremore with the photobooth friday thing:

jesC
jek-a-go-go (and this one too, please)
the whole self (yes, and this one too)
nessie noodle
woof nanny
acumamakiki (and this one too)
velvet vox
leSophie

(and for an absolutely fantastic set of vintage found photobooth snapshots, check out imaginary relatives)

(extra special thanks to lovely miss brina for sending lenny my way, so much good is coming to you, sister-- so much good)

self portrait #35

I am not up to the self portrait challenge this month. I'm feeling a little too vulnerable to aim the camera directly at all my imperfections. something raw and a little broken just beneath the surface and one crack just might do me in. consider that my big imperfection this month: I'm not willing to show you the new lines around my eyes, the extra flab on my body, my dirty hair.

I applaud those who are bravely taking us there, though. despite my refusal to participate, I do believe our flaws make us unequivocally real. and real is beautiful. real is the new beautiful. but lately, I am finding it harder and harder to see the real in people out there. we are so afraid to age, to be exactly who we are. although I have the anti-aging moisturizers, the eye creams and 47 tubes of lip gloss that betray me and my words here. I struggle, I do. I want to find the balance between embracing exactly who I am at this particular moment in my life and taking care of myself in a way that is well-deserved. it's a thin line, y'all-- a slippery slope. sometimes I find myself dangerously close to caring way too much.

(more imperfections here)

thursday love

day trips, outings, miniature adventures, field trips. there are so many things to see, everywhere you look, all the time. I don't know why I don't get out and go more often. and when I am with the kidlets, everything looks so new to me. through their eyes, possibility is in every little thing. growing up, do you remember what that felt like? when your parents planned an outing in another city or neighboring town or your class was boarding the bus to go on a field trip? oh, it was too much for me, too much. I was so thirsty to see the world.





except for maybe the time my fifth grade teacher took us to a funeral home for our yearly field trip. her family owned the town's main funeral business and so while other classes were going to the state park, we were off to learn about the wonders of embalming fluid. dear readers, my fifth grade mind was unprepared for that sort of reality. honestly, I think I was more deflated over the fact that it was such a short bus ride across our small town. and there were no refreshments served. yes, I distinctly remember feeling cheated out of the standard kool-aid and cookies. I vividly recall the oppressive scent of formaldehyde and remember thinking that if I was going to have to endure the smell of death, then someone better cough up some refreshments. and of course, my entire class had been buzzing for weeks over The Question. would we be seeing any dead bodies? no one dared ask the teacher. because we all knew the answer would be a most emphatic NO and why kill a good buzz? it was all we had, that possibility. especially since we were the laughing stock of all the fifth grade classes (sample exchange: what's that you say? you're going to see all the pretty leaves and the big lake? well, we're going to see DEAD BODIES. yeah, that's right-- nature is for BABIES). I also remember lightly touching the satin lining of the display caskets and feeling like ms. rankin was the meanest teacher ever.

still, it was an adventure. better than sitting around in class, mean old ms. rankin pointing a finger so craggly and crooked that we never knew exactly who she was addressing.



ah, but I digress. to be out with my kids, exploring the city (or country)-- that's the thing. it's what I live for, what I absolutely love to do. (fifth grade funeral home field trips included).

recently, I took the kids to see the niki de saint phalle exhibit at the atlanta botanical gardens. more of her fantastic work (and us playing in and around it) can be seen here.

(and more thursday love here plus the lovely TILT originator and all my other thursday loves here)

today in townecars

check this out.

I am for the ones with the ideas, for the acting on creative impulses. I am for the projects that require a little reaching out.

photobooth friday

in an earnest effort to further hone my procrastination skills, I took to photocopying photobooth strips. obviously so that I could make the subjects look like circus clown slash drag queens-- like the club kids that showed up on the sally jessy raphael show back in the early nineties. remember that? sally, sally, sally. what were you trying to do? those shows only made me want to smother the gangly boy wearing the dress made of magenta faux fur and wooden spoons with so much love. that his silver-spiked platform boots had him towering and teetering dangerously over you and your ridiculous red-framed glasses, well-- you know. I was filled with glee over the sight of it. power to the people, y'all-- to the freaks of the world.

this little habit first appeared in my college days-- when hours of heavy reading and many, many research papers were required of me. but this doodling, it was so much more fun. and such a deep sense of satisfaction and accomplishment.

it would be a habit that stayed with me, recent proof being the above altered photobooth snap of me and my best friend nancy (from a journal dated 2003). happily, I post it here in honor of her recent birthday. happy, happy, HAPPY birthday, nance. would've given just about anything to have been there with you.

photobooth friday peoples, I do believe I done you wrong. I intend to make things right:

jesC: last week, this week
the whole self: last week, this week
leSophie: last week, this week
nessie noodle: last week, this week
woof nanny: last week, this week
acumamakiki: last week, this week
jek-a-go-go
lovegreendog
a.stray
weaker vessel (holla for her first time, y'all)