we’re not afraid of the big, bad wolf. so we’re building our houses with sticks. one of the funnest summer projects, ever!
when i was little, i had this imaginary world i would go to before i fell asleep. we lived in the trees of a thick forest, and there were bridges that stretched from one tree to another. i miss that place.
it all started like this, torrential rain in bursts, and the compulsion to fully experience it.
and then he said this, and i couldn’t not write it down.
and then she remembered how fun chalk is when the pavement is wet.
and so did he. 
and let’s just say we were deeply moved.
and then:
and then:
but i'm glad i didn't.
This past weekend, Louise and I went to investigate the theory that online people are actually real people. On a whim. To . . . Kansas.
It turns out—get this—they are! Real people, that is. Real-person Deb invited us into her home for the weekend, without agenda, without purpose (oh shit! I can do things for no reason!). Just . . . for fun. She caffeinated us and fed us and entertained us and photographed us (oh shit! i have a face!) and even let us borrow her super-cute real-person husband as, oh, you know, our own personal pilot (oh shit! i can choose to fly!). Just . . . for fun. Real-person Aimee met us on Saturday and helped us drink a bottle of wine and splurge on a few items of over-priced clothing at Anthropologie (oh, shit! i can buy an apple shirt! because who does not want a shirt with apples all over it?). Just for . . . well, you get the idea.
aimee + me, holga fisheye
It was a weekend full of frivolous nonsense. It was not rational in the least. And it was absolutely wonderful.
me + deb + rock music
It was incredible to spend time with all of these three women, so full of vitality and wisdom and beauty. One thing that struck me about them was the connection they have to their own power. It is not an I-have-something-to-prove sort of thing, but a certain inner knowing and acceptance and manifestation of their own unique gifts. I am so inspired by them all, by their power and joy and authenticity and the bravery to challenge the concepts of “easy” and “safe” in order to live their own fabulous truths. Lately, I’ve been remembering: (oh, shit!) I am a real person with my own real talents and my own real choices and my own real place in the story. There is the balance between 1., knowing that you are enough, that “all you had to do was be born,” and 2., being connected to that truth and purpose that you were born with, and living. It’s all about the mojo, y’awl. (Oh shit! That mojo is powerful, though. So watch out, when it hits you.)
julie (louise) + me (thelma) + deb (superstar)
AND P.S., HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! (please do sing.)
now kids,
this does not apply to sex, because
birth control, for goodness’ sake.
birth control. but
this weekend, i was reminded how good it feels,
and how obscenely natural,
to stand in the pouring rain,
forgetting that concept of
umbrella,
to raise my face to the sky,
and to get rained on,
dammit.
If one is lucky, a solitary fantasy can totally transform one million realities. (Maya Angelou)
collective of kids from last summer, engaged in some seriously good fantasy. (digital)
Now. Check. It. Out.
Now that it’s nice enough outside to go for walks . . .
. . . I’m embracing the learning opportunities presented by signs.
tri-x in mamiya 645af pushed a stop. shortcake in a friend's playroom (best playroom ever!)
My brain is an absolute mess.
The kind of mess where you don’t even know where to start. Not that I’ve ever been any good at cleaning. Not that I intend to declutter this cranial disaster. I’m just letting you know, in case you don’t just automatically default to that assumption.
And so besides showing you this (awesome, if I do say so myself) photo, I defer you to Shel. No, really. I want you to seek out The Missing Piece, even if you’ve read it a million times before. And read it. Aloud. And maybe even sing the singing parts.
I like books with lots of big words. But this truly is one of my favorites. I get something different from it every time I read it. Ahem. I mean, read it to the kids.
There are those who would misteach us that to stick in a rut is consistency – and a virtue; and that to climb out of the rut is inconsistency – and a vice. (Mark Twain)
I often chastise myself for my inconsistency, despite my apparent tendency to praise it. Or maybe it’s the other way around? And I don’t, in self-pity, mean inconsistency in skills, but in interests.
This is not yet another defense or justification of my fickle-ness. (There are far too many of those on this blog.) I’m just sharing my thoughts. I won’t even quote Emerson. I promise. But I might quote William Blake. Yes. I believe I shall.
Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained. (William Blake)
I do not have weak desires. And I have many—some yet restrained, some not. Here is where I am, regarding a few of the unrestrained ones: 1) in love with this film, and with putting bits of light and shadow on it. 2) in love with my novel again, and with fixing and strengthening it. 3) in love with this new guitar, and with building up these finger calluses. (not only can i sort of play and sing my funny little nonsense song, but i can also sing and play “blowin’ in the wind,” and so how sexy is that?) 4) in love with pencils and ink and watercolor paper, and working on a new drawing. 5) moonlighting, obviously.
When I think about it, there is this annoying grown-up in me that wags a finger and says things like, “Stop this frivolous nonsense!” and “Do the dishes!” and “Go to bed before 1:30 AM!” and “What is the point?” and “If you would just focus, maybe you’d finish something.” and “Be responsible. Make money.” But when they are quiet, which is most of the time, there is myth and art and music. And I can’t quite remember why that is a problem. Myth and Art and Music! I don’t want to remember why that is a problem.
So, to answer the annoying, finger-wagging, grown-up-me; there is no point, really—that is the recent epiphany. The only purpose of all of “this” is simply to share my experience of It with a capital I. If my whore-ish muse wants to flit and float, who am I to stop her? This is how I experience it: an overwhelm of inspiration and emotion and passion and . . . everything. And I do what I can to express that experience, simply because I want to. It’s never enough, I’m never enough, it will never be enough, and yet it is. And I am.
So there.
. . . and post a cute picture of my kid. See? Just like you thought I couldn’t. Suckas.
Except in the shot, he has just told me that he is Anakin, who he likes because, of course, Anakin goes to the dark side and becomes Darth Vader. And maybe that’s not normal. And maybe it’s not normal that it makes me proud when he says these things. And so, just forget the whole normal thing, already.
mini-me + light saber on tri-x in mamiya c330, neg scan
I’m glad my villain-loving genes run strong in him. There are other similarities, too. heh.
And to quote Nina’s little boy, “I like being negative; that’s my favorite of all! Oh OK, I’ll be positive when I’m done being negative. Now, as I was saying…”
And so as I was saying, the villain is almost always my favorite, too. Not only are they just plain cool, but they’re also just so beautifully complex. Right? Surely you have a favorite villain. Tell me. And your answer can’t be Terri Fischer.
