day seventeen

birds
coffee
embroidery
avocados
artichokes
public radio
hot tea
hot sauce
historical fiction
orange marmalade
documentaries
tomatoes
fleetwood mac
reading glasses
mornings

(things I love now that I didn't thirty years ago)

untitled

a list of possible titles for possible posts for this month of nablopomo november:

I Was That Mother Once

The Power Of The Stevies (Wonder, Knicks)

Let's All Move To Albuquerque

Books, Books Will Save Us

293 Sufjan Songs, Ranked

So My Kid Has A Writer In Him Fighting To Get Out

On Broken Kitchen Sink Pipes And Rage And The Unexpected Healing Power Of Clear Packing Tape

On Words That Are So Overused I Don't Even Know What They Mean Anymore

On Loving Cats That Will Lick The Dorito Dust Off Your Fingertips

They Can't All Be Beautifully Written Pieces, They Just Can't

On Coming Around To Cooking, Finally

On Lovingly Cultivating A Record Collection That Makes You Feel Alive Every Single Day

On The Belief That This Blog Is like The Little Cabin In The Woods I Come Back To Every Year

seen

whilst on the road today:

1. two wild turkeys

2. a fancy park bench in a gas station restroom

3. a strawberry candy gummy snake, three feet long

4. leaves bright like neon

5. mountain air thick with smoke

6. a sign that read 'boiled p-nuts, straight ahead'

7. a sign that read 'please do not feed the bears'

(this is about all I can manage at the end of a really long but pretty great day)

things that got me through this week

1. washing dishes

2. leftover halloween decorations

3. episodes of togetherness

4. jojos after midnight

5. trees and leaves

6. leaves and trees

7. AND YOU NAME IT

things that got me through the week

1. open windows

2. phone calls from friends

3. tribe's new album

4. clean sheets

5. moonlight

currently

reading: interview with the vampire

listening: moses sumney, all the live long day

watching: movie trailers, all the live long day

obsessing: old school photo albums, southern glossary, the best blood orange lip balm there ever was and adam driver (natch)


you?

summer manifesto

kids, it's officially the first day of summer. I do believe this calls for a manifesto. 

this summer, we will:

eat strawberry shortcake
made with strawberries we pick.

catch lightning bugs in jars,
then set them all free.

roll up to the starlight drive-in on a week night,
stay for the second feature.

add to our crazy pool float collection
with nary a thought to the practical.

celebrate ezra's twelfth birthday with go-kart races
and secret rainbow cakes.

visit the local farmers market,
refuse to buy even one tomato from the grocery store.

build complicated forts in the backyard
using only what we have on hand.

make ginormous bubbles from scratch,
bubbles that will impress even the teenagers.

spend a saturday morning at the yard sales, 
buy the weird things.

pick blackberries and blueberries 
til our fingers are way stained.

float on our backs in the ocean,
wish for it to last forever.

scour the beach for shells, 
glue them to bobby pins and wear them in our hair,
think we are really cool.

explore the old oakland cemetery at dusk,
be not afraid.

sit under bright-colored umbrellas at lotta frutta,
drink exotic fruity drinks.

watch old movies at the old fox theatre, 
sing along with mighty mo.

set fireworks off at the beach,
lament the state of our country.

start at least one giant water balloon fight, 
end it before it gets ugly. 

sample every single sonic slushie flavor,
you know, for science.

say hi to olga and her house of stuff,
eat lemon ice cream cones.

climb the tiovivo sculptures at the high,
snapchat from the insides.

look at all the things at the high
when it's too hot to climb inside the sculptures.

find the hidden falls, 
pat selves on back.

keep scissors in the glove compartment at all times
for the flowers that grow alongside the highway.

make cherry limeade popsicles from scratch,
make enough to share.

visit the ponce city market rooftop,
see what we can see.

celebrate ava's sweet sixteen with a pretty cake
and, an alien-shaped cake, per her request.

hit the road and drive south,
hop on the train and head north.

see a few new places,
revisit a handful of the old ones.

perfect all underwater handstands,
make time for night swimming.

stand in the middle of a sunflower field
for as long as they will let us.

stand at the base of toccoa falls
when it's too hot to stand anywhere else.

eat popsicles and read books
in great quantities.

lay in the hammock 
everyday.

everyday.

things for liking

neon seesaws.

croatian sea organs.

ice cream-filled potholes.

ferris wheel hotel rooms.

frosted cakes in subway trains.

grandmothers in rainbow weavings.

disposable cameras in the hands of the homeless.

found photographs turned fictionalized landscapes.

home invasions involving white balloons.

(things for liking, things that instill wonder)

45 on 45

one week ago today, I turned 45. it's a strange age, 45. strangely weird and wonderful and maybe a little bit painful. for weeks now, I've been thinking about it, about how I wanted to celebrate, how I wanted to mark the occasion. because, it is an occasion. sort of like turning 40 but with a little more wisdom and a pinch more panic.

aging aside, the truth is that december birthdays are hard. the calendar is crammed with more obligations than anyone ever knows what to do with and people are mostly tired and grouchy. there isn't ever any extra money, not really, because what little there is has been squirreled away for christmas and whatever bills are overdue. blah blah blah, it's all very first world woe is me.

but I had sleeves with tricks, I did. and a pocket with a few dollars, a few of my favorite people, a good twelve (maybe thirteen) hours and the whole freaking city of atlanta. and so I decided to see if I could do 45 things on my 45th birthday, 45 actual things. and you know what? it was a pretty good way to celebrate. it didn't cost me very much and I will never, ever forget it. and really, that's all I wanted.

here are 45 things I did the day I turned 45:

1. bought a bag of party horns and a package of confetti on our way into the city.

2. ate a doughnut with raspberry pink frosting and rainbow sprinkles.

3. tossed a little confetti out the window as we flew down dekalb ave.

4. had a cup of tea at dr. bombay's underwater tea party, browsed the one dollar books, left a party horn behind.

5. took a polaroid of a favorite scene.

6. threw a penny in the fountain at fellini's, made a wish.

7. picked a camellia up off the sidewalk, left a pinch of confetti behind.

8. taped a party horn to a favorite book and left it in the little free library in my old neighborhood.

9. did a little indie craft window-shopping.

10. sprinkled confetti on the steps of my very first apartment.

11. flipped through albums at criminal records, bought myself a little birthday vinyl.

12. hopped inside criminal's digital photobooth for a strip, left a party horn behind.

13. drove through momo's rainbow tunnel, jumped out and taped a party horn to it.

14. photographed the year I was born.

15. sat in the sun at lottafrutta and had the lulo, a drink made with a fruit I'd never even heard of before.

16. left a party horn taped to the plastic neck of a pink flamingo, took the little orange paper umbrella as a souvenir.

17. sampled the watermelon soda (tasted like liquid candy necklace). 

18. decided I'd make an okay carmen miranda.

19. chickened out of photographing a most spectacular stranger.

20. hit the swings at the noguchi playground in piedmont park.

21. flew down that rad noguchi slide too.

22. left a little confetti in front of the old black iron gates of the apartment we lived in when we were first married.

23. photographed a few people I love jumping in front of a mural I love.

24. taped a party horn to the big yellow dot on said loved mural.

25. taped a party horn to the little orange dot on a favorite HENSE mural.

26. walked the beltline at magic hour, scattered a little confetti along the way.

27. sprinkled a smidge of confetti in front my favorite tiny red door.

28. tucked a party horn inside the string installment that covers the footbridge over ponce.

29. left a party horn behind on our way into ponce city market.

30. sampled a little hops biscuits and gravy, watched the sun go down over ponce.

31. bought a piece of cherry mash and a packet of cherry pop rocks at the candy shop, let the pop rocks crackle in my mouth as we wandered around outside.

32. tried on a few hats at the hat shop, fell in love with a scarlet cloche.

33. wandered the aisles of the art supply store, bought myself a beautiful new fountain pen.

34. found out what it's like to wander the high museum of art at night.

35. photographed my people in front of the anish kapoor piece.

36. spotted the flashing neon HOT NOW sign at the krispy kreme on ponce, had to stop. it's practically the law.

37. watched hundreds of doughnuts on a conveyor belt pass through heavenly sugary showers of glaze.

38. consumed exactly one hot doughnut, let it melt in my mouth.

39. stopped for french fries and cokes at the beloved majestic diner, tucked a party horn between the salt and pepper shakers.

40. stood on the jackson street bridge and looked out over our fair city, threw a handful of confetti at it.

41. tossed the last of the confetti onto ponce on our way out of the city.

42. listened to my family sing happy birthday.

43. blew out all the candles, made one last wish.

44. devoured a piece of red velvet cake.

45. collapsed onto the big green couch, fully and wholly 45.

five senses friday

borrowed from my friend shari, who had the brilliant idea of documenting a week in this particular way and boy, was this a week for the senses:

seen: waves like sea glass, failed sandcastles, the whip of the kite in ezra's hands, the best thanksgiving movie ever, exactly four pink sunsets and one big crazy moon

heard: the birthday song (twice), a chorus of snores, a few human cannonballs, the begging of children (for night swimming), the quiet pop of cranberries cooking, the endless roar of the ocean

smelled: saltiest gulf air, secret coffee beans, melted birthday candle wax, elevator air freshener gone horribly wrong, turkey in the oven, coconut suntan lotion on my skin

tasted: stumptown coffee in the morning, leftover cranberry sauce on my toast, mashed potatoes and gravy, pie, pie, pie

felt: cold ocean water around my ankles, hot sunshine on the back of my neck, the weight of the SX-70 in my hands, a collection of shells in my pocket, sand (omg everywhere), thankfulness, thankfulness, thankfulness

saturday's list

after a long day of traveling, this is about all I can muster. sights seen while on the road today:

1. fields of bright white cotton.

2. more barbeque joints than I could count.

3. gasoline for $1.73 a gallon.

4. boiled peanuts sold roadside.

5. a piggly wiggly grocery store.

6. the florida state line

7. a giant peanut.

yep, I'm in the south. the deep, deep south. adventure awaits.

twenty more, please

happy 20th birthday, this american life.

I'm not sure what my world would look like without you. you've gotten me through some tough times, TAL. you really have. you've seen me through the trenches of motherhood, through countless sleepless nights, hours spent in the car with napping children. through so, so many flights those years my mom was sick, from portland to chicago to bloomington, bloomington to chicago to portland, over and over again, when I was holding on by the tiniest of threads. through two big cross country moves, through the packing and unpacking of box after box after box. through every long train ride I've ever taken, every long drive I've ever made, each and every one. and now that I've moved back to atlanta, city of neverending sprawl, I spend more time in the car than ever. which, at first, I hated (well, and still pretty much do) but now I see those extra minutes (nay, hours) in the car as more time with you. which I do not hate. no sir, I do not.

I would also like to state for the record that listening to you in the kitchen while peeling potatoes is perhaps one of life's greatest pleasures. but I digress.

in honor of your twentieth, here are a few of my favorites:

192: meet the pros, act one because I was born and raised on basketball. because there's a line towards the end that really does something to me.

173: three kinds of deception, act three because this lil froggy is ripe. that's all I'm going to say.

107: trail of tears because sarah vowell. sarah. freaking. vowell.

218: act V  because it's brilliant and beautiful.

296: after the flood because hurricane katrina nearly broke us all.

323: the super, act two because it's the best snowman story ever. and when I say ever, I mean ever.

347: matchmakers, act three because you must hear it to believe it. at first, you will probably laugh but then you will cry because you won't want it to be true.

510: fiasco! prologue/act one because you will laugh and laugh. and laugh and laugh and laugh.

518: except for that one thing because you will not believe what came in the mail for mike and sarah.

520: no place like home because the piece on artisanal toast will make you cry.

526: is that what I look like? because if you haven't heard the one where molly ringwald talks about the time she watched the breakfast club with her own daughter for the first time well then, I don't know what. drop everything and listen to it. right now.

545: if you don't have anything nice to say, SAY IT IN ALL CAPS because I almost pulled the car over on the side of the road to process this one. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

550: three miles because this one is extraordinary, folks. this one is sort of off the charts special.

keep on truckin, TAL. here's to twenty more. the world certainly needs you. and so do I.

five senses friday

borrowed from my friend shari, who had the brilliant idea of documenting a week in this particular way:

seen: early morning light shows on my walls, the st. john's bridge on the sides of my legs, my mother (in a dream)

heard: sufjan on vinyl, acapella bowie and mercury, the wind through the trees, ezra's ever-evolving laugh

smelled: the burning of leaves, nail polish remover, banana bread in the oven

tasted: my brother's homemade bread, the first clementines of the season, secret chocolates

felt: film photographs in my hands, an extra quilt on the bed, sore calves after dance class, my mother (in a dream)

seven books

seven books I'd like to read right now:

1. m train by patti smith

2. jesus feminist by sarah bessey

3. photobooth: a biography by meags fitzgerald

4. how we do both: art and motherhood by michi jigarjian, qiana mestrich

5. the reason for god by timothy keller

6. the chronology of water by lidia yuknavitch

7. hold still by sally mann

you?

free ATL//part one

some of my favorite things in this here city of atlanta are free and here are five of them:



it costs exactly nothing to see all of the murals. holy crap, there are a lot of murals. thank you, living walls.



pay no admission to wander the goat farm and leave secret messages inside the giant wall of file cabinets.



it will cost you zero dollars to hop on los trompos at the high museum of art. spin for hours, spin yourself dizzy, they will not charge you a penny.



pay nothing to knock on all the tiny doors of atlanta. right now, there are seven. I bet there will be more.



they will not charge you one cent to ride the beltline. ride your bike past murals and more murals, past people on cuter bikes than yours, past parts of atlanta you did not know existed, you will not pay one cent.

and now you have money for the important things like cute sandals (for all the walking) and film for the camera and fountain cokes from the gas station. and let's face it, you are probably also going to need a little money for gas. still, you'll make out like a freaking bandit.

free ATL//part two on deck because, summer.

list forty-eight: some things I miss about portland

or, the beginnings of a love letter.

1. the light on yamhill and 10th around magic hour
2. the smell of franz bread baking near NE 11th
3. the used car lot balloons that line 82nd
4. the long, tall aisles of powell's books
5. annie's happy, happy windows
6. and those sunshine yellow booths
7. lippman's bins full of bouncy balls
8. smut's bins full of instant relatives
9. grilled cheese sandwiches eaten on double decker buses
10. cherry snow cones eaten in rose gardens
11. the sound of passing streetcars
12. the smell of coffee everywhere
13. the big, beautiful downtown library
14. the view from my favorite parking deck
15. the occasional awkwardly awkward tall bike
16. the green, green moss that covers everything
17. bipartisan's sour cherry pie
18. little big burger's truffle fries
19. old cameras stacked ramshackle in citizen's windows
20. jumbles of color hung on rerun's racks
21. those five words in neon orange
22. that big loser in the sky
23. the light in the lobby of the ace
24. the secret drawers filled with secret papers
25. the cardboard city on the ceiling of tender loving empire
26. the organ music at the old oaks park roller rink
27. the red and yellow spiral slide at glenhaven park
28. the rainbow of flags that hang above SE third
29. the hidden gem that is the cameo
30. the hidden treasure that is ed's house of gems
31. a thousand different food carts
32. a window full of light bulbs
33. cargo's big red wooden doors
34. lloyd center's tiny spinning ice skaters
35. dance class up on the fourth floor
36. bus number twelve down sandy boulevard
37. chin's perfect neon
38. le happy's perfect yellow
39. saturday morning at the hollywood farmer's market
40. saturday night at the hollywood theatre
41. pambiche's empanadas and sugar cane lemonade
42. mcmenamin's magic saltwater soaking pools
43. my favorite building (the color block building)
44. my favorite thrift store (the secret one)
45. the feel of the downtown train station
46. the daily view from the sacramento ridge
47. every portland bridge, every single one
48. every portland thing, every last one

sunday's list

things from today, things for remembering:

1. chipped orange nail polish
2. banana bread for breakfast
3. leaves like confetti
4. scribbled zine ideas
5. favorite song on repeat
6. miranda's baked mac and cheese
7. pink sky bits, peachtree street

list of right now

currently:

1. salted pistachio nuts
2. ezra's tiny folded paper stars
3. everything in glass jars, everything
4. the magic of memory foam
5. the light in the living room around one o'clock
6. leah's unforgettable grocery list
7. dera's things for remembering
8. portland listening, atlanta listening
9. new york and san francisco too
10. big fat bags of leftover color powder
11. big fat stacks of old forty-fives
12. blackcattips out in the burbs
13. imaginary shopping sprees involving clogs of the maguba variety
14. the sorting through of the road trip polaroids
15. the reading (devouring) of the book the gold finch
16. dorothea lange and her hunk of lightning
17. combinations and across the floor with twenty young terrific movers
18. unexpected packages of instant film from lovely friends
19. the obsessing over a gallery wall
20. the beginning of life as a coffee drinker
21. the teeniest, tiniest crockpot
22. vivid dreams where I am grocery shopping with my mom
23. mexican blankets for days and days
24. sonic cherry limeades forever

list forty-five: a summer manifesto

(as inspired by one of my favorite list makers, the incomparable mollie greene)

I will play records in the backyard

I will pick berries til my fingers are stained

I will bake things with said hand-picked berries

I will take walks with my husband

I will hang my sheets outside to dry

I will wear my skirted bathing suit with pride

I will take the kids to the drive-in

I will watch scary movies with ava

I will watch action movies with ezra

I will have money stashed for the occasional ice cream truck

I will share jars of flowers from my garden with my friends

I will play two square with ezra for longer than five minutes

I will get up early to hit the yard sales with ava

I will paint my fingers and toes varying shades of aqua

I will jump through sprinklers

I will ride my bike during magic hour

I will read books outside

I will cross a few things off the list

I will insist on the cherry snow cone

I will insist on the cherry-dipped ice cream cone

I will help ava transform her room

I will not cry when she turns thirteen

I will talk into fans, I will pretend I am darth vader

I will make room for small adventures

I will say yes to bubbles

I will say yes to water balloons

I will always say yes to the park

I will always have popsicles in the freezer

I will stop worrying about things I can't control

I will put it in his hands

I will dream about lightning bugs

I will swim in the ocean

list forty-two: things I miss

surely I'm forgetting something:

1. rotary phones
2. lightning bugs
3. first kisses
4. polaroid film
5. new york city
6. dance class
7. my old body
8. sunshine, heat
9. the golden age of hip hop
10. the atlantic ocean
11. the kids as babies
12. fleamarkets with my mom
13. rides in the blue bambino with my dad
14. summers at the american dance festival
15. downtown cincinnati
16. back handsprings
17. slumber parties
18. snail mail
19. lauryn hill
20. fellini's pizza
21. camp with my cousin
22. weeks with great aunt louraine
23. RC cola in aluminum cups
24. tuesday nights at star bar
25. the backyard hammock
26. grandma corrona's bread
27. dancing with friends
28. atlanta, georgia
29. my childhood