come on and sing it with me

there are graffiti pieces hidden all over the city. like easter eggs, just waiting to be found.

everyday, I find myself making the same drive down the long industrial stretch of dekalb avenue. I have become a loyal traveler of dekalb, much as I detest the grind of my daily route. this is because dekalb never disappoints. decaying old signs, impromptu gardens, bits of street art, marta trains that races alongside and up above. no shortage of visual gems. and my favorite-- the self serve car wash, whose humble concrete walls once held bursts of color (courtesy of hense, one of atlanta's most prolific graff writers). my heart sank when I discovered it had all been painted over. I looked for it each day as I zoomed by. I loved the idea that you could pull in, blast the dirt off your car and get an eyeful of color. all for a handful of quarters.

(I have a special place in my heart for graffiti writers. I am married to the one they call canon)

getting me through the day

car wash graffiti, fresh lemons in my kitchen, ezra's toothy grin, the sunflowers on dekalb avenue, my turquoise necklace, a good sweat, the fountain at fellini's, ava's elaborate drawings/paintings/stories, my bright pink adidas (I never wear them but love to sit around and look at them), flickr, goat cheese, jack black, the large metal winged foot that hangs above our fireplace, orange fingernail polish, the new david sedaris book, the promise of a road trip, the promise of a dance class, the promise of a trip to the thrift store, the promise of a trip to the movie theatre, the promise of a foot rub, homemade cherry sno-cones in the middle of the afternoon for no reason, my brown leather wrist cuff, mos def's music, big mouth lip gloss, juicy chunks of watermelon, ava's gangster-speak, new crayons, singing HEY MAMBO! MAMBO ITALIANO! at the top of my lungs (and scaring the pants off of everyone in the house), silly straws, the moment ward walks through the door at the end of the day.

what's doing it for you?

redesigning my backspin

hey, that's me on the right in the yellow shirt. ron brown's class, american dance festival, 1998.

there was a period in my life when I lived in baggy sweats, cut-up leotards and a pair of deliciously decayed shelltoe adidas. my world was about movement, about teaching, about kids (not my own). my nights were filled with classes and rehearsals. I devoted large chunks of time to developing original curriculum, seeking out fresh music and researching the importance of arts in education. I remember feeling like I would exist this way forever and could imagine no other way of living. and now here I am, in a completely different place.

and this is a good place to be, it's a great place. but there are times when it feels slightly foreign to me and I experience a sort of achiness thinking about my old self. I'm fairly certain she still exists, it's just a little more of a challenge to find her these days. a while back, I wrote about my quest to pick up where I left off. it has been one steep hill, people. I feel as if the world that I worked so hard to create is passing me by. this past weekend, I happened to pick up a weekly arts/happenings guide only to discover that a dance company that I have been waiting for EIGHT YEARS to see here in atlanta had come and gone. I am sick to my stomach over this gross oversight on my part. folks, I AM SLIPPING. normally, I am aware of any and all upcoming performances way in advance. ronald k. brown/evidence is a phenomenal company out of brooklyn that I first happened upon in 1997 at the american dance festival. on a whim, I snuck into his class the first week of the festival. ninety minutes and a couple of buckets of sweat later, I was hooked and continued to slip into his class each afternoon (and I have mad love for mr. brown for pretending not to notice my sad little charade). then I saw the company perform and I'm here to tell you: that is some moving and dancing that will make you want to lay down and cry like a happy little baby. ever since that summer, I have been whining and complaining about the dance scene here in atlanta, wondering what it would take to bring a great company like this to the ATL. where are all the fresh, new modern companies? (yeah, I know exactly where they are and it's not here). I'm so sick of the atlanta stinking ballet. there is such a world of goodness and art and movement out there. I am tired of having to pick up the village voice at the bookstore just to keep up on the latest companies/performances. but I digress. my point is that I missed out on seeing ron brown, something that would've refueled me for days, for months, FOR YEARS in the juiciest, lovliest ways. thing is, I was wrapped up in ava's big birthday party. I don't regret this (not by any means), this time spent organizing and throwing her the big fifth birthday bash (I admit, I went overboard again and will be writing about it soon). I'm just unsure of how my two worlds will merge, if they will merge at all.

this fall, I will begin to teach for moving in the spirit again. neither my mind or body is even close to being ready, though I think just by writing this, I am taking some sort of step in the right direction.

birthday girl

for the past five years, that girl of mine has turned my world upside down in the most wonderful ways. today, we are celebrating. and I am celebrating her life in my own little way... click here for a little looky at all my favorite photos of ava taken this past year.

happy birthday, sweet girl.

I'm fixated

more scraps from the rolls of old wrapping paper recovered from auntie's basement. I'm sorry. I can't stop.

princess of coolness

ava gets lost in her pollies. she creates elaborate worlds with the tiny polly pocket dolls and all their microscopic accessories. actually, she will use anything that is in keeping with her vision of a pollynation... any little thing (marbles, rocks, straws, happy meal toys) that will further enhance the story of what she calls a 'set-up'. these elaborate scenes usually start out with a couple of items and then grow into expansive and highly detailed sets, with all sorts of goodies precariously balanced and placed carefully and intentionally. last night, we asked her about her latest masterpiece.

"so, what's the story on this one?"

"well, this girl here at the top is the princess of coolness and she is the one who will help to make all the other ones cool."

"oh... wow."

and I wanted her to explain what she meant. as in, what is your definition of coolness, li'l girl? should mommy be concerned? should mommy worry that this may be the beginning of a neverending pursuit rooted in everything that is wrong with our empty, image-obsessed society? but we never got that far and I don't really think that. it was bedtime and we were all tired and just beginning the long, long process of putting the kids down. as she was jumping into bed, she made this dramatic declaration:

"mommy, please don't touch this set-up because in the morning I have A LOT OF WORK TO DO."

you and me both, kid.

flower power

my great aunt louraine saved everything. rolls and rolls of these vintage wrapping papers (circa 1960s? 1970s?) were found in her basement last week and I fell in love with them. there were also polka dots, butterflies and tripped-out bridal shower and birthday patterns. I think that we are going to be very happy together, me and my new papers.

free flow

last week, you could find me in a small town in illinois. I packed up the bambinos and spent a week at grandma and grandpa's house (while freedom-boy ward feasted on brown sugar pop-tarts, attended numerous midnight movies, slept peacefully through the night and ran recklessly through the house in his most rancid and ragged boxers, yelling YEEHAW). I could write for days about so many little adventures and have been stuck for several minutes now over the very thought. I want the words to flow effortlessly and form lyrically descriptive sentences that speak of cornfields and peaceful small-town nights, but I am so tired. and what is coming from my mind is this: it was good. it was not always easy, but it was good.

ava spent hours playing with my old barbie dolls (cher with her hair whacked off and the lovely and decaying farrah fawcett). she has been talking about this trip, salivating over these barbies for weeks and weeks. and when it came time to pack up and come back home, she did not want to go. who could blame her? we visited mema's best friend out in the country where we saw the most beautiful horses. infinite cornfields and aging red barns, it all really does exist. and yes, there was fresh air to be taken into the lungs.

the fabulous grandma that my mom is, she had cookies with pink icing and lucky charms cereal on hand. she read many, MANY books, dragged out countless old toys and helped ava to set up the mother of all barbie homes. we had a delightful time catching lightening bugs in the front yard to take with us at bedtime. and she stayed with the munchkins while I visited my favorite local thrift store (best find: little black vintage clutch for a dime. THAT'S TEN PENNIES, PEOPLE). she tirelessly followed ezra up and down the stairs while I grabbed moments of alone time in the cosmetics section of wal-mart. so many little acts of kindness, mom. too many to name. thank you.

ezra drove me a little nuts. actually, he drove me to a place of craziness inside myself that I have not visited in awhile. he was into everything and going full-speed at 73,000 m.p.h ALL THE TIME. the nights were the worst and I have not experienced such sleep deprivation since the first days he was born. I was jarred from sleep several times each night and often found myself standing and holding him at four in the morning. sitting/reclining in any way was not acceptable and often met with high-pitched screams and full-body protests. only when I was standing perfectly still did his little body relax into sleep. this is such a torturous thing to do when you're in that drunken half-asleep state that is usually so delicious. too tired to cry, I felt it necessary to devour as many little cupcakes as possible while watching the magic bullet infomercial in the dark. I've decided that everyone should own a magic bullet. and if you have to ask what the magic bullet is, then you are missing out on a world of goodness.

the ez had his moments, though. they were so ridiculously sweet that all the dark hours I spent in sleepless frustration must be forgiven. on one of our nightly walks in the neighborhood, he learned that if he held the pinwheel up in the air, the wind would make it spin. his little squeals of glee upon this discovery were almost more than I could take. we continued to walk through the quiet, my cheeks wet with tears. everything sounds different in a small town. I can say this because I grew up in a very small southern illinois town. it really is quiet, there really are the sounds of crickets. and people sit out on their front porches.

every moment seemed so full of some sort of something going on, something always happening. I'm having difficulty believing it all went down in the course of seven days. there was a lovely lunch with my best friend, such a rare luxury that I could cry just thinking about it. there was a visit with my great aunt louraine, one of the most fantastic women I have known in my lifetime. there was the momentous occasion of ava placing the stamps on her birthday party invitations and then the big walk across the street to the post office where she dramatically mailed them herself. there was ezra imitating mema and papa's dogs barking, learning to say 'thank you' and feeding himself (and everyone around him) ice cream for the first time. I never got tired of the sight of the old downtown movie theatre marquee lighting up each night. and my dad and ezra-- they were amazing together.

there's so much more. there was a trip to ryan's buffet that needs to be addressed, the discovery of some splendid vintage gift wrap (courtesy of my great aunt lo-lo) and my inability to allow ward to guiltlessly experience a little bit of freedom. oh, there's so much more but I'm feeling the need to stop here and possibly do some sleeping. it was good. it was greatness.

books are the shizz

the lovely lora tagged me with this meme some time ago and I've been meaning to get to it because well, I like books. hard-core book worm, and proud of it. here goes.

total books owned, ever:
couldn't even begin to guess which roughly translates into TOO MANY. I have a particular weakness for books-- books on dance, art, quirky children's books, novels. the number probably lies somewhere in the hundreds. I try to do my fair share of trading and passing the goods along but tend to hang onto the classics and my favorites because I have been known to read books over and over (and over) again.

last book I bought:
bizarre and ornamental alphabets edited by carol belanger grafton. I have a thing for typography.

last book I read:
the red tent by anita diamant. I did not expect to like this but found myself completely sucked in. did not even want to get out of bed as it might have required me doing something that didn't involve the reading of this book.

currently reading:
middlesex by jeffrey eugenides (almost finished)
the creative habit by twyla tharp (just beginning)
messy thrilling life by sabrina ward harrison (mainly digging the art work)
I always seem to be reading two or three books at once. I don't know why I do this to myself. it's just nutty.

five books that mean a lot to me:
a tree grows in brooklyn by betty smith. most people read this in high school, but I didn't discover it until age 23. I could read the part about the little flower in the golden-brown pottery jug a million times over. I have read this book seven times.

maria tallchief by tobi tobias. I blew my entire two dollar budget on this little paperback at the book fair in second grade. it tells the true story of a girl (maria tallchief, duh) who leaves her family on the indian reservation to become a famous dancer. the fiery orange cover, the drawings of her leaping through the air-- I spent hours studying every detail, made my mom and dad read it to me as many times as they could stand it. shortly after the purchase of this book, I began to beg for dance classes. today, I keep it in an old suitcase filled with my most special things as it marks the beginning of my serious interest in dance. can't wait to read it to ava and ezra someday.

slaves of new york by tama janowitz. total escape whenever I need it, I never get tired of it, it's always there for me. so funny and weird and yes, I have read it more than once. I think that I have read it eleven times.

to kill a mockingbird by harper lee. boo radley, man. YOU CAN'T GO WRONG HERE.

the bible. this is where I go for calm and strength, my foundation. it needs to be more a part of my life and I am working on that.

honorable mentions:
charlie and the chocolate factory, the lion, the witch and the wardrobe, white oleander and me talk pretty one day. all books that blew me away. all books that have been read several times over.

as for tagging five people, well... I'm breaking with convention. consider yourself tagged, folks. tell me all about your favorite books. I'm just begging for an excuse to drag the bambinos to the library or the book store. because I so obviously need MORE BOOKS.

so much to see

"the real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes." -marcel proust

(and the living is easy)

today is the first day of summer. though it began for me last week when I spotted the soft flicker of the lightening bugs in our front yard just as it was starting to get dark. something happens to me when I see the first of the lightening bugs. I get all silly and giddy-like inside because I know summer is coming and I LOVE SUMMER. this is my favorite time of year. oh, summer. I forgive your steamy, stifling heat and relentless swarms of mosquitoes because you are summer and I love you.

so I saw the lightening bugs and grabbed ava from inside the house and we spent fifteen minutes chasing after them. the scent of honeysuckle was in the air (another telltale sign of the season) and I felt the corners of my mouth turn upward, could not stop the dorky grin from spreading across my face. I started to think about why I get so crazy over this time of year and my mind went in a thousand different directions. my summers have always been so unapologetically full of the most fantastic things. adventures and travels, life-changing events. all of the very best things of my life have taken place during the summertime. summer of 1985-- met nancy (my best friend in the whole wide world) at church camp. summer of 1989-- traveled and performed all over japan. summer of 1990-- met and fell madly in love with artboy ward (am resisting the urge to share deliciously steamy details here). summer of 1994-- married the love of my life. summers 1997 and 1998-- attended the american dance festival at duke university in north carolina where I spent seven hours a day studying dance and watching the best modern dance companies in the world perform (each morning began outside with african dance class, always with live drumming. these summers will forever be marked by my complete immersion in dance. it was like a dream and I loved every second of it. truly, the best times of my life). summers 2000 and 2004-- my babies were born, those beautiful persons that I thank God for every single day (even when they are making me crazy), that ava and that ezra.

historically, summers have been a good time for me-- really, a very good time.

and if all those spectacular things had not happened to me? I would like to believe that I'd still be crazy about summertime. because the strawberries? the peaches, the watermelons and the blueberries? it feels good to let the juices run down your chin. there are flowers and gardens everywhere-- daisies, cosmos and black-eyed susans to be seen! right now, there is a lavender hydrangea bush in our front yard with blooms as big as ezra's head. how can you not love that? soon, I will clip some to bring inside and the sight of them (in the midst of the everyday dirt and clutter) will make me very happy. and there are drive-in movies, cherry-flavored snow cones, yard sales (for DAYS), reasons to paint toes bright pink, impromptu road trips, swimming pools and family barbecues. I also relish the ritual shedding of the many, many layers of clothing. to wake up in the morning and throw on a fresh cotton tank top and flimsy skirt, slip on my favorite red flip flops... 'tis a joyful thing, my friends. if skin could squeal with glee, it would.

summer screams liberation and possibility. I sincerely believe that I am hard-wired to see the season through these eyes. a good deal of my childhood was spent waiting for the moment the bell would ring on the last day of school-- it was the beginning of freedom. growing up, my summers were all about exploring, creating and reading, swimming and playing, getting dirty. weeks were spent at my grandma and grandpa's house, church camp, family vacation. days and days where all you had to worry about was how you were going to spend your days. and then I was a teenager, and summer was suddenly all about boys, tans and weekends. I am remembering how my friends and I used to slather ourselves with baby oil and iodine and layout on foil mats (WHAT WERE WE THINKING) and don't you know that someone's jambox (yes, jambox) was playing prince or the cure or some such eighties tunage. see, I can't turn off that part of my brain that identifies summer with freedom and fun. well, I refuse to. summers as an adult aren't nearly as carefree now but I like to pretend that they are.


a couple of years ago when we were living in our old house on montgomery street, we took ava out for one of our night time walks. we were looking up at the moon with her when we noticed something else-- the trees surrounding our house seemed to be twinkling. it took us a couple of moments before we realized that the trees were actually filled with hundreds and hundreds of lightening bugs. we stood in silence, completely dumbstruck by the sight. it was so strange, so beautiful. it was as close to magic as it gets.

this is summer.

daddy-o

I like to think I'm the luckiest woman in the world. this man is the most amazing father, the most fantastic husband. I hit the proverbial jackpot and am attempting to share a little of the wealth here. this has to be one of my all-time favorite snaps of ward and ava.

my dad

you are larger than life. sparkling eyes and infectious smile, you win everyone over. you are so many things to me, words aren't enough. though I have to take a shot with the words. I am nowhere near the extraordinary storyteller you are but I have to try.

what is it about you? kids are drawn to you like bees to honey. I believe they call that charisma. I am remembering how our house became the center of the neighborhood most summertime evenings, right around dusk. somehow, you found the time to play monster with us and our neighborhood buddies. this variation of hide and seek (your original, of course) still has us talking about it 25 years later. and your bike rides: legendary events that included the leading of a gaggle of kids down the main drag of our small southern illinois town. and you, you always took the leftover bike. the saddest-looking most ridiculous bike. you never cared how dorky you looked, that your knees scraped the handlebars. your actions taught me more about humility than you'll ever know. without saying a word, you spoke volumes about the importance of putting others first. this moved me in deep and profound ways, it did. years later and it still does something to me.

you are so much fun. really. ridiculously skilled at transforming the ordinary into something thrilling. my childhood is filled with memories of backyard escapades, trips to the park, the movies, evening drives in the blue bambino, top down (always). back in the day, kids could hang out all over the back seat of a car. we let the wind hit our faces as we struggled to finish rapidly-melting dairy queen dilly bars. you sang along to whatever was playing on the radio, your strong hand rythmically pounding the steering wheel. you were always game to sing louder, sillier, to go down the slide one more time, happy to play longer, stay longer.

I grew up watching you move up and down the basketball court like gene kelly in converse hightops. a little rougher around the edges but just as graceful. you moved with such force, such power. I wanted to move like that. fitting that you were the one who taught me how to dance. I remember the spinning and the whipping around, elton john playing on the mammoth-sized brown stereo, shag carpet soft beneath our feet. my love for movement is rooted in this.

your genuine love for the game, for coaching, for teaching, for kids, for life humbles me, inspires me. and your love for God was (is) giant-sized and real. you had a soft spot for the kids nobody liked. the awkward, uncool ones who got dumped on daily. you had the most spectacular way of making them feel important, like they mattered. you made them feel loved. over the years, our family became acquainted with so many outcasts, so many oddball (though mostly lovable) characters. I paid close attention, dad. I will forever carry with me what it means to be compassionate. it's rarely convenient or popular but always, always worth it. people are always worth it. this is one of the reasons why I became a teacher.

you were there to give me the push I needed, just when I needed it. I am remembering the morning we drove downtown. I am remembering how nervous I was. I knew I was going to puke, I just knew it. it was as if I'd been chewing on cotton balls. and I begged you to turn the car around and go back but you gently refused. had it not been for your steady encouragement, I would never have auditioned for the school for creative and performing arts, would never have had the experience of studying dance and art at such a young age. your voice has always been present, telling me to be brave, supplying me with just the right amount of strength and calm.

now your voice is my voice and I hear it when I'm teaching, when I'm excited to share something with my students. I hear it when I'm teaching ava how to jump rope or turn cartwheels. I see you reflected in the way that I move. your smile is my smile. I feel your strength in my arms as I hold ezra, hear your voice as I tell ava we can go down the slide one more time.

happy father's day, dad. I am the luckiest girl in the world. truly.

40-foot ceilings

rudi has been cutting my hair for nine years. I sit myself down in the black vinyl chair and she works her magic while we talktalktalk. she speaks freely about her life and the usual salon drama in a choppy staccato I find hard to resist. awhile back, we were discussing her big move into an old high school that had been converted into loft spaces. I was delighted to hear that many of the original fixtures of the school had been put to creative use. some of the living spaces had the wall-sized original chalkboards and red metal lockers. rudi, however, had taken up residence in the space that used to be the gymnasium. she excitedly told me about how her floors still had the painted lines from the basketball court and because it had once been an old gym, it had a wonderfully open and spacious feeling to it. her words fluttered around me and I felt my envy and fascination grow to epic proportions. I was already attempting to decorate the space in my mind. I wondered what that might be like, transforming part of an old high school gymnasium into a personable, livable space. so I asked her about it and she abruptly stopped her snipping and looked at me.

"hello, hi. FORTY-FOOT CEILINGS."

she continued on with her sharp little scissors and started in on a different topic.

and I've always thought, yes. yes, that kind of sums up certain life situations. as in, hey lady on the street, you really think you can pull off those bright orange hot pants? hello, hi. FORTY-FOOT CEILINGS. as in, you really think you can fit your car into that parking space, homie? hello, hi. FORTY-FOOT CEILINGS. as in, you think we can keep this house in a less-than-disastrous condition for more than three seconds? HELLO, HI. FORTY-FOOT CEILINGS.

party on

one of the many perks of motherhood: witnessing your baby turn one.

I always get a little nutty over the kids' birthdays. when I was six, I became obsessed with a book on childrens' parties and spent hours looking at all the pages devoted to games, favors, decorations and cakes. this (coupled with the fact that my mom always made a big deal out of our birthdays) may be why I get that crazy look in my eyes after I've brought home the goods from our local 'party city'. I truly love doing the party thing, but often bite off a little more than I can chew. like the time I promised ava a big under-the-sea party (complete with elaborate mermaid-shaped cake) after ezra had just been born. the cake alone, man. it needs to be seen to be BELIEVED. I must have been magically fueled by some wacko post-partum hormones. I thought I was going to cry when I cut into that mermaid cake, it had been such a labor of love.

there is only one 'first'... there is only one 'first'... this was the mantra repeated in my birthday-obsessed mind at three in the morning as I sat on the living room floor in a pile of wrapping paper and cut-out stars. earlier that evening (and by earlier, I mean one a.m.) as I was getting ready to bake the cake, I discovered that I was missing a beater. how could this have happened? where could it possibly be? then I vaguely recalled giving it to ezra one afternoon to play with (out of wild desperation, no doubt) and I remembered thinking that I was eventually going to need that thing and would be so mad at myself for not putting it back in its' rightful place. I was certainly right about that (and we will find that lonely little beater someday in some odd place and I'm sure I will have a nice little laugh). I set about mixing the cake by hand with the remaining beater (you better believe I yanked ward away from the computer to do the same, too) and I worked myself up into quite a little stirring frenzy, a sort of rapid full-body cake-mixing jig, if you will. I'll admit, I went a little nuts. but the mantra (there is only one 'first'... there is only one 'first') was beginning to take on a life of its own, common sense nowhere to be found.



of course, it was all worth it. a million times over, it's always worth it. watching ezra smile and grab at what seemed like thousands of streamers and stars that I climbed up and down the ladder to hang. watching his big brown eyes light up at the sight of the balloons, singing 'happy birthday' to him for the very first time, watching him stick his sweet little hand in the blue icing of the cake I had so much fun decorating, getting his first taste of that sticky, sugary loveliness. witnessing him squish the cake between his fingers and smear it all over his face... nothing quite like it, really.

happy first birthday, kid. we did it up right.



click here to witness more birthday love.