learning is fun

in preparation for The Big Move out west, I'm learning something new everyday:

1. color-coding ava's barrettes and ponytail holders and putting them into individual snack-size baggies may not be the best use of my time.

2. checking craig's list for rental homes is a highly addictive activity. I'm a junkie, people. I don't think I'll know what to do with myself once we actually find a house. checking it seven times an hour to see if any new listings have popped up is what gets me through the day. if checking it so frequently is wrong, I don't want to be right. I have a strong feeling that I may never stop checking craig's list-- I think I'll still be checking it years from now, even if only to dream about what could've been.

3. there's always time for a movie. although it may be in one's best interest to do a bit of research beforehand, especially if the idea behind said movie is to escape and unwind. in which case, I would not recommend the last king of scotland. do not misunderstand me, this is a spectacular film-- saturated with color and fascinating at most every turn. forest whitaker's portrayal of idi amin is nothing short of magnificent. however, it's not really the kind of film you want to see at the end of a long, stressful week. or maybe it is-- depending on who you are. all I knew going into it was that forest whitaker was supposed to be fantastic and I've always liked forest whitaker (he was so good in smoke) and blah blah blah. I didn't even know it was about idi amin. that little nugget of information might have been useful to me but I've been up to my eyeballs in this whole uprooting and moving out west deal. watching others string a man up by his nipples is not the best way to unwind. at least, I think that's what happened. I could barely watch, so I don't know. the film builds brilliantly enough throughout so you know the violence is coming, you can just feel it and you can't look away. you have to know what happens. I believe this is an important story that needed to be told, but okay already-- he was sick/crazy/paranoid. all the makings of one nutty dictator. by the end of the film, I was gnawing at my knuckles like a wild little animal and praying fervently for the world in which we live. although, from what I understand, I might've been doing the same thing throughout notes on a scandal and little children (two other films I'd like to see). I doubt I would've been on the verge of a breakdown at the end of music and lyrics. something to think about.

4. old interview magazines are the best resource for collage scraps. remember the gigantic-sized ones from the 80s and 90s? again, going through magazines only to rip out a page or two here and there may not be the most efficient use of my time, but it calms me. I consider it my reward at the end of a long day. I feel that I'm entitled and deserve to unwind. and perhaps better than watching idi amin terrorize the people of uganda.

5. giving an old seiko keyboard to ezra to keep him occupied while trying to get some packing done has not been one of my better ideas. initially, I felt as if I'd come up with the most inspired plan ever-- letting him plinkplinkplink away happily while I scratch item after item off my ridiculously long to-do list seemed like parental genuis. I even congratulated myself and wondered why I hadn't thought of it sooner. then twenty minutes into it, I was sorry. so sorry. after several minutes of ezra banging the same key over and over and over and holding that same key down with a sticky, syrupy thumb while screaming DOOK! DOOK, MOMMY! DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOK!, I was sorry. happy that he'd discovered the magic of sound, but very sorry I'd not thought the entire scenario through more carefully.

6. it is possible to live (thrive, even) in the midst of chaos. there are boxes and piles everywhere and I am learning to live in and around the mess. I am concentrating on the temporary nature of the mess, how necessary the mess is to this whole process. though I find that I am craving order in the worst way. which is why I desperately feel the need to organize all of ava's barrettes according to color and alphabetize every last CD we own.

7. it's okay to ask for help. it's okay to cry. it's okay to stop for a second. it's necessary to breathe, it's necessary to sleep. there are going to be fires to put out and alligators to chase. deep down I know that it will all be okay.

thursday love

so every thursday, I'd pull up to the childrens shelter to teach my weekly creative movement class and there that car would sit-- on the outer edges of the parking lot. every single thursday. and then sometimes, I'd see it parked at a dowtown apartment complex or driving around the fourth ward. never did catch a glimpse of the driver, not even once. which just adds a tremendous amount of mystery to the whole thing, you know.

anyway, what I want to say is that I love old cars with things glued to them. art on wheels, I say. I believe in art on wheels.

funny thing is

the biggest life changes sort of fall into your lap when you aren't paying any attention at all. we didn't go looking for this and would never (never, not in a hundred years) have predicted a move out to the great northwest, but here we are. moving to portland, oregon in less than a month.

ward's been offered a job with laika and it was just too good of a thing to pass up. after flying out in january to check out the scene, and then after so much talking and crying and more talking and thinking and talking and praying and more crying and thinking and then some arguments (very thinly disguised as 'discussions') and thinking, more praying and even more talking, we decided to say yes. yes, we'll take it. yes, we'll move our family to the opposite end of the country. yes, we'll take on a monumental life change. yes, yes, yes.

I am bracing myself for an adventure like no other.

I can't even talk about how much I'm going to miss everyone and every last little thing here. really, I can't. because my eyes start to water and the waves, they start to swell and break and I just can't keep doing that. I'll never get anything done. despite the deep sadness, there's excitement-- a kind of excitement completely new to me. it bubbles right beneath the surface and whispers things like 'fresh start' and 'brand new city' and talks about reuniting with the loveliest old friends and the meeting of so many fantastic new and wonderful friends. it speaks (with conviction) about the spectacular nature of the unknown. I like that voice, I am trying very hard to pay close attention to what she says because that's how I'll be finding my way through this. when I am listening closely to her voice, I can almost hear the crack of the world breaking open for us.

all these conflicting feelings make for days with staccato-like ebb and flow. that is to say, I am giddy one moment and weepy the next. the best I can do is ride the waves and greet the change with the widest, most open arms I can manage. a close friend of mine recently told me about a saying she'd seen somewhere-- leap and a net will appear.

I thank her for sharing that because well, we're leaping. and we're hoping and praying for a net to appear. but then, that's what life is all about.

(first taste of portland is here)

photobooth friday

posted in honor of the recent Day of Love. a favorite one of mine and the memory of that day ain't half bad either. (but that's another story).

why can't everyday be The Day of Love?


ah, photobooth friday is for lov-errrrrrrrs:

jesC
scrumdillydilly
acumamakiki
anatomist

time for valens

happy valentimes day, all you lovely peoples.

try, try again

my camera is alive again-- miraculously brought back from the land of dead cameras.



which means that my 365 project is up and running again.



one thing I really enjoy about this experiment: finding that one piece of something in my day worth photographing.



I mean, there's a lot in my day worth seeing. so much worth photographing, but there always seems to be that one thing. and always something I might've overlooked had my eyes not been wide open in this way.

(I'm two weeks into it-- checkit, the set here)

photobooth friday

my grandpa corrona used to take me to the VFW lounge with him. I must have been about 7 or 8 and let me tell you-- the smoky, amber basement of the VFW was nothing less than fantastic and otherworldly. something about the crack of the pool sticks and the one dim, lonely television in the corner announcing baseball scores to no one in particular. all so terribly exotic and unknown to the seven year-old me. and the sour smell of the place was something I could never quite seem to identify. it sounds depressing, I know-- but it wasn't. not to me, not at the time. more than anything, I was just thrilled to have been chosen to go. my small hand disappeared into his large brown-skinned one as we took the stairs down into this other world. I remember being helped up onto a barstool at which point I was served ginger ale. or 7-up. I loved the squatty glass the bartender set in front of me, the skinny brittle straw and the tinkle-tinkle of the ice cubes. I loved the way the barstool spun me around and around. I pretended not to listen while my grandpa talked with the bartender, which was easy to do because there was just so much to see. I knew I wasn't supposed to be there. it felt like a forbidden place and kids always know-- they instinctively know about forbidden places. for this very reason, I paid close attention to all that was around me.

it was on one of those trips to the VFW that my grandpa played a little trick on me. he gave me beer instead of ginger ale and I gagged at the taste of it. he smiled that rare, wide and generous smile and I remember how special it made me feel. I was in on the joke and everybody laughed and I felt cute and important. I don't remember him playing a lot of jokes like that. not that he wasn't funny or didn't smile, I just seem to remember him more for his reticent nature, his stubborness and short temper. I was sort of afraid of him too, I think everyone was. I've heard stories about the temper (a trait that runs in the family though I wouldn't know ONE THING about that).

I stayed with my grandparents a couple weeks each summer and one afternoon when I was bored, I stuck a bead up my nose. in my defense, that bead looked just like a genuine ruby-- red and sparkly and absolutely impossible to resist. I'd found it while digging all through grandma's big candy tin of buttons and was instantly convinced it was the most beautiful thing like, ever. I had a fabulous two-piece pajama set that looked exactly like something a genie girl or belly dancer would wear and believe you me, that bead begged to join the costume party. I didn't know it would get stuck, how could I have ever predicted that? I was a hot frantic mess trying to dig that thing out, scared to death of what grandpa might do once he discovered I'd been putting beads up my nose all the live long day. the harder I tried to dig it out, the further up it went. and then my nose started to bleed and MOTHER OF MARY, the blood and the ruby, the ruby and the blood. who could tell the beginning or the end of one or the other? that's when I broke down and told them. he was just as mad as I thought he'd be and I did my best to hold back tears. in the end, it was nothing a trip to the emergency room and a good, strong vacuum couldn't fix-- sucked that ruby-colored bead right out of my left nostril in no time. they gave me a piece of spearmint gum afterwards too, I remember that. I had survived the legendary wrath of grandpa and felt stronger for it. plus, I'd gotten a fresh stick of gum out of it. juicy fruit would've been my preference, but still. I never wanted to be on the receiving end of his anger again.

even in the most prosaic of moments, he was something to look at. velvet burning eyes and hair the color of the blackest night. his hair never changed color either, even in later years and we pitied anyone who dared tease him about it. heaven help the fool who insinuated that a shade of hair like that could only come from a drug store bottle. I do believe this caused steam to come from his ears (and I'm being kind, if not a tad dramatic). again, even when he was sitting in his favorite chair with his feet up (watching benny hill or gunsmoke or hawaii five-o), he was something to see. he smoked a pipe (like all grandpas should) so he always smelled sweet like tobacco. and always just a little bit like home-fried fish. several years ago, when ward and I were in italy, we visited a tiny, colorful island near venice called burano. there was a neighborhood fish fry happening the afternoon we arrived and I wanted to cry big salty tears over the thick scent of it. in that moment, I was transported back to my childhood and my grandparents' home in southern illinois-- back to the living room with the dark pine-knotted walls and I could see him sitting there, legs crossed, pipe in hand. I wanted desperately to tell him all about italy-- he was so proud of who he was, where he came from. funny, I grew up thinking we were italian, only to find out later that we were, in fact, sicilian (which is a very, very different thing according to family). all the same, there I was-- halfway across the world, wandering the streets of this sleepy italian island and he was everywhere I looked. but most especially in the scent of the fried fish that wafted past hanging laundry and all through the narrow alleyways that afternoon. he was right there, he was all around me.


so many photobooth friday stories this week, my friends:

jesC
scrumdillydilly (last week)
scrumdillydilly (this week)
leSophie
the whole self
nessie noodle
woof nanny (last week)
woof nanny (this week)
acumamakiki (last week)
acumamakiki (this week)
jördis
matt (last week)
matt (this week)
a.stray
celia-style
lovegreendog
bobby choice
brina-head

(and please do not forget the photobooth friday flickr group, lovely peoples)

ava thursday

I've hijacked ava thursday again. she made these for me recently-- taped them over my workspace with a roll of scotch tape she found somewhere.

and I whole-heartedly agree, I do. I like colors that rhyme. I like bubbles.

self portrait #41 (black and white)

if I squint hard enough, I can barely see the deep circles under my eyes. the dirty strands of hair disappear and all I see is me and that strawberry ice cream cone. we got caught in the rain that day-- me, ava and ezra. we'd been to the book store and got caught in a sudden downpour. we ducked into the nearest shop to keep dry, which just happened to be an ice cream parlor. we were bored, so we started to play with the camera. we took photos of each other, of the floor, of our ice cream, a speck of paint on the table, wadded-up napkins, our feet, the rain outside. in that moment, I didn't want to be anywhere else, with anyone else, doing anything else.

that's a good and solid sort of memory. but I'll tell you-- when I look at this particular photograph of myself for too long, something strange starts to happen. like when you've said the same word out loud too many times and it begins to sound completely foreign to you. like a word that belongs to an entirely different language. which is not so much a bad thing-- just disconcerting. it's as if I am barely recognizable here. again, the deep circles become more prominent, the texture of my skin, the shape of my face, my nose, the hair pulled back tight (save for a few dirty strands). I start to think about how boys in junior high used to call me cow eyes. I feel like I am looking at a creature from a different planet. I feel like I'm looking at someone I don't really know.

which is all just a little too existential for a wednesday morning.


(the self portrait challenge for february is black and white-- more to see here)

pree coo

that's what he's been saying these days. you know, if he thinks something is pretty cool. pree coo, he says. das pree coo!

I am a mother rendered numb by infinite cuteness.

thursday love

cupcakes are an easy sell. though that doesn't make them any less deserving of my love. I bite into a cupcake and I remember every childhood classroom party like, ever. do you remember? someone's mom always bringing in homemade cupcakes for special occasions (neatly packed in tupperware containers the color of avocados). and then we were all so painfully aware of the EXACT location of that tupperware container. oh, and the torturous scent of vanilla and chocolate permeating the room, the slow tick of the giant clock above the chalkboard. nothing like the promise of a cupcake.

but then there was always that girl who watched as the rest of us inhaled ours (we couldn't eat fast enough, nevermind all the crumbs, nevermind the frosting everywhere). she was the girl who waited until the very last possible minute to eat her cupcake. yes, this was a deliberate move on her part. all we could do was sit and watch her. like fools. big fools with globs of chocolate frosting on our chins. she was the kind of girl who peeled the foil liner away slowly, who looked around the room before she took the first bite. she was also the kind of a girl who saved the frosting for last and WE HATED HER FOR THAT. well, hate is a strong word but that's who we were. school kids throw around the word 'hate' like so much confetti.

I eat my cupcakes slowly these days, though I am nothing like that girl. at least, I hope not. I think she might've gone on to torture kittens and taunt senior citizens. I eat slowly because I have the sense God gave a goose but also-- I just really love cupcakes. as ava would say, I INFINITY love them. which just means that I love them a lot and I love them for forever and ever.

(madness, this is a little bit for you. go forth and bring the magic of your cupcakes into the world, my friend)

more thursday loves here.

leg rodeo rocks

my world is spinning at an alarming rate of speed. I wish I could talk about what's causing all the spinning but I can't. I really can't. what I need is a break from all the spinning. so I am going to tell you six things about me that are relatively unknown. making lists relaxes me but also, the lovely 62cherry wanted to know. I'm hoping that if I take the time to slow down, think about these things and write them down, then maybe the head-spinning will slow to something more manageable. at this point, I'd settle for a relaxed swivel.

so:

1. I mentally redecorate every house I walk into. even if it's perfect. even if I like it just the way it is. and when I'm telling you I like it, I'm also dreaming up new colors to paint your walls. like buttercup yellow. or water pitcher green. or tangerine dream orange. or whatever.

2. I am ashamed that I don't know how to sew and desperately want to learn. I dream of making wildy colorful patchwork dresses for ava and fantastic purses and a-line skirts for myself.

3. I used to think mimes were cool.

4. I have forbidden myself to visit web MD. too many vague symptoms listed that I may (or may not) seem to have, which of course leads to further fevered exploration. in five short minutes, I am convinced I am suffering from any number of diseases. days and nights are spent worrying, eyes wide open, blankets pulled up to the chin. and then the worrying makes me so sick that I can't tell where it begins or ends. people, I haven't always been like this. something happened when I became a mother and hit my thirties. all I can say is that I am making a concerted effort to mellow out. until then-- no web md, no leisurely trips down the medical aisle at the book store. seriously, I'm not even going to link to web md. and everyone knows I am as link-happy as they come.

5. from 2001 to 2005, I had a booth space in a local antique shop where I sold old travel memorabilia, mid-century lovelies and other vintage goodies. and I loved doing it. absolutely loved it.

6. I am really good at 'leg rodeo'. which is when somebody tries to hold onto your legs while you kick them like crazy all over the place. the object of the game is to make the person lose grip of your legs in the shortest amount of time possible. this is a game that only siblings could come up with, yes? both brothers refuse to believe they can be thrown across the room by me and my freakishly strong gams, but I always win. EVERY TIME. I am unbeatable. a skill like this is bound to come in handy at some point in life. I'd be willing to put money on that.

I'm supposed to tag five people but I've never been really good at that. and I think maybe I was only supposed to list five things instead of six. hard to pay attention to specifics when your head is spinning out of control.

also, I miss summer.

photobooth friday

my dad (on the right) and his college pal rowdy, milwaukee, 1966

I can't tell the story like my dad. I'm not even going to try. he's the one you want sitting at your dinner table on a friday night. really-- get him going and it's better than what's playing at the local cineplex. I swear. and cheaper, too.

the particulars: one traveling college baseball team and the fine city of milwaukee. a snowed-out double header and a double breasted suit in midnight blue. the song 'hold on' by sam and dave had just come out and the guys, they were so happy. happy that they didn't have to play that double header, thrilled to death that they had the weekend all to themselves. there were nightclubs and I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that there were also pretty girls. of course, the double-breasted suit (in midnight blue) was worn. he doesn't remember the photobooth so much as he remembers the weekend. I love to hear him talk about it.

lucky for me, one frame survived. look at my dad, just look at him.


more to look at, more more more:

jek in the box
acumamakiki
jördis
mati rose
matt!?
bobby s
maraid design

photobooth friday

one year later and I still love photobooths. and yes, I still love me some fridays. I think the two have gotten along quite nicely together. sure, they aren't exactly the hot new couple on campus anymore or anything, but they're still cute together. more in the vein of classic-- a la peanut butter and chocolate.

thanks to all y'all for participating, for showing photobooth friday love. when I first started this gig, I thought I'd be sailing alone. I had absolutely no idea anyone else would be interested. and then you all came along with your fantastic photobooth strips and your lovely words and stories and your fridays. if it were possible, I would rent a photobooth and throw a big slumber party in your honor. we would watch scary movies and eat yummy stuff and jump into the booth whenever we felt like it. also, I would make my brother work the turntables so we could dance until we pass out. he owes me one. and don't think for one minute that I am not the kind of girl that wouldn't put aquafresh toothepaste in your hair and paint the words 'photobooth freak' in bright red lipstick all over your face while you are sleeping BECAUSE I WOULD. and then I'd wake you up and make you get inside the photobooth so we would always remember.

keep on keepin on, photobooth friday revolutionaries. if this joint is still cooking 52 weeks from now, well then we had better get our slumber party on. got to start saving my money now, yo. until then, get thee on over to flickr to join the new photobooth friday group. why it's taken me so long to start one up, I'll never know.

and take a lookie at who showed up today:

scrumdillydilly
brina head
the whole self
acumamakiki
a.stray
leSophie

thursday love

about a year ago, I participated in my first postcard swap. initially, I was all giggly and excited about it. but then I did that thing where I wait until the very last minute to get started. when that happens, the thing that I have put off doing becomes more like work and less like fun.

all my supplies were neatly laid out on the dining room table, right next to the list of names I'd be sending postcards to. I walked past those supplies several times a day-- folded clothes around them, spilled milk from my cereal on them, fought tooth and nail to keep them safe from grubby little hands. still, they went untouched. and worse, they began to mock me.

when I could stand it no longer, I made my first postcard. while the kids were asleep, I spread everything out on the living room floor and got to work. my name was at stake, people. and I really dug christina (the woman who organized the swap and invited me to take part) and couldn't have her thinking less of me. wouldn't you know? once I got going, I couldn't stop. a kind of euphoria set in-- like when you get lost in a project and you lose all sense of time and place. you don't want to stop to eat or sleep, you don't care about the monumental mess you're making. in fact, the bigger the mess, the better. my kindergarten self came bubbling to the surface and I found out she's pretty tired of being all pushed down and smothered by the grown-up self.



then it came time to mail them off. I'll tell you-- I had a difficult time letting them go. my hand would not release that thick stack of postcards, I was physically unable to drop them into the mailbox. all those little miniature pieces of art that I'd spent so much time on, all of them helplessly out there in the hands of any given postal worker? I hadn't thought about that part. they might be subject to rain. or greasy hands. or worse. they might very well be put in a situation where unnecessary manhandling would be involved. why didn't I put them in envelopes? although, wouldn't that have defeated the whole purpose of sending out postcards? oh, the vulnerability! too much. finally, the guy in the car behind me honked extra loud and rude-like and I came to my senses, reluctantly tossed them into the slot and drove away.

as I turned onto dekalb avenue, I thought about all the different places they would be going-- texas, vermont, california, oregon, arkansas, washington, tennessee, maryland, canada, japan. so terribly exciting to be sending them out into the world like that. I remembered the time in fourth grade when we each attached our names and our school address to balloons. on a sunny afternoon (and in dramatic ceremonial fashion), we let them go. so many red balloons floating away, bright like tulips against the turquoise of the sky, strings trailing and spiraling. I remember the humble little white squares of paper that held our neatly printed names, I remember the way they flapped in the wind. I will never forget the sight of it. the idea behind the project was that maybe somebody somewhere would find your balloon and write to you. I never received a letter but that didn't really matter. the real joy was in the moment I decided to open my hand and let the balloon go. the real fun was in the possibility it represented and what it felt like to intentionally put something good out into the world. where would it go? how far would it travel? who would find it? what would they think? I remember watching my red balloon grow smaller and smaller, I watched until it completely disappeared from sight and I wondered about it and I felt good.



so I've decided I have mad love for postcard swaps. even though I've only done one. I've just signed up for another and am planning on organizing one of my own. if you care to join in, leave something in the comments or email me. details will be decided in the coming weeks. or we could all get together and release red balloons into the sky. I'm open, you know.

(more thursday love aka TILT here)