So I’ve been taking this improv class… and it’s been really fun. It’s goofy and can be clever. I’m not terribly good, but I can hold my own in my level 1 class. I’m not shy, and I just spit things out, even if it’s crap. And that’s a big part of it.
After or first set of classes ended our teacher Bobby told us we should all audition for the Boston Improv troupe. It would be a good experience and who knows maybe one of us would get in. I knew that none of us would get it but somehow I didn’t really know that. Some how we all deluded ourselves a bit.
I had an audition on Monday at 8:30 and my classmate Nancy had one at 9:00. So we agreed to meet for coffee before hand. It turns out she was able to move her audition to 8:30. Which was great because I figured if we went in together whatever happened would be less painful and would happen to us equally.
So we get there and fill out our paperwork, which was super easy for me, because I have done no theater ever. So I literally filled out my name and address and that was it.
We get into the theater with 8 other people and immediately we realized we were out matched. We hadn’t a prayer and all we could do was hold on for the ride.
We did two warm up exercises, which we had never done before. I screwed up on the rhythm one, but was okay. I just used the wrong hands and feet sometimes. But knowing what a panic those games throw me into, that was great for me.
Then we had ten minutes of scene work. And these people were great with strong characters, immediate connections, imaginative ideas. And we simply didn’t have the skill set to compete. We haven’t learned characters yet. We don’t’ know all of the rules of engagement. So immediately recognizing that we were out matched it was hard to get out there and take a stab at it. I got out there twice and didn’t do great but I did my best and I got out there. Poor Nancy got dragged out. She didn’t manage to get out on her own.
But part of the idea of the audition was to show the judges improvement next year if we audition again. I think more importantly is we got to see our own level compared to other leverl and it was enlightening. But it was cool too. It was terrifying, and getting out there seeing how hopeless it was but doing the best I could anyway. I was proud of myself. In the end I guess I did it for me. And so it was a good experience.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Friday, June 06, 2008
Happy Birthday Dad!
Dear Dad,
Wow, I can’t believe it’s been another year already. I feel like I was just writing this letter. I guess time flies when you’re having fun. Yeah, I have been having fun. Over the last year I took up golf and skiing… and of course yoga. As Beth says, she took up yoga, I joined the cult of yoga. But it’s been so good for me.
I can palm the ground, and do a handstand. You wouldn’t believe how empowering that is, to do a handstand. It makes me feel like a superhero, to be able to lift my own weight on my hands. And my hamstrings have loosened, I mean really loosened. They were so tight when I started yoga. Now I just need to open my hips.
Chardie tried Bikrams yoga with us last summer. He did great. It’s a grueling class, with 105 degree heat, and 90 minutes of asanas and breathing exercises. It’s sometimes calld McYoga. I’m not a big fan of Bikrams, I’m into Iyengar right now. Very snooty. But great really, it focuses on the technical side, alignment, not hurting yourself. We practice Ahimsa – nonviolence to our bodies.
And golf has been fun too. Surprisingly really. I don’t think I’ll ever be any good. But I really got a chance to get out there and enjoy myself. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to golf with you. I heard numerous times that you were terrible! But a great sport and fun golfer. I aim to be the same. It’s hard for me not to stress and get competitive. But I’m trying.
And skiing… well that’s just terrifying. I can’t even begin to express my fear of skiing. Beth was a great teacher though. She really brought me through the basics. And held my hand when I needed it. And I’m still terrified of skiing. But I’m a little closer to being there. I think in 3 or 4 years I might be okay. It’s good to have long term goals. I might even buy skis. Those shorter skis are pretty cool. I want a pair of Roxy Pixie Sticks! I want mom to take it up. I think she’d really like it.
Beth and I also took up Improv. You’d love doing that. It’s right up your alley, quick word play, witty banter, absurdity… It’s been great, we have an inclination to that kind of thing I think. Can you image we both have to go to an Improv audition next week? The idea is to join the improve troupe but we’ve only had one set of classes, so I can’t imagine how hard this is going to be. It scares the living daylights out of me, so naturally I have to do it. I can’t wait for that to be over. Our teacher wanted us all to do it though, just to practice, so maybe next year if we audition again, the judges will see how much we’ve improved. Yikes though. It’s very scary.
In other news, my job is sliding out from under me, Hillary lost the nomination, my art suffers from neglect, and socially I’m somewhat stagnant.
That Hillary business really hurts though. I know you couldn’t understand, because you’re a man and men can’t really be feminists. I mean they can try but so much of it just flies over their heads, they don’t notice how ingrained it is, in our culture and language. The campaign was vicious. Hillary held her head up and kept a smile up no matter what they threw at her. And in the end it was no use. Had Florida and Michigan been allowed to vote, it might have swung momentum. Had we got rid of the caucuses and only had primaries (you know with secret ballots, which I think is a pretty important thing, the secret ballot) things would have been different. Hell if we were like republicans and had winner take all contests, things would have been different. Hillary would have taken all, she won the big states. She won he swing states. She won the bell weather states. She won every state you are supposed to win the nomination. But still she lost. People hate her. They call her ‘that woman’. They hold her husband’s crimes against her. She went up against an unbelievable double standard. She was too hard, too soft, a bitch, a war monger, she played the gender card, she emasculated men, she was shrill, she cackled, she wore pants suits, and showed cleavage, she cried (she didn’t actually cry she misted up once). She made mistakes. She became my hero. She’s no Babs Boxer, but she’s is one tough woman.
Obama won, so I guess that a victory for the man. He preaches a message of hope. No woman could get away with preaching a message of hope. They’d call her a flake; she’d be torn to shreds. But Obama can, he’s a rock star.
Celtics are in the finals. It’s been a long time, and the city is lit with the excitement. They took game one. I even watched.
And the Olympics are almost here… The Greek Festival is happening this weekend. I can’t wait to go. I love the Greek Festival. Jimmie Johns passed away this year. That was sad, Beth and I paid our respects to Stevie and the Johns family.
And three of your nephews and nieces are getting married this year. Steve and Lindsay had a beautiful wedding. Emily Hogan is getting married this July, her shower is actually Sunday, but Beth and I will be auditioning for a play that day or, several small 10 minute plays. Based on Norman Rockwell’s art. It should be fun.
Chris Shomphe is getting married in September and I’m doing his wedding invitations. He asked me to, which was strange but flattering. Apparently he thinks of me as an artist. Would that I thought of myself that way! The invitations are coming along. We’ll see how they turn out in the end.
I’ve picked up some acrylic paint and started painting (for real). Funny though, no matter how many times I jump media, I’m still stuck with my work, and my style. It’s like I’m being held prisoner by it. Why this would surprise me…
It’s almost father’s day. Because I loved you so much… sometimes I give Chardie advice about his daughters. Once I gave him a fathers day card the read "you're so much like a father to me, I even roll my eyes when you start to talk" But sometimes I tell him about the things you did that I loved. I tell him, buy the girls jewelry every once and a while. I remember you once offered to by me a silver claddagh ring. I didn’t want it. It wasn’t you, it was school, I was in 8th grade, and a claddagh ring was a hassle. It was status. It marked you as Irish, and told your status, do you have a boyfriend? I couldn’t bear the thought one even from my father. It was pressure.
But now I wish I had let you. I wish I had jewelry from you. I tell him when he goes to weddings dance with his daughters while they are still young. They’ll remember it at their weddings.
Well Dad, it’s been a dozen years now. I miss you. I love you. I think of you often. I remember this one day, it was just a little thing… You dropped me off at my dorm, and gave me a hug, and kissed my cheek. You hadn’t shaved that day, and I could feel the stubble against my neck. Sometimes I can still feel that embrace. I remember that vividly. My dad.
I love you dad.
Kate
Wow, I can’t believe it’s been another year already. I feel like I was just writing this letter. I guess time flies when you’re having fun. Yeah, I have been having fun. Over the last year I took up golf and skiing… and of course yoga. As Beth says, she took up yoga, I joined the cult of yoga. But it’s been so good for me.
I can palm the ground, and do a handstand. You wouldn’t believe how empowering that is, to do a handstand. It makes me feel like a superhero, to be able to lift my own weight on my hands. And my hamstrings have loosened, I mean really loosened. They were so tight when I started yoga. Now I just need to open my hips.
Chardie tried Bikrams yoga with us last summer. He did great. It’s a grueling class, with 105 degree heat, and 90 minutes of asanas and breathing exercises. It’s sometimes calld McYoga. I’m not a big fan of Bikrams, I’m into Iyengar right now. Very snooty. But great really, it focuses on the technical side, alignment, not hurting yourself. We practice Ahimsa – nonviolence to our bodies.
And golf has been fun too. Surprisingly really. I don’t think I’ll ever be any good. But I really got a chance to get out there and enjoy myself. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to golf with you. I heard numerous times that you were terrible! But a great sport and fun golfer. I aim to be the same. It’s hard for me not to stress and get competitive. But I’m trying.
And skiing… well that’s just terrifying. I can’t even begin to express my fear of skiing. Beth was a great teacher though. She really brought me through the basics. And held my hand when I needed it. And I’m still terrified of skiing. But I’m a little closer to being there. I think in 3 or 4 years I might be okay. It’s good to have long term goals. I might even buy skis. Those shorter skis are pretty cool. I want a pair of Roxy Pixie Sticks! I want mom to take it up. I think she’d really like it.
Beth and I also took up Improv. You’d love doing that. It’s right up your alley, quick word play, witty banter, absurdity… It’s been great, we have an inclination to that kind of thing I think. Can you image we both have to go to an Improv audition next week? The idea is to join the improve troupe but we’ve only had one set of classes, so I can’t imagine how hard this is going to be. It scares the living daylights out of me, so naturally I have to do it. I can’t wait for that to be over. Our teacher wanted us all to do it though, just to practice, so maybe next year if we audition again, the judges will see how much we’ve improved. Yikes though. It’s very scary.
In other news, my job is sliding out from under me, Hillary lost the nomination, my art suffers from neglect, and socially I’m somewhat stagnant.
That Hillary business really hurts though. I know you couldn’t understand, because you’re a man and men can’t really be feminists. I mean they can try but so much of it just flies over their heads, they don’t notice how ingrained it is, in our culture and language. The campaign was vicious. Hillary held her head up and kept a smile up no matter what they threw at her. And in the end it was no use. Had Florida and Michigan been allowed to vote, it might have swung momentum. Had we got rid of the caucuses and only had primaries (you know with secret ballots, which I think is a pretty important thing, the secret ballot) things would have been different. Hell if we were like republicans and had winner take all contests, things would have been different. Hillary would have taken all, she won the big states. She won he swing states. She won the bell weather states. She won every state you are supposed to win the nomination. But still she lost. People hate her. They call her ‘that woman’. They hold her husband’s crimes against her. She went up against an unbelievable double standard. She was too hard, too soft, a bitch, a war monger, she played the gender card, she emasculated men, she was shrill, she cackled, she wore pants suits, and showed cleavage, she cried (she didn’t actually cry she misted up once). She made mistakes. She became my hero. She’s no Babs Boxer, but she’s is one tough woman.
Obama won, so I guess that a victory for the man. He preaches a message of hope. No woman could get away with preaching a message of hope. They’d call her a flake; she’d be torn to shreds. But Obama can, he’s a rock star.
Celtics are in the finals. It’s been a long time, and the city is lit with the excitement. They took game one. I even watched.
And the Olympics are almost here… The Greek Festival is happening this weekend. I can’t wait to go. I love the Greek Festival. Jimmie Johns passed away this year. That was sad, Beth and I paid our respects to Stevie and the Johns family.
And three of your nephews and nieces are getting married this year. Steve and Lindsay had a beautiful wedding. Emily Hogan is getting married this July, her shower is actually Sunday, but Beth and I will be auditioning for a play that day or, several small 10 minute plays. Based on Norman Rockwell’s art. It should be fun.
Chris Shomphe is getting married in September and I’m doing his wedding invitations. He asked me to, which was strange but flattering. Apparently he thinks of me as an artist. Would that I thought of myself that way! The invitations are coming along. We’ll see how they turn out in the end.
I’ve picked up some acrylic paint and started painting (for real). Funny though, no matter how many times I jump media, I’m still stuck with my work, and my style. It’s like I’m being held prisoner by it. Why this would surprise me…
It’s almost father’s day. Because I loved you so much… sometimes I give Chardie advice about his daughters. Once I gave him a fathers day card the read "you're so much like a father to me, I even roll my eyes when you start to talk" But sometimes I tell him about the things you did that I loved. I tell him, buy the girls jewelry every once and a while. I remember you once offered to by me a silver claddagh ring. I didn’t want it. It wasn’t you, it was school, I was in 8th grade, and a claddagh ring was a hassle. It was status. It marked you as Irish, and told your status, do you have a boyfriend? I couldn’t bear the thought one even from my father. It was pressure.
But now I wish I had let you. I wish I had jewelry from you. I tell him when he goes to weddings dance with his daughters while they are still young. They’ll remember it at their weddings.
Well Dad, it’s been a dozen years now. I miss you. I love you. I think of you often. I remember this one day, it was just a little thing… You dropped me off at my dorm, and gave me a hug, and kissed my cheek. You hadn’t shaved that day, and I could feel the stubble against my neck. Sometimes I can still feel that embrace. I remember that vividly. My dad.
I love you dad.
Kate
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Summer's begining and ending....
I wrote this a long time ago, maybe 10 or 12 years, I found it while going through some stuff, and it struck my fancy. And I thought I’d post it. It didn’t have a title. But I suppose it would be called Summer’s End. I remember there were specific references to friends when I wrote this, but I don’t exactly remember whom each verse was about. And yes every poem I’ve ever written rhymes. I understand that poetry doesn’t have to rhyme, but I never remember poems without rhymes, and I rather enjoy the sound of them. Beth laughs at me when I deny that I like poetry. She’s right and wrong of course. I don’t as a rule like poetry, but I occasionally write some. And I’m not kidding about that rhyming thing.
It’s over now, the summer’s done,
Ours laughs were laughed our races won.
The plans we made have come undone,
But while they lasted they were fun.
There were those who took the chance,
Who rode the rides, and danced the dance,
They saw the dancing, knew the steps,
Knew the rhythm, jumped and leapt.
There were some the night embraced,
With lovers caress and fevered tastes.
They disappeared in inky night,
In pairs to find their own delights.
Others were in search of sun,
To bask in warmth and waves of fun.
Goals were made and often broken,
Abandoned for amusement tokens.
They had dreamt the summer away,
Always hoping it would stay,
A little longer, a little more,
Never dreaming it would bore,
Their senses or their delight,
With warmest days and restless nights.
It’s over now, the summer’s done,
Ours laughs were laughed our races won.
The plans we made have come undone,
But while they lasted they were fun.
There were those who took the chance,
Who rode the rides, and danced the dance,
They saw the dancing, knew the steps,
Knew the rhythm, jumped and leapt.
There were some the night embraced,
With lovers caress and fevered tastes.
They disappeared in inky night,
In pairs to find their own delights.
Others were in search of sun,
To bask in warmth and waves of fun.
Goals were made and often broken,
Abandoned for amusement tokens.
They had dreamt the summer away,
Always hoping it would stay,
A little longer, a little more,
Never dreaming it would bore,
Their senses or their delight,
With warmest days and restless nights.
Wedding bells (round two)
My charming cousin in law, or really future cousin in law Jill had a few changes she wanted made on the wedding invitation samples I made.
So here are round two of wedding invites.
Sadly the elephants did not make it through round one. As much as I had been routing for them, I didn’t really think they would make the cut. If I ever get married, I might need use those for myself
I only sent these out today, so I haven’t heard anything yet but I’m hoping they please.
The request was for the beach image but to incorporate the maroon and peach color scheme. And to use the vellum and a more scripted font. But I ran into a few problems with conflicting patterns, vast plains of color, the image competing with the type, and a generally fogginess to the whole affair.
But here’s what I came up with, let me know what you think, which ones you favor. I’ve reached the point that I can’t look at them anymore.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Lifestyle Losers, dream big baby!
Last night I had a dream that I was a contestant on a reality TV show called Lifestyle Losers. I had made it through the screen process so their were 12 of us total. 6 women and six men. I terrified one of the men at one point, he had done something for me and seemed the nicest of the lot. I threw my arms him in a hug and you’re the best, I just love you. He was terrified.
Before the contest I had been staying at my brother's in San Diego and I marveled at how I had been chosen. But I didn't really know the back-story, I just thought it was amazing.
The people in the competition were all sorts of people with problems, shyness, stupidity, nerdy, jocks, and at least two artist who couldn't make a go of their art. I assumed I was one of those. The people were pretty, or ugly in terns, and the goal, so far as I could tell was to prove that with a little help you could be great. My strategy was to be nice, outgoing, and show my talent but always play nice.
I didn't get off to a good start, I immediately stepped on a few toes.
We all ended up having to take a train somewhere. And on my way to the train, on of the guys working on the show gave me a friendly warning. He was the butler. He had yellow eyes like an animal. I found them terrifying, hypnotic, attractive and revolting in turns. He told me I wasn't well liked among the contestants, and he was impartial to my plight, but since I was oblivious to what was going on around me he figured he'd warn me, be careful. I think he liked me. He said he would be there for support for all of us, but he thought I needed a little looking out for...
Then we talked about his job. Being a butler. I had thought he was a strong arm, maybe security, not a butler. I mention I'd only known one other butler, my friend Jeff dated him. His name was Kevin, but I was blanking the name I kept coming up with Nat or Nate. He though he knew Kevin but he wasn't sure. He didn't think his Kevin would date a boy.
I told him I thought I could win. He agreed but said I'd have to shape up and be careful. I couldn't afford to alienate these people. We had been sitting in a car he reached across me to open my door. He was a big guy, there was an implied threat in the gesture.
I woke up.
And that was it.
Before the contest I had been staying at my brother's in San Diego and I marveled at how I had been chosen. But I didn't really know the back-story, I just thought it was amazing.
The people in the competition were all sorts of people with problems, shyness, stupidity, nerdy, jocks, and at least two artist who couldn't make a go of their art. I assumed I was one of those. The people were pretty, or ugly in terns, and the goal, so far as I could tell was to prove that with a little help you could be great. My strategy was to be nice, outgoing, and show my talent but always play nice.
I didn't get off to a good start, I immediately stepped on a few toes.
We all ended up having to take a train somewhere. And on my way to the train, on of the guys working on the show gave me a friendly warning. He was the butler. He had yellow eyes like an animal. I found them terrifying, hypnotic, attractive and revolting in turns. He told me I wasn't well liked among the contestants, and he was impartial to my plight, but since I was oblivious to what was going on around me he figured he'd warn me, be careful. I think he liked me. He said he would be there for support for all of us, but he thought I needed a little looking out for...
Then we talked about his job. Being a butler. I had thought he was a strong arm, maybe security, not a butler. I mention I'd only known one other butler, my friend Jeff dated him. His name was Kevin, but I was blanking the name I kept coming up with Nat or Nate. He though he knew Kevin but he wasn't sure. He didn't think his Kevin would date a boy.
I told him I thought I could win. He agreed but said I'd have to shape up and be careful. I couldn't afford to alienate these people. We had been sitting in a car he reached across me to open my door. He was a big guy, there was an implied threat in the gesture.
I woke up.
And that was it.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Wedding bells are ringing...
Where am I going to be on September 12th at 4pm? At my cousin Chris’s wedding in Maine of course. That’s a little drilled into my mind because I’ve been working on his wedding invitations. Which has been in turns, stressful, fun, exciting, draining, creative, numbing and ultimately fruitful.
I finally finished the sample invitations.
I finally finished the sample invitations.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Welcome to the jungle
So I have this idea in my head. I’m doing a series of… um.. uh… well… It’s a series. It’s actually the same image done over and over again. With very few changes really. Sounds exciting huh? Right.
Well it’s the way my mind works I get an idea and it sits there and sits there and waits patiently as I ignore it and then it grows. And it grows. And it grows. And finally it pushes my other thoughts away until I start working on it.
This one is a little long term.
So I committed to it. And you would think I’d have picked some fantastic image if I were going to be stuck with it and committing all of this time and energy to it. But I didn’t. I drew something quick and stuck myself with it.
And what is the point of this one?
I got nothing. I don’t know what it’s for.
The images are different sized and media and probably will never fit together but… I’ve never done a series before. Not the same image anyway.
In the jungle….
More on the way...
Well it’s the way my mind works I get an idea and it sits there and sits there and waits patiently as I ignore it and then it grows. And it grows. And it grows. And finally it pushes my other thoughts away until I start working on it.
This one is a little long term.
So I committed to it. And you would think I’d have picked some fantastic image if I were going to be stuck with it and committing all of this time and energy to it. But I didn’t. I drew something quick and stuck myself with it.
And what is the point of this one?
I got nothing. I don’t know what it’s for.
The images are different sized and media and probably will never fit together but… I’ve never done a series before. Not the same image anyway.
In the jungle….
More on the way...
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
I’m a feminist.
And I mean that. I mean it in the “I won’t apologize” kind of way. I mean it in the “I’ll stand up for myself and anyone else I need to” kind of way. And I mean that in the “I’ll support Hillary” kind of way.
If you don’t support Hillary are you not a feminist?
No, of course not. You might be a republican. Or an independent. Or an Obama supporter.
You can be an Obama supporter and a feminist of course.
I’ll try to refrain from adding a judgmental comment about Obama’s voting record, his inexperience, and the slightly misogynistic language he occasionally uses. Oh snap! I commented on that. Well it’s all in good fun.
This bit is from a Lynn Harris piece on Salon.com
But. If Hillary supporters are pissed off, and maybe even taking it out inappropriately on their Obama friends, I'd say we have reason to be. And this is what Darnton's essay fails to capture. We are frustrated. Not necessarily because we expect or demand that all women (!) must vote a certain way. Not necessarily by the possibility of an Obama win, but by that of a Clinton loss. And not just by that potential loss -- which, I should underscore, is not a done deal, even as the orchestra tunes for the ritual dance-on-grave -- but by (some of) the reasons that may be behind it.
We are frustrated by Clinton's dumb luck: Obama's advent, in this race of all races, is her "Snakes. It had to be snakes."
We are frustrated by the much-documented and -discussed perception that the media is harder on Hillary, or, as the case may be, sillier. (Witness the "Miss Frigidaire" question from Katie Couric, a woman who should know a little something about having one's "personality" appear to trump one's accomplishments.)
We are frustrated by the feeling that we skipped a step somewhere: How did a progressive female candidate come -- at least by comparison -- to represent The Man?
We are frustrated by the way it became "cool" to vote Obama and uncool to vote otherwise; this is an orthodoxy unto itself.
We are frustrated that diversity of opinion among women -- as if we're all on one big giant Listserv ("Who are you voting for? And what are you wearing? OK me too bye!") -- is so often reported as "division." (Even in articles about why Clinton supporters are frustrated!)
We are frustrated because it really would be pretty great to have a progressive woman president. Sue us.
And we are, yes, frustrated by people -- enlightened people! -- who say things like, "I agree with all her policies, I just don't ... like her." Or that she’s "cold." Or "calculating." (We all know about "shrill.") (Which to me, for the record, describes John McCain.)
That, my friends, is sexism the way racism is crossing the street at night when someone black approaches; it's ingrained at this point, reflexive. And that, my friends, is (in part) drinking the misogynist anti-Clinton Kool-Aid the GOP's been stirring up since 1993. I won't call them "terrorists," but it's letting them win.
So anyway I’m a feminist, and I like Hillary and I’m tired of apologizing for it. And if you really want to hate Hill go for it. Just understand what your reasons are, and what part the media played in them.
I’m sick of people telling me I’m a raging feminist, I’d like them to say I’m a supportive feminist. I’m tired of people teasing me, or belittling my points even as a joke. I have a sense of humor but that’s just not funny. But I put up with more than I’d care to.
Worse than that are the people who think we’ve achieved the proper balance and there’s no fight left. It’s this men and women are different and we should just accept this attitude that really does me in. Women who seemingly inherently trust men more than women hurt my head. They’re out there though.
Sigh.
So I’m a feminist, frustrated, but trained to be patient. I can wait with the best of them.
And as I waited for the writer’s strike to end… I never really gave it any thought of how it was affecting campaigns. I didn’t think about late night, or SNL or really anything, certain not the political part they play in primaries. Maybe Arron Sorkin was right… he did follow up the West Wing with Studio 60. And one of the complaints was that the comedy was taken just as seriously as the politics were.
And then I saw this in the Boston Globe today.
If you don’t support Hillary are you not a feminist?
No, of course not. You might be a republican. Or an independent. Or an Obama supporter.
You can be an Obama supporter and a feminist of course.
I’ll try to refrain from adding a judgmental comment about Obama’s voting record, his inexperience, and the slightly misogynistic language he occasionally uses. Oh snap! I commented on that. Well it’s all in good fun.
This bit is from a Lynn Harris piece on Salon.com
But. If Hillary supporters are pissed off, and maybe even taking it out inappropriately on their Obama friends, I'd say we have reason to be. And this is what Darnton's essay fails to capture. We are frustrated. Not necessarily because we expect or demand that all women (!) must vote a certain way. Not necessarily by the possibility of an Obama win, but by that of a Clinton loss. And not just by that potential loss -- which, I should underscore, is not a done deal, even as the orchestra tunes for the ritual dance-on-grave -- but by (some of) the reasons that may be behind it.
We are frustrated by Clinton's dumb luck: Obama's advent, in this race of all races, is her "Snakes. It had to be snakes."
We are frustrated by the much-documented and -discussed perception that the media is harder on Hillary, or, as the case may be, sillier. (Witness the "Miss Frigidaire" question from Katie Couric, a woman who should know a little something about having one's "personality" appear to trump one's accomplishments.)
We are frustrated by the feeling that we skipped a step somewhere: How did a progressive female candidate come -- at least by comparison -- to represent The Man?
We are frustrated by the way it became "cool" to vote Obama and uncool to vote otherwise; this is an orthodoxy unto itself.
We are frustrated that diversity of opinion among women -- as if we're all on one big giant Listserv ("Who are you voting for? And what are you wearing? OK me too bye!") -- is so often reported as "division." (Even in articles about why Clinton supporters are frustrated!)
We are frustrated because it really would be pretty great to have a progressive woman president. Sue us.
And we are, yes, frustrated by people -- enlightened people! -- who say things like, "I agree with all her policies, I just don't ... like her." Or that she’s "cold." Or "calculating." (We all know about "shrill.") (Which to me, for the record, describes John McCain.)
That, my friends, is sexism the way racism is crossing the street at night when someone black approaches; it's ingrained at this point, reflexive. And that, my friends, is (in part) drinking the misogynist anti-Clinton Kool-Aid the GOP's been stirring up since 1993. I won't call them "terrorists," but it's letting them win.
So anyway I’m a feminist, and I like Hillary and I’m tired of apologizing for it. And if you really want to hate Hill go for it. Just understand what your reasons are, and what part the media played in them.
I’m sick of people telling me I’m a raging feminist, I’d like them to say I’m a supportive feminist. I’m tired of people teasing me, or belittling my points even as a joke. I have a sense of humor but that’s just not funny. But I put up with more than I’d care to.
Worse than that are the people who think we’ve achieved the proper balance and there’s no fight left. It’s this men and women are different and we should just accept this attitude that really does me in. Women who seemingly inherently trust men more than women hurt my head. They’re out there though.
Sigh.
So I’m a feminist, frustrated, but trained to be patient. I can wait with the best of them.
And as I waited for the writer’s strike to end… I never really gave it any thought of how it was affecting campaigns. I didn’t think about late night, or SNL or really anything, certain not the political part they play in primaries. Maybe Arron Sorkin was right… he did follow up the West Wing with Studio 60. And one of the complaints was that the comedy was taken just as seriously as the politics were.
And then I saw this in the Boston Globe today.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Pneumonic...
I used to use the planets as a pneumonic device to remember the mnemonic device for the planets.
The planets themselves were easy for some reason I could see them lined up in row, remembering which ones were bigger or smaller, hotter and colder helped.
Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and Pluto were easier for me to remember than “My very excited mother just served us nine pizzas.” My mother personally wouldn’t be too excited to serve us at all.
Had the pneumonic device been more exciting… I might have remembered that.
I did use that pneumonic device to remember the classifications:
King Philip came over for great sex.
I had imagined Prince Philip from sleeping beauty grew up to be king, and still a hottie at that, I'm sure the sex was great!
Kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, species.
I knew the order of the spectrum before my dad taught me Roy G. Biv. But I wish the president had known about Roy G. Biv before he came out with his color codes for terror. The spectrum is red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. His color code went (form highest to lowest levels) red, orange, yellow, blue, and green. It irked me to say the least. It also irked me that nobody noticed or reported on the breach in the spectrum. But that’s another story.
So now there are new planets (Ceres and Eris) and a new pneumonic device to remember. Maybe this one will stick with me.
My Very Exciting Magic Carpet Just Sailed Under Nine Palace Elephants.
I’ve got to say… I like this one.
The planets themselves were easy for some reason I could see them lined up in row, remembering which ones were bigger or smaller, hotter and colder helped.
Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and Pluto were easier for me to remember than “My very excited mother just served us nine pizzas.” My mother personally wouldn’t be too excited to serve us at all.
Had the pneumonic device been more exciting… I might have remembered that.
I did use that pneumonic device to remember the classifications:
King Philip came over for great sex.
I had imagined Prince Philip from sleeping beauty grew up to be king, and still a hottie at that, I'm sure the sex was great!
Kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, species.
I knew the order of the spectrum before my dad taught me Roy G. Biv. But I wish the president had known about Roy G. Biv before he came out with his color codes for terror. The spectrum is red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. His color code went (form highest to lowest levels) red, orange, yellow, blue, and green. It irked me to say the least. It also irked me that nobody noticed or reported on the breach in the spectrum. But that’s another story.
So now there are new planets (Ceres and Eris) and a new pneumonic device to remember. Maybe this one will stick with me.
My Very Exciting Magic Carpet Just Sailed Under Nine Palace Elephants.
I’ve got to say… I like this one.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Movie Quote Quiz...
Right, Hadley did this. It's a list of movie quotes, some easy some maybe not form some of my favorite movies. Without looking them up... see how many you can guess.
1. That's the best introduction I've ever heard. "How do you do. Come and have a bathe." Hadley - A Room With a View
2. So, eleven hundred men went in the water; 316 men come out and the sharks took the rest, June the 29th, 1945. Anyway, we delivered the bomb.
3. That outfit’s wearing you, Felix.
4. I've always been considered an asshole for about as long as I can remember. That's just my style. But I'd really feel blue if I didn't think you were going to forgive me.
5. You bet. I finish work, I go home, read a book, have a couple of beers, take myself for a walk and go to bed. Hadley - The Muppet Movie
6. Those were the best years of his life, 'cause they made him who he was. All those years he was happy? You know, total waste. Didn't learn a thing. So, if you sleep until you're 18... Ah, think of the suffering you're gonna miss. I mean high school? High school-those are your prime suffering years. You don't get better suffering than that.
7. They say bread is life. And I bake bread, bread, *bread*. And I sweat and shovel this stinkin' dough in and out of this hot hole in the wall, and I should be *so* happy! Huh, sweetie?
8. That was the end of Grogan... the man who killed my father, raped and murdered my sister, burned my ranch, shot my dog, and stole my Bible!
9. I know I promised, Lord, never again. But I also know that YOU know what a weak-willed person I am.
10. Nothing? Nothing? NOTHING? Nothing, tra la la?
11. You total slut, you have a crush on him. You're defending him, you love him, you wanna have, like, ten thousand of his babies.
12. You see, that's one of the great things about getting involved with someone from another country. You can't take it personally. What's really terrific is that when we act in ways which might objectively seem asshole-ish or, or, incredibly annoying, they don't get upset at all. They don't take it personally. They just assume it's some national characteristic.
13. Sometimes the spaghetti likes to be alone.
14. In a sense, yes. My art has been commended as being strongly vaginal which bothers some men. The word itself makes some men uncomfortable. Vagina. Hadley - The Big Lebowski
15. Oh. It's not easy getting rides. Do you know what I mean? I mean most people are real afraid to pick up hitchhikers. I mean you never know who you might pick up. I mean I could be some crazed slime ball. I mean a real deranged, violent psycho. You know what I mean? I mean a guy who would rip out your heart and eat it just for pleasure
1. That's the best introduction I've ever heard. "How do you do. Come and have a bathe." Hadley - A Room With a View
2. So, eleven hundred men went in the water; 316 men come out and the sharks took the rest, June the 29th, 1945. Anyway, we delivered the bomb.
3. That outfit’s wearing you, Felix.
4. I've always been considered an asshole for about as long as I can remember. That's just my style. But I'd really feel blue if I didn't think you were going to forgive me.
5. You bet. I finish work, I go home, read a book, have a couple of beers, take myself for a walk and go to bed. Hadley - The Muppet Movie
6. Those were the best years of his life, 'cause they made him who he was. All those years he was happy? You know, total waste. Didn't learn a thing. So, if you sleep until you're 18... Ah, think of the suffering you're gonna miss. I mean high school? High school-those are your prime suffering years. You don't get better suffering than that.
7. They say bread is life. And I bake bread, bread, *bread*. And I sweat and shovel this stinkin' dough in and out of this hot hole in the wall, and I should be *so* happy! Huh, sweetie?
8. That was the end of Grogan... the man who killed my father, raped and murdered my sister, burned my ranch, shot my dog, and stole my Bible!
9. I know I promised, Lord, never again. But I also know that YOU know what a weak-willed person I am.
10. Nothing? Nothing? NOTHING? Nothing, tra la la?
11. You total slut, you have a crush on him. You're defending him, you love him, you wanna have, like, ten thousand of his babies.
12. You see, that's one of the great things about getting involved with someone from another country. You can't take it personally. What's really terrific is that when we act in ways which might objectively seem asshole-ish or, or, incredibly annoying, they don't get upset at all. They don't take it personally. They just assume it's some national characteristic.
13. Sometimes the spaghetti likes to be alone.
14. In a sense, yes. My art has been commended as being strongly vaginal which bothers some men. The word itself makes some men uncomfortable. Vagina. Hadley - The Big Lebowski
15. Oh. It's not easy getting rides. Do you know what I mean? I mean most people are real afraid to pick up hitchhikers. I mean you never know who you might pick up. I mean I could be some crazed slime ball. I mean a real deranged, violent psycho. You know what I mean? I mean a guy who would rip out your heart and eat it just for pleasure
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
dOg...
For those of you reading this that’s not Dog (dawg) that’s dOg (doag). It’s a hard O. Why? I’m not sure but I’ve been calling it the dOg for some time. Time to work on the dOg…
The dOg is a gift for my cousin Steve and his lovely bride Lindsay. The dOg is actually a painting of their dog Hailey. It’s going to be used for the table numbers at their wedding. Their favors for their wedding are actually donations to the shelter where they got Hailey. Which sure beats Jordan Almonds as far as favors go. I loathe Jordan Almonds. It’s very cute and I had some fun painting it.
My next picture should be boat. Which will be a gift for my brother.
The dOg is a gift for my cousin Steve and his lovely bride Lindsay. The dOg is actually a painting of their dog Hailey. It’s going to be used for the table numbers at their wedding. Their favors for their wedding are actually donations to the shelter where they got Hailey. Which sure beats Jordan Almonds as far as favors go. I loathe Jordan Almonds. It’s very cute and I had some fun painting it.
My next picture should be boat. Which will be a gift for my brother.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Happy Valentine's Day
Happy Valentines Day folks. Here are the valentines I made for today. Go ahead and print them up, cut them up and hand them out. Think of them like those valentines that you used to get in school. Give your favorites to your friends, give you least favorite to you enemies. Have fun!
Happy Valentines Day!
Happy Valentines Day!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
After the snow...
Some of you might know this image from facebook or other places I posted it. Having developed a fondness for the image I decided to try it out in watercolor and I'm somewhat pleased with the results. It's still not right... but it good enough for now. I'm trying to keep this up for a while. We should turn inspiration away if we can help it right?
Monday, February 11, 2008
An artist in name...
The other day I mentioned to a co-worker that sometimes I didn’t think of myself as an artist anymore. He asked me way.
I launched into and explanation of how I don’t make any money off of it, I don’t have time to do what I want, I lack confidence and motivation. I amended, sometimes I still do think of myself as an artist… but I’m failing. I joked that I couldn’t conceive of being defined by my job so there was no choice but to be an artist. But my confidence is shaky about this. I remember art, and I don’t know that what I do is anything like that.
My mom’s birthday was coming up. It was actually last week. And I wanted to give here some framed art. But my art… is what it is and often it is not hung on peoples walls. It’s described as children’s book illustrations. I suppose its true but… why does that seam so insulting sometimes? And why do I draw so many strange little children’s scenes, with fish and animals and mermaids and whatnot?
So I had an idea. A terrible idea… a tacky idea. I would take a photo that I liked from my cell phone, which was little blurry and off and paint it for mum. You have to understand that this idea intimidated me. I haven’t done anything like that since college, since high school. I picked a fun image, my sister and I in red in blue wigs, on the way to the Patriots game. I wanted to like the image. I didn’t want to get sick of it half way through.
My first attempt was laughable. I abandoned it soon in... feeling nonplussed about the whole affair. But something inside of me was ticking, and I thought to myself surely you can do better than that. And I did.
So it’s not perfect. I’m seeing more faults by the minute… but I didn’t think I could do this any more. It’s kind of like doing the handstand.
Hadley gave me the best compliment I could possibly get. She told me I had another donut moment. I couldn't have been more pleased.
I launched into and explanation of how I don’t make any money off of it, I don’t have time to do what I want, I lack confidence and motivation. I amended, sometimes I still do think of myself as an artist… but I’m failing. I joked that I couldn’t conceive of being defined by my job so there was no choice but to be an artist. But my confidence is shaky about this. I remember art, and I don’t know that what I do is anything like that.
My mom’s birthday was coming up. It was actually last week. And I wanted to give here some framed art. But my art… is what it is and often it is not hung on peoples walls. It’s described as children’s book illustrations. I suppose its true but… why does that seam so insulting sometimes? And why do I draw so many strange little children’s scenes, with fish and animals and mermaids and whatnot?
So I had an idea. A terrible idea… a tacky idea. I would take a photo that I liked from my cell phone, which was little blurry and off and paint it for mum. You have to understand that this idea intimidated me. I haven’t done anything like that since college, since high school. I picked a fun image, my sister and I in red in blue wigs, on the way to the Patriots game. I wanted to like the image. I didn’t want to get sick of it half way through.
My first attempt was laughable. I abandoned it soon in... feeling nonplussed about the whole affair. But something inside of me was ticking, and I thought to myself surely you can do better than that. And I did.
So it’s not perfect. I’m seeing more faults by the minute… but I didn’t think I could do this any more. It’s kind of like doing the handstand.
Hadley gave me the best compliment I could possibly get. She told me I had another donut moment. I couldn't have been more pleased.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Christmas time is here...
So this is a little drawing that I waited to post until after Christmas.
I'm at work right now and I'm in the throws of the Christmas Blues. I want to be home right now, I want to be with my family. I want to be sitting around eating leftovers and watching Christmas movies. I want to still be wrapped up in the holiday spirit.
But I'm not... I'm sad and lonely at work. I'm tired and blue.
But I thought maybe if I posted this I'd feel better. It's an image I did for my Mom's present although I ended up using it for my sister's present as well. I actually did the snowman as a complete painting on it's own before I decided to add the kids. And the kids represent my brother, sister and me. I only wish I'd ben a stylish kid like that.
Anyway... Merry Christmas everyone. I hope you had a good one.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Presents under the tree...
Every year I set out to write something meaningful about Christmas, my favorite time of year. And with the exception of an observation about glorious failure last year… everything I write turns to sugar, sweet but ultimately unsatisfying.
Beth and I had a Christmas Party last weekend. It was small but fun. The guests seamed to enjoy themselves, and because it was small, each person was presented with a small but thought out gift. There were snowflake swizzle sticks for mom, and a special loose tea mug for Eva, Sarah got a jar of Sarah Beth jam, and Dana got a twirling ribbon (which we must have discussed 14 years ago). People were surprised by the little gifts and pleased.
Beth had her presents for the family and friends nestled sweetly under the tree. And there were several comments about the quantity of gifts. Were all of them real? Who could they possibly be for?
Beth and I marveled at this… there were a lot presents under the tree, and none were in fact fake. The presents, were for our cousins, and Aunt and Uncle, Mom, Will, me, our brother Brian… they were for Beth’s friends.
We, my sister and I give each other a fairly large amount of presents each year and we each give our mother multiple presents and our brother. We don’t usually exchange just one gift. So this must have baffled the guests at the party.
The thing about that is… when my dad died, my aunts, with only the best intentions really, had tried their best to look after and protect my mom that year. Sometimes that meant trying to protect her from us. They presumed they new what she needed. They did so only from kindness… but sometimes she needed us. Sometimes she needed the truth, and sometimes she needed to understand that we needed her too. When my dad died for at least six months, we lost both parents. My mother was not there anymore… which is understandable, she lost the love of her life. And it literally took an afternoon of screaming at her, to finally make her understand that she needed to come back. This was the type of thing her sisters would protect her from.
Resentment grew between my aunts, and my sister and I. Christmas was coming… Everyone was worried abut Christmas that year, it was the first Christmas without my father. Christmas was going to be hard. We asked for a list from my mother, a list of gifts she’d like for Christmas, determined to get her whatever she wanted that year. The list was made, a black velvet jacket, a pair of boots, a black skirt…
I don’t remember everything on the list, but my sister and I got everything on the list. We knew we had to take dad’s place this year. He was the one who bought her the most gifts. Now it was up to us. I had been putting my mother’s stocking together for years. Since I was 16 and my father passed that honor on to me. We were poor and in school and struggling but we were going to prove that we could take care of this. Even though my father had died, we were still a family, a complete family unit. We didn’t need the aunts to take care of my mother, we could do this.
We went into Christmas with something to prove, something to prove to my aunts, to my mom, and to ourselves. We were proving (as we had repeated so many times since my father’s death) that things were going to be okay.
It was a very merry Christmas that morning… my mother was overwhelmed by her gifts, by our efforts. There were many tears, of joy, and sorrow, and overwhelming sense of gratitude shared between all of us. Grateful that we had each other.
When we went to our aunt’s house, my mom’s sister had also fulfilled my mother’s wish list. They were again filled with the best intentions. It was a sweet gesture by the sisters who adore her. And with a very un-Christmas like glee my sister and I watched as each gift was opened. You see the gifts we had already given her were enough. Each present was opened sweetly and my mother would thank them and mention that we too had given her boots, or a velvet jacket, or a skirt… and whatnot. We were vindicated. We needed this.
We get along well with my aunts these days. Although, I’ve noticed of all of the cousins, we are the only ones who address them without their titles.
As for all of those Christmas presents under the tree that seem excessive… we take the role my father had, providing my mother with the majority of her Christmas presents for the last 11 years… I think we got used to playing Santa for her and for each other.
I used to believe in Santa, and stopped over time… only to believe again. Because of course we are all Santa Claus… if only we believe.
Merry Christmas Everybody!
Beth and I had a Christmas Party last weekend. It was small but fun. The guests seamed to enjoy themselves, and because it was small, each person was presented with a small but thought out gift. There were snowflake swizzle sticks for mom, and a special loose tea mug for Eva, Sarah got a jar of Sarah Beth jam, and Dana got a twirling ribbon (which we must have discussed 14 years ago). People were surprised by the little gifts and pleased.
Beth had her presents for the family and friends nestled sweetly under the tree. And there were several comments about the quantity of gifts. Were all of them real? Who could they possibly be for?
Beth and I marveled at this… there were a lot presents under the tree, and none were in fact fake. The presents, were for our cousins, and Aunt and Uncle, Mom, Will, me, our brother Brian… they were for Beth’s friends.
We, my sister and I give each other a fairly large amount of presents each year and we each give our mother multiple presents and our brother. We don’t usually exchange just one gift. So this must have baffled the guests at the party.
The thing about that is… when my dad died, my aunts, with only the best intentions really, had tried their best to look after and protect my mom that year. Sometimes that meant trying to protect her from us. They presumed they new what she needed. They did so only from kindness… but sometimes she needed us. Sometimes she needed the truth, and sometimes she needed to understand that we needed her too. When my dad died for at least six months, we lost both parents. My mother was not there anymore… which is understandable, she lost the love of her life. And it literally took an afternoon of screaming at her, to finally make her understand that she needed to come back. This was the type of thing her sisters would protect her from.
Resentment grew between my aunts, and my sister and I. Christmas was coming… Everyone was worried abut Christmas that year, it was the first Christmas without my father. Christmas was going to be hard. We asked for a list from my mother, a list of gifts she’d like for Christmas, determined to get her whatever she wanted that year. The list was made, a black velvet jacket, a pair of boots, a black skirt…
I don’t remember everything on the list, but my sister and I got everything on the list. We knew we had to take dad’s place this year. He was the one who bought her the most gifts. Now it was up to us. I had been putting my mother’s stocking together for years. Since I was 16 and my father passed that honor on to me. We were poor and in school and struggling but we were going to prove that we could take care of this. Even though my father had died, we were still a family, a complete family unit. We didn’t need the aunts to take care of my mother, we could do this.
We went into Christmas with something to prove, something to prove to my aunts, to my mom, and to ourselves. We were proving (as we had repeated so many times since my father’s death) that things were going to be okay.
It was a very merry Christmas that morning… my mother was overwhelmed by her gifts, by our efforts. There were many tears, of joy, and sorrow, and overwhelming sense of gratitude shared between all of us. Grateful that we had each other.
When we went to our aunt’s house, my mom’s sister had also fulfilled my mother’s wish list. They were again filled with the best intentions. It was a sweet gesture by the sisters who adore her. And with a very un-Christmas like glee my sister and I watched as each gift was opened. You see the gifts we had already given her were enough. Each present was opened sweetly and my mother would thank them and mention that we too had given her boots, or a velvet jacket, or a skirt… and whatnot. We were vindicated. We needed this.
We get along well with my aunts these days. Although, I’ve noticed of all of the cousins, we are the only ones who address them without their titles.
As for all of those Christmas presents under the tree that seem excessive… we take the role my father had, providing my mother with the majority of her Christmas presents for the last 11 years… I think we got used to playing Santa for her and for each other.
I used to believe in Santa, and stopped over time… only to believe again. Because of course we are all Santa Claus… if only we believe.
Merry Christmas Everybody!
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
We don’t have places like this in Boston.
This is what I remember form my dream the other night. I was standing on a bridge with a few people fishing on either side pulling up colorful fish after fish. The sky was grey and purple… the trees were that bright green of early summer. And the buildings around us, we were in a city where white and grey… old and stained. But the colors of the fish, and turquoise water and the trees were so saturated. I thought we don’t have anything like this in Boston. And that’s all that I remember!...
But I was painting this at the time I had the dream and I think it influenced my landscape.
The words were peacock, tent, stormy, drinking, and glamour.
Things I like about this piece:
That middle tree, the expression on the peacock with its head down, the color of the sky.
Things I don’t like about this piece:
Her mouth, the rainbow quality to the color, I should have made the tent darker or lighter.
Now I have start my Christmas card. Which is scaring my right now. I have some ideas but nothing solid yet. In a fit of despair I looked for inspiration in the one place I knew would enchant me. My big book of Jim Henson. Somewhere in the middle there are pictures of the Jim Henson Christmas cards through the years. Many simple, others elegant, others warm. 20 years from now I want to have a collection of card half so impressive. Which means I have to get started on this. Sigh… why is it so hard to get started?
Oh blank page I’m coming for you.
But I was painting this at the time I had the dream and I think it influenced my landscape.
The words were peacock, tent, stormy, drinking, and glamour.
Things I like about this piece:
That middle tree, the expression on the peacock with its head down, the color of the sky.
Things I don’t like about this piece:
Her mouth, the rainbow quality to the color, I should have made the tent darker or lighter.
Now I have start my Christmas card. Which is scaring my right now. I have some ideas but nothing solid yet. In a fit of despair I looked for inspiration in the one place I knew would enchant me. My big book of Jim Henson. Somewhere in the middle there are pictures of the Jim Henson Christmas cards through the years. Many simple, others elegant, others warm. 20 years from now I want to have a collection of card half so impressive. Which means I have to get started on this. Sigh… why is it so hard to get started?
Oh blank page I’m coming for you.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Taken away....
The other day I was in a used book store. One of those stores that specializes in old books, you know the type of store, they all have that smell… the smell of the past. It’s dust, and damp, age and secrets… the smell of tombs and treasure. These are dreams hidden away in labyrinth of shelves.
And on the counter, a book, an afterthought, waiting to be put away… was book that caught my eye. “Cape Cod Folk – A Novel” It was a book about a trial, set down the cape, written in the late 1800’s. It held no desire for me… this was not a book I’d read.
But for a moment it took me away. And I thought of my dad. I would have bought this for him for Christmas. I could see it all… the stocking with the book nestled snugly inside the title peeking out, with a pair of warm black gloves beside it.
Suddenly it was Christmas, at the old house, the house I grew up in. There was never such a house as this for Christmas. The house was built for Christmas. The fireplace with the window above the mantle. So you can watch the snow and the fire at the same time. There was an alcove to the side of the fireplace, where we’d put the tree. We used to cut our own trees and they were widely regarded as sparse, “Charlie Brown” Trees. They were big wide natural trees deep with hollows for hiding away ornaments, toys and candy.
And suddenly I was happy to be thinking about my dad, and Christmas. I felt so warm and happy, and lucky. Lucky to have such memories, lucky to have seen something that reminded me of my father… just lucky.
And on the counter, a book, an afterthought, waiting to be put away… was book that caught my eye. “Cape Cod Folk – A Novel” It was a book about a trial, set down the cape, written in the late 1800’s. It held no desire for me… this was not a book I’d read.
But for a moment it took me away. And I thought of my dad. I would have bought this for him for Christmas. I could see it all… the stocking with the book nestled snugly inside the title peeking out, with a pair of warm black gloves beside it.
Suddenly it was Christmas, at the old house, the house I grew up in. There was never such a house as this for Christmas. The house was built for Christmas. The fireplace with the window above the mantle. So you can watch the snow and the fire at the same time. There was an alcove to the side of the fireplace, where we’d put the tree. We used to cut our own trees and they were widely regarded as sparse, “Charlie Brown” Trees. They were big wide natural trees deep with hollows for hiding away ornaments, toys and candy.
And suddenly I was happy to be thinking about my dad, and Christmas. I felt so warm and happy, and lucky. Lucky to have such memories, lucky to have seen something that reminded me of my father… just lucky.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
This feels interesting...
Do you want to know why yoga is such a humbling experience?
Because it’s widely acknowledged that two of the toughest poses are Savasana and Tadasana. For those of you not familiar with yoga speak that’s laying on your back and standing up strait. Getting the full benefits of these poses is tough. Mmm hmm. This is humbling stuff.
Right… I had yoga yesterday. It was the usual. I worked really hard, had a few moments when I started to beg to come out of position and laughed when someone said they couldn’t feel something in their hamstrings.
I can always feel something in my hamstrings. My hamstrings are so tight, I chronically worry about them during class. Not so much “Will I be able to stretch them enough…” I won’t but more like “Is that sharp shooting pain actually something tearing? Is that normal? Should I be on the verge of tears? Collapse?” And it’s always the hamstrings, or my hips, or sometimes my back. But the most excruciating pain is in the hamstrings. And we use them for almost every pose.
We did have one pose that we held for a little over five minutes. Sphinx pose. It doesn’t involve your hamstrings. It’s a small back bend. But after about 2 minutes I started to burn a little… after 3 I hurt… after 4 I began talking myself into coming out of the pose. And somewhere around five I began begging and bargaining in my mind to for the love of god let us out of the pose. When we finally came down I almost cried with joy. My arms and shoulders were aching. Our teacher tells us to think about the sensations we feel and notice if any are interesting. That’s her word for painful.
As in “Ah this root canal feels interesting.”
Mmm hmm. Sadist.
Because it’s widely acknowledged that two of the toughest poses are Savasana and Tadasana. For those of you not familiar with yoga speak that’s laying on your back and standing up strait. Getting the full benefits of these poses is tough. Mmm hmm. This is humbling stuff.
Right… I had yoga yesterday. It was the usual. I worked really hard, had a few moments when I started to beg to come out of position and laughed when someone said they couldn’t feel something in their hamstrings.
I can always feel something in my hamstrings. My hamstrings are so tight, I chronically worry about them during class. Not so much “Will I be able to stretch them enough…” I won’t but more like “Is that sharp shooting pain actually something tearing? Is that normal? Should I be on the verge of tears? Collapse?” And it’s always the hamstrings, or my hips, or sometimes my back. But the most excruciating pain is in the hamstrings. And we use them for almost every pose.
We did have one pose that we held for a little over five minutes. Sphinx pose. It doesn’t involve your hamstrings. It’s a small back bend. But after about 2 minutes I started to burn a little… after 3 I hurt… after 4 I began talking myself into coming out of the pose. And somewhere around five I began begging and bargaining in my mind to for the love of god let us out of the pose. When we finally came down I almost cried with joy. My arms and shoulders were aching. Our teacher tells us to think about the sensations we feel and notice if any are interesting. That’s her word for painful.
As in “Ah this root canal feels interesting.”
Mmm hmm. Sadist.
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