Between abscessed teeth and weekend schleps, I have slacked on the blogging. Here now, in an effort to begin to make amends, are some random free floating thoughts, in no particular order:
Israel etc: Why can't we all just play nicely? And wouldn't it be cool if it was spelled Isreal? Many people think I am Jewish, but I am not. Nor am I waspy in a JCrew catalog kind of way. I'm just a pear shaped anglo.
Latest download for my Ipod: Mary J Blige's rendition of U2's "ONE." It's good, in a sweaty, spiritual kind of way.
Dave and Carmen: I don't understand the facial hair. Or the fingerless gloves on a man. Guess I am a square. A square fan of SuperNova.
Jesse: has seen "Superman Returns" 3 times despite the fact that it is rated PG, but I still won't let him watch Power Rangers. Does this make me a hypocrite?
Annie: Needs to stop holding her pee for 5-6 hours at a time. What's that about?
The Weather: sweat happens.
Losing Weight: Why can't they make a calorie free glass of wine? For Gosh sakes, it's grapes we're talking here--if they can do it for a cola bean then why can't I have zero calorie Chardonnay?
Lenny: I share a turkey sandwich with him many a lunch hour. Last week he threw up all over my keyboard. Now some keys stick and the whole thing smells like the F train.
The F Train: I know because I used to ride it.
My Wisdom Tooth: Coming out Friday at 10:30. Since I have been mainlining codeine every two hours, I'm hoping for better drugs.
Designing Fall 2007: Something tells me that everything I think is really funny this week, may not actually be so once the drugs do wear off.
Final thoughts: I still miss my black sweater.
Work with me people. Post your random thoughts below; except keep the ones about making money at home to yourself thankyaverrymuch.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Codeine
Thank God for Codeine. That's all I have to say. Wait, that and ........um, I forget. Oh yeah, I'm glad that codeine exists and........ummmm.....yeah. That's it.
Voila! C'est Tristan
C'est Tristan, un garcon francais qui est vie avec nous. Il parle anglais, je ne pas parle francais, oui? Mon enfants il sont adore. Il est tres manifique.
Monday, July 10, 2006
The Devil does not wear Prada
Almost every single day, for the past five years, I have worn the same black sweater. (I originally purchased two of them, but one became lost in 2002.) There is nothing special about my black sweater; it is an acrylic cardigan with five black buttons in front. Friends and family have gifted me with upgrades throughout the years--various versions of cashmere or wool, but they remain folded and unworn. For approximately 1,725 days, it has been the first thing I have put on in the morning-often over my pajamas.
I love my sweater. Newly washed, and warm from the dryer it has brought me great comfort. I have defined my self within its embrace-it has been amongst other things, armor, uniform, shroud, and bandage. I am like that sweater now: comfortable and well worn, with spots of paint that won't wash out.
When the first few holes began to appear along the seams, I made plans to repair them. It was only later that I realized that the sweater itself had begun to disintegrate from years of daily wear and washing. It is futile to try to mend fabric when you cannot bring two edges together; when the reason for the hole is a vanishing of substance. My sweater is disappearing.
This morning I decided I would put it aside. At least for a week. I would explore life without its secure coverage--I would venture from the blackness--I would try a different fabric against my skin.
My arms feel exposed and vulnerable. I am aware of my own hugeness in space. I am too hot. I am too cold. (I begin to wonder where the missing sweater is from 2001--perhaps I actually could find it, and be set for another five years.) I think about how all well loved items made of cloth and fiber suffer the same fate: Jesse's blanket worn smooth as silk in places, stuffed animals missing ears and eyes. At some point we must all set aside the things that give us comfort. It's a necessary journey. If you cannot pack a sweater, bring a raincoat.
I love my sweater. Newly washed, and warm from the dryer it has brought me great comfort. I have defined my self within its embrace-it has been amongst other things, armor, uniform, shroud, and bandage. I am like that sweater now: comfortable and well worn, with spots of paint that won't wash out.
When the first few holes began to appear along the seams, I made plans to repair them. It was only later that I realized that the sweater itself had begun to disintegrate from years of daily wear and washing. It is futile to try to mend fabric when you cannot bring two edges together; when the reason for the hole is a vanishing of substance. My sweater is disappearing.
This morning I decided I would put it aside. At least for a week. I would explore life without its secure coverage--I would venture from the blackness--I would try a different fabric against my skin.
My arms feel exposed and vulnerable. I am aware of my own hugeness in space. I am too hot. I am too cold. (I begin to wonder where the missing sweater is from 2001--perhaps I actually could find it, and be set for another five years.) I think about how all well loved items made of cloth and fiber suffer the same fate: Jesse's blanket worn smooth as silk in places, stuffed animals missing ears and eyes. At some point we must all set aside the things that give us comfort. It's a necessary journey. If you cannot pack a sweater, bring a raincoat.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Aunt Lynn
What is more important: how you say goodbye to someone in their final hours, or how you have loved them all your lives?
My last visit, only two weeks ago, was rushed and inconsequential. Jesse refused to come into the house until my Aunt removed the oxygen tube from her nose. Annie clung to me and refused to give even a smile. We spoke of nothing important. I said a quick goodbye, lips brushing her parchment cheek.
Goodbyes are so hard, but necessary before any meaningful journey. And at this juncture, it is two, not one, who must travel a new road. Aunt Lynn will go to the place where creative souls who lead good lives go, and I will see her there one day. And I will begin a journey of my own, which is the path that leads away from her.
If tomorrow morning the sky falls,
I will have clouds for breakfast.
If my heart catches in my throat at the word "goodbye"
I will ask a bird how she sings.
If I am afraid of the dark
I will remember the night rainbow.
My last visit, only two weeks ago, was rushed and inconsequential. Jesse refused to come into the house until my Aunt removed the oxygen tube from her nose. Annie clung to me and refused to give even a smile. We spoke of nothing important. I said a quick goodbye, lips brushing her parchment cheek.
Goodbyes are so hard, but necessary before any meaningful journey. And at this juncture, it is two, not one, who must travel a new road. Aunt Lynn will go to the place where creative souls who lead good lives go, and I will see her there one day. And I will begin a journey of my own, which is the path that leads away from her.
If tomorrow morning the sky falls,
I will have clouds for breakfast.
If my heart catches in my throat at the word "goodbye"
I will ask a bird how she sings.
If I am afraid of the dark
I will remember the night rainbow.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Happy Beerthday Scottie
The picture will have to wait until Dan returns to make me an url.
Happy Birthday Scott!
Scott adds the necessary testosterone into the studio mix that helps prevent us from destroying ourselves with monthly free floating rage. He is a good guy. An extremely likeable guy. The kind of guy you could definately take home to your mother- but you know that if you did, your dad and he would end up watching football together all night on the couch. That kind of guy. A guy who is generous with his smiles.
My children love him, and he, in turn, has painted them pyramids and expressed admiration for their superhero antics. He is probably a great brother, an amazing friend.
He is interesting because he is always interested.
He puts his head down and does his work. I admire his tenacity, his optimism, his willingness to try new things. I think we are lucky that he found us.
So Happy Birthday Scottie--and choose your cake, for the one from Dan's birthday last week (sadly unblogged) is about gone and Lord knows we need chocolate daily.
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