{a}musing

Wim and Pina

2011-12-29T13:06:00.000-05:00

Bodies grow wiser and more expressive over time, though ever more open to the ravages of loss; look at them drift to and fro like sleepwalkers, in “Café Müller,” to the sorrowful strains of Purcell. Yet Wenders does not want his homage to end in tears. Instead, we close with a healthy, Teutonic walk in the country, and a parade of smiling dancers. We are meant to think of the dance of death, glimpsed on a hillside in the finale of “The Seventh Seal,” and of the departed Pina Bausch. Yet her troupe of followers, young and old, could hardly seem more alive. They shake their fists, not in anger but in glee, like children who have just scored a goal or opened a Christmas gift.

for what you have tamed.

2011-12-23T12:32:00.000-05:00

It was then that the fox appeared.

"Good morning," said the fox.

"Good morning," the little prince responded politely, although when he turned around he saw nothing.

"I am right here," the voice said, "under the apple tree."

"Who are you?" asked the little prince, and added, "You are very pretty to look at."

"I am a fox," the fox said.

"Come and play with me," proposed the little prince. "I am so unhappy."

"I cannot play with you," the fox said. "I am not tamed."

"Ah! Please excuse me," said the little prince.

But, after some thought, he added:

"What does that mean--'tame'?"

"You do not live here," said the fox. "What is it that you are looking for?"

"I am looking for men," said the little prince. "What does that mean--'tame'?"

"Men," said the fox. "They have guns, and they hunt. It is very disturbing. They also raise chickens. These are their only interests. Are you looking for chickens?"

"No," said the little prince. "I am looking for friends. What does that mean--'tame'?"

"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. It means to establish ties."

"'To establish ties'?"

"Just that," said the fox. "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world . . ."

"I am beginning to understand," said the little prince. "There is a flower . . . I think that she has tamed me . . ."

"It is possible," said the fox. "On the Earth one sees all sorts of things."

"Oh, but this is not on the Earth!" said the little prince.

The fox seemed perplexed, and very curious.

"On another planet?"

"Yes."

"Are there hunters on that planet?"

"No."

"Ah, that is interesting! Are there chickens?"

"No."

"Nothing is perfect," sighed the fox.

But he came back to his idea.

"My life is very monotonous," the fox said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat . . ."

The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.

"Please--tame me!" he said.

"I want to, very much," the little prince replied. "But I have not much time. I have friends to discover, and a great many things to understand."

"One only understands the things that one tames," said the fox. "Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me . . ."

"What must I do, to tame you?" asked the little prince.

"You must be very patient," replied the fox. "First you will sit down at a little distance from me--like that--in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day . . ."

The next day the little prince came back.

"It would have been better to come back at the same hour," said the fox. "If, for example, you come at four o'clock in the afternoon, then at three o'clock I shall begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances. At four o'clock, I shall already be worrying and jumping about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is to be ready to greet you . . . One must observe the proper rites . . ."

"What is a rite?" asked the little prince.

"Those also are actions too often neglected," said the fox. "They are what make one day different from other days, one hour from other hours. There is a rite, for example, among my hunters. Every Thursday they dance with the village girls. So Thursday is a wonderful day for me! I can take a walk as far as the vineyards. But if the hunters danced at just any time, every day would be like every other day, and I should never have any vacation at all."

So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near--

"Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."

"It is your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you . . ."

"Yes, that is so," said the fox.

"But now you are going to cry!" said the little prince.

"Yes, that is so," said the fox.

"Then it has done you no good at all!"

"It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the color of the wheat fields." And then he added:

"Go and look again at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a present of a secret."

The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.

"You are not at all like my rose," he said. "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world."

And the roses were very much embarrassed.

"You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you--the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or ever sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.

And he went back to meet the fox.

"Goodbye," he said.

"Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."

"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important."

"It is the time I have wasted for my rose--" said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.

"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose . . ."

"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

from The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry

Salutations to the Word

2011-11-16T23:55:00.000-05:00

Om bhur bhura svata
Tat savitur varenyam
Bhargo devasaya dhimahi
Dhigo yo nah prachchodyat

with glittering eyes

2011-11-15T21:53:00.001-05:00

Motto

2011-05-18T19:17:00.002-04:00

I play it cool
I dig all jive
That's the reason
I stay alive
My motto
As I live and learn
Is dig and be dug in return

-Langston Hughes

The shapes and the thought that made them.

2011-04-26T11:55:00.000-04:00

"I would give the greatest sunset in the world for one sight of New York's skyline. Particularly when one can't see the details. Just the shapes. The shapes and the thought that made them. The sky over New York and the will of man made visible. What other religion do we need? And then people tell me about pilgrimages to some dank pesthole in a jungle where they go to do homage to a crumbling temple, to a leering stone monster with a pot belly, created by some leprous savage. Is it beauty and genius they want to see? Do they seek a sense of the sublime? Let them come to New York, stand on the shore of the Hudson, look and kneel. When I see the city from my window - no, I don't feel how small I am - but I feel that if a war came to threaten this, I would throw myself into space, over the city, and protect these buildings with my body."

— Ayn Rand (The Fountainhead)

irrevocable

2011-04-16T10:44:00.000-04:00

Lest you be wise in your own sight, I want you to understand this mystery, brothers: a partial hardening has come upon Israel, until the fullness of the Gentiles has come in. And in this way all Israel will be saved, as it is written,

“The Deliverer will come from Zion,
he will banish ungodliness from Jacob”;
“and this will be my covenant with them
when I take away their sins.”

As regards the gospel, they are enemies of God for your sake. But as regards election, they are beloved for the sake of their forefathers. For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable. For just as you were at one time disobedient to God but now have received mercy because of their disobedience, so they too have now been disobedient in order that by the mercy shown to you they also may now receive mercy. For God has consigned all to disobedience, that he may have mercy on all.

Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways!

“For who has known the mind of the Lord,
or who has been his counselor?”
“Or who has given a gift to him
that he might be repaid?”

For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be glory forever. Amen.

Romans 11:25-26

Let's Bring Back

2011-04-09T19:13:00.003-04:00

A remarkable Saturday, one of much needed alone time and sunshine. Went exploring beyond my neighborhood today and into Cobble Hill, stumbling upon a paper shop where I spent the better part of two hours looking for new stationary in a haystack of colors, cuts and styles. I ended up walking away with some fresh square yellow envelopes and cream card stock that I plan on doctoring with a favored wood block stamp and, at the last minute a book entitled, Let's Bring Back written by the delightful Huffington Post writer, Lesley M. M. Blume. Partly because the description on the cover boasts "An encyclopedia of forgotten yet delightful, chic, useful, curious, and otherwise commendable things from times gone by" and mainly because there is a picture of a gramophone on it. I am without a doubt nostalgic, maybe to a fault, and sometimes feel a bit shamed about it -- over romanticizing another period of life and time and all. To my delight, the author explains it well:

Before you get the wrong idea, Let's Bring Back is not about stopping the clock or extolling the virtues of simpler times. Times have never been simple. Nor is Let's Bring Back about nostalgia for nostalgia's sake alone. Looking back in this way helps us to become intelligently forward-looking as well. It makes us preservation-minded, astute observers of contemporary culture and helps us evaluate what traditions heirlooms, and element of our own lifestyles and households we want to pass on to the next generation. It makes us consider why we value an object or ritual one day and forsake it the next.

- Lesley M. M. Blume (of whom I am now a big fan. Big fan.)

Currently desiring personalized calling cards, and who are we kidding, who doesn't want to be described by the man she's dating as 'the bee's knees'? More things to be brought back:

Bing Crosby

[broadwayworld.com]

Bloomers

[elle.com]

Home Guest Books

[manuscripts.wordpress.com]

Which leads me too...

Penmanship

[Nichols Business Guide]

Hoola Hoops

[msnbc.com]

Pink Suits for Men a la The Great Gatsby

[a-shu.co.uk]

Tea Time

Today, there is only baking, listening to the radio, and reading by the sunlight through my vintage Virginian curtains.

Baking
Double Chocolate Chip Cookies

NPR Radio
Billie Holiday
The Civil War
Poetry Criticism
Prairie Home Companion

Reading
Emersons Essays

Still deciding if blogging about this cheapens the experience of today or supports the "preservation-minded, astute observers of contemporary culture and helps us evaluate what traditions heirlooms, and element of our own lifestyles and households we want to pass on to the next generation."

Leaning towards the latter.

Lastly, I would be remiss to not mention the Original Shuff, who is celebrating his 101st birthday in West Virginia today. Snug in the comfort of his own home, a piece of coconut cake on his lap and a whiskey sour in his hand, I told him about my blog post today and he said, "Shuffy, I'm with you."

If You Don't Read So Good, Read Well.

2011-03-09T19:55:00.000-05:00

Most of the time I am rotating between three and four books at any given moment and well, that doesn't lend itself to my ever growing focusing problem. So, had to make an order of it.

Listen to the Stories:Nat Hentoff on Jazz and Country Music
(bought at IAM Encounter this past weekend)

Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business
(Reader's Guild March selection)

The Shadow of the Wind
(friend Becky's favorite book in the world)

It Still Moves
(recommend from a good writer/music friend)

Surprised by Hope
(re-read because I barely understood it the first two times and would like to)

Something Entirely Different [Speaking of Music and Silence]

2010-11-29T18:19:00.000-05:00

"...he entered the regions where there is only life, and
therefore all that is not music is silence..."

The Screwtape Letters via CS Lewis

In the reality of having fallen off the left side of the horse only to possibly fall off the right...I humbly submit the following.

Alegria Means Joy

2010-11-11T19:06:00.000-05:00

Wanted to share about Exhibit of Hope :: A Benefit for ALEGRIA next Thursday, November 18th from 7-9PM. 100% of proceeds are benefiting ALEGRIA, and 100% of art sales go towards orphanage needs.

If you haven't heard much (or anything at all!) about Alegria, round the corner and sit a while. Here's how you get there -->

+ Site
+ Blog
+ Facebook
+ Twitter

Or better yet - get a hold of me and I would love to tell you stories and share the vision. If you live in New York, please join us. If you are dwelling and making a home anywhere that has internet access - there are still ways to be a part (more to come). For now, I'll leave you with what we have joined each other in. It would be my joy for you to come along. Won't you?

EMPOWERING CHILDREN LIVING IN ORPHANAGE  COMMUNITIES THROUGH CREATIVITY: A VOICE FOR THE VOICELESS

Alegría means 'joy' in Spanish. We're a nonprofit organization focused on empowering children living in orphanage communities in South America through creativity.

We mobilize international and local artists to mentor children in their various disciplines on a volunteer, short-term, small-group basis.
Our creative workshop intensives focus on a mentor-based relationship. Our artists mentor older children as apprentices throughout their workshop. Apprentices become ambassadors of the medium, utilizing long-term curriculums which allow more children to have creative experiences and exposure to creative outlets.

We mobilize communities to meet the creative needs of orphanage communities in South America. We are committed to creatively investing in existing creative endeavors in orphanage communities, and we mobilize our creative communities to meet those needs. We contribute to sustainable, long-term endeavors, that meet a need which allow the children to flourish creatively. Many times, these needs go unmet.

CREATIVE EXPERIENCES ALLOW CHILDREN TO RE-IMAGINE WHAT IS POSSIBLE.

We believe in the power of creativity and creative resources as a tool of empowerment.
Children in Andean orphanage communities have suffered much trauma from sexual abuse, life on the streets, abandonment, lack of resources, and severe poverty. Creativity allows them to re-imagine what's possible, contributing to a stronger sense of self and sense of possibility for their lives.

Hope through art.

Join us. Ven con nosotros.

Hallo-lazy-ween.

2010-10-29T19:31:00.000-04:00

Dress up day at work. Laziness meets ingenuity.

Screen shot.

Money Shot.

I'm an iPod!

And I always Shuffle.

The Golden Spatula of Dreams (and love than spans the East River)

2010-10-29T19:23:00.001-04:00

We here on Dean and 5th still are yet to acquire the most essential element to cooking food...gas.

We don't have it.

And it makes me sad.

I just want to make rice and brownies.

So tonight I walked two avenues west to the ladies of Dean Street (not to be confused with the Ladies of the Locker who happen to live on Dean Street) for some kitchen time and dream talking.

Boo-yaka-sha.

Golden Spatula of Dreams

The only thing I want right now. A working stove and oven. Thanks ladies for letting me make brownies and for making me eat yummy food and talk about dreams and have quiet time reading.

Gun Club loves the Lady Locker. Lady Locker loves Gun Club. And it shows. Boroughs may now separate us - but the tenderness is ever present.


Mo, (Lady Locker rep) helps Mike (Gun Club rep) learn how to tie his bow tie.

He likes it.

It's A Girl James Koroni!

2010-10-25T18:57:00.001-04:00

Through one of the most incredible cake wrecks I have ever seen, this showed up a few months ago at my boss' baby shower. Ordered by James.

We of course laugh about it all the time and it is fitting as our Sweet James leaves us tomorrow, that we honor him in such a way that reflects what he always brought to us :: vegan baked goods and so much joy and laughter. One of the most thoughtful, creatively talented and hard working individuals I know.

So I spent the last portion of my day making this...obviously.

Love to you, my dear, and bookoos of "merde".

The Exchange of Things :: Saturday

2010-10-24T23:25:00.000-04:00

Five items made my day - each acquired in a completely different manner.

Borrowed from ERA yesterday while hanging out with his WIFE. (!!!)

Needed a record stand so I could get it off the floor. Haggled, gambled, and ended paying two old men from Long Island $10 for the gold metal stand.

Little art deco action never hurt no one.

Bought for $2 from Gerty. An ink pen she used in grade school circa the 1920s and that I will use to write to the Original Shuff (may take me 5 weeks, but whatevs.)

Came home and found a sa-weet note and Gorilla coffee gift card slid under my door. Holler.

The Necessity of Non-Necessities

2010-10-20T00:22:00.001-04:00

I love hand written anything. It's my equivalent of flowers. They aren't necessary in this day and age seeing as a keyboard is more common than your corner Starbucks, but they are lovely. If I can't see someone's face, I want to see what they've made with their hands.

The Original Shuff gets it right every time. Personal stationary or a simple card stock driven home by some seemingly unnecessary details about life - why don't we give those anymore? I talk about necessary things all day. I like the details.

Birthday greetings from the Original Shuff :: "Just talked to you Uncle John. He and Nancy are driving to Henry and Jen's tonight leaving their car, then flying to Israel tomorrow afternoon. Tough life!!!! I told them to dodge the bullets!"

But this isn't about that.

This is about Coco Chanel.

And my ridiculous need to make unnecessary things that are ridiculous.

She wasn't offended.

She quite enjoyed it.

Happy birthday Miss Gaitan.

I'd do it all over again.

Man is a Giddy Thing.

2010-10-17T18:17:00.001-04:00

Left to my own devices, this is my chosen (Sun)day.

Living here.


Waking up to the mix of Haitian worship across the street and Sigh No More from our apartment.

Perfect fall weather, holding onto eating ice cream as long as I can, second hand searching at Odd Twin and Bob and Judy's and couch planting at Community Bookstore.

E.B. Love him for many reasons, one of which is he used the word "hooey" in 97% of his letters.

For this is what community is. Sharing = Caring.

I love cats. Unapologetically.

Ideally, after a day of doing anything, I sit my hiney down in this old blue second hand chair and write something. Anything. I don't even care as long as it goes from my hea(d)rt to my hands to coherent (sometimes) words.

Looking at the week and choosing a meal to cook from the Ma-Bur-ffle Family stash. Sister Sarah just recently began compiling this beaut...and it's equally possible she thought it would a good thing to do and that I would stop pestering her for recipes the day I had to make them. Either way - it's pure gold.

From Friday, but I would be wary not to mention my good friend Joe's music venture as of late. Went to their first secret show in Bushwick this Friday and watched Elastic Summer come alive.

Serve God love me and mend

This is not the end

Lived unbruised we are friends

And I'm sorry

I'm sorry

Sigh no more, no more

One foot on sea and one on shore

My heart was never pure

And you know me

You know me

But man is a giddy thing

Oh man is a giddy thing

-Mumford & Sons, Sigh No More

___________

"Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever,-
One foot in sea and one on shore,
To one thing constant never."
- William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing, 2.3

___________

"In brief, since I do purpose to marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have said against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion."
- William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing, 5.4

The Weather is Changing.

2010-10-11T22:20:00.000-04:00

I just moved to Brooklyn from Manhattan.

We have a closet completely devoted to fur coats and their miniature accessories.

The bodega on the corner will steam your milk BEFORE pouring your coffee...and it's a dollar.

Park Slope Community Bookstore.

Fall is my favorite and so far has been filled with all my favorites.

Brooklyn, I'd like to put you on every day and take your stride.

I took off my coat...and then I washed it.

2010-04-28T14:25:00.002-04:00

My last 9th Avenue laundering experience was with a good man, some warm rain, and a healthy dose of nerves. Today was spent with Edith Schaeffer, unseasonably cool weather, and a view of Alvin Ailey.

I haven't done my own laundry in the City but maybe six times and stepped into a laundromat twice beyond that...in three years. I'm not lazy, I actually like doing laundry, it's just a time and efficiency issue.

There's always a quicker route, a better deal, a more connected relationship, and I am almost constantly thinking of one or all three of these things at the same time in living life. It's a coat you grow for survival here.

City Effectiveness Rationale 101 ::
personal time (effort) + personal cost ≥ someone else's time (effort) + personal cost

Today I had the time and a coinciding desire to go through the waiting process. I was oddly effected by the time it took to sit and wait on something to be done. I couldn't make it go faster or slower. Oh Convenience, I love you and I hate you.

People ask me why I enjoy washing dishes or making a meal (you know...preparing meat, putting it in the oven, flanking it with vegetables, that kind of thing) and I think it's my rebellion against this City Monster that can own you if you're not careful. I walk into my apartment and I take my coat off and go to work in the kitchen. No short cuts, no time savers, just tools and ingredients and hands. In my silly and small way, that's how I fight back.

I forget what good that does for a soul.

Go For Your Dreams

2010-04-21T16:43:00.004-04:00

From my old grade school/high school friend Lori ::

Dream

Between You and Lori ~~'Stoneman' Walker~~

Lori 'Stoneman' Walker April 21 at 4:29pm

I had a dream about you! You were dating this black chiropractor who had dreams of being on Broadway, but you were thinking about breaking up because he was too short.
Not sure why we dream what we dream, but it made me laugh.

In other news... how are you?!

My response ::

Yes. Yes. Yes.

Walken

2010-04-21T01:10:00.004-04:00

Columbia University // NYC // Summer 09

I love to walk. Being outside. The city affords me this luxury and it's one I take. I'm notorious for walking just about anywhere at any given time. I told my mom that I walked from Soho to the West Village at 2am on a Friday night after a party and she nearly had a heart attack. Sorry mom.

I do it to get my lengthy limbs moving and secretly because I believe it's this undiscovered art. Giving yourself ample time to walk slowly, observe, take in, to think.

This time used to be used for evil. For a thief of truth to plunder my matter, rattling old bones that have been buried. Buried bones shouldn't make a sound. Not one.

The thief doesn't live here anymore, and if he drops by, as some old roommates like to do, and asks to borrow some apple cider vinegar, I tell him to go home...and not politely. A man who hates the thief is usually standing behind me at the door, having just stepped away from drinking coffee or a whiskey sour (depending on the time of day of course) by the table. I'll close the door and we'll continue our conversation about life and people and at some point, surely argue over what we'll do tomorrow.

I see the world on my walks with New York. With every concrete padded step I see people and most times, I see their their day in the speed of their step, the dart of their eyes, the fidgeting with their phones. I see two hearts that recognize each other when they meet, I see bodies sigh with understanding without a word spoken. I hear the noise on 9th, the music on Broadway, the car horns well, everywhere, and the silence at 7am on a Sunday morning. It's deafening.

And in all this walking, I know that I am in someone else's terrarium. Most days the speed of my step is quick, my eyes dart to watch for cars as I cross 8th Avenue, my phone in hand reading an email and listening to Johnny or Ray or Otis or Lyle so that I don't hear the horns. My heart recognizes another heart in my neighborhood and my body sighs with understanding that I have 30 seconds of home before he leaves. And I pray pray pray for silence as I'm walking.

I'm walking on a gray stone treadmill that never gets shut off and I wonder if I'll ever hit grass again.

Get here Sunday morning. Please. Live here. I've made room.

I don't have any vinegar, but I have plenty of coffee. And whiskey.

The good kind.

When Everything Is Telling You To Totally Flip Out...

2010-04-16T16:13:00.001-04:00

TITLE:

Keep Calm Carry On

ARTIST:

Maira Kalman

WORK DATE:

2008

CATEGORY:

Prints

Deep and Dumb

2010-04-06T01:03:00.000-04:00

"True love, it used to be said, is love at first sight...

...Acquaintance becomes necessary for love when it is necessary for memory. But what makes true love is not the information conveyed by acquaintance, nor any circumstantial charms that may be therein discovered: it is still a deep and dumb instinctive affinity, and inexplicable emotion seizing the heart an influence organizing the world, like a luminous crystal, about one magic point. So that although love seldom springs up suddenly in these days into anything like a full-blown passion, it is sight, it is presence, that makes in time a conquest over the heart; for all virtues, sympathies, confidences will fail to move a man to tenderness and to worship unless a poignant effluence from the object envelops him, so that he begins to walk, as it were in a dream.

Not to believe in love is a great sign of dullness..."

Love
George Santayana
The Oxford Book of American Prose

The Case of a Really Really Old Book and the Winds of Hell

2010-03-27T20:19:00.002-04:00

I was on my way to teach dance at an after school program in Brooklyn when I decided to take refuge from the whiplashing wind screaming down 9th Avenue and ducked into a Housing Works that opened up 2 blocks from my apartment. After paroozing the men's ties and ladies scarves, I hit my sweet spot - hardback classics.

Longfellow's Poems for $1. Are you kidding me? It was litera[ture]lly falling apart in my hands. [Waiting to use that one for a while.] I opened the deep cyan blue cover and immediately the pages disengaged themselves from the spine. I had set them free. Turns out, their freedom was followed by a swift yet timely death because [fore, I wanted to use the word 'fore' right there] right as my fingers lifted the opening page it snapped in two like a cheap wafer at Communion.

I gingerly closed the cover, in case any of its other friends were thinking it was time to bungee sans chord and hand sandwiched it over to the register. I was half protecting its frailty and half frightened of what it might have contained [I read too many Nancy Drew books when I was younger.]

"I'll take it."

I walked really, really fast to an outdoor seating and restaurant area not too far away to look more closely at my book for a buck. In my haste, I set Wadsworth on a concrete bench with no protection.

Wind tunnel.

Pages went fa-ly-ing. I mean, imagine the Bio-Dome type atmosphere where the aforementioned bridge jumping happened not 10 minutes earlier and then what open air, outdoor seating, tornado tube conditions did to this little guy. I can't even describe it. It's too graphic.

Massacre.

So, like any sane person who just spent a heaping ONE DOLLAR on a century old plus book that was obviously pleading to be put out of its misery, I ran, no...I sprinted around Mother Burger (real place) picking up Henry, Wadsworth, and Longfellow. Some were lost forever either being completely disseminated into dust molecules [don't think that's scientifically real] and, I pray, that some flew to safety somewhere like a public bathroom hopefully spreading the joy of American 18th century poetry for years to come. Others still were caught by my fumbling hands to, guess what, snap in half or worse. Yet I was committed. I scooped up my book, quickly put all the reminents I could back in the now balemic cyan colored cover and ran around the corner of 49th and 8th. Out witting the murderous wind and triple stepping down the subway stairs I sat down on the C train, out of breath and quietly satisfied that I had just made my day much more drama filled than is ever necessary. I opened the cover, and serendipitously resting on top of the tattered pages was the original gatekeeper of the poetry. A handwritten inscription.

It was given as a gift in 1903. Probably a gift between friends. If you are acquaintances, you give cook books- if you are friends- heart recognizing friends- you give poetry.

It simply reads ::

To Rosalind

From Lillian Levy

and

Leona Kaufman

May 16, 1903.

And just behind that, in all its war torn glory, were the final three stanzas of Voices of the Night, used in this book as a prelude .

"There is a forest where the dim

Of iron branches sound!

A mighty river roars between,

And whosoever looks therein

Sees the heaves all black with sin,

Sees not its depths, nor bounds.

"Athwart the swinging branches cast,

Soft rays of sunshine pour;

Then comes the fearful wintry blast,

Our hopes, like withered leaves, fall fast

Pallid lips say, 'It is past!

We can return no more!'

"Look, then, into thine heart, and write -

Yes, into Life's deep stream!

All forms of sorrow and delight,

All solemn Voices of the Night,

That can soothe thee, or affright, -

Be these henceforth thy theme."

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Voices of the Night
1837

Yummy.

He Must Learn Them Again

2010-03-27T10:04:00.001-04:00

"No matter how piercing and appalling his insights, the desolation creeping over his outer world, the lurid lights and shadows of his inner world, the writer must live with hope, work in faith."
J.B. Priestley

I feel that this award was not made to me as a man, but to my work--a life's work in the agony and sweat of the human spirit, not for glory and least of all for profit, but to create out of the materials of the human spirit something which did not exist before. So this award is only mine in trust. It will not be difficult to find a dedication for the money part of it commensurate with the purpose and significance of its origin. But I would like to do the same with the acclaim too, by using this moment as a pinnacle from which I might be listened to by the young men and women already dedicated to the same anguish and travail, among whom is already that one who will some day stand where I am standing.
Our tragedy today is a general and universal physical fear so long sustained by now that we can even bear it. There are no longer problems of the spirit. There is only one question: When will I be blown up? Because of this, the young man or woman writing today has forgotten the problems of the human heart in conflict with itself which alone can make good writing because only that is worth writing about, worth the agony and the sweat. He must learn them again. He must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid: and, teaching himself that, forget it forever, leaving no room in his workshop for anything but the old verities and truths of the heart, the universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed--love and honor and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice. Until he does so, he labors under a curse. He writes not of love but of lust, of defeats in which nobody loses anything of value, and victories without hope and worst of all, without pity or compassion. His griefs grieve on no universal bones, leaving no scars. He writes not of the heart but of the glands.
Until he learns these things, he will write as though he stood among and watched the end of man. I decline to accept the end of man. It is easy enough to say that man is immortal because he will endure: that when the last ding-dong of doom has clanged and faded from the last worthless rock hanging tideless in the last red and dying evening, that even then there will still be one more sound: that of his puny inexhaustible voice, still talking. I refuse to accept this. I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance. The poet's, the writer's, duty is to write about these things. It is his privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honor and hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which have been the glory of his past. The poet's voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail.

William Faulkner's speech at the Nobel Banquet at the City Hall in Stockholm, December 10, 1950

purple ---> people ---> eater

2010-03-24T01:04:00.002-04:00

went to spend time with my friends and on a tuesday night, that means heading to Gun Club, watching Lost and pretending I have any idea of what's going on.

i arrive...ten minutes later, victor victorious arrives (he lives there and loves Lost) and we are wearing the same american apparel purple shirt...not the first time and surely not the last.

two people = funny.

ten minutes after that, adam appears as if out of nowhere (like the black cloud, or fog, or whatever the heck it is...el diablo) also wearing the american apparel purple shirt (adam doesn't live there nor does he love Lost).

three people = sad.

picture.

we then all ate iced sprinkle donuts to celebrate dunkin donuts 60th anniversary while having wonderful Lost watching fun with our Lost watching friends.

later came home to eat wedding cake samples with my roommate and her fiance and talk about spray tanning.

*there should be a label on this blog called "no one cares".

**this may be gone tomorrow.

***i'll probably get diabetes...by most activities taking place while wearing this purple shirt.

****just trying to keep it real here people.

A Temporary Madness

2010-03-19T12:57:00.002-04:00

“Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being “in love” which any of us can convince ourselves we are.

Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.”

—Captain Corelli’s Mandolin

(thanks to sweet Kayla of Team Saadeh for the excerpt)

I've been thinking a lot about love.

No. Really. I have.

I think about the sustainability of it, the freedom of it, the humility, the commitment, the absolute madness of the whole thing. How I question some people's sanity who find themselves in love. How I question my own sanity for believing in it with my whole heart.

I'm a romantic. I am. Closeted maybe, but maybe not. I am also a realist. I know that roaring flames whittle down to embers and that breathlessness can turn into gasping for air.

Up on my roof this morning, my thoughts began in the embers, ashes, they began in the gasping. I don't have to look far to find the abundance of people around me that have just found themselves in this deep friendship, this oneness of heart and vision with another (with whom they also want to kiss...hey-o!). My oh my, do I revel the people in my life.

And as my Converse covered feet paced the graffiti-ed rooftop, I looked over my sun drenched stretch of sky line to find myself at the edge with a goofball smile on my face as this seemingly ticker taped across 9th Avenue : the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end, they are new every morning. Great is your faithfulness.

When you know something is true, it changes everything.

This temporary, messy, beautiful madness reflects an Original Intent for seamless hearts and minds and bodies and spirits that is anchored by the intertwining root systems of the soul. This makes it sustainable. This makes it free. This makes it transformative.

Every facet and expression of love comes from This. The self-sacrificing, the freedom to receive, the romance, the commitment, the connection to humanity, all of it. It comes from the certainty of permanency and the freedom to move, to wrap yourself around it because its not going anywhere.

God, give us the grace and time and experience to know this more deeply.

Resolving

2010-03-15T00:09:00.000-04:00

1. Resolved, that I will do whatsoever I think to be most to God's glory, and my own good, profit and pleasure, in the whole of my duration, without any consideration of the time, whether now, or never so many myriads of ages hence. Resolved to do whatever I think to be my duty, and most for the good and advantage of mankind in general. Resolved to do this, whatever difficulties I meet with, how many and how great soever.

2. Resolved, to be continually endeavoring to find out some new invention and contrivance to promote the forementioned things.

3. Resolved, if ever I shall fall and grow dull, so as to neglect to keep any part of these Resolutions, to repent of all I can remember, when I come to myself again.

4. Resolved, never to do any manner of thing, whether in soul or body, less or more, but what tends to the glory of God; nor be, nor suffer it, if I can avoid it.

5. Resolved, never to lose one moment of time; but improve it the most profitable way I possibly can.

6. Resolved, to live with all my might, while I do live.

7. Resolved, never to do anything, which I should be afraid to do, if it were the last hour of my life.

Source: Jonathan Edwards, Letters and Personal Writings (WJE Online Vol. 16), 753-759.

T for two

2010-03-12T18:35:00.002-05:00

early week allergies (thanks new york) has managed to lodge itself into my body for a more lengthy stay. you know how some people hate asking for help? well, i don't. atleast not when i'm sick.

i've heard about this "magic" tea my good friend tyler makes and has made for many a sickee in the past and so, you know, i of course put THAT to good use.

imagine the coming photos soundtracked by t-pain, tribe called quest, jay-z, and li'l wayne. because that's what happened.

it took me half an hour to drink A cup (head nod to the potency of that brew).

t went ahead and drank a dixie cup full for good measure. because he's a man. and that's what men do. drink terrible tasting things because they can.

it's difficult to measure my exact health progress pre and post tea...the science is not exact. but i will say that pre tea i felt like courtney love and post tea feels more like amy winehouse (currently...with a protein bar.)

yes...please.

2010-03-11T11:02:00.006-05:00

:: photo by eric ryan anderson

while at dinner with one of my besties last night in park slope, we got
to talking about getting out of the city for a couple of days with a
bunch of friends (nyc may or may not be trying to kill me...but maybe
and probably not) my mind jumped to our last large group excursion
upstate about a year ago.  it's like i've blinked and 12 months have gone by. 
i swear to you every day here feels like 3 almost anywhere else.

for some reason, out of everything from that weekend...the wood beamed
house, the frozen lake out back, fishes in pillows*, the pancake
breakfasts and roasted chicken dinners, this picture stands out in my
mind the most.

maybe because i love words.  maybe because i appreciate
redundancy.  and maybe because i feel like as people who are working
towards something, whatever it may be, we hear 20 "no"s for every
"YES."

and when a yes is said, it should be said in triplicate.

in all capital letters.

and we should frame it.

and hang it.

and know somewhere in our strong hearts but weary bodies that another "yes" will soon
follow.  or maybe at the very least [or possibly the most] we make our own.

yes is a pleasant country:
if's wintry
(my lovely)
let's open the year

both is the very weather
(not either)
my treasure,
when violets appear

love is a deeper season
than reason;
my sweet one
(and april's where we're)

- ee cummings

1932

2010-03-09T23:54:00.001-05:00

Floral couches.
Oil lamps.
Grapefruit juice.
Sewing machine dust.
Wooden ice cream maker.
Wallpaper glue.
Gospel records.
Handmade lace.

When I was five, this was my Grandma Charlie. Atleast how I saw her and heard her and smelled her and felt her. This was Texas City, and the 30 minute drive from Friendswood down I-45 that felt like we drove over the Gulf of Mexico to Florida (the ship channel confused me). This was the one story house that smelled of sweet tabacco thanks to Granpa Gene's pipe. This was 1988 and she was like a silver haired celebrity. Like Betty White.

What I love about people and particularly those in the latter bracket of life, is the inevitable story and how they rarely see it as grand. Yet we clamor for their wisdom, for their hard earned lessons, for the thread of Faithfulness, for their lives; so that maybe we gain better perspective of our own.

All I can say is that this woman, Charlotte, is a lady of the highest regard. Mother of three daughters, Katherine, Constance, and Carolyn (mine!), a jack of many many trades, a resident of West Virginia/Texas/Honduras, a woman gone through fire and still faithful. This is my kind of lady.

The stories are endless. Some that seem small like how she can sew a dress in two hours that would take me two months. Others that seem grand like the time she lived in Honduras unexpectedly for several years not too long ago, so she learned Spanish and helped start a church.

I think they are all the same. Just remarkable.

Happy birthday Grandma.

I want to know more of your stories.

Loose Luggage to Haiti [ II ] :: The Pearl of the West Indies

2010-01-27T21:21:00.000-05:00

" I did not go to Haiti with any specific expectations. However, the six days I spent there transformed me both as a photographer and as a person.

As so often happens on trips of this nature, the Haitian people did far more for me than I could ever have done for them. "

To read more on Adam's time spent with the Haitian people and to view the images he has captured and shares now, go to The Pearl of the West Indies.

Loose Luggage to Haiti

2010-01-15T01:45:00.002-05:00

Do not be slothful in zeal,be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope,be patient in tribulation,be constant in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints andseek to show hospitality.

Romans 12:11-13

i'm convinced that i am one of the millions of people aware and heartbroken about the devastation that is in Haiti even in our limited knowledge and understanding...and writing about it on a blog. my brain can never wrap itself around why things are the way they are...but here they are.

there is so much that we can physically do, ways to donate and to aide. and then there is a point where we are incredibly limited and need, in every sense of the word, to have something much bigger to restore and to save and to rebuild and to heal.

please pray for the people of Haiti, the government, families displaced, loved ones gone, for wisdom in leadership, for rescuing, for healing of bodies, for people who can be hands and feet to be just that, necessities to be quickly replaced (water, shelter, etc.) the list goes on and on.

my friend adam is heading to Haiti in just a few hours because he felt called to go. i trust his discernment because i know who he ultimately places his trust in.

adam is a photographer but is first a man who feels a tangible tie to the people of this world. if you would like to pray for adam as he's making his way to Haiti via the DR, please do so. he has a few words on his blog here.

and you can follow him for ways to pray on his twitter until he gets to Haiti here.

this is not the only way to help, there are so many things to do from right where you are and I encourage you to consider your possible role.

here is a great article in the NYDaily that links you to some points of action through monetary and supply donations.

Seasonal Series Part 3 :: find our rest

2010-01-15T01:01:00.000-05:00

come, thou long-expected Jesus,
born to set thy people free;
from our fears and sins release us,
let us find our rest in thee.

[christmas day]

how serendipitous that my body made it to tyler before my luggage did. i felt, at least for a few hours, free from hauling that huge suitcase around an airport and up stairs, free from having to rifle through it to find something to put on. i always bring too much with me.

it also afforded me alone time with peter. we drove to the local airport in near silence...me running on next to no fuel and he tired from traveling the oregon trail from dallas to east texas the previous night.

we both wore leather jackets. his was black with two pockets...just enough to hold keys, my old cell phone he now uses (with my old ring tone "love me do" still on default), and no doubt a few sheets of folded paper where he keeps notes of all kinds: to-do lists, planting schedule for his garden, ideas for his next wood working project, and a new organizational system for his hundreds of books. projects, projects, projects.

i'm convinced that those thin sheets of end weathered papers contain the secrets to the world.

my leather jacket was red. the neck line bore a wide collar and there was streamlined seaming down the sides. there were no pockets. i didn't have anything to carry with me anyway. it wasn't even my jacket, it was my oldest sisters. it actually wasn't even hers to begin with. nor the person she got it from. it was a friend's mothers, a gift from her husband brought back from italy. it was beautiful and red with no pockets and a wide collar with a history long before me. felt good to wear it.

the flights had been delayed from the previous night and so there were a good 50 people in the small town airport. it felt odd being christmas and all. it felt odd to stand outside of our family on a day that had always been so inwardly focused and see that other people in the world existed.

we had a while to wait for my luggage to arrive at baggage claim from the delayed flight. peter and i walked outside to a courtyard and watched the planes land. We sat down on a porch in a garden with miniature water falls, crisp cold air, an open sky, a white sun and rocking chairs. I pulled my wooden cocoon up and out from the overhang of the building. I wanted to be under the open sky and white sun. My dad scratched his rocking chair away from the sun to face me in his.

We rocked in our chairs.

And waited.

And were quiet.

And it was awesome.

SCENE.

Seasonal Series Part 2 :: take me (or come) now sweet Jesus

2010-01-12T01:31:00.000-05:00

[christmas eve morning. new york city.]

8am: my great friend candice is helping me get out the door for a 12:30pm flight
12pm: flight delayed 3 hours
5pm: land in chicago, half making plans to spend christmas with chicago friends
5:30pm: amazingly get on next plane to texas, call brother in law bc im not making my last flight of the day into tyler

6pm: dad and brother in law leave tyler, tx to make the 2 hours drive to dfw

7pm: get on a plane to dallas/fort worth and currently missing a flight from dfw to tyler

9:30pm: get off plane
9:45pm: get luggage
10pm: have a nice conversation with a lady with a dog
10:30pm: pop in little women and cry into my gummy worms bought at the baggage claim vending machine
11pm: dad and alley drive up (five hours later...poor guys)
11:05pm: hug dad...super excited to not be on a plane and with my family
11:06pm: dad throws me a can of dr. pepper and a ham sandwich with mustard for "provision". apparently this was a journey of survival
11:30pm: we had made it 5 miles
12:30am: [christmas] listening to my dad and alley disagree about music and highway speed.
12:31am: praying Jesus would come back and end the madness. Him coming back the same day he was born would be a nice book end

12:32am: praying that I could fall asleep
12:50am: praying that I could fall asleep
1:30am: praying that I could fall asleep
1:55am: drop dad off at hotel

2:00am: fall asleep
2:15am: pull into the driveway
2:20am: 16 degrees and almost 9 hours later for alley, we are casing the outside of the house because he forgot his keys and we were locked out. creepily tapping on the windows begin.
2:30am: at the back of the house freezing, i turn the handle to the kitchen door.

door opens

SCENE

Seasonal Series Part 1 :: stages of separation

2010-01-12T01:26:00.002-05:00

ok...let me just preface this with saying that i don't feel like i'm a clingy person...maybe that's what all clingy people say...but i really don't think i am.

[6 days before christmas, amy is bustling around the apartment packing and i'm sitting on the couch drinking wine]

sweet
me: do you need any help?
amy: nope, that's the last of it.

passive aggressive
me: well, i guess i just won't be sleeping well for the next several days. you know that i can't sleep well when i know you're not there. (bunk bed kids)
amy: yeah...me neither (she said that for me)

bratty
me: well, i hope you have fun.
amy: [super exhausted from the grind] i'm so excited. can't wait to be there and just rest.

w(h)iney
me: we're not going to see each other for 2 weeks. (ok, this is admittedly make me look isanely clingy.)
amy: i'll see you on NYE.

down right emotionally irrational
me: [crying]
amy: [pat pat on my arm]

root of the whole incident
me: i hate it when all of our framily (friend family) leaves and i'm the only one left.

resolve
amy: [walks to the book shelf, retrieves a glow in the dark baby Jesus that lives on the third shelf from the bottom given to her by our friend Tyler, charges glow in the dark baby Jesus under the chair side lamp, cups baby Jesus in her hands, walks over to the couch where I am crying...with my glass of wine...stands in front of me.]

amy: "away in a manger, no crib for a bed..."

SCENE

Sabbath ---> Stop ---> Seasonal Series ---> Scenes

2010-01-12T01:25:00.000-05:00

i started writing a post on the sabbath, but was disgusted at myself for my own piety and lack of execution on the command...so i stopped.

instead, you're getting a re-cap series of the holiday season in vignette form (i don't know what's been up with me and vignettes lately). my dream for this upcoming dialogue would be to match it in storyboard...so as soon as i can learn how to draw (and scan) i'll make that happen.

because i am too well known for making things extraordinarily long, each one will have its own post.

"she's. that kind of guuuuurl." [today's three showings of lovely ladies]

2009-11-24T20:56:00.001-05:00

[out one day, walking one day, uh-out one day with you hale-lu-]

answer phone.

me: hey mom, what's up.
mom: i'm just here at james avery.
me: [silence]
mom: because i found your ring and i'm getting it re-sized.
me: what ring?
mom: your true love waits ring from high school.
me: oh. that ring. [thank you to d.c. talk for such a great christian cultural phenomenon...i heard you on your TLW cassette that i played on my walkman non-stop in 4th grade while walking around the hills of west virginia...i heard you.]
mom: what size are you?
me: what?
mom: your finger...what size are you? i found it and it was all warped. [james avery...head shake]
me: uh...i don't know.
mom: well, can you find out? the lady needs to know so she can fix it.
me: ..........
mom: hello?
me: i think i can find out. i can drop by a jewelry store or something.
mom: okay. find out and then call me so i can let the lady know. the james avery lady.
me: yes. i think i can do that today. i'll call you back. [now, remembering that i really liked that ring...]
me: what are you going to do with it?
mom: what do you mean, what am i going to do with it?
me: i mean...is this some sort of subversive re-iteration of my teenage vow [she's. that kind of guuuuurl...]
mom: no. [i can hear the excitement being sucked out of her voice from me making this conversation much more in depth and annoying than necessary]
me: i mean, it's okay if it is. i'm down with the jesus freaks. and d.c. talk. i actually really liked that ring. [sentimental memories...most of which include d.c. talk and astroworld]
mom: i have to go. the lady...
me: the james avery lady?
mom: the james avery lady is talking to me. i have to go. [there's silence in the background]
me: okay. mom?
mom: what?
me: ...are you going to send it to me when it's finished?
mom: ...i wasn't planning on it.
me: what the frack are you going to do with it?
mom: wait until christmas probably.
me: are you re-gifting me my purity ring for christmas?
mom: ...no.
me: [now really wanting the ring...and not really knowing why] i'd like it please. can you send it to me when it's finished?
mom: [sigh] i guess so.
me: ...thanks.
mom: what's your address?
me: how do you not know my address?
mom: because you moved 17 times.
me: fair.

*i ended up not going to a jewelry store because i'm sure i'd be asked the question if i was sizing for my engagement ring...would like to avoid that if at all possible...and printed this out from the land of a million solutions...the marriage of amazon and google. and, my mom is the jam. she puts up with a lot but she laughs through most it.

TODAY...i received this little guy. this little box. one that i haven't seen in fo-ev-a.

and THIS shiny silver guy was inside. i remember picking it out because it was different than everyone else's [gots to be different than everyone elses] AND i can turn it to fit my theme for the day. [faith, hope, and/or love].

it was like a mood ring. it was james avery's version of a biblical mood ring.

THANKS MOM!

I ALSO got something in the mail...from lizzie. lizzie gets me. i mean, that girl really gets me. you spend 6 weeks sharing a room with another human being in italy and you either come out hating each other or tatooing your names on each others biceps [wait, that's prison...]

we're close.

in response to the fashion tip friday card i sent her, she MADE ME THIS [!!!!!]

i love her forever. if you can't tell...she made me a ryan adams crossword puzzle [i'll excuse that she gave herself his last name]. i can't decide whether to fill it in or frame it...i'll probably fill it in and then frame it. maybe i'll wait for era to get back to nyc and THEN he'll [excitedly] help me fill it out and i'll frame it. graz, we have a new wall decoration for our room.

very lastly, but not leastly, congratulations to my other beautiful roommate and her soon to be husband! much love to the future mr. and mrs. justin paul!

hips...they don't lie [love realized for south america]

2009-11-21T11:33:00.001-05:00

One of the most powerful experiences I have had in my dance life was last February at the Alvin Ailey studios in NYC. I decided to take a class with a good friend and because we were feeling a bit stagnant, chose a form that was COMPLETELY out of our skill set and knowledge. Shake things up. Afro-Brazilian acrobatic dance fighting? Yep. Super fun (fun!) Capoeira it was.

So I walk into the studio by myself (my friend was running late) start to work out some body kinks and warm up my muscles from the freezing slush of February. The other dancers start to stream in all wearing white on white, I'm in black on black (yep, research would have been a good idea) and the 45 minute warm up, conditioning, and partner choreography begins. It was...athletic. When you're legs want to fall off in the first 20 minutes and most everything is brand new...you have to make a decision on whether you are going to try and muscle through and rely on what you know or put a smile on your face and push through the pain to the good stuff, to the new stuff. That Friday night, I chose to smile. My friend Ross and I spent the last hour with a room full of experts (is there anything more humbling?) circled around each other, creating rhythms, playing instruments, clapping and chanting, while two at a time, dancers would move to the center of the circle. And while maintaining complete eye contact, playfully and energetically, improv their time together, communicating completely with their bodies on what was coming next. People made mistakes and connections were missed, but you were in it. With your person. Center ring. Engulfed in the music and rhythm that your community was creating around you. I wasn't having to force the smile anymore. I found energy that I thought was LONG gone.

I just started to laugh. And then started to cry. Honestly, it was soul stirring. The difference between staring at yourself in a mirror for 2 hours, being separate and alone in a room full of people, or playing to an audience, completely in your own head to simply FACING each other, in a circle where your music is coming from each other, having to somehow find an unspoken connection with another human being (so you don't kick them in the head...or worse :) and trusting each other. I was in a room full of strangers, most of whom spoke Portuguese or Spanish, and I felt as though I could read them and scarily enough...they could read me. Vulnerability, it's a beautiful beast.

It was this heightened spiritual experience that was definitive in my heart. I walked away remembering that communication that goes beyond the verbal and is sometimes the only way to get to certain parts of the soul...because you have to be honest. The body doesn't lie.

thankFULL thursday :: fake shake make (it)

2009-11-12T16:30:00.002-05:00

i am grateful and in awe of friends who are doing things beautifully and humbly all the while striving for excellence and aiming to serve others. i have MANY of those people in my life whom you will also hear about in the posts to come.

fake it.

til you feel it. i popped by my friend tyler's apartment for lunch this past monday and amidst watching muted espn, talking about chess and romantical notions, t laid it out for me. it is a phrase that we've all heard. it alludes to the idea that where your actions go, your heart will follow. my friend tyler reminded me of that this week, and for that i am grateful. thankful for these great guy friends 5 blocks down i have and their stern voice of reason.

shake it.

a friend of mine (adam) just let loose on the world his heart and passion in the form of photographs, film, story, and sweat. he's doing good things and asking people to consider joining him. this just happens to coincide with where my heart beat has been and it is continuing to go. more on that later...

[check out :: www.shakethedust.org and watch the video to learn more.]

make it.
moe is a co-hort, a print maker, a guerilla knitter, a virginia (is for) lover, and best of all, shares the same last name with a certain texas musician i rather enjoy.

for the past two years, several of us put on an outdoor art exhibition called KAVANAH that has taken place here in nyc at sarah lawrence and pratt institute. it's an interactive student collaborative that spans 3-4 days and involves an entire campus engaging in the art that they see and living with kavanah or "with intent".

this year, moe took it to UVA and it went up last week. (and natalie helped.) i heard it was excellent.

writing wednesday :: the bones

2009-11-12T10:59:00.002-05:00

"When I teach a beginning class, it is good. I have to come back to beginner's mind, the first way I thought and felt about writing. In a sense, that beginner's mind is what we must come back to every time we sit down and write. There is no security, no assurance that because we wrote something good two months ago, we will do it again. Actually, every time we begin, we wonder how we ever did it before.

Each time is a new journey with new maps. "

Natalie Goldberg

Writing Down the Bones

temp-a-licious tuesday :: a vignette

2009-11-11T17:08:00.002-05:00

Setting:
Prestigious PR Firm located in Midtown East
Time:
A Wednesday morning, 8:25am
Cast:
Temp
PR Partners (British)
Associates (New Yorkers)
Scene:
In corporate attire, Temp walks into a plush, yet small office to fill in for the receptionist who was called into jury duty. Most of the day would be spent juggling phone calls from reporters and fulfilling requests from the partners as well as a large trans-Atlantic business meeting in the afternoon. Scandal had just broken the night before.

11:30am

Partner: Just let us know when you would like to take lunch.
Temp: Great. I'll do that.

1pm

Temp walks to back of the office, finds Associate

Temp: I'm going to hop out for lunch. Should be back in 20-30 minutes.
Associate: No problem. Would you mind shooting an email to the office so that everyone knows after you set up the call to London? It'll pop right up in the composition of the email.
Temp: Absolutely. Let me know if you guys need anything while I'm out.

1:05pm

Set up conference call to London

1:07pm
Typing email to office letting them know the receptionist will be out for the next 20-30 minutes

PR Firm,

I'm going to pop out for a quick lunch. Be back in 20-30. Your calls will be forwarded to your VM. Let me know if you need anything while I'm out.

Sincerely,
Temp

(Send)

1:08pm

Uproarious laughter from conference room (American and British laughter...and Dubai laughter). Partner emerges from conference room.

Partner: (Laughing) London says to have a good lunch.
Temp: (Bollocks.) It was the OTHER email, huh?
Partner: Yes. It was. You just sent it to the company worldwide.
Temp: ....... (Mortified yet smiling)
Partner: No worries at all. We all needed that. It's too stuffy in here today.

1:09pm

Leave for lunch.

1:40pm

Return from lunch.

Partner #2: How was lunch?
Temp: Publicly related, apparently.
Partner #2: (Laughter)

la musica de monday :: i'm going to name my daughter harmonica.

2009-11-10T16:49:00.002-05:00

So what if I have my kids/dog names picked out? So what if they happen to be based on old dead guys and inanimate objects?

[Put the following through your 'crazy filter']

Crosby (boy)
OR Bing (dog)

Redding or Red (boy)
OR Otis (dog)

and...

Charlotte Harper (girl)

Charlotte = my grandma Charlie
Harper --> harp --> mouth harp = harmonica

Okay. Maybe a stretch, but it is what it is.

I've attempted to uncover my love for this small instrument but I can't pinpoint the exact origin. Doesn't matter I suppose, but to the best of my recollection, there was a 2004 car ride in Austin, Ryan Adams' Heartbreaker, a smart and attractive man who loved music, and a conversation about the unpretentious yet versatile little thing...best friend of hobos and rock stars alike. As fate would have it after a friend makes nice at an Austin bar the week before, John Popper walks into my guitar class and plays for us.

Signed. Sealed. Delivered. I'm yours.

You can be young (or Young).

You can be old.

You can play solo.

Or with friends.

You can even start your own club if you have lots of free time.

You can be famous.

Or...not.

If I may, a few musical suggestions ::

I am the Blues
Willie Dixon

Heart of Gold
Harvest
Neil Young

Eivets Rednow
Stevie Wonder

Harpin' the Blues
Charlie McCoy

Goodbye Honey
Exile on Franklin Street
Ryan Adams

Maestro of the Mouth Organ
Larry Adler

...and MY OH MY...this guy. THIS guy...

Nine Below Zero

Sonny Boy Williamson

Enjoy!

fashion tip friday :: WEAR SOMETHING BIGGER

2009-11-06T18:51:00.040-05:00

[Disclaimer] This is snarky and non-serious. For actual great style advice, DIY ideas, fashion happenings, and lovely writing, visit Mo. Fantastic personal stylist to the masses, an excellent cook, owner of the best laugh above (and below) the Mason Dixon line and an even better friend.

This all started when I got some super duper cute stamps at the post office yesterday. I've had two thank you cards to send out for almost SIX WEEKS (inexcusable) because I refused to use the generic Forever Flag stamp...bleh.

So I finally got some King and Queen of Hearts (I'm feeling a little extra lovey) and sent the thank yous. This morning I got letter writing happy and wrote to two super fashionable friends of mine: Chinae (NYC via Texas) and Elizabeth (Dallas via Kansas). Both love themed occasions and frequently make up their own causing the common folk to witness false eyelashes, braided headbands and stilettos outside of Bryant Park.

So I pulled a couple cards I had in my stationary station and 'fashioned' a hand written goody for their reading and viewing pleasure.

Because both of these ladies are far superior in the cloaking department to myself, I thought it would be funny to give them fashion tips.

Here was Elizabeth's card ::
(Front and inside)

And Chinae's ::

(Contents are censored for your safety.)

Let's hope their responses are blog worthy.

It's Friday night. Put on something you feel really good in, try something new and have some fun. Life is good.

[Post Script]

I had the most fun day ever had temping...EVER. I'll write all about it on Tuesday, but for now, you can take a gander at the blog idea explosion that came around 3pm...and drinking champagne...AND eating a giant cupcake.

i'm gonna...

2009-10-29T23:24:00.003-04:00

...write on you.

i'm gonna do it...

do it...

do.

it.

just do it, for the love.

such a pansy.

so selfish not to share pictures on the hilariously unpredictable life i lead...facebook... right...that's facebook.

or up to the moment thoughts and activities...wait that's twitter.

so what do i write on a blog again?

i have no central theme.

i have no goal.

myself and my sisters are the only people who think i'm funny.

i am a woman who voluntarily left a great job for nannying, then temping, and maybe nannying again, who sleeps on a bottom bunk between the hummus kitchen and an irish dive bar, who bakes when anxious and when thinking of most men in nyc seeing a two pack of melba toast.

[right index finger shoots up into the air, mouth agape, eyes wiley]

BUT there are dreams. OH THE DREAMS! the dreams are so clear.

and the vision...the vision is in a wizard of oz technicolor that would make white house black market hang a rainbow flag in its front display window it was so inspired.

yes.

this is what to write about.

i will write about the dreams.

and the vision...

and the nannying...

and the temping...

and the bunk bed...

and the hummus kitchen and the irish dive bar and my over-active hostess disorder and how i bake to show people i love them and how i have a hard time telling people i love how i feel and my framily and NEW YORK CITY and texas and melba toast and how no one has privacy anymore and how we all are obsessed with media and surrounded by it and how do we live in it and how can we use it for good things and kids and old people and dance and how the body and the mind are so interconnected i can't even get over it and how art is therapy and redemption and sorrow and dreams and failures and love and loss.

yes.

i will write about these things.

starting...

tomorrow.

The Sounds of May

2009-05-26T23:41:00.002-04:00

This month, I've been listening to the same play list with nearly no exceptions. Just to list a few ::

Fake Plastic Trees
Radiohead

You Can't Resist It
Lyle Lovett

It Ain't Necessarily So
Mary Lou Williams

Try a Little Tenderness
Otis Redding

Honey Dove
Lee Fields

Dear Chicago
Ryan Adams

Free, Single and Disengaged
Huey "Piano" Smith & his Clowns

White Winter Hymnal
Fleet Foxes

Gone Gone Gone (Done Moved On)
Robert Plant & Alison Krauss

Please Read the Letter
Plant & Krauss

Wish
Paper Route

Dance on our Graves
Paper Route

North Dakota (Live)
Lyle Lovett and Rickie Lee Jones

*The Hazards of Love 4 (The Drowned)
The Decemberists

Stay
Green River Ordinance

Your Love (Is Something I Need)
Lee Fields and the Explorers

Annie Mae
John Lee Hooker

Al Green's Greatest Hits [the whole enchilada]

Oh My Sweet Carolina (Live at SMU)
Ryan Adams

Start a War
The National

All I Want is You
U2

Kingdom of Rust
The Doves

The World That You Love
Jimmy Eat World

Second Hand News
Fleetwood Mac

Born to Move
Creedence Clearwater Revival

Check Your Bucket
Eddie Bo

I've Got Reasons
Mary Jane Hooper

Baby #2 + 2 days =

2009-05-22T09:46:00.000-04:00

Paul David Mahaffey.

Approved.

Affectionately referred to as... (the thank you God and Google post)

2009-05-18T23:13:00.006-04:00

Baby #2. (Name pending)

Specs:: 8lbs. 9 1/2 ounces - 19 1/2" long - red hair

The second son of Mac and ME (Mary Ellen) was...
birthed on this day
the 18th day of May
in a rather conventional way
which leaves me to say
hey #2, it's your first day
and that's not too shabb-ay.

There are a lot of days when it's stinking hard to be so far away from the Shuffles, days like this especially. But TODAY, much unlike the missed births of Bella (Washington D.C.) and Jacob (literally on a plane moving to NYC), I got to see #2 live tonight, albeit internet-ally, clean and sleepy and hang out with my sister and Mac...

and a nurse...

and Dr. Wilson...

So thank you Google for making video chat and thank you God for making people smart enough to make Google and thank you Mac and ME for making Baby #2.

Super excited.

Top night.

Napkin Art

2009-05-08T17:21:00.005-04:00

Mike Puckett (Puc) is an artist, a LA sunshine junky, and my brother from another mother.

Puc draws on napkins...it's inspiration for his work...and has turned it into work in and of itself. He has hundreds and has even been the work of a gallery show or two. When he lived here in NYC, there was nary a meal time at a restaurant or home where a drawing was not penned post dinner much like the ritual of a leisurely coffee. Mostly, the drawings would be representative of the meal...who was there, where we were...capturing the feel of the time and space in his own unique way.

Well, it's been a while, but I got a napkin in the mail today and I squealed with joy. Without the meal, it reminds me of amazing times, some good old fashioned stress and tears, and a lot of laughter. That's one jam packed napkin.

"Honey, the Doves are here!"

2009-04-01T15:02:00.004-04:00

Well, I guess in all reality they've been here for a while (shot taken March 2005). I had the great fortune to have the 4th and newest Doves album placed in my hands and into my thirsty ears before its release on the 6th of April. (You can listen to it in its entirety on their myspace.)

Sometimes it's difficult to listen with an impartial ear. I take into account that some albums may resonate more depending on the time of year or my emotional state upon the first listen. But gee whiz kids, Kingdom of Rust is electric in the best way possible. Layered, insightful and hopeful, pulling back just at the right moments only to barrel forward, floating effortlessly from the majors to the minors and back again...

I could split hairs and always come up with something I'm not crazy about, but I just...would be splitting hairs.

I highly suggest listening from top to bottom. Don't skip, don't repeat, don't even adjust the volume. Press play and step away.

On Shuffle's repeat ::

Jetstream
Kingdom of Rust
The Greatest Denier
Birds Fly Backwards
Lifelines

Enjoy.

IAM Stoked.

2009-02-23T23:48:00.005-05:00

A few of the crew.

Proudly displaying my dead cardinal sugar cookies via the iPhone.

And so it begins. IAM conference week 09. I love it. http://www.internationalartsmovement.org/

The long days, the baked goods around the conference table, lots of people, last minute scrambling, stress that inevitably turns into laughter...

Some of my favorite people in the world come into the city for this weekend. Every day it's like opening a present. Today's prize was Kirk and Sarah Irwin. Joy.

And it only gets better...

Snap Goes the Mouse-y.

2009-02-15T12:26:00.002-05:00

Family Stalking

2009-02-14T16:26:00.009-05:00

i have a love / hate relationship with facebook, but sitting here in my living room, sick, staring out at the sunshiney sunniness of today...i choose to stalk people on fb. i give no apologies.

i'll only out my family members, because their silliness and wit should be recognized.

my mom just joined the world of internet global networking and we're excited for her. she's getting cooler each year.

2006 - lost the mom jeans
2007 - learned how to check her voice mail
2008 - ballroom dancing
2009 - facebook

my dad hijacked my mom's fb account sometime today and 'poked' his #1 (oldest sister sarah...he calls us by numbers....#s 1, 2, 3, and 4...after star trek...i know...you're wishing you were in my family right about now) and followed it up with a post to her wall which states, and i quote:

[ I actually poked you, Sarah. This is your dad speaking. Pretty neat stuff. You know, I didn't start using a cell phone until a year ago. You know the telegraph was good enough for me back in my day. ]

sarah bought a parakeet for her family yesterday. they named it ringo. ringo burton.

and last but not least is a week's worth of status updates by my other sister mary ellen.

Feb 6th :: Mary Ellen is phat......with a fetus.

Feb 9th :: My worst Lisa Frank dream came true. Jacob dropped his crayons and the tips broke. :(.

Feb 10th :: Mary Ellen just finished mopping the downstairs. I didn't even have to put on my hot flash clothes.

Aaaaaaaaaa...Part Two.

2009-02-02T16:20:00.009-05:00

Mr. Hal Higdon

(This mug motivates me every day.)

The second part to this evening was planning our take over of the Music City 1/2 Marathon. A couple of weeks prior, Hannah had said that she really wanted to run this thing but that her training buddy had bailed on her. I quickly joined her in her efforts and am actually really quite excited about it. It's somewhere in my long list of life goals...sandwiched in between getting my MFA and having my own family band (I'm serious.) I'm not a runner. Well, I run from time to time, but this will be a feat. Love me a physical and mental challenge.

Being the instigator that I am, I then recruited Caroline to run with us and the rest of the crew to join us for the weekend in Tennessee (which was the word I won my 1st grade spelling contest with, by the way. I then followed that up by winning the longest word contest which was done by spelling Mississippi. I was enthralled by geography and maps at a young age). After 30 minutes of really intense discussion and planning, here's the run down:

Goal:
Run 1/2 marathon without dying or wanting to die.

Problem #1:
Training in NYC in the winter is stupid. It's really cold.

Solution:
Suck it up.

Problem #2:
Fees and flights. (We're in a recession, people.)

Solution:
Make a sponsorship plea to the good folks at Batter Blaster by submitting a video. Hannah, Caroline and I will be the runners, Lucia will be a slab of butter and Autumn a large strip of bacon. Someone is going to be the actual can of Batter Blaster...possibly Sarah. Autumn and the good people at Scout Performance will provide our running attire, Lucia will be the costume designer/director, Hannah and I will take care of the witty yet soul stirring script, and Caroline is covering the soundtrack. We fully believe that we will get sponsorship and begin a long working relationship with the company. Fool proof.

My dad is a runner. An understatement, really. He's more like a horse. He's run 11 full marathons and then a 1/2 with my sister Mary Ellen and her friends to "be an encouragement". I think he also may have partially missed his calling in life as a coach. Last time we played tennis (which I'm terrible at, but still love) he made me stop halfway through to run skills and drills. I kid you not. I remember with fondness him coaching some basketball teams I played on as a kid and acquiring the name Coach Pete. This is the man who instigated a 3 mile family run on Christmas day (...because, well, why wouldn't we go running?) I've already submitted to him my training schedule and he sends me periodic "words to the wise" and asks very detailed questions about my runs. Yesterday he emailed asking me about the course and I sent him the layout and conditions of the run. This was his email response:

[Just as I expected.  It will be a rolling hill 1/2 marathon being in Tennessee.  Hill running  was always a favorite or fun for me.  More of a challenge.  It takes  special training to be able to do it without hurting yourself.  I used to  run up mountains in California and other places.

I would recommend  approaching hill training carefully since your Achilles tendon cold - not warmed  up - will suffer.  Going up, the Achilles tendons will be stretched beyond  what you experience on flat.  Now, running downhill is replete with its own  problems.  Your head is heavy and if you don't watch it if you let your  head bob forward too much you'll get neck pain and that won't make for good  dancing.  I've been there with the neck pain thing from running down hills.  Also, running down hills is hard. It will be tempting to really run hard and  fast down a hill.  I'd suggest that you don't. Coming down is hard on your  knees for one thing.  Fluidity and a good slow pace for you is what I  recommend.

Indoor training on a StairMaster would be good but watch it. I used to run outdoors up and down the sides of bayous and track and football stadiums to get hill training in. One day I ran at a full gallop up 100 flights of a StairMaster. That was when I was in shape. ]

I feel mighty loved when he does this. Thanks Coach Pete.

So barring my knee falling off (possible) or somehow developing a neck injury from running down hill (what?!) I'm doing this thing. I am really excited for the task and said process for such a challenge.

Aaaaaaaaaa...Part One.

2009-01-21T22:59:00.008-05:00

Here at 82 Bank, we have a weekly Wednesday gathering with some of our girlfriends around the city. We call it a Bible Party...because a party sounds worlds more fun than a study. Our current topic of discussion is Esther.

Tonight was no exception as the ladies slowly trickled in to join Autumn, Lucia and I in our abode. Caroline joined us early serving as our entertainment and door(wo)man, followed by Sarah with stories of her landlord with peeing issues and bed bugs. Last but not least on this monumental night was Hannah carting her favorite item of the moment.

Batter Blaster.

(Frenzy.)

Do not be fooled. This is in fact an organic can of pressurized pancake batter. I know what you are thinking...it was what I was thinking,

"How is this the first time I've seen this modern marvel?!"

As cheated as you may feel from the years of making pancakes from scratch or even how the laborious Bisquick assembly still makes your finger joints ache upon reflection...As angry as you may be with the knowledge that all this time, you could have been a shake and squeeze away from Pancake Paradise, fight it. Let's just be thankful we heard about it when we did and move forward with revolutionized breakfast experiences.

We are doers. So we did.

Autumn has been watching an incredible amount of Anthony Bourdain (dream boat!) and Top Chef to prepare her for such a moment as this.

What's good with sugar? More Sugar.

Caroline, who will do almost anything when dared, paired my macaroni and cheese from earlier in the day with Nutella. The initial reaction was not pleasant, but apparently was quite enjoyable once savoured.

And then we talked about Esther. Fascinating story. It reads like a B.C. drama should.

*Lindsay, Adrienne and Lara...you were greatly missed.

TO BE CONTINUED....

Stay Sweet

2009-01-14T00:52:00.008-05:00

i was en route to meet with my friend eric today for our periodic and ongoing discussion of all things relevant and important in the world (the Church, our friends, music, ryan adams, and Texas) and was thinking about what i was going to consume during said discussion.

ice cream.

yes, i know it's 25 degrees outside.

i was telling one of my roommates autumn the other day that i could honestly eat ice cream year round, for almost any meal of the day. FOR EXAMPLE...i ate it this morning for breakfast...and felt no shame. for this particular vice, i blame my father (and by blame, i mean gratefully attribute).

so you can imagine my gasp of horror as i rounded the corner of 16th and 5th avenue and came across this abomination...

wait...just in case you missed it...it's an ice cream trash can. i'll give you a moment...

...i know. me too.

it's just straight up disrespectful.

i almost couldn't stomach the thought of ANY frozen sweet dairy goodness after that. it was like watching a baby cow being clubbed and then having to eat veil...or lady liberty being dressed in a baby phat velvet jumpsuit. (i'm even making a confused face right now...neither of those are remotely indicative). i felt it both grotesque, unethical, and dare i say, unpatriotic.

alls i'm sayin' is...there are some things that should never be combined and some things that are too disturbing for even the most devout of followers to endure. the unholy union of ice cream and trash is a prime example.

i don't want to start sending the wrong message to america's youth...that you can take something that was meant for good and pure, unadulterated enjoyment and turn it into a symbol of refuse. let's not start that...honestly.

Something New

2009-01-11T13:30:00.003-05:00

Ah....the bliss of new things. As to not completely discount my previous post, I am close to being in love with Bon Iver's latest EP that will be officially released on the 19th of this month. Like I do with so many new things, it will be on repeat until it is completely memorized and dissected.

For me, Blood Bank is the stand out...which is probably why the EP is titled as such.

Read a bit and watch// listen a bit.

Something Old

2009-01-05T16:48:00.005-05:00

There is something both cathartic and euphoric about something new. For some it may represent the erasing of former things, and for others renewed vision for the future. From a season of so many new things...new gifts and the new year, I haven't felt the same excitement that I have so readily enjoyed in the years past. Amidst all this newness, I just want the old. I want the classic, the tried and true, the vintage.

I want the depth.

What brings me joy, sustainable and lasting joy, are the old things (relatively speaking). To name a few:

Old people
They have the best stories, know exactly who they are, and are usually hysterically funny...because at that point, what is there left to do but laugh at your life?

Old buildings
They are thick, strong, stand the test of time, and were typically built with extreme detail, care and craftsmanship. Churches are high up there on the list.

Old books
I rarely buy new books. One, they are stupid expensive when the words are just the same after someone else has already read them. Old books have the best smell and sometimes, if you are rather fortunate, you get an old book with someone elses comments, markings or smudgings on it.

Old music
Rich and rooted in story telling, where time and integrity were a huge part in the creative and production process. Music that is put out today can still have these same ideals and many musicians do.

In my mind, "old" resides in the same thought pattern of a time where community was above the individual, where tradition was a way of life. So, I suppose that my New Year's Resolution is to grow in depth rather than in hype. To invest in the things that will one day be able to have that wonderful label of "old" both in myself and in others.

Broad? Yes. Clearly charted? No.

Fantastic. I love things that are complicated.

the post that cried wolf

2008-08-19T17:13:00.004-04:00

so i seem to be saying sorry a lot these days and promising posts and then not delivering. i refuse to say sorry anymore. it's just going to stop holding any meaning whatsoever. but i would like to apologize for my tardiness.

i am so ___________.

you get it.

i was nudged (and by nudged i mean threatened within an inch of my life) to cover the ry-mily wedding of 2008 that took place in a mystical land of milk and honey also known as fort worth, tx.

there were several aspects to this event which made it stand out.

if it's possible to have a happening be an event and a non-event at the same time, this was. elaboration? i'd be glad to.

this was not your typical running around, stressed out, melt down wedding experience. now, i can't speak for ryan or the men, but from what i've heard and what i generally know about men, this was the case for them as well. it helps that emily had her stuff together (she's a planner) and that ryan is so stinking over the moon in love with her, he wouldn't have noticed if they had become husband and wife at chuckee cheese. more than that, these two people were way more concerned with the marriage part than the perfection of this one day. they were the epitome of "let it ride, let it roll, let it go." it also helped that em had her women around her and it's lucky for her that three of our favorite things to do together is laughing, making slightly inappropriate jokes, and cuddling. all of which came in handy. bottom line, we could sit in a 8 x 8 room for 3 days straight and not only entertain ourselves, but write a 7 verse song declaring our love for each other.

this is not to say that everything wasn't beautiful, because it was. simple, clean, elegant, the whole shi-bang. but, all the visual pleasantries were greatly outweighed by the people and, as corny as it sounds, the love.

this is the kind of man that emily married. mr. geyer took the time to write each of the bridesmaids a personal letter. a LETTER. this is a massive feat for any man on any day, but for this man on this day to be thinking of not only emily, but of the people whom she cares deeply about was one more reason to add to the many of why we love ryan.

it's difficult for me to write this next part, so please believe me that it doesn't come from a sappy place. i am actually anti sap when it comes to weddings and most things of the sort. pro fun and laughing at weddings, anti sap (if you would like proof of this, refer back to previous posts on the subject). ok...just so we're clear...

the day of the wedding-i don't know exactly what it was. maybe it was being so close to both emily and ryan. maybe it was extreme exhaustion that caused me to realize things i hadn't ever before. this is what happened.

as i am standing with my calililes in hand ready to walk down the aisle i prayed first that i wouldn't fall on my face (hey, just being honest here) but THEN i thanked the Lord for preparing a way for these two and i realized that i was playing the part and preparing the way for em. i realized that i wasn't the main show (no surprise there), but was a pre-cursor to her coming. as i'm coming up to the front and am seeing ryan, he's waiting, eyes fully fixed on what is coming behind me. he knows that she's there and that's she about to join him, but the look on his face is one not only of expectancy, but of joy and anticipation. emily starts her processional and honestly, is glowing. i know, i know, kill me now for my literary cliches, but that's the only way i can adequately describe it. she joins ryan, they say some words, exchange some metal, commit to be in intimate relationship for the rest of their earthly lives, there's a proclamation that they are now one and i believe the minister's words were "what God has joined together, let no man put asunder" (which i like because i like the word 'asunder'... tangent).

i thought of how on both a personal level in a relationship with God this was so true, but also (and this was a "duh" moment) between Christ and the Church.

here's the deal. i know emily. and i know she is not perfect. she would even be the first to tell you she's far from it (ryan's not perfect either, but for the sake of the analogy...let him slide). what got me in the end and was the trigger for all the crying that took place on my part was not how beautiful em was and how much they both mean to me or how "romantic" the scene was. it was the fact that emily, and that i, and that all of mankind, is tarnished like old, unkept silver. don't read too much into this, but when i saw emily approach her union of which we are all less than worthy of, she was spotless. and i couldn't help but put myself in her place...metaphorically speaking.

click. so it's not ALL about the filth that is all over me?

click. it's not ALL about the poor choices that i've made and the circumstances i have had no control of? that's not the focus of this whole life?

click. that stuff is inevitable? everyone is in the same place?

click. once i enter into this commitment, this intimate relationship, i'm not covered in sewage any longer?

click. once in relationship, restoration is possible?

CLICK. my God looks at me and sees me the same way ryan looks at emily. i am loved.

(that's a big word, i know. i'm less talking about "love you for right now and how you appear" and more "i know your trash and love you hard because i can make you more of who you were intended to be")

ok, this very well could have registered for each of you already. this may be old news...and i hope it is. i do believe that timing is everything with God and this was a moment where i felt more calm and ready for the future, essentially freed up to barrel forward, because what my most important relationship was no longer being tried to be "figured out". it was happening, it was active, it was right in front of me, and i was a part of it.

it was almost easy to see and experience all of this, because this whole "non-event" if you will was not really about ryan and emily. and they wanted it that way. sure, we celebrated them, laughed, oohed and aaahed over stories and marveled at the lengths and time ryan took in pursuing his "dove", but you could sense something deeper was ever present.

this brings me to the ideas and realities of restoration and redemption and how it is maybe one of my favorite topics in faith. the painting that was highlighted on the previous post was done by sarah reidel. sarah is the lady love of a good friend and i was fortunate enough to have her live with me for 6 weeks at the beginning of the summer. we were both involved in leading a summer project here in the city for college students in various mediums of art topped off with a gallery show in east chelsea mid july. as sarah was formulating what her creation might be, she asked me if i would be her model. first of all, that word freaks me out. she quickly followed it up by saying all that would be required of me would be to lay halfway off a bed and look dead while she took several photos.

sure. i can do that. being bendy and looking dead are my specialties.

what happened with the painting in the following weeks, oddly enough was mirrored by the events in my heart and with my hope. now and then i would peek around the corner or sometimes stand beside sarah as she was working and watch the progress. early on, my image was, well, lifeless. dead. there was no spirit in it. that broke my heart. for my friends and family, they would primarily describe me as a social butterfly, a chatter box, a story teller, the life of a party. what was forming in front of me, however, was the exact opposite from what others typically saw. it was honestly like seeing in front of me what i knew to be true in my soul. the dark crannies that i thought no one else could or should see. not only was i confronted with the image for the first time, but everyone else saw it too. you can't not deal with your garbage after that. impossible.

slowly but surely, the de-saturated and lifeless image of my body was slowly worked over and trickled with re-humanizing and redemptive gold. color was brought back where the gold had carved joy back into my soul. i couldn't look at it for a long time without getting emotional; dually because of the despair that i had been in and the hope that was being restored. there was a beautiful and faith producing part of the artistic process that i have always been drawn to as a dancer and with art in general. something rough and completely unattractive at first glance is in constant work until perfection. this process of my soul (and of which i am still in, believe me) has taken much longer than the 6 weeks of project. it's been in the works for over a year now but in the whole, my entire life. oh, i could talk for days...but i won't. bring it up in our next conversation and we can talk about it and the implications, applications, and all the other -tions that you would like.

i'm in texas right now and it's been good to be home for a while. i'm excited to head back to the city and start a new season with more hope than ever previously known to one megan shuffle.

restoration

2008-07-28T09:18:00.004-04:00

artist: sarah riedel

i'll expound upon this painting in a few days, but wanted people to see it first. i'll also give an update on the last two months here in the city and fill you in on what's happening in the coming weeks.

apologies for being away so long.

happy gradu-mu-ation!

2008-05-11T13:45:00.003-04:00

sometimes, when people are far away, they miss out on some important things. the distance can be so great and lives so busy, that we can sometimes let things slide.

but i laugh in the face of distance, of thousands of miles of air, land, and sea. i make up for the time spent apart and the milestones missed by thinking about my friends (and family :) and celebrating them in the everyday-ness of life.

thinking about you at shea stadium

thinking about you while playing kanye west's connect four in the park

thinking about you on the way to a loft party in brooklyn

happy graduation!

i'm so proud of you.

Playing ketchup (or is it catsup?)

2008-04-15T16:15:00.010-04:00

I lied. I said I'd post from Austin, but I didn't. So here is the most beautiful capitol building in all of Texas that hopefully will convey my sincerest apologies.

The trip was better than I could have planned. I saw so many people and got to spend time with several dear friends. College friends, roommates, childhood friends, professors...you name it. I also got quite a bit of writing done most of which took place with this view.

The day after I returned to the NYC, I went on a Chelsea Crawl with some people who are way more intelligent than I am in matters of visual art. I try and I appreciate, but there's some stuff I think is stupid. There was a lot of that, but some interesting things too.

I like maps. Anything with maps and I'm pretty much sold.

This was possibly my favorite show title. The entire exhibit was of Knicks basketball trinkets used to make different designs. Humor is not dead after all...Thomas' career is dead, but not humor.

It looks like a lot of junk lumped on top of each other, but it was actually quite intricate when you get up close to it.

And the piece de resistance...Star Trek art. Dad, you would have LOVED this. These are beads on string.

This was made out of pipe cleaners. Ridiculous.

I just liked this one.

This was huge and breath taking. Again, lots of shiny beads and lights.

This was a bit like Veggie Tales on ... some illegal substance.

Now, I would like to welcome you to the new diggs. Welcome to Bank and Bleecker.

This is my street.

This is the playground across the street.

This is a bookstore that I like to go into. It has the really good old book smell.

This is the downfall of my hopes for a healthy future. Magnolia is two blocks from my door.

This is the hallway.

This is our kitchen.

This is our living room.

This is my bedroom...literally a room for my bed. It's tiny, but I love it. It's been therapeutic to have just a little bit.

Another angle of the room.

And, one more.

Mom, this is the pillow I embroidered a couple months ago. Ignore the poor pillow construction and focus on the stitches. :)

That's my show and tell.

It's OVER!

Nothing says "risen Savior" like pizza on an egg

2008-03-24T09:00:00.004-04:00

This is why my sisters are also my best friends...their relentless wit. Sarah sent me this email of ME's egg decoration from yesterday. I nearly cried.

The bunny cake, like many of our family traditions (and I'm sure similar to most others) lived on this year in New York City. And you can't have bunnies without sexy carrots (I stole this idea but made it an artsy sexy carrot to ward off copyright violations).

I had never gone to the Top of the Rock until recently when I got to take some KU students up there and give them a "tour" of the city from above. The blind leading the blind.
So last week after the mice mayhem, our upstairs neighbor Sheila let us borrow her cat. We still have mice and now probably have fleas.

Easter had a different effect on me this year. Holy week in general. The cheesy, kitschy stuff is fun and I love it but it's not the best part. This sums it up:

In Christ alone my hope is found;
He is my light, my strength, my song;
This cornerstone, this solid ground,
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm.
What heights of love, what depths of peace,
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease!
My comforter, my all in all—
Here in the love of Christ I stand.

In Christ alone, Who took on flesh,
Fullness of God in helpless babe!
This gift of love and righteousness,
Scorned by the ones He came to save.
Till on that cross as Jesus died,
The wrath of God was satisfied;
For ev'ry sin on Him was laid—
Here in the death of Christ I live.

There in the ground His body lay,
Light of the world by darkness slain;
Then bursting forth in glorious day,
Up from the grave He rose again!
And as He stands in victory,
Sin's curse has lost its grip on me;
For I am His and He is mine—
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

No guilt in life, no fear in death—
This is the pow'r of Christ in me;
From life's first cry to final breath,
Jesus commands my destiny.
No pow'r of hell, no scheme of man,
Can ever pluck me from His hand;
Till He returns or calls me home—
Here in the pow'r of Christ I'll stand.

-Keith Getty & Stuart Townend

I'll be coming to you next from Austin. So, until Texas...

yeehaw.

the rat race, brigades, city planning, and loose feet: a typical month in my life

2008-03-17T19:09:00.006-04:00

i've been praying about it ever since i moved here to new york. i've been praying about the rat race.

well, AGAINST the rat race is probably a more accurate statement.

this evening after coming home from the office i sat down to eat a quick chicken salad sandwich, grab the second half of a gilmore girls rerun before heading back out the door. amidst the quick witted northeastern banter of mother and daughter, i heard a rustling down the hall and from what sounded like bomyee's room. realizing that her keys weren't on the entry hall hook, i gave a quick glance to the general direction of the 'rustling' and i saw it...bigger than a mouse and smaller than a house cat, there it was. a rat.

gasp.

what did i do? i stomped my foot. several times. that was my gut reaction. like some territorial animal in the Serengeti, i charged the kitchen stomping my feet.

and then i ran to my room and shut my door. this was way worse than the tarantula incident of big sal 2006. (for the record, i was the one who pleaded NOT to squish the spidee for fear of the hundreds of babies that would inevitably fly from its womb. good memories.)

i fell back on my bed a little flustered and my neck promptly began breaking out in my infamous red splotches when anxiety is creeping in. i looked at my door, imagining that a team of rats would in no time be gnawing through to me and if it didn't happen then, it would surely be tonight right as i slid my lamby eye mask over my lids. i took a deep breath and tried to apply logic to the situation, that is until i noticed that my bedroom door did not line up with my floor (got to love faulty foundations). i then began looking around for a towel to cram in the door crack. this all took place in about 45 seconds. frantic is an appropriate word.

'this is ridiculous.' i thought to myself 'i will NOT let a rat dictate my life.' and in a surge of courage, i un-tucked the towel, flung open my door and stomped my way into the living room. that's it, that's as far as my courage took me. i'm thinking about borrowing leslie and peter's cat for a week or so.

to be continued...

many enjoyable and entertaining things have happened in the past few weeks. about three weeks ago i went with a few friends to the upright citizens brigade and saw amy poehler and horatio sands. they have free shows on sunday nights in chelsea and it is absolutely worth it if you get a chance to go. those two are not always there, so we definitely got lucky that night. (before the show i met a couple from the midwest who, after talking for about 10 minutes, asked if i would marry their son. their son was standing right behind them. it was skillfully laughed off as to avoid any awkwardness. they were nice people and its good to know that i've still gots it. atleast to the parents. womp, womp...) the rest of that week was dedicated to the iam conference in TriBeCa. a couple of friends flew in from austin to stay with me and attend. it was a tiring week, but one of the most incredible since i've been here. i got to spend a bit of time with an irish poet and an english actor and decided that my next move may be across the pond.

my heart was swelling. when my heart swells, i know that i am where i am meant to be and a part of exactly what i am supposed to be a part of. there should be downloads available from all of the talks and i would highly suggest checking them out. i came away wanting to be a city planner (seriously), a poet, and a publisher and/or editor. i'm running on tracks, ladies and gentlemen, i'm running on tracks...

last week i helped my friend kristen the writer paint her room. after the dirty work was done, we re-egnited our love for kevin bacon, abandoned grain factories, anti-establishment protests in the form of dance, and texas. it was my favorite movie for most of high school, and for very good reason. ren mccormick says, "jump back!"

oh, i love it!

the biggest happening since my last post is that i am moving in with some friends in the west village. it happened quickly and was surprisingly easy to find a roommate for my current roomies, finalize moving plans, etc. praise God! 14 days left in brooklyn and i am excited, a bit sad but mostly moving forward without fear. i'm sure there will be an entire post about it in a couple of weeks. i bet you can't wait.

life is good, mulit-faceted as always, but really good. i am tremendously thankful. i've learned in a whole new way that much joy and much sadness can reside within the same soul as long as there is always a bit more joy. the joy is made that much more real.

happy st. patrick's day!