spring, sort of

I have been in the land of lincoln, at my parent's home going through my mother's things. a type of sifting and sorting not recommended for the faint of heart. the truth is that my mother was a great collector of a good many things. I have spent the better part of nine days going through these things, going through and going through and going through. trying to decide what stays, what goes. because it cannot all stay. I wish that it could, but it cannot.

while I was here, spring came. sort of. my dad took me out of for a lemon ice cream cone and the sun was shining and I thought, this is one of those moments. one of those good moments that people always talk about. I should maybe file it away in that brain file we all have, you know the one. Good Moments For Remembering Always.

while I was here, sixteen inches of snow fell and covered the ground. the ultimate middle finger to spring lovers everywhere. this was a kind of snow that was not kidding around, not even a little bit and before we knew it we were snowed in with nothing in the pantry but spaghetti noodles and an almost-expired can of cherry pie filling. and here all this time I thought I wanted snow, have been begging for it every single day since the first of december. and then I got it. and wouldn't you know? I did not want it. this snow threw everything all off (including my flight home) and so I threw a little fit for about five minutes. and then I threw my hands up in the air and baked a cherry pie. because what I know now is that the best cherry pies are ones that are baked out of desperation.

I woke up this morning to the sound of birds. I am nowhere close to being finished with the sifting and the sorting of my mother's things and I miss my dad so much already. but I know pink blossoms and my people wait for me in portland.

number 38

"you have to love dancing to stick to it. it gives you nothing back, no manuscripts to store away, no paintings to show on walls and maybe hang in museums, no poems to be printed and sold, nothing but that single fleeting moment when you feel alive." -merce cunningham

and this is why I am dancing again. because I need to feel alive. not just a little bit alive but a lot alive, wholly fully electrically alive. the truth is that I have been holding on by the skin of my teeth for a long time now. I don't know any other way, really. and here was this thing, this spectacular missing piece sort of thing and I couldn't see it, couldn't seem to get to it. for so long, it sort of hovered overhead, in that mysterious space where lovely things tend to hover, seemingly impossibly out of reach, forever and ever amen.

eff it, I said. I'm going to class. and I did. in that first five minutes I felt my body melt into the floor, my hips, my thighs, my shoulders, my ankles, my fingertips, my eyelids, my everything. thoughts scattered, head cleared and for once, grief took a number. had to wait in line, just like everything else. for ninety short minutes, I let go of everything. listened to trains come and go outside, contemplated things like breath and weight. moved through that beautiful light-filled space in the clumsiest, loveliest way. reacquainted myself with that very specific vernacular, the one that only modern dance teachers seem to speak. I was home. am home.

number 38 off the list. four classes down, ninety-six to go. or, a thousand, a hundred thousand, a million, a billion. because if I do nothing else on the list but this, I will have won.

sundays (9/52)

sunday, march the third: clean dishes, evening sky. sometimes that's all you really need.

(checkit, here's my sweet friend jen's sunday)

sundays (8/52)

sunday, february the twenty-fourth: donuts for breakfast, homework and laundry for lunch, thrifting before dinner. 

oh, sunday.  

windows are for decorating (or, friday nights are for parties)

when someone asks if you'd like to decorate their storefront window, your answer should invariably be yes. especially if that someone is vanessa and the shop is wanderlust. you say yes because storefront windows are for decorating and delightful women like vanessa do not grow on trees. (vanessa, of wanderlust trailer fame and now owner extraordinaire of wanderlust, the brick and mortar shop). 

when she first asked me, I may have squealed. I don't know, I can't remember. I'd never done a storefront window before but that didn't matter. I figured I'd create an installation around color. I'd decorate for a party. as it turns out, that party is called 'if I can't get to palm springs then I will bring palm springs to portland.' take that, cold grey forever.

so, portland peeps, said window installation will be up all month long at wanderlust and a selection of limited edition palm springs polaroid prints will be up for grabs. little opening party tonight from 5-9, should you feel the immediate need to soak up a little vintage palm springs color. and if you do stop by, fyi: vanessa will be the cute one behind the counter and I will be the girl trying not to buy all the cute stuff in her store.