every stinking day (almost)

goodbye NaBloPoMo, you weren't so bad. and I didn't flake out, not really. I only missed a couple of days towards the end. the habit of writing everyday (blogging, whatever) is a habit I can really get behind. much more dignified than this thing I've got going on with my tights. not that I'm going to continue on with this blogging everyday gig. well, maybe I will. although it's more likely that I'll find some nice comfortable place near the middle.

most importantly-- if you've left a comment in the past couple of months, thank you. thank you for the kind, kind words about my writing, my photographs. I savor them all and you (and you know who you are) deserve to know that. I'm a little off with my responding these days and can't let another moment pass without saying so.

at war

with three things:

1. ava's room: where does all the mess come from? WHERE?

2. my keys: do I really have so much going on in my head that I can't remember to take them out of the door before I go inside? how long until I start wearing them around my neck like an idiot?

3. my tights: people, I will win this battle. I have to believe that I will. intellectually, I know that I am bigger, stronger and smarter than my tights. however, I'm not beyond yanking them up to my chin in front of a room full of people. just to make a point. just to show them who's boss. I have no problem yelling at said tights out in public. I do what I have to do. we can't go on like this forever. I WILL WIN THIS BATTLE.

that is all for today.

self portrait #38

(click on drawing for special notes)

for the last glam self portrait, I was all set to take on the shoe project. that is, until I found this drawing while going through The Magical Childhood Boxes. lookit people, it doesn't get any better than this. my idea of glam as a 9 year-old girl! please note: the heavy make-up (tammy faye bakker-style eyes, yo), the funky (as in, won't-you-take-me-to-FUNKEEE-TOOOWN) little beret, the strappy sandals, the disco ball-- it's all there. oh yes, it's all there. and that skinny belt, which I just KNOW was meant to be a slinky little metallic gold number. I know because I had one. I bought it at wal-mart and remember how I couldn't believe I'd found such a cool belt at my small town wal-mart. but the funniest detail (and perhaps the most troubling)-- cigarette in one hand, cocktail in the other.

my parents must've been so proud.

(the last of the november glam self portraits are here)

I can't help myself

the words aren't flowing but the images are. they say more about my trip than I ever could.

I am planning on writing about it, though. just easing into it is all.

well, I'm not going to win any awards

yesterday, I let ezra run around diaperless until he pooped on the floor. this would be okay if we were in the midst of potty training but alas, we are not. no, I was deep into the wonderful world of fred flare (creating a christmas wish list, natch). apparently, the only thing capable from ripping me from that world was the hearty declaration of poop on the floor.

and then later on that afternoon, while both ezra and ward were napping, I fell asleep watching an HBO documentary on eating disorders. which, again, would be perfectly okay if I had not awakened to find ava watching the tail end of it (yes mom, I know-- the very reason we shouldn't have HBO in the first place). I have no idea how long I slept or what she actually saw or if it made any sort of impact on her at all. I downplayed my reaction and asked the smallest amount of questions as she seemed completely unaffected. frankly, I can think of worst things for her to have seen, but still. I found the whole thing horribly, horribly troubling.

and then I threw a fit when we decided to spend saturday night at mcdonald's. normally, I'm quite skilled at masking my disappointment in these situations (particularly where the kids are involved) but something about saturday night and the thought of those unhealthy happy meals and all those screaming kids racing through the tunnels of the playplace... I don't know. so depressing. before I knew it I was yelling something about how there were going to be apple slices ordered instead of french fries (wow, I'm so tough) and how everyone better eat every last apple slice OR ELSE. or no playing on the slides! OR NO MORE MCDONALDS. EVER. and then I pouted for a very long time.

last night I had a dream about a giant orange sea creature trying to devour my children. that's WHAT I GET.

no, I'm not going to win any motherhood awards. not for my saturday shenanigans, anyway.

photobooth friday

happy birthday happy birthday happy birthday. happy birthday to my one true love.

(had big plans to share my photobooth adventures with jes and kristen but you know. had to come correct with some birthday love for my boy)

more for all to behold:

jesC
acumamakiki (and also: last week)
scumdillydilly
the whole self
woof nanny (and also: last week)
velvet vox
jördis (and also: last week)

are own thanksgiving

in the spirit of ava thursday, something from the 7 year-old me (recently discovered in the magical childhood boxes). I'm quite certain I was proud of that title. and crushed when I found out I'd misspelled the word 'our'.

happy thanksgiving, y'all.

new york sampler

more to come.

self portrait #37

glam in a downtown sort of way.

(more glam here)

and now back to our regularly scheduled program

in the plane on the runway last night, preparing for take-off: I always squeeze my eyes shut and pretend it's not happening. take-off, that is. I never like to think about what's actually happening in those moments.

I could see the manhattan skyline from my tiny rectangular window. the faint lights of the empire state building, the chrysler building. and the bridge lights, they looked like giant glittery garlands draped over the city. someone behind me was sucking on a cough drop. I could smell something strong and medicinal, something like eucalyptus. the people across the aisle were already sleeping soundly and the small bright light above me felt like my own private spotlight. I've always loved that. if you fly at night and turn that thing on, you feel like you could have your own show. like if you had a microphone and a clove cigarette, you'd be all set to growl out poetry to whoever might listen.

the pilot began whispering (really, he was whispering) something about take-off and I couldn't really hear him. not so much because he was whispering but because I was deep into all the thinking-- about all the things I did and did not do. I was thinking of what kind of job I could dream up that might require trips to new york on the regular but also allow me to maintain status as a full time mama. I was already planning my next trip, compiling every kind of mental list imaginable. so much going through my head and looping repeatedly. all of it so that my mind would not go where I didn't really want it to go. I didn't want to think about those last minutes with my brother. how he rode in the cab with me all the way to la guardia and stayed with me up until the very last minute. how we made small talk over hot tea and pretended like it wasn't the end. how he squeezed every last drop out of our time together. and it really doesn't matter how old you are or how many hundreds of times you have done it, saying goodbye is the most heartbreaking sort of thing to do. because you never want to think about how long it may be until the next time or that it may actually be the last time. you don't want to think about all the things you should or shouldn't have said.

he waved at me as I stood in line at the security check point. I thought he'd already gone on, but there he was. waving and half-smiling, one last time before he finally walked away. I fumbled with my bags then, tried to get them into the grey plastic trays as quickly as possible. I could feel the restlessness of people behind me and bristled at the thought. I yanked my boots off and slammed them into the bin. one glance back at everyone and I knew I'd made my point. and I didn't want to cry, not then but I could feel it coming-- watery eyes and that unmistakable feeling in my chest. I fought it. not under these harsh fluorescent lights, I thought. not in front of the security person who looked ridiculously bored, not while I was struggling with a wayward purse strap and wondering if my feet smelled. I stuffed the sadness someplace in the back where I knew it would be safe, someplace I might never get around to finding it. I walked towards the gate.

and then all of the sudden we were taking off. I swear I felt my stomach drop seventeen different times. I kept my eyes wide open, though. I didn't want to miss anything.

photobooth friday

yes, it's friday and there was a photobooth involved. lucky me: I squeezed myself into a booth in a bar in the east village with these two fantastic women.

proof to come, lovies.

today

seen:

a woman with butterflies on her shoulders
grapefruits as big as your head
paper lanterns bright like neon lights
a man chasing his hat down broadway
the most perfect ruffly red dress
candy-colored earrings
mysterious doorways


heard:

the screech of trains
live accordian music
more private conversations than I have time to share, including an intense discussion about someone named mary and her bad, bad breath


found:

a shiny quarter

here I am

today: clouds below me like beds of shredded wheat. easy conversations on the corner of lexington and 125th street. the sounds of my camera clicking. one bus and three trains to south brooklyn. the promise of good indian food. the promise of sleep. and then there's tomorrow.

finally

the bags are packed. I'm off.

a thousand tiny disco lights

the best kind of box is the kind that is filled with things from your childhood. even better if you've not looked at the contents for years and years. best if you have no idea of what might be inside.



my parents came to visit this past weekend and just before they left to go back home, they unloaded two enormous plastic bins from their car. my dad set them both down with a thud and I could see hints of sequins, old drawings and record albums inside. ava and me, we dug right in. I couldn't pull things out fast enough. no more than five minutes had passed and there we were, knee deep in my childhood. we sat together in a pile of tiny baby dresses, wrinkled dance costumes and letters from old boyfriends. we pulled out rainbow stickers, stickers that read, 'barf me out' and 'gag me with a spoon' and 45s like 'pass the dutchie', 'the tide is high' and 'double dutch bus'. there were the nesting dolls that my dad brought me back from russia, the party book I bought with my own money in first grade and studied from cover to cover, the black fingerless gloves I wore to prom, and a broken rhinestone crown that my mother once wore as may queen. but what I loved looking through the most were the drawings and paintings and stories I'd written. I wanted to go back to that place where I was so free with color, so uninhibited with line and shape. genuinely authentic and alive, just like ava.



she's been trying on the costumes since yesterday afternoon but the clear hit was the bright pink one with all the sequins and fringe. I never actually wore it on stage. I think my mom picked it up at a yard sale for a quarter. always my favorite, it is as spectacular as I remember-- unapologetically pink with sequins that sparkle like a thousand tiny disco lights and fringe that screams 'shake me shake me shake me'.

so, we've been doing some shaking. and twisting and jumping and twirling and kicking. and although I have a million things to do before I leave for new york, I've been doing a lot of sitting around and remembering.