Yesterday was Lindsey’s birthday–the last year of her twenties. Since it’s Craft Night, The Brides, and Kathy S will be joining Tom, Tim, and me for some birthday festivities. I’m so glad I have a home where people–and dogs!–are willing to celebrate their occasions with us. Because, you know, CAKE!
I thought I’d share some photos of Lindsey Birthdays Past:
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
Happy birthday, Lindsey!
Current Photo Friday theme: Greenery
(Click here to view larger version on black background.)
I accidentally imported a bunch of photos the other day when I was trying to move something from my old PC files to the iMac. A few of the pictures made me think of “process” and reminded me of how much help I get in putting a plan into action. For example, this photo:
reminds me of when I told Lynne, “I have a plan to promote my book that requires a Barbie.” And even though I had bins of dolls in my attic, I happened to be at her house, so she went doll shopping with me. This is how I purchased my first Top Model Barbie (and what a chain of events that set off). Then I showed the doll to Tom and said, “But I need her in a wedding dress.” So he went with me to Toys ‘R Us, and that’s where we got her couture.
Then I set up the shot, and Tom lent a hand to keep my groom steady.
Then I said I needed some background I could clone.
Then I cloned it.
But it felt too dark.
So here’s the final shot.
I’m so not a professional photographer, and a lot of times, I’m just trying to have fun with my cameras. I’m very fortunate to have many like-minded accomplices.
Accomplices…
Here’s a paragraph from The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron:
Remember that art is process. The process is supposed to be fun. For our purposes, “the journey is always the only arrival” may be interpreted to mean that our creative work is actually our creativity at play in the field of time. At the heart of this play is the mystery of joy.
I think “joy” is one of the most beautiful words in the English language. I can remember a time in my life when I thought I’d never feel it again. Then I realized that joy isn’t a condition that’s given to us; it’s a feeling that we give to ourselves. Joy is a choice. Hard work won’t get me to joy. Play, fun, whimsy, enJOYment of other people’s creative gifts (including the planet’s gifts): Those are my journeys to joy. And in turn, joy gives me the energy and stamina to do hard work.
My life has been full of people who contribute to my creative process. There have also been plenty of people who were willing to whittle away at my self-confidence. Who could discourage me with a well-aimed barb. Sometimes that stems from their own misery. Sometimes it’s even well-intentioned, a desire that I not set myself up for disappointment. But why? Disappointment is part of my process, too. I don’t have to experience everything a character goes through to write her/him, but the greater my range of emotions, the better chance I have of writing people who become real for me.
Whether you’ve helped me play, held my hand when I cried, broken my heart, listened to my ideas, given me honest reactions to my work, read my work, bought my work, hugged me when I felt lost, laughed with me when I felt silly, annoyed the crap out of me, fought with me, loved me, commented on this blog, said hi on the Internet, called me, written me, thanks. You’re part of my joy.
Who is this girl? Because the girl I knew:
Could outrun any boy. Could sit on him and make him holler uncle. Could raise a knot on his arm by socking him as she walked by.
Could shimmy up a tree in nothing flat. Was always out in front of the bike pack.
Sneaked across the highway to ride horses.
Came home from school with one sock down, one sock up, shoes scuffed, sash dragging the ground because one side was torn loose.
Could navigate monkey bars better and swing higher than any kid on the playground.
Was one of the boys, with skint knees and elbows and tangled hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Cut the hair off all the dolls. Threw Betsy Wetsy in the creek to see if she’d float. Dolls were stupid anyway.
After being stuck as a gypsy one year at Halloween, the next year she demanded a cowboy outfit for Christmas.
“You mean cow girl? Like Dale Evans?”
“I mean cowBOY.”
And she got it, six shooters and all.
She was her father’s shadow and her brother’s sparring partner.
Then all of a sudden she was Haley Mills and Doris Day. Wearing pearls from her father and HEELS on her white pumps. She had a white satin dress from her mother and curled hair. She was fourteen and graduating from eighth grade.
On the floor is the symbol of the infantry’s motto, “Follow me!” Much to my big sister’s dismay, I always did follow her everywhere.
On Twitter the night of the Golden Globes, people were tweeting about the celebrities, the fashions, the awkward moments, the strange occurrence of Americans with British accents, and all I could come up with was “I despise this Calvin Klein commercial.” I don’t know why it rubs me the wrong way. Best I can figure, I loathe the minimalism, the monotones, the idea that we’re meant to aspire to a lifestyle of infinity pools, glass houses, private jets, expensive cars, fast boats, or men with girls who look like they’re fifteen. If you’re in the One Percent and that’s your life, you’re not reading this blog enjoy!
It made me contemplate what places I do like to visit and why. And it always comes back to anywhere there’s creative energy. Galleries. Little shops where people sell their hand crafted arts. Places where the air vibrates with street musicians. Watching street performers. Watching people paint. Looking at people’s paintings. Seeing people on their laptops and imagining they’re writing great stories or poems. Or seeing older people sitting comfortably around wood stoves or on front porches telling stories. You can find these moments and people and places and objects anywhere–large cities, small cities, small towns, barely villages.
One such place is Yellow Springs, Ohio. When I took the time after Christmas to organize my decorations, ornaments, lights, and such, I opened what I thought was an empty box in a bin and found these.
Items handcrafted of clay, painted, and fired. I shot them with a quarter to give an idea of their size. The date on the quarter, coincidentally, is 1994, the first time I ever visited Yellow Springs with Debby, Mother, and Tom. I loved all the stores there–jewelry, art, books–and I remember eating great pizza. This was one of the years we traveled at Christmas. I don’t like leaving home at Christmas, so the only compensation is seeing family. Like here, in this 1994 shot, while Josh tries to nap on the floor after a big Christmas dinner, Sarah upholds the family tradition of sneak-attack Bunny Ears.
I bought the little clay pieces on a subsequent trip to Yellow Springs, with the idea of turning them into ornaments to give as gifts. Somehow they got misplaced. That was also the year I saw a flyer in one of the shops protesting censorship because of controversy over a new book everyone was talking about. I sure hope they kept Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone from being banned. 
If you follow the Yellow Springs link above, you’ll see that the town has an interesting history. Or you can learn more about it on their web site. I feel like I’m way overdue for another visit there.
It’s a wonderful day to be inside in Houston. Gray and full of portent. Tim surprised me earlier with Starbucks, the perfect treat for such a day. I’m paying it forward by presenting you all a bouquet of roses in the vase Tom’s mother gave me for Christmas. She always finds the most stunning gifts in glass. It’s her artist’s eye and her generous heart. I’m definitely blessed in the in-laws department.
I had a run of bad science teachers, and then as a high school senior, I took physiology with the superb Mrs. Rhodes, who I’ve talked about on my blog before. After the thoroughness of her class, and my unbroken streak of “A”s in it, I had no qualms about signing up for my first biology course in college. I had to take four science classes, and the two freshman classes in biology were prerequisites for any others.
There were hundreds of students in my class, which was similar in size to this, but had red plastic chairs and those half-desk tops that flip up:
Image taken from Internet.
I went to every class, took notes, did my once-a-week lab, took my first test–something like 75 multiple choice questions–and couldn’t breathe when I got it back and saw a “D.” Had I somehow skipped a question that caused all my blackened circles on the answer sheet to be in the wrong places? Because I felt like I’d prepared, that I’d known the material.
Next test, I was meticulous about my answer sheet. I finished the test and read every question again, making sure I’d marked the correct answer. Turned it in. Got it back the next week: “C.” People I knew who were taking the same class were making “A”s. What was I doing wrong?
I got tutoring before the next test: another “C.” I managed to get out of the class with a “C,” and I spent my holidays dreading the second survey course. On my first exam in that one, I read the first ten questions and couldn’t answer them. I wasn’t sure if I didn’t know the material or was having a panic attack, but I kept my head down, tears dripping onto my blue jeans. I realized that two different people were deliberately sitting and positioning their answer sheets in such a way that I could have copied from them. Touched as I was by the show of solidarity, I couldn’t cheat. It wasn’t a moral choice. I was just beaten down. I didn’t care. I felt like I was stupid, and the tests were somehow skewed to weed out people with no natural aptitude in the sciences. In fact, rumor had it that this particular professor had missed questions on his own tests, so my mind shut down to him.
I stopped going to class, since no roll was kept. I used someone else’s notes; let other people re-explain the material to me; took my “C”s and was happy to get them. The experience soured me on that side of the campus (the opposite from “my” side, with the literature and history and sociology classes that I loved). During every pre-registration, my stomach would knot when I’d look at the science pages in the catalog or on the schedule. Then someone I trusted took a class called “Earth Science.” He advised me to take it the next semester; I wouldn’t be sorry.
That’s how I ended up with Dr. Neal Lineback, undoubtedly one of the best teachers I ever knew. I never skipped one of his classes. I stopped feeling stupid. And even though I ended up with “B”s, I knew that if I could have written all my answers instead of dealing with multiple choice questions, I probably would have received “A”s. I’d learned a lot about my strengths in the years between science classes, but I also had the confidence that flourishes in students who feel a teacher wants them to succeed.
One of the topics in “Earth Science” was atmosphere, including the study of tornados and hurricanes. It was timely, because we had an active tornado season that spring. Dr. Lineback’s ability to create a learning experience out of the daunting conditions that set off tornado sirens was a gift to us.
I took another course from him in the fall. As the Iron Bowl approached (the big football game between fierce rivals Alabama and Auburn), he broke “teacher” character one afternoon to share something with us. Though he’d gone to a different school in the SEC (Tennessee), he honored the proud football tradition of the Crimson Tide. He evoked the hallowed name of our coach, Bear Bryant. He had us eating up his praise of our school. Then he clapped his hands and said that was enough of that; it was time to get back on topic. He shrugged out of his jacket, turned to the chalkboard, and pretended not to hear the class’s burst of laughter as we saw Auburn’s “WAR EAGLE” battle cry emblazoned across his shirt back.
The only other time he broke out of his lecturer role was the last day of class, when he explained what teaching meant to him. He encouraged any of us who planned to be teachers to bring not only our passion for our subjects to the classroom, but to remember that teachers are actors. They owe every class, every day, their best performances, and if they give that, their students will learn and succeed. Dr. Lineback was later department chair, and then chair at another university, where he is now a professor emeritus. I wish everyone could have teachers with his commitment and enthusiasm.
Thinking of Dr. Lineback and the things he taught us still manages to refocus my fear when we have tornado warnings in Houston. Last spring, when an EF-4 tornado destroyed a mile-wide, six-mile-long swath of Tuscaloosa, I wondered if current students had a Dr. Lineback of their own, or if some of his former students are still there and became part of the recovery efforts. I follow various social media sites to keep up with the city’s clean-up and rebuilding. I ordered these awareness bracelets for Tom and me–the houndstooth design used on them as well as on ribbons and other items is an homage to the houndstooth hat Coach Bryant always wore. But for me, the bracelets are also a reminder of Dr. Neal Lineback, who embodied the best that a university can offer its students and its city.
On the most recent episode of Lifetime’s Project Runway All Stars, the designers were asked to create a cocktail dress to be worn by a very demanding diva as she promotes her new movie: MISS PIGGY! Though their designs were shown on models, I’m deviating from using my Monsters because–why not go right to the source?!?
“Moi?”
Yes, Miss Piggy, YOU!
Miss Piggy’s cocktail dress has a lavender crepe skirt with lots of flowing movement for red carpet walks.
The bodice of the dress is an explosion of lavender tulle, as big and bold as Miss Piggy herself.
What does Miss Piggy, accessorized with sapphire and rhinestone earrings, think of her look?
“Moi LOVES it!”
See you next time when the Monsters return to the runway!
Thanks to Lynne, a devoted Miss Piggy fan, for the tulle fabric.
This season’s previous looks:
Week 2: A Night at the Opera
Week 1: Unconventional Challenge
When Lynne and I were just into our teens, her cousin, who I’ll call NC, was shooting an 8 mm movie. I don’t remember all the details, but I believe I was a vampire (see? it started early), and it ended with Lynne’s sister Liz running into the night. Some ten or more years later, NC shot another movie, a sequel to that first one, and this one began with Liz running toward the camera. During the intervening years, she’d lost quite a bit of weight–makes sense if someone’s been running for ten years, right?
I’d gotten a movie camera in college–a Super 8. It didn’t have sound, and movies had to be sent away for developing. After I graduated and moved back to our little town, making movies was a way to have harmless fun on the weekends. It was a more innocent age, when everybody and her/his boyfriend didn’t make sex tapes. I can’t imagine having access to all of today’s technology, when practically every digital camera and phone have video capability. I can only say that what we did create, wholesome though it was, is better left in the vault, including a little gem titled “Friday Afternoon Virus.” Though there were several of us playing muppet characters in a Muppets/Saturday Night Fever mashup, only two of us were breakout stars. Our friend Cathy, who was a great Kermit in a white disco suit, and Lynne, who was a sensational Miss Piggy. That’s why she ended up with the button featured in Button Sunday.
I regret that I’m failing you, because I have no photos of this event. It’s possible Lynne does, but that doesn’t mean she’ll share them. Unless maybe I ORDER HER TO. Because that night is when it became clear that my personality best lends itself to the role of director. When Fozzie Bear accidentally knocked over a glass that shattered on our dance floor, I yelled, “Keep moving! The film is rolling!” And everyone stayed in character.
MY POWER…
Last week, Lynne and I were talking about Miss Piggy. Then on Saturday, she texted me this photo of a button she’d found in her collection. It was released as part of a Hallmark series circa 1980.
Miss Piggy for First Lady…President!
Today is officially Miss Piggy Day on this blog. More to come…
