frankly, I'm a little lost without my daily lists.
as if it were an exotic foreign country I visited. learned the language, found my way around, got comfortable, settled in. now I'm back home and don't know what to do with myself. am rattling off lists inside my head in every situation, there is no off switch. to be clear, I'm not interested in an off switch, I just miss the daily funneling. the terrific focus that comes with project specificity, a clear beginning, middle and end.
anyway, december. onwards and upwards we go.
things seen while wandering around downtown asheville:
a legitimately impressive jam bar
the feet of merce cunningham on film
jehovah witnesses wearing hats
light flung on the sides of buildings
a beautiful saul leiter book
a cheerful cluster of climate change activists
a woman with soda cans in her hair
a bowl full of old photographs
an old kress dime store building
skeletor's guide to self care
a small, stunning chorus of blues
things I'm working on, part one:
a gaggle of zine ideas
walking daily as a self-prescribed anti-depressant
painting every mud beige wall in this rental home bright white
a regular street photography practice
a new series
using what I already have
wearing what I already have
sashiko mending another pair of jeans
printing photographs
rebuilding my site
reopening my print shop
reorganizing a hundred million personal photographs
finding hidden treasures in the disaster that is the garage
getting out of my own head
getting out of my own way
pouring light out of myself instead of taking it all in
eight hours of sleep every night, every night
a handwritten version of this list project
reading instead
forgiveness
things that cost practically nothing but bring me great joy:
marigolds in tomato cans
canvas dropcloths over tired couches
cut tree branches in glass jelly jars
dollar tree pillar candles in white
paintings on the backs of brown paper grocery sacks
complete and total furniture rearrangement
sprigs of mint leaves in recycled old soda bottles
some things I did buy at the texas fleamarket:
a couple old school flashcards
a couple little toy playing cards
a pile of carefully selected found photographs
a small red portland pennant
a large red new orleans pennant
a few patches for ava
a few old watch parts for ezra
a small rose cameo piece
a green plastic letter A
a little lemonette soda bottle
a tea tin from budapest
a roll of mustard yellow floral wallpaper circa 1970
a faded poster advertising the opening of drive-in theatre in iowa circa 1950
three beautiful old photobooth frames
and one polaroid of an elderly man holding his cat
things seen while on the road in texas:
a dozen zebras, grazing
oil silos like giant tin drums
tufts of buttery yellow flowers along the edges of the highway
the world's smallest catholic church
buc-ee the beaver, high in the sky
an impossible sea of blinding white tents
wide open forever and ever skies
an old drive-in theatre so beautiful, I could not breathe
things I have always worn, will always wear, whether they're in style or not:
burnt orange
striped pieces
turquoise jewelry
patchwork anything
vintage adidas everything
technicolor tights
embroidered blouses
wooden clogs
WOODEN CLOGS FOREVER
sounds I hear in the background when I listen to my friend jen's messages:
horns honking
brakes screeching
ambient street conversations
muffled announcements
subway trains coming
subway trains going
buses heaving
urgent, steady beeping
saws, drills and jackhammers
things, people, bikes, cars whizzing past
women talking
kids laughing
motors revving
the wind
frankly, I need these new york street sounds as much as I need the messages and conversations with my friend. while we're on the subject, I'm not sure what I'd do without the voxer conversations I have going with three friends who live in completely different parts of the country. many times, they have saved me. many, many times.
strangers who have inspired me, part one:
the older woman at the thrift store yesterday who tried out the pogo stick and landed, quite spectacularly, with a loud crash near the office supplies but just laughed and got right back up
the guy on the skateboard who moved with his entire body, like a dancer, on a sliver of sidewalk, who sailed past gas stations and drug stores and so many dumb cars as if he was riding some invisible wave
the guy in our neighborhood who walks every single day, slowly, deliberately, as if his life depends on it
things about sunday:
a small chorus of junk accompanied by an ALL FREE sign across the street from church
impromptu hours spent wandering the high
maira kalman's candy bar poem
the last of the cherry (birthday) cobbler
the last of the sunflowers
if only we were all, really and truly, free.
personal quirks, part one:
I sometimes travel with (small) lamps
I sometimes travel with (soft white) light bulbs
I sometimes (discreetly) rearrange lamps in places I stay, in order to optimize atmosphere
you know, it's really too bad I can't find a job as a lamp whisperer.
things I treated myself to today:
a cold bottle of topo chico
another packet of zinnia seeds
a jar of bonne maman lemon curd
the last fifteen minutes of the last episode of fleabag (season two) whilst eating a tiny cupcake
paint chips I brought home today because I liked the way they sounded:
fresh tangerine
bubblegum pink
moroccan sky
buttered sweet corn
coral flower
fire cracker
watermelon punch
corn moon
whip lash
p.s. whip lash was a shocking shade of red.
p.p.s. I would please like to name paint colors for a living.
streets I'd walk down right now, if I could, part one:
doyer street (new york)
burnside ave (portland)
royal street (new orleans)
on this first (rather personally unusual) day of march:
dress, ironed
good breakfast, consumed
expectations, heightened
college, visited
scholarship interview, completed
long drive home, feet up on dash
(it was a big day for ava)
