323/365

things from this list I might actually be able to swing before I turn 49 in two months:

fly down seventy slides (number 9)
label the backs of the polaroids (number 10)
label the backs of the photobooth strips (number 11)
bake a lemon meringue pie (number 21)
write about the charm bracelets (number 29)
visit the korean sauna (number 41)
embroider favorite bridges (number 57)
finish the book of polaroid portraits (number 64)
make a little paper zine (number 65)

number nine

number nine: fly down seventy slides. 

I put that one on the list because lord help me if I ever just completely give up slides. not necessarily because I have a thing for them but because of what it might mean about who I've become. if I can't haul myself up a ladder to fly down a shiny silver slide every once in a while, well then maybe I'm a little bit dead inside. also-- cheap thrills, I'm not above them. 

I can tell you right now I have not flown down seventy slides, not even close. but I have been down a few. 

let's see.

there was the big concrete slide in san francisco, just up the street from bob and jen's house. went down that one so fast I popped both sandal straps. put my feet down in a desperate attempt to reduce the break-neck speed at which I was traveling. cried about the sandals (which were favorites) but have zero, and I mean zero, regrets.  

there was the slide at the park in our old neighborhood in portland. a bright red and yellow spiral number circa nineteen seventy something, by far my favorite slide in the city though admittedly, not very fast. I lumbered down that thing like a two-ton drunken sloth. still, prettiest. favorite.

there were the two slides at my favorite park here in atlanta-- the noguchi playscape at piedmont park. flew down those guys on my 45th birthday. I say 'noguchi playscape' not because I'm fancy but because that's what it's called. designed by japanese-american sculptor isamu noguchi back in 1976, it's modern art you can climb on. a dream playground, really, and important but not at all dignified, which I discovered the second my shirt flew up over my head on the way down that first slide. joy, I tell you, unmitigated. mr. noguchi, I thank you.

there have been an assortment of slides along the way, a garden variety, if you will, of average playground slides. sturdy plastic numbers in the colors du jour-- deep purples and teals, sensible browns. great conductors of static electricity but nothing really worth mentioning here.

all totaled, I'd say I've been down about 12 slides but let's call it an even 15. that means 55 more slides in the remaining (as of today) 763 days. it seems I have some sliding to do. 

here's to not being dead inside. and to things that make you say wheeee.

number five

number five off the list: stand in a field of sunflowers.

and I hoped it might happen somewhere like the south of france but okay, north georgia. north georgia will do just fine.

a million pieces, all in one

when ava was little, I took her to the high museum of art  most every week for toddler thursdays. we'd look at the art for a little while then walk downstairs to a little room in the museum basement and make things with the other kids. one week it was alexander calder-inspired mobiles (like the one that used to live on the front lawn of the high) and the next week, clay animals inspired by animals we'd seen in paintings in the museum. different art project every week and I loved it. gosh, I loved it. but the real highlight of those weekly trips was the visit to the howard finster section. more specifically, the white bicycle covered with hand-painted words that hung over an old concrete slab embedded with what seemed like thousands of bright-colored marbles and pieces of glass and slivers of mirrors and little things. this was ava's favorite part, her favorite thing in the whole museum. unfortunately, it was also a fairly torturous situation because, no touching. no touching those thousands of bright-colored marbles and mirrors and little things for a 3 year-old ava, a rule that was often emphatically reinforced by myself and a whole host of museum security people in navy blue blazers. in fact, we often found ourselves followed from room to room by those same museum security people, who were always at the ready with a firm NO and PLEASE DON'T TOUCH THAT and TOO CLOSE, MOVE BACK. god bless them, they were just trying to do their job. and, I guess, if anything, ava learned from a really young age how to behave in an art museum. but it hurt me every single time she went for those marbles and I had to tell her no. I couldn't help but think, this is probably not what visionary howard finster had in mind. 

I don't know why we waited so long to visit paradise garden. I don't know why we didn't take ava when she was younger. who knows. but the minute we moved back to georgia, I bumped paradise garden to the top of our list and we finally made the trip last spring. for the record, there are many things to be said about howard finster's paradise garden. many, many things. I don't know where to start so I'll leave you with just two today:

1. I could visit paradise garden every single day for ten years and still not see every little thing, every detail.

2. it was pretty cool to see a 14 year-old ava finally touch the marbles she was forbidden to touch so many times, so many years ago. somewhere, howard finster was smiling, I am sure of it.

(number 62 off the list, seventeen and counting)

number 70

that time (almost a year ago) when I crossed number 70 off the list and ran willy nilly into the cold, cold pacific ocean. there are no pictures of said miraculous event because one minute I was just sitting there all nice and quiet and melancholy-like and the next, I was running full speed into the ocean. because what happened was that while I was sitting there on that beloved stretch of beach in manzanita, it hit me like a sack of rocks: we're leaving oregon. this might be my last time here, this might be my last chance. I might never be back. so I picked myself up and ran as fast as my stocky little legs would take me, towards the cold pacific ocean and my feet pounded the sand and my heart pounded right out of my body and I felt at once both completely ridiculous and wholly alive.

I splashed around for about, oh, fifteen seconds but that's all it took. willy nilly happens in the milliseconds but lasts forever.

number twelve

number twelve off the list: own a pink ukulele.

because, january. because, february. because, I don't know. I just wanted one. it's a very twee sort of thing to want to own, I realize this. and I will admit to something else. I did not even think about actually learning how to play it. I just wanted it. I wanted to hold it. and look at it and take photographs of it. I wanted it like a kid wants candy. because it's sweet and pretty and good, because surely it would lead to happiness.

but when I got a little bit of birthday money (an amazon gift card, actually, thank you sweet in-laws), all I could think about were the practical things I needed. a new kitchen knife, for one, because I have been cutting fruits and vegetables with something akin to a butter knife. I have lost my mind over the cutting of pineapples, have thrown my fists up in the air over a pile of carrots. people, I need a new kitchen knife. desperately. and new sneakers. I have worn mine down to the nubs and my body has had it. she tells me this after every walk I take. I need new sneaks.

but I think you know how this story ends. to be fair, I researched the heck out of trainers and a most excellent kitchen knife sat in my little amazon cart for weeks. in the end, I went for the pink ukulele. because, of course I did. and when it finally arrived in the mail, it made me as happy as I thought it would. happier, even, because I've started to teach myself how to play. at night, of course, after everyone has gone to bed and the house is quiet. and you know what else? ava has started to play too. I hear her plink plink plinking away and it fills me with so much happy that it just spirals right out through the top of my head.

and we don't really know what we're doing, we're probably doing it all wrong but we're making up silly songs and we're learning chords and strum patterns and at least now there's a little bit more music floating around these parts. dang it if it hasn't been the best thing to happen to this house in months. also? favorite pink thing, ever. ever. of course, I still curse every time I cut into a pineapple and wince a little bit after a long walk but I'll take it. because I don't know what we did before this little pink ukulele. I really don't.

just about perfect

am now home from yurtsgiving 2013. am tired but happy and my hair smells like smoky campfire deliciousness. am happy to report copious amounts of mashed potatoes were consumed (as was a piece of joy's sour apple pie). I remembered my coat but did not need it. surprise of all surprises, the sun came out and we all ran around willy nilly, coatless. well, until the sun went down. thankfully, we did not forget the jiffy pop or the stevie wonder record. the twinkly lights did not make it. next time, maybe. I did not get that late afternoon walk in but I did stare wide-eyed at starry, starry night skies. I could not get over all the stars, I just could not. and I thought about my mom so much. she would have been so proud of our humble little thanksgiving picnic table. she probably would not have understood a thanksgiving yurt camping trip but she would have loved that table. and she would have loved hearing all the stories. and I would have loved telling her.

if you're reading this

it means I'm crossing number four off the list. I'm hunkered down in a yurt somewhere, with no internet access. and miraculously, had the foresight to schedule this to post. because I am winning at nablopomo, I tell you. winning.

come thursday night, I hope I am looking up at a wide open sky full of stars. that I am full of mashed potatoes. I hope I got a piece of joy's sour apple pie before it got snatched up and I hope I remembered my coat. I hope we remembered the jiffy pop and the stevie wonder record and the twinkly lights. I hope that I didn't talk myself out of a late afternoon walk. because I am really, really going to need that walk. I hope the kids are having the best time, the kind they'll talk about for decades to come. I hope I am feeling my mom all around me. I hope I am comforted by that. I hope I hope I hope.

number three, part one

number three off the list and I'll tell you, this camera feels good and right in my hands. this camera feels like home.

sundays (22/52)

sunday, june 2nd: unbelievably, a parisian fleamarket. a parisian fleamarket I did not get to experience with my own mother (like we always dreamed of doing) but one I did get to experience with my daughter. for this, I will always be thankful.

p.s. I must point out the tiny pink fork in the seventh image. tiny pink forks to eat our french fries with, tiny pink forks. tiny. pink. forks.

(sundays sundays sundays)

(true, I'm a little behind)