70 things in 2,669 days

(or, before I turn 49)

1. fill a room with balloons
2. swim in turquoise waters
3. shoot with the yashica
4. spend the night in a yurt
5. finish the patchwork wall
6. cross the canadian border
7. develop the box full of film
8. walk across seventy bridges
9. fly down seventy slides
10. label the backs of the polaroids
11. label the backs of the photobooth strips
12. own a pink ukelele (done)
13. learn to rewire a lamp
14. take the train down to los angeles (or, up to new york)
15. rifle through tables of junk at the world's largest fleamarket
16. wear the fellini dress
17. attend a photobooth convention
18. spend the night in a trailer
19. stand at the top of the falls
20. celebrate twenty years of marriage
21. bake a lemon meringue pie
22. visit that one mountain
23. decorate the old bike
24. send the thank you notes
25. finish the q&a book
26. learn more italian
27. pull off an elaborate april fools joke
28. make (and wear) a crown of daisies
29. write about the charm bracelets
30. plant the tulip bulbs
31. hang the souvenir plates
32. take ava and ezra to chicago
33. take ava and ezra to new york
34. archive the old family photographs
35. walk the east bank esplanade
36. roller skate with friends
37.
38. take one hundred dance classes
39. make one hundred paper flowers
40. visit the japanese baths
41. spend the night in the pink room
42. shoot polaroids in italy
43. shoot polaroids in france (done, done, done)
44. fill a book with collages
45. take a capoiera class
46. transform the garage
47.
48. visit the world famous giant camera
49. ride a bicycle made for two
50. hit the rose bowl fleamarket
51. finish construction of the site
52. trace the sicilian family line
53. spend the night in a treehouse
54. perfect the lemonade recipe
55. ride the santa cruz sky candy (done)
56. throw a backyard party
57.
58. write one sentence everyday for a year
59. have a show here in atlanta
60. resurrect the hammock
61. revisit the underwater camera
62. visit paradise gardens
63. develop the secret workshop
64. finish the book of polaroid portraits
65. make a little zine
66. get a little ink
67.
68. ride the rooftop ferris wheel
69. spend the night in a teepee
70. run willy nilly into the cold, cold ocean

(numbers 37, 47, 57 and 67 have intentionally been left blank and with good reason-- eight years is a long time) (left room for the unexpected)

these days

I have mostly been out in it. summer, that is. there was another train adventure, an unfortunate sunburn, a continued love affair with the city of san francisco, a gaggle of downtown fountains, the picking of wild blackberries, cosmos gone loco in the garden, a broken hammock, a spectacular fleamarket, an ocean of lemonade. additionally, the sun continues to shine, much to my disbelief. am left with nothing but my unadulterated love for it, my ridiculous plan to stuff drops and bits of it into mason jars to save for the long winter ahead.

twelve

well, twelve rolled around last week. twelve. and the day was met (head on, mind you) with donuts, balloons and downtown adventures. the maudlin me wants to get lost in talk about change. about long, spindly legs and bright eyes. about neon earrings and the sharing of shoes. about first dances, first loves, first everything. the maudlin me could go on for hours like this.

I so clearly remember twelve. plus thirteen, fourteen, fifteen and so on and so forth. but twelve. twelve is at the edge of so much. I know this now. I can see it and I can see her, perched right there at the edge. all I really can do is hold her hand (if she'll let me, less and less she lets me) and see her through to the other side of things. which is where? college? adulthood? wherever it is, all I can do is see her through. and I will tell her this when I can and she will roll her eyes sometimes and I'll wince but I'll tell her anyway. because she'll need to hear it. just like I needed to hear it, just like every girl needs to hear it.

oh, twelve.

last call

supper happy 2-for-1 sale over in ye olde etsy shop ends tonight at midnight PST, yo. or whatever your midnight is. just sayin.

instant illinois

so I decided to save that limited edition pack of nigo PX 70 color shade/color frame for something special. something special= summertime in illinois/summertime at my mom and dad's house/summertime with cousins. glad I waited. so so glad.

super happy time

unofficial biannual super happy 2-for-1 summer sale, peoples! buy one print, get one free. buy two, get two. buy three, get three and so on and so forth. aaaaand new prints have been added to le shoppe. you know, for fun. here's how it works: order the print (or prints) you'd like and then, in that handy dandy 'message to the seller' section, specify which print (or prints) you'd like as your freebies. special runs five days only-- today, july 23rd through saturday, july 28th. included in each package: a little extra special summer something. because it's summer. and I think you know how I feel about summer.

list forty-two: things I miss

surely I'm forgetting something:

1. rotary phones
2. lightning bugs
3. first kisses
4. polaroid film
5. new york city
6. dance class
7. my old body
8. sunshine, heat
9. the golden age of hip hop
10. the atlantic ocean
11. the kids as babies
12. fleamarkets with my mom
13. rides in the blue bambino with my dad
14. summers at the american dance festival
15. downtown cincinnati
16. back handsprings
17. slumber parties
18. snail mail
19. lauryn hill
20. fellini's pizza
21. camp with my cousin
22. weeks with great aunt louraine
23. RC cola in aluminum cups
24. tuesday nights at star bar
25. the backyard hammock
26. grandma corrona's bread
27. dancing with friends
28. atlanta, georgia
29. my childhood

the good and the alive

I stumbled onto a graffiti writer in an alleyway once. in that meaty, bright-colored san francisco other world they call the mission. I was careful not to disturb him but I wanted to watch. I wanted to shake all those paint cans, every last one. I wanted to ask questions, wanted to take a hundred photographs but I didn't. I barely managed the polaroid.

I think about that moment a lot. I look at the polaroid and remember everything. the smell of the paint, the sound of the aerosol, the quiet of the alleyway. it's important to me.

there are hard things in my life right now. there are great things too but I need to write about the hard things. I'm just not ready yet. seven years into this space and I'm still defining what it is to me, what it isn't. what I share, what I don't. what I'm saying is that it's easier to share polaroids of ice cream signs and graffiti writers right now. and birthday lists. am working on an epic birthday list because it makes me feel good and alive. and right now, I need the good and the alive.

the one where we all scream

for your monday afternoon, friends. ice cream polaroids I have taken. ice cream cones, ice cream signs, ice cream trucks.

ice cream polaroids= full of win.

from the window of a moving train

portland to chicago! via the empire builder a few weeks ago. two days on the great rail system, forty-eight hours spent looking out the window at a million different things. pretty rad, I tell you. pretty rad.

(somewhere in the great state of washington, along the columbia gorge)

(somewhere in the great state of montana, the great big crazy wide open state of montana)

(sunset in north dakota on the left, sunrise in minnesota on the right)

(the great state of wisconsin, folks)

and then finally, chicago. where we wandered the great hall and wolfed down a few classic chicago style hot dogs before getting on yet another train that took us deeper into the land of lincoln, closer to the town where my folks live. couldn't help but think of last summer, when I dreamt of the sound of cicadas and lightning bugs and thick air.  and now here we are. home.

she's here

the newest of summer clogs and fresh strawberries from our garden. FROM OUR GARDEN. and I yell this because I'm amazed. amazed when anything grows, when things go from seed or tiny plant to full on crazy fantastic abundance. I am always in awe. I went out saturday morning for a handful and just kept finding them, kept picking and picking. and then I brought them inside and they made the whole house smell like summer. then we ate them, of course but not before I sat and stared at them for a while, let them fill the house with that spectacular sun-drenched strawberry smell.

summer, she's here. she's finally here.

photobooth friday (birthday edition)

years one, two and three.

years four, five, six and seven.

and now, year eight.

see? see how long his hair is now? he claims to have a hair hero of sorts at school. a hair mentor, if you will. a boy in sixth grade with sandy brown (stick straight) hair past his shoulders. we think this is hilarious but of course, we never laugh. we speak of the hair mentor with great respect.

year nine, year nine. what will your photobooth strip look like?

eight

purple is his favorite color now. it used to be blue or green but it's purple now. and there are other things. he refuses to cut his hair. there are new freckles-- a generous splatter across the bridge of his nose and these new freckles, they kill me. he's a chess player, a bucket drummer, a lover of kickball. a dawdler, a writer, a voracious eater of avocados. he tests prospective pairs of tennis shoes by sprinting up and down the aisles of target. which ones make me run faster, mama? he will not stop until I've watched him. I mean, until I've really, really watched him. and I do watch but I always just pick the cute ones. all year long, we put off buying new tennis shoes and then the night before field day, there we were. it was decided that the silver and blue ones were the fastest (cutest) and he loved them so much he slept in them that night. I did not fight this. it was late and anyway, I get it. I love shoes that much sometimes too.

he's a tester of boundaries, an asker of questions, a singer of little songs. he's quick to laugh and it sounds like something to me, like something I can't name. like syrup that comes out too fast, like a pop of confetti. he will not step on cracks. this is because he genuinely does not want to break his mother's back. he's diligent about this, he will not listen to reason. this secretly pleases me. not the refusing to listen to reason part but the protective part. mostly, because I can relate. I am fiercely protective of family-- fiercely and sometimes irrationally. (there are stories but those are for another day, another time). his room is a disaster, a battle we will surely fight until the end of our days. we are swimming in legos but I can think of worse things. he's a cloud lover, a nest spotter, a fine assistant in the kitchen. we cracked eggs until he got it right and dang it if his face didn't light up like a christmas tree. cooking together will be our thing, I think.

yesterday, we celebrated eight. with breakfast in bed, star-shaped sandwiches in his lunchbox and donuts (with sprinkles) for classmates. with a trip to the park to play catch, a trip to the photobooth for a solo strip, black bean burritos for dinner and chocolate birthday cake for dessert. presents were ripped into, legos were assembled. the passing of seven was properly mourned and eight was ushered in with great enthusiasm. I do not take a second of this life with him for granted.

five senses friday

(inspired by my friend abby, who was inspired by shari)

seeing::
cartoon clouds, chipped nail polish, neon duct tape, messy rooms, moonrise kingdom

tasting::
first strawberries from our garden, avocado on everything, sugarcane lemonade

hearing:: 
ezra talking in his sleep, the creak and rattle of my old bike, the black keys on repeat, this (playing in my head, over and over)

smelling::
an explosion of roses on my front porch, fresh mint in my water

feeling::
the weight of an old camera in my hands, excited (and a little nervous) about an upcoming cross country train trip with the kids, excited (giddy, really) about the onset of summer

(above shot taken with lovely impossible project PX 70 cool film)

work/not work, part one

scenes from the wedding I shot a few weeks ago, from which I think I am still recovering. but I loved it, I did. this much I learned: weddings are to photographers as marathons are to runners. preparation is paramount, pacing is paramount and you really have to push yourself that last half hour. that said, I'd totally do it again. but not before I invest in a pair of miracle shoes.

(special thanks to my very capable assistant/husband, mister wardomatic-- pictured lower left)