An Aries Knows (this site is more fun when people read and comment)
The Brides have a long day Thursday, starting early and with a lot of car time, so my dogs got a sleepover Wednesday night with Sugar. I speak her language. For example:
Here, she’s saying, “Please stop singing The Archies’ ‘Sugar Sugar’ to me.”
And here, she’s saying, “WAY past bedtime. Lights out!”
I am seven.
I’m about to have a really traumatic school year.
But it’s summer and I have no idea.
I remember that swimming suit.
I’m wearing some kind of shirt over the swimming suit.
That’s not my family’s car.
But I think I remember whose car it is.
We were a neighborhood of women and children whose husbands and fathers were deployed overseas.
Debby is twelve.
I think she looks like a baby Mick Jagger.
She’s probably saying, “Hey, you, get off of my bench.”
But that’s okay.
I’ll pay her back later.
If it wasn’t this picnic by a lake, it was another picnic when:
I woke up in the middle of the night…
Sat up…
And threw up watermelon all over her.
I don’t remember it.
But she swears it’s true.
When we were in high school, Lynne’s mother bought her an awesome Canon 35mm SLR. She still has that camera and still takes great shots with it when she wants to use film. It was because of Lynne that I developed an interest in photography. She helped me pick out my first Canon and we used to spend a lot of time shooting together. But that was years later. Before she was my go-to person for film and camera advice, she was my go-to photographer, especially for black and white.
I was talking to Jim (my writing partner, because there are two Jims who comment on this blog) last night and asked him why he made a crack about me showing my teeth in a previous post of adolescent me. Apparently, he’s under the impression that I was always an angsty, solemn teenager who didn’t smile.
Here’s one of my favorite photos, taken by Lynne, probably when I was fifteen or sixteen, that shows I COULD smile. What makes it a favorite is it really captures how I dressed for about two years. Jeans, dark-colored T-shirt, man’s chambray or button-down dress shirt over it all. It’s only because of this photo that I realized why a character I’ve been writing dresses that way. She’s got just that little bit of teenage me.
I wish I could see that big belt buckle better.
Today is Rexford G. Lambert’s birthday. That link will take you to his birthday photo.
In honor of the occasion, there was a special visitor to The Compound.
This is the closest thing to a smile I could get out of Hanley. She had a lot on her mind–especially the coffee date that was being delayed by my camera-wielding self.
Here, she’s intent on checking out the beaded embellishments her manny/tailor has added to her jean jacket. There are beads spelling out her name, “Upside down,” she explained.
Hello Kitty socks and pink-sequined shoes. As usual, to quote a favorite movie, Hanley is “my style guru.”
As they were leaving, I think I heard her call out, “Goodbye!” Or it could have been, “You’re fired!” Same/same.
I made these for Lindsey’s birthday last Friday. Notice the hearts on the baking cups. And the little heart throws on the cake plate. And when I was putting on the sprinkles, without wearing my glasses, sprinkles I had also bought without my glasses, I kept thinking, These hearts are all distorted and inferior. Then when we were eating them, it was pointed out by EVERYONE that the sprinkles are lips, not hearts. Huh.
Among Lindsey’s gifts: Kathy S presented her with a duck phone. It doesn’t ring. It quacks. Obnoxiously. There’s nothing wrong with my hearing.
In this photo, my brother is four, and my sister is fifteen months. I think it was probably taken at the old Northington Campus at the University of Alabama. This area was originally a U.S. Army Hospital just after World War II. When the Army left, the university annexed it. Druid City Hospital was there for a while. There was such a rise in the student population that freshmen in the late 1940s had classes there. Buildings were also converted for housing for those on the G.I. Bill and married students (both of these last applied to my parents).
In my parents’ apartment, four couples shared a kitchen. My mother always talked about how everyone struggled financially and had to stretch their food dollars. All except one of the wives, whose affluent parents would bring boxes of groceries when they visited or send money to help out. My mother talked about what torment it was to wake up to the smell of frying bacon and know she couldn’t have any or serve it to her husband and children.
One reason I plucked this photo out of the bunch was because my brother’s shorts intrigued me. At first my eye traveled over them and sort of registered camouflage. Then I caught myself and looked back, because this would have predated camouflage material used on kids’ clothes. The more Tom and I studied it, the more we figured out those are probably football players. This led me to a lot of time on the Internet studying vintage fabrics. I suspect his shorts were a lot like this and were probably sewn by my mother.
Now if I could just figure out what has my sister so engrossed (I think it’s a flower).
On the most recent episode of Lifetime’s Project Runway All Stars, the designers were asked to create a design that would evoke the taste of one of the gelato flavors from Manhattan’s L’Arte del Gelato, use the flavor as their color palette, and complete their look in only six hours.
I couldn’t fly to Manhattan for gelato, so I picked up the next closest thing–raspberry sorbet–from my grocer’s freezer. Because food shouldn’t be wasted, I’m forcing myself to eat it a few bites at a time. Other than slightly changed lyrics to a Prince song, what does raspberry sorbet evoke for me?
I knew my perfect model was Monster High’s Abbey Bominable, because she knows all about frozen treats.
As I tasted the sorbet, I thought of summer nights near the shore, sitting on a garden bench just after dusk, when garden lights give flowers dustier hues than the sun allows. I thought of how cozy a crop top and clamdiggers are to slip into after a busy day.
I thought of little girls who aren’t willing to give up their filmy tutus for less fanciful clothes.
And the way our dreams seem to float around us as we dance through life.
Since the PR designers were allowed a mere six hours, as my challenge, I managed to make my patterns, cut them out, and do all the sewing in around two hours. Jewelry and shoes are from Mattel.
May you have many magical raspberry nights and dreams of your own. See you next time on the runway!
Whoever gave me the print fabric–Lynne? Kathy S?–claim it and I’ll credit you!
This season’s previous looks:
Week 3: Patterning for Piggy
Week 2: A Night at the Opera
Week 1: Unconventional Challenge
Here Lynne and I are posing with my sweet Aunt Lola at the punch bowl at my sister’s wedding reception. I believe I own more photos of Lynne’s eyes closed than opened.
For about a hundred years of my childhood, the only thing I would eat for breakfast was Cocoa Puffs. But when we went to visit Uncle Gerald and Aunt Lola, their grocery store didn’t sell Cocoa Puffs. So she always bought a box of Cocoa Krispies just for me. I loved her for that and all the other ways she was good to me.
I still remember that yellow dress I’m wearing in this photo. My mother made it. But I really love Aunt Lola’s dress. In fact, I may have unconsciously…
…had Aunt Lola as my muse a couple of years ago.
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!
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.