you ride the wave

it washes over you while you are standing in the christmas aisle at target. while you are looking at little cardboard christmas houses that light up. you are not even thinking about it. and then you are. around you, people are buying string lights and pillow cases and giant bags of cat food. you are pushing your plastic red cart down crowded aisles and then you are crying. in public. you are crying in public. you never cry in public.

it sneaks up on you while you are reading a book to your eight year-old son. bam. there it is. you struggle to read the words, to finish even one sentence. you are too tired to tell him why but you tell him anyway because you can't hide it forever. you finish the chapter, climb out of his bed into your own and fall into a deep, boneless sleep. if you could, you'd sleep forever.

it knocks the wind out of you while you are driving. when the sun is shining and the radio is on and your mind is in seventeen different places. you grip the wheel and ride the wave. you want to pull over but you don't. you roll down the window instead. and you ride the wave.

this is grief.

for a second, I forgot where I was

we drove to the coast and she let me talk and talk and talk until I couldn't anymore. then we ran to the ocean, head first into ridiculous rain and wind. also, there was food. and shopping. the end.

this is the thinking

if I am all about images and one liners and quotations here then I am probably off having a little adventure. or trying to.

happy friday

I love friday. and saturday and sunday. but mostly, friday.

exactly

"I start in the middle of a sentence and move both directions at once." -john coltrane

lost san francisco, part two

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as promised, part two. thing is, I've been to san francisco many many times since The Great October Trip of 2010. so, you know. more lost polaroids and all that. but I'll get to it, I will. one of these days. 

one: ward, ezra, newly purchased lucha libre masks. two: the mission. three, four: alemany farmers market. five: victoria's kitchen. six: where ezra took one bite of his burrito and immediately proclaimed his love for the city of san francisco. seven, eight: community thrift, valencia street. nine: the way back home. 

lost san francisco, part one

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hard to believe it's been two years since that first solo show of mine in the mission. since that time we packed the car up, took the kids out of school for a week and headed south to san francisco for opening night. well, and a few other adventures along the way. harder still to believe: I've been sitting on these polaroids for two years now. actually, I've been sitting on a whole world of polaroids. I don't know, people. sometimes things just get lost.

one: a ten year-old ava and the golden gate bridge. two: seen on victoria's street. three: that guy of mine in the middle of magic muir woods. four: leslie and salted caramel ice cream. five: bi-rite in the mission. six: me, victoria's bathroom. seven:  yep, victoria's sweet stove. eight: cutest little launderette you ever did see. nine: lovely leslie and the golden gate bridge. and the cape. my goodness THE CAPE.

well, that didn't take long

five short days in to this nablopomo thing and dangit if I haven't already missed a day. I'm telling you, I do this every. single. year. am nothing if not predictable. blaming it on election day stress. get out there and vote, people. meanwhile, I shall pull together a proper set of words and images. and it shall be epic and it shall make up for the sins of yesterday.

sunday night

and the house is quiet. am thinking about the week ahead. banana bread, book club, mail-in ballot. undeveloped rolls of film, unpaid bills, new shower curtain. I can't help it, I think in lists. at some point this week, I will: complain about laundry. fall asleep with the lights on. cry about my mom.

it'd be so much easier to just share photographs here. just photographs, all the time. but words are important. even when I can't seem to find the right ones.

trying

always trying. always, always.

the summer of

it was the summer ezra learned to ride his bike. the summer of the daisy, the strawberry, the raspberry. the popsicle, the sno-cone, the cherry-dipped ice cream cone. the summer of epic train trips and legendary downtown fountains. of heated games of croquet and kickball, of leaps over lawn sprinklers and lightning bugs in glass jars. it was the summer of the broken hammock, the broken hearted, the almost yard sale. of day camp and sleep away camp, of endless sleepovers and BFFs. the summer of turquoise nail polish, neon anything and mustaches on everything. the summer ava and I took our first big trip together, the summer we walked across the golden gate bridge. the summer of eight, the summer of twelve. the last summer I spent with my mom, the summer of goodbye. 

it was the summer of love.

hello november

hello nablopomo, hello national blog posting month. hello yearly ritual in which I try to post something everyday for one month. I do not usually succeed but I do love the trying.

list forty-three: small things

or, not so small things. getting me through:

1. leaves the color of butterscotch

2. trees that seem to glow

3. the constructing of halloween costumes

4. the holding of the sweetest of babies

5. home-cooked meals from the sweetest of friends

6. stevie wonder records on repeat

7. dark movie theatres

8. daily texts from my dad

9. time in the land of sunshine

10. unexpected packages from friends (filled with thoughtful things that make me cry)

11. rolls of bright-colored crepe paper

12. postcards in my mailbox nearly everyday

13. the shopping for outfits for middle school dances

14. the shooting of many, many polaroids

15. the riding of bikes down tree-lined streets

16. her sterling silver dogwood ring on my finger

17. the last of the pink cosmos

18. ezra's spectacular laugh

19. apple caramel anything

thank you

thank you for the kind words, friends. for all the comments you've left, the emails and texts and cards you've sent. thank you. 

I can think of no better way to repay your many kindnesses than to share a little bit of her with you here. a video tribute put together by me and my brother in those furiously blurry few days before we laid her to rest. a barrage of old photographs and old home movie footage but so much more. so, so much more. her life, her light. my beautiful, amazing mom.

this is a picture I did not take

friends, I lost my mom. a few weeks ago, I lost my best friend. and I know she has a brand new body now, I know she's free from all pain and suffering but I am heartbroken.

this is a picture I did not take:

of us gathered around her bed early, early morning. my dad, my two brothers, holding hands, holding her hands, telling her how much we loved her as she took her last breath.

of the way the light looked in her room that morning, the way it flung itself in slanted shapes across the wall opposite her bed.

of the way the sky turned pink the day we laid her to rest. spectacularly, gloriously pink for just a few short minutes, just before dark. indeed, pink was her color.

what's strange is the way the world just keeps spinning. how everyday is still everyday. kids still need to be fed, laundry still needs to be done, bills still need to be paid. I have jumped right back in because what else can I do? I will tell you, there are moments when the reality hits me and the weight of it nearly brings me to my knees. it's like no pain I have ever, ever known.

friends, I miss my mom.