bougainvillea seeds

158 - A.E. Pearson (or Drew's visual storytelling)

2011-04-27T06:06:00.000-07:00

Well, it's time for that shameless plug for someone I love - one Drew Pearson!!!

Lately Drew has been posting on his blog a photo-of-the-day and even I get excited every morning to see what the next one is going to be.
Go here to check them out!
http://theimpassionedeye.com/

He also got his website up and running a few weeks ago too and I want to share it with everyone!
www.aepearson.com

Drew takes documentary style pictures and each album tells a story. So, if you want some family portraits, or pictures of you and your friends, ask him to join you one Saturday afternoon and he'll capture not only beautiful photos of you and your family or friends, he'll also document a visual story for you!

Drew also takes pictures for musicians. So, he'll do promotional stuff for you and even go on tour for a few days to document not just the travels, but what happens off stage as well. Check out this link to find pictures from Shakori Hills Grassroots Music Festival this past weekend where he photographed Holy Ghost Tent Revival.

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/fbx/?set=a.10150234012234180.366189.366898034179

Well, there it is folks!

Oh, and did I mention, I sure do love that man!! :)

157 - Samantha Clark cuts it out - yet again - READ HER BLOG!

2011-04-25T11:57:00.000-07:00

Read this blog: Samantha Clark cuts it out!

It's good.

I mean, Sam is cutting it out all over the place - discussions about tried and tested veganism (is that a word?), cereal conundrums concerning clusters and charms, sweet valley high nostalgia and even updates on her health. Oh, and there's Velvet!!! :)

It's the place to be, readers. The bees knees, the cats meow, the great blog-o-blogs. Plus, it'll knock your socks off... and who wants to wear smelly socks in summer time.

So, take my advice, read the blog, and your welcome in advance for pointing you her way.

156 - Weaving Projects

2011-04-24T17:09:00.000-07:00

This is a giant fort Drew and I (yeah -- mostly Drew) built with Miles in the backyard. It's made of large branches woven in with smaller ones.. Miles calls it his house!

Meanwhile, I've been weaving some more little baskets!

155 - Goodnight Whisper

2011-04-12T18:17:00.000-07:00

Well, I haven't posted on here since January - but, I suppose, better late than never.
Here's a series of poems I've been working on - yet to be completed.

Goodnight Whisper

Prologue

Wild wood and gimble gyre

lay upon your neck tonight.

And falcons swoop and queens crown kings

while children sleep in flight.

When amble may-bell men-a-tire

go to feed the fire,

women lie in beds tucked tight

while gentle thoughts make briars.

And children weep of things remembered

under able choirs.

Part I

She can flitter in oak branches where (five fingered) leaves brush her cheeks.

Can you?

And when spring blooms open new

She a beetled Lyca

bursts forth.

In summer:

She stands under oaks for shade

and black walnut trees comfort giants.

She watches from the branches.

Part II

In winter, snow falls heavy.

What’s left uncovered?

Imagine:

a well-worn path with footsteps

salt and dirt.

The snow there has melted.

Children kick up drifts to make snow people

and then knock off their heads.

If a falcon swoops down to eat because she’s hungry,

is she a killer?

Part III

On the flume her feathers switch

and with the wild rushes

the beast awakes.

She flicks and flaps and barks her beak

at small ones in the briars

the babes awake.

Caw and Cry

she sweeps the skies,

eyes piercing places hidden

hide in wooded eves.

Down below the new buds say

shh, watch

shh, hear

shh, see

And little mouse tucks in his tail

And mother cries and creeps.

Part IV

Rustled waters wake the world,

Falcon sweeps the skies.

Part V

Wild rushes,

whispered words,

creatures creep from deep.

And men and women, both alike

awake their babies sleep.

Grandma clothes her children and they go jump in the creek.

And mossy grounds grow twisted vines

as mousey wakes and weeps.

Part VI

Little darling

in the spring

call out Lyca’s name.

From new blooms

the creature crawls

awake, awake

she says.

Part VII

Waters whisper

rush rush

And ice makes soggy mud.

Babies born

wild

sweep the skies

to fall

And mothers leave their young.

As falcon curves the clouds

…she sees.

Your feet are bare now.

And the red clay stains your heels.

154 - Monster

2011-01-05T16:33:00.000-08:00

Let's be serious, no words needed to explain the awesomeness below:

153 - Ersa

2010-12-21T04:49:00.000-08:00

In the south,

fog on streams hangs like silvery smoke caught-up on the tree tops.

And youthful girls slip their ankles into silvery creek waters that flow over stones that stand still,

and cold feet settle before running.

When Southern Youth tells you she's been standin' still in the swamp, --

-- you can't argue.

cause being Knee high in mud waters makes ya stagnant.

But bees buzz ‘round you and her -

both’a ya are wearin' masks for protection.

And sweet, sticky honey locks your lips as the queen brisks by your neck.

Do you know the sounds of the swampy south

and the silvery tongue of the stream?

It sweeps by your ankles like metallic iced lava chilling your toes.

Youth steps in streams or walks over fallen oaks,

But we,

(you and I)

--- we remember the cool breaths of spring and fall,

and that warmth that stays on our summer sleeves.

Wrinkles show life.

And living looks like bugs that flutter for a season and rest.

Can we die with strokes of each other on our cheeks?

Can we rest regenerated through youthful curiosity?

Can we grow old and still wonder?

When moonbeams coat lovely legs in streams of silvery blankets,

any woman will finally remember that she lives as flesh and touches death with buckled fingers,

and No woman will cry for her loss.

Wrinkled fingers and youthful thighs in silver water make a much loved and lived life.

And silver waters brush legs in southern lands, where youth makes herself a home.

152 - All of chapter 1

2010-12-08T18:06:00.001-08:00

So, I know I just posted some of this last night, but this is the entire first chapter. Hooray! Thanks for reading:)

All mountains have a murmur. And in the Blue Ridge, low country Virginia, the murmur rumbles with the winds that sweep through the valley right past your ears.

If you listen, sweet secrets seep in.

Audri heard those secrets when she was just twelve, when she sat under the dogwood by the last of the rotting fence that once separated the world from the wonder.

But in that unusually cool April evening, the moon rose before the sun sank, and by the breeze, a young gentle beetle shot from a bloom just to buzz and bumble before Audri’s eyes. And as she threw stones at the last of the aged fence, sending splits through the grain, Audri, in that moment, heard the whisper.

Just a mile away, deep in the center of the slanted woods, an old man pulled a fife from his pocket and played a high pitched tune that reverberated low into the evening. His oyster knees buckled as the wind made rattles in the shutters on the cottage behind him.

Moments later, a young beetle brushed through the blue pines, swiftly flittering towards a tall oak that towered through the roof of the old man’s home. In the harsh winds, a single leaf was ripped from the branches and sent swirling into the night.

And as the ancient man turned from the porch towards the door to escape a chill, the young girl named Lyca, with black twig hair and ebony eyes, emerged from the woods.

With her, she carried a single dogwood bloom.

In moments like these, ancient whispers wake slumbering dreams. One wind brushes another, that brushes another, and the low voices sound like rustling leaves and cicadas. But, below the sounds of matter are the stories of life. And if the rumble is low enough, the stories emerge.

When Audri heard that first rumble, she didn’t recognize it. She only heard the cicadas. It would be another year till she heard that rumble again, and when she did that second and last time, she would be a part of it.

But the murmur to her was low now, as was a whisper. And the sounds of the worlds were just emerging.

151 - Time to write a Thesis

2010-12-07T19:36:00.000-08:00

So, here's the opening:

All mountains have a murmur. And in the Blue Ridge, low country Virginia, the murmur rumbles with the winds that sweep through the valley right past your ears. If you listen, sweet secrets seep in.

Audri heard those secrets when she was just twelve, when she sat under the dogwood by the last of the rotting fence that once separated the world from the wonder.

But in that unusually cool April evening, the moon rose before the sun sank, and by the breeze, a young beetle shot from a bloom just to buzz and bumble before Audri’s eyes. And as she threw stones at the last of the aged fence, sending splits through the grain, Audri heard the rumble.

150 - My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy (Look, it's snowing!)

2010-12-04T10:20:00.000-08:00

Remember Graduation?

And when Kanye made these popular?

And last winter?

After the weather last year in Roanoke, I didn't think I would ever want to see snow again.. but lets be serious, it's always so pretty and magical! And after Kanye's last album, I didn't think I would ever want to hear his music again!

Well, as I sit here, procrastinating with my writing or doing some final critiques for school, writing blogs instead, and listening to My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, (of course)... I think, maybe, the snows not too bad, and maybe, Mr. West is finally back!

I'm all warm and cozy inside with a cup of coffee and looking forward to the rest of the weekend... What a wonderful Saturday.

149 - Lyca and Leica

2010-12-04T09:45:00.000-08:00

So, I've finished up my last class EVER at Hollins for Graduate School!! I have to say, it's just sort of starting to hit me - wow - all that's left is my thesis! Well, I hope to begin that in the Summer, so to prepare I have to commit!!! I have to go through my manuscripts and choose the one that I want to complete for thesis and then try to get published - the pressure!!!

So, I decided to pull back out my middle grade novel about Audri and Lyca... again, and rewrite it... again, and see if I can make it to the ending... again.

If I do, I think I'll use it for thesis.

The other night, I rewrote the opening (for the hundredth time, it feels like) and here it is!

The dogwood tree stood alone in a sandy patch where no grass would grow, on the edge of the ancient pine forest in the valley. Remnants of a forgotten fence bent in the cool breeze between the tree and the woods, and although the dogwood stood inside the yard by the last of the aging fence, the tree’s roots burrowed deep underground reaching far into the forest, past the crinkling creek, sprawling towards the center of the woods.

In the unusually cold April night, the dogwood, with a breath, began to bloom. And as the half moon light slept upon the branches, a small, single bud opened in the shadows. The petals, like puffed pink cheeks, arched and spread open wide while an old man crouched over the fresh flower, watching.

Between his knobbed fingers, the man held a dark, pine wooden box with a slide lid. He reached his knotted fingers inside and careful no to slide the lid off completely, with a gentle reach, he pulled a small winged insect from the opening and cupped it in his palm. His oyster knees buckled as stooping, the man gave his palm a slight tilt towards the flower, allowing the peculiar beetle to slip inside.

Like the Cyclops moth’s, two of the beetle’s wings held round bulging eye shapes near their backs, and the old man chuckled to himself as the petals of the bloom closed around the creature inside.

One of my biggest struggles with this novel, all along, has been showing the magic, as oppose to telling it. So, when I want something eerie in the air, some sort of underlying hint to mystical happenings, how do I get that? Through the tone and the verbiage, yes, and through the action. But it's so hard to get the sounds and smells and feelings onto the page - like squashing something three dimensional into a two dimensional space, that really is an abstract space, ultimately... but lets not get into theory here.

I suppose that's what makes a good writer, but is there a secret out there I don't know about???

Anyway, in addition to rewriting the opening, and in an attempt to get in the 'mystical mood' I went back to a part that comes much later in the novel - when Audri enters the forest with Lyca. The opening, as well as this part, in my mind, should be the most mystical, magic, surreal of the whole piece. A crossing over of something in this world with something alien. A meeting place for the two. This is as close as I've gotten so far:

Forest Scene

In the bursts of breeze, the leaves whispered shhhhh as Audri stepped past the base of the valley into the thickening woods. Lyca waved to her from the cluster of tall oaks, overgrown with ivy and low shrubs.

“Come on,” Lyca called to her.

With the sun high overhead, the forest still felt cool to Audri, and the breeze stirred the wisps of her chestnut hair up around her eyes. When she reached Lyca, she stood for a moment, brushing her hair from her face.

“I have something to show you,” Lyca said.

“What is it?” Audri asked.

“My home,” said Lyca. She smiled and turned, moving past the cluster of trees. “Come on,” she said again.

The trees grew taller deeper into the woods, and eventually, when Audri looked back, she couldn’t see her house or the dogwood or the familiar cluster anymore. She wondered if she would be able to find her way home.

“How far is it,” she asked Lyca.

“Just a little more,” Lyca said. “We have to pass the fallen oak and the creek. Then we’re almost there.”

“Will you be able to walk me home?” she asked. “I don’t know if I could get back.”

“Sure,” Lyca said, “but I’m sure you could get home easily. There’s a little path, see?”

Audri noticed a slight line of earth that ran bare through the wilderness. If she didn’t lose it, maybe she would be able to find her way.

Shadows of leaves danced on the sandy earth by Audri’s feet and over her shoes and legs where she stepped. There was nothing but the whispered shuffles of life around her, and the footsteps she and Lyca made. Ahead lay the fallen oak, its twisted root system towering over her, plucked from the earth. They passed by it and Audri ran her palm across the rough, ashy bark.

Since she was becoming used to the quiet of the valley, Audri had started to notice the sounds she had mistaken for silences before. There was the shuffling of plants and the distant scuffles of animals. Birds squawked and chirped and stopped and started again. Even the fallen leaves and the weeds made sounds; even they made slight movements. As she listened carefully, Audri heard the trickling rush of the creek in the distance and soon the shallow water rushed past them.

“We can cross up ahead,” Lyca said.

The bank of the creek was low and muddy and in spots Audri saw little fish swimming with the current. They came to a narrow section with small stones throughout and Lyca stopped and slid off her sandals.

“It’s easier not to get your shoes wet,” she suggested.

Audri slid off her flip-flops and followed closely behind Lyca through the water. The first step chilled her and her feet stung in the cold. By the second step, the water felt refreshing and she watched as it swirled around her ankles like it did around the rocks.

She looked into the shifting reflections of her and Lyca and how they seemed to cross each other, teetering on the surface.

“Just about there,” Lyca said as they stepped from the water. They slid their shoes back on and Lyca turned in the direction from which they came, away from the creek towards a low, bare hill.

“It’s different here, from where I lived before,” Audri said.

“What do you mean,” Lyca asked.

“Well, at first I thought it was just quite, but now maybe it’s just different sounds. Like softer ones.”

The smells were different too. Here she smelled fresh green. Bites of earth and summer that the wind brushed past her nose. The creek smelled moist, not dry like the exhaust from the cars or the stagnant air of the closed in apartment or home. And even as the mountains closed her in, the wind opened her up.

Just ahead, a small cottage appeared on top of a low hill. From it's center, a tall tree grew.

“Here we are,” Lyca said.

“You really live in the mountain,” Audri realized out loud.

“I told you,” Lyca said, smiling.

Okay, so it's not quite there yet - I can't seem to get a good image of the cottage on paper either... it should be growing out of the side of the mountain, in a sense, kinda on a little hill, with a tree bursting through the center!!

It helps to go back and read good examples of what you're going for when writing - here's one I constantly go back to while I'm working on this story. It's from Poe's, The Fall of the House of Usher. Enjoy!

During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country ; and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher. I know not how it was - but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. I say insufferable ; for the feeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasurable, because poetic, sentiment, with which the mind usually receives even the sternest natural images of the desolate or terrible. I looked upon the scene before me - upon the mere house, and the simple landscape features of the domain - upon the bleak walls - upon the vacant eye-like windows - upon a few rank sedges - and upon a few white trunks of decayed trees - with an utter depression of soul which I can compare to no earthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream of the reveller upon opium - the bitter lapse into everyday life - the hideous dropping off of the veil. There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart - an unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading of the imagination could torture into aught of the sublime. What was it - I paused to think - what was it that so unnerved me in the contemplation of the House of Usher ? It was a mystery all insoluble ; nor could I grapple with the shadowy fancies that crowded upon me as I pondered. I was forced to fall back upon the unsatisfactory conclusion, that while, beyond doubt, there are combinations of very simple natural objects which have the power of thus affecting us, still the analysis of this power lies among considerations beyond our depth. It was possible, I reflected, that a mere different arrangement of the particulars of the scene, of the details of the picture, would be sufficient to modify, or perhaps to annihilate its capacity for sorrowful impression ; and, acting upon this idea, I reined my horse to the precipitous brink of a black and lurid tarn that lay in unruffled lustre by the dwelling, and gazed down - but with a shudder even more thrilling than before - upon the remodelled and inverted images of the gray sedge, and the ghastly tree-stems, and the vacant and eye-like windows.

The way the rider moves through time/space, all the while getting closer to the house, an eerie feeling on the back of his neck, and the readers as well, is just so masterful!! And the seamless movement between internal thoughts/memories, back to present space/time, is so realistic, natural to the way we experience life... HOW DOES HE DO IT!?

And then there's the whole thing, writing for children, but really, language shouldn't be sacrificed because the writer supposes the reader won't follow it --- but that's another conversation.

Anyway, this blog couldn't be any longer... So, I'll leave you with this:

My friend Drew told me the other day that his favorite camera to shoot with was a Leica (of course, when he said that, I pictured Lyca! - And then proceed to think ...so, you're favorite camera is also my imaginary friend...)

Anyway, here's a picture I took of him with the Leica complete with this LINK to his blog post about it! Oh, and follow his BLOG too!! (you know, if you want to:) )

Thanks for reading, if you're still here :)

148 - ...because it's thanksgiving and all.

2010-11-25T09:27:00.000-08:00

So, in light of the holiday and some recent fantastic news, I've decided to put up a post about two people that I am very, very thankful for.

These two people:

Stephanie and Steve.

Two people in love with essentially the same name...

Stephanie, of course, I've known 28 of the 30 years of my life. Here we are when we were little and cute:

Of course, Stephanie is still little... and cute.

A few years ago, Steph met this handsome fella:

And he played music for her and made her laugh:

And last night, he proposed to her!!!!

This is what I imagine her smile looked like:

Even Scout is excited, I'm sure:

So, Stephanie and Steve, Congrats!!!!

147 - Every Child Has the Right to Play

2010-11-25T08:09:00.000-08:00

The man singing this song, Christopher, is a refuge from Burundi living here in Greensboro. I have the honor of getting to work with him at the museum for our Culture of Color program.

This is a beautiful song he wrote for the Hutu/Tutsi children at the refugee camps in Tanzania where he spent nine years of his life after escaping the genocide in Burundi and before coming to the states. The camps were divided by ethnicity, some for Hutu peoples, some for Tutsi, and some for mixed ethnicity.

Christopher visited the museum last Monday and he told me all about his time in Tanzania after he lost most of his family. While he was there, he organized games for all the people - mens games, womens games, childrens games - to help bring hope to the people in the camp. He coached a girls soccer team. He took in four children. He build a guitar using fishing line and a tin can and taught himself to play!!

This song is a product of that guitar! It's called Every Child has the Right to Play and he sings the song in the four major languages of Burundi: French, English, Swahili, and Kirundi. That way, any child from his country will know the song is for them.

146 - Mountain Man

2010-11-16T19:31:00.000-08:00

These beautiful ladies opened for Jonsí in DC.

Mountain Man - River from Vincent Galgano on Vimeo.

Mountain Man "Mouthwings" [part 1 of 3] from Yours Truly on Vimeo.

145 - and again with Jonsi

2010-11-03T17:03:00.000-07:00

This is the making of Jonsi's tour. I'm really excited....

The making of Jónsi's live show: Part 1 from Jónsi on Vimeo.

Go here for Part 2 and Part 3

(I couldn't embed them for some reason...)

144 - Jonsi

2010-10-31T13:35:00.000-07:00

I will be seeing this show a week from tomorrow at the 930 Club in DC with two people I love very, very much.

Try not to be too jealous.

jónsi: Concert Timelapse at The Wiltern Theatre from Henry Jun Wah Lee on Vimeo.

143 - Walking a fine line (or, the Fairy Garden)

2010-10-31T07:19:00.000-07:00

You know how it's cute when kids believe in fairies and unicorns and things like this:

And then it's creepy when grown women, usually very lonely, usually very weird, usually owning lots of cats, have things like this around their house:

Well, at the risk of looking like one of those women, I'm going to attempt to post now about the Fairy Garden I've been building at work, right after putting up a blog about my cat.....

So, yeah. My director asked my co-workers and I to turn the willow trees in our garden at work into a Fairy Garden. Essentially, someone gave us a lot of money and as a naming opportunity, they put their name on the 'fairy garden'. But, the fairy garden right now is just a circle of willow trees, and as these donors are coming by to visit in early November, my director asked us to make the fairy garden actually look like one.

As a result, my co-workers and I have spent the last week at work meticulously constructing little baskets and bridges and stairs and houses and wind chimes. Here's what the work table in my office looked like until about 4:30 on Friday afternoon:

And these are the little fairy houses that emerged from the mess:

Let's be serious... For those of you that know me, you can probably deduct from this situation that when my boss said, "Jenny, I need you to build a fairy garden," my brain was saying, "Remember how you love imaginary things and magic and OH MY GOD! Yes Please, I'll build a fairy garden..."

Alright, I know, teetering on a fine line here between being imaginative (and having to be to write) and being a complete nut case...

In short, if any of you come to visit anytime soon and I have this displayed on the wall:

... well, I fear if it gets to that point, there's no turning back.

142 - Meet Buster

2010-10-31T06:46:00.000-07:00

This is Buster:

He is an adorable, little kitten that used to live in a chicken coop with a bunch of crazy hens:

But I adopted him and now we hang out every day:

Buster likes eating, purring, sleeping, sitting on my laptop, and chasing his tail:

141 - Facebook Travel - 2526

2010-10-18T19:35:00.000-07:00

For my trip tonight - I went home to Roanoke, to Brett and John's house.

Roanoke now is beautiful (I would imagine). Cool in the evenings. Rain every now and then. Front porches everywhere to relax on, enjoying autumn.

I bet up by Mill Mountain and the Parkway the leaves are orange and red and yellow... Greensboro's getting there....

Well, I just miss this little green house. (surprisingly there are no cars out front!)

View Larger Map

If you're ever in Roanoke: stop by.

I bet there's someone there who will put on a record of your choosing in the cozy living room, play guitar and sing you a song in the basement, tell you a joke about Kanye West, or sit on the porch with you while it rains.

It's gonna Rain!

Remember Felicity?

Wow - this blog is Running Wilde!

140 - The Greensboro Children's Museum

2010-10-18T18:59:00.000-07:00

Well, I've posted it everywhere else, so I figure why not here too. I love my job at the Greensboro Children's Museum!

I am an educator there and help with programming and exhibits - what does that mean? Well, today I climbed the willow trees in our Edible School Yard (ESY) and had a meeting with other co-workers about converting the tree cluster into a Fairy Garden. Tomorrow I'm going to dress up like a Chief of Police and help a bunch of kids figure out an Our Town Mystery - All of our citizens are missing! Will they solve the case?

Last week I saved a bird that was trapped in the office I share with the education team (don't even ask how it got in there) and two nights ago I taught a bunch of volunteers how to make Corn Husk Dolls so they could make them with visitors during our annual fundraiser, the Harvest Hoedown. I actually got the husks from the corn that the ESY team grew in our garden this season! Oh, and there was a leaf pile!

I was even lucky enough to have the chance to fill in on ESY field trips a few times - teaching kids about how a Seed gets to the Table! The ESY team bakes cookies ahead of time (with plants from the garden) and the kids discover what the ingredients are! They learn about seeds, roots, leaves and stems, and fruit. They harvest a seed and a root. They taste the pumpkin cookies. Everything in the cookie is from a plant (most of which ESY grew themselves). The only additions are butter, eggs from our chickens in the garden, baking soda and powder. It's awesome!

Well, one school, Brooks Global, loved the trip so much, they made this slide show for us. Enjoy!

The Edible Schoolyard Slideshow: Brooks Global Third Grade’s trip to Greensboro, North Carolina, United States was created by TripAdvisor. See another Greensboro slideshow. Create your own stunning free slideshow from your travel photos.

139 - Basket and Darkness

2010-10-17T20:45:00.000-07:00

Hid another basket tonight! I was at an event all about darkness and furniture... but really, more darkness. I mean, there was a krampus.

And a sort of fashion show...

Happy searching!

138 - Lost in the Trees

2010-10-14T17:46:00.000-07:00

Going to hear these guys tonight:

137 - Facebook Travel Map

2010-10-13T21:16:00.000-07:00

So, one lonely afternoon in Roanoke, right after Reid had moved out and before I moved to Greensboro, I spent an afternoon in the apartment traveling the world via googlemaps. In that one afternoon I went to Tokyo (It's what dreams are made of...), Honolulu (Thanks, Pete, for nothing), and New Zealand (Take your Mum) -- such grand adventures!

Then tonight, weeks later, I was talking to Velvet on facebook chat. Well, she wanted my address so she could look up my house on googlemaps (GMs). -- She had just looked up Emily's new place in Oahu. I told her about my own recent travels with GMs and then joked that I should get one of those facebook travel maps (FbTM[s]), but only post places I've visited on GMs.

So, yeah, that's just too funny to not do. It took me all of, I don't know, ten minutes to commit to it. So, I think I'll try to travel somewhere every week or two and then post a blog about my trip! - After, of course, I put it on my FbTM.

The best part about this whole blog and idea, and just what's so funny to me about it, is that it's all virtual. Like, I know that 90% of my 5 or so readers are familiar with FbTMs. They also will know that I haven't traveled to those places I've marked. But, I think some of my 'less-in-touch' friends on facebook may make comments about my recent travels --- those comments, if they happen --- will be priceless. I'm looking forward to it. And, honestly, nothing against those people. Let's be serious, I myself am a 'less-in-touch' friend (LIT Friend) to many people. No worries - it's the facebook dynamic.

Plus, we all know I just want to make up travel stories - the whole facebook thing just adds some dimension.

I will have my first post by next week. In the meantime, any ideas for a title for those blog entries? Like: Fake Travels with Jenny or I go where GoogleMaps takes me or really, just anything better than those two titles will do! :)

Thanks for reading!

Oh, and check out Our Town Road, Wewahitchka, FL 32465 It's lovely this time of year!

View My Saved Places in a larger map

136 - The Basket is Found!

2010-10-13T14:53:00.000-07:00

Got this email today:

Hi,

I was having coffee with a friend at The Green Bean downtown in Greensboro today when I found a curious little basket along with a note settled into a potted plant on the patio, where a little guitar-playing monkey (a friend and I have named him Kyle) resides. At first I thought maybe Kyle was feeling lonely and wanted to go home with me, but then I discovered the cute little basket was the one in need of a home. Ha!

Cool project! :)

Aimee

Thanks, Aimee, for letting me post your email, and enjoy!

I'll be hiding more baskets soon!!

135 - Little Baskets

2010-10-12T18:46:00.001-07:00

As a community art project, started last October, I weave little baskets and hide them around town for people to find.

After just moving to Greensboro three weeks ago, I just hid my first little basket tonight. Here's a picture of it in its hiding spot!

These are all the baskets I'll be hiding over the next few weeks.

Happy searching. And if you're the lucky person who found the basket, email your story to artfor365@gmail.com!

134 - Spence Evolving

2010-10-12T16:09:00.000-07:00

So, the Spence story I've been posting bits and pieces of has been evolving. Now it's in chapter book form, and I think it will stay here!

This is still a bit rough, but you can get the idea. I'm near to finishing the first draft of the entire piece, and when it's done and edited I'll post it!

Thanks for reading.

Chapter 1 – Spence in the Sky
Now, here is the thing about the young boy named Spence – he will seem magic.
But, he just seems magic because he’s not from here. Spence flew in over the mountains one day and crashed in old Giles’ backyard – and that’s how Giles and Lucy and Spence began their adventures.

So, Spence will seem magic, but what seems magic to you is normal for him. That’s because he is from a place called Tunstall where everything is just two things – practical and fun. That is the way of the Tunstall people and they have a little saying, Be practical, have fun.

Chapter 2 – Stuffy Giles and Scrappy Lucy

Giles is a stuffy old man who lives in a stuffy bungalow in a stuffy town in a stuffy valley. The bungalow is so filled with old books and papers and dust that Giles can never find anything. And that’s why the unfinished books he writes are so drab – he spends all his time sneezing (because of the dust) and looking for other drab books to reference.

Lucy is a scrappy young girl who lives in a scrappy apartment and sleeps on a scrappy bed that she shares with her sister. And as her sister, Alison, put it, “They just ran oft, Luc.” That’s whenever Lucy asks Alison about their parents, who left on Lucy’s first birthday when Alison was 18 years old.

Just now, Giles was shuffling around the living room for an old classic of which he could not remember the name, and all the time mumbling to himself, “It was just here. Ah, yes, I did catalog it by the rug… it’s by Fencer, I believe…”

And on and on and on.

And Lucy was scrapping down the side of the mountain near old Giles’ place poking a stick in the mud and contemplating whether or not she should eat the squiggling worm in her hand.

And just now, Spence was soaring through the sky right as the southern summer winds switched directions and sent him north over the mountains.

Chapter 3 – Tally-ho, and down, down, down he goes.

“Such fun!” Spence cried out over the summer storm as he flew low in his grand balloon of hats and sheets, which he had built himself. His quest – his adventure quest – had just begun when the storm threw him off course on the longest day of the year, around noon.

Giles, pulling an epic poem about Faeries from under the carpet in his living room heard the shutters on the bungalow shake. “Ah, yes,” he said peering out the window, “a summer storm. It will squash my squash plants again, I’m sure.”

Lucy, dangling a worm just above her lips stomped her foot crying, “Dang worm,” as the wild winds tossed it from her hands. “Dang storm,” she spat out racing to the little shed she saw in Giles’ backyard hoping to take cover.

“And off I go,” Spence exclaimed as the wind picked up and rain poured down into his hat basket. “Adventure!” he cried as his ship flew down into the valley.

“Quite! Is that a balloon?” Giles questioned from his window.

“What the – “ Lucy gurgled out. She was drinking in all the rainwater with her mouth hung open under the gutter spill on the shed.

“Tally-ho and down, down, down I go,” sang Spence as he and his flying contraption crashed onto old Giles’ shed roof.

133 - tough luck

2010-10-10T21:00:00.001-07:00

If you can't think of what to write, tough luck; write anyway. If you can think of lots more when you've finished the three pages, don't write it; it'll be that much easier to get going next day.
Philip Pullman

I wove a lot of baskets recently. Pictures to come soon!

132 - Cache Rules Everything Around Me

2010-09-18T11:26:00.001-07:00

131

2010-09-18T11:24:00.000-07:00

"Disbelieving in Magic can force a poor soul into believing in government and business."

130 - Hawaii and Entries to Come

2010-08-17T16:24:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted since my birthday because summer was so hectic for me. I worked and finished my last summer at Hollins, then went to Hawaii for two weeks for Emily's wedding.

I'm applying for jobs and planning to move in the next two months, but, if anyone's still reading this blog ;) there will be more entries to come shortly.

Until then, here's a few photos I took in Hawaii!

129 - 30 and Flowers

2010-06-08T19:43:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time since I've posted.... and since then I've turned thirty!! I thought it would be hard to leave my 20's behind, but so far, it hasn't been too bad. I'm excited about new beginnings, leaving a place I've been for a few years and going somewhere new. I'm excited about everything that happened during my first decade as an adult - even the bad stuff. Velvet sent me some beautiful flowers for my birthday this year -- here are some photos:

Thanks Vel!!

128 - Chapter 12 - The Plan

2010-05-21T06:29:00.000-07:00

Read about these guys (Holy Ghost Tent Revival) and listen to their demo. Why? Because their music rocks, and on top of that, they're pretty cool guys too. :)

Also, check out their tour dates and go see them next time they pass your way. It's a show you don't want to miss!

127 - The Old Stuff and No Support

2010-05-20T09:13:00.000-07:00

Today I dug out all the stuff I've written over the years. All the good stuff and bad stuff. Why? So that I could go through and compile all the poetry and short writings and edit them into maybe being something more. Most of it's pretty bad, but some has potential.

It's so hard during the year when I'm not in school to keep up with my writing. I do keep up with it, but not in the way that I do while in school. Without writing groups and critiques, it's hard to know if I'm headed in the right direction. Sure, I can make my own judgements on my own work, but let's be serious, chances are - what I think is good of my own, probably isn't that great. Sometimes that outside look can really help.

Being out of school most of the year, and then in school with people who live all over the world, and who I hardly know, I have yet to find a way to have the same writing support year round that I find in the summer. I am writing once a week with John now, but we are not a critique group. That's what I need.

So readers, local and afar, do you write? Do you know anyone that does? Are any of you looking for a writing group? If so, please let me know and I'll set something up for us in town or online if you're far away. Then we can write and share and critique, hooray!

126 - Das Rad

2010-05-12T10:03:00.000-07:00

125 - old poems for Steph and Rob

2010-05-11T20:40:00.000-07:00

Tonight, while digging through a bunch of stuff for an old sketch book and journal, I found two poems I wrote .... I don't even remember when. One was for Steph and one for Rob. I re-read them. I know why they're still in the notebook - they aren't finished. They're too nostalgic and too cliche. But on the other hand, after re-reading them and after just spending a weekend with Steph and Rob, they seemed okay. I think maybe, as bad as they might be, they're honest.

So, where do honesty, fiction, craft, and good story telling meet for writers? I don't think I've quite found it yet. We all write, if and when we write, from experience... even if it's fantasy. But there is a fine space, a space to be found, where that honesty and truth meets story telling and relate-ability. (look - I'm making up words now! :) ) But, these poems are not that. They are just for my sister and brother. Maybe one day they will become more. They are taken from experience and music (guess what song!!) and family. But don't think twice, it's all right... :)

For Rob, Where Ever I May Find Him
Rob:
When lonely hearts beat worry,
like tip-taps of rain on windows,
You will hear your sisters voices in the puddles.
They will whisper echoes of soft plip-plops in shallow waters.
Streams run clear through pine wooden grounds of grey dirt,
And children's feet still land there.
When you grow tall,
like a lanky limbed tree -
your sisters grow broad and reach their canopies around you like familiar dogwoods.
Once we lived like children.
We were.
Now we live in three places on land that reaches its hills into each others folds.
Then, when we fold with wrinkles in our fingers and cheeks,
We each will float and settle
like dust by your window.
And there we will be like we once were.

For Stephanie, Where Ever I May Find Her
Stephanie:
Whatever happened to the wind that carried us to new places?
Did it stop blowing and force us to walk forward?
Why won't quiet hearts let us find peace?
And when did growing up turn over in sheets warm and cover up?
I thought I saw a full moon the other night, but it was new.
My body moves with the moon,
and my dreams fill up with thoughts of children on steps.
Messy blonde curls send shivers to my mind,
and I sit with you.
But together we are three - we are far, and reach through waves like the edge of tides brushing dunes.
But you are my reflection and I am yours.
And still together, we are three.

124 - Paint and Catfish!

2010-05-04T10:19:00.000-07:00

Here's a little painting I did for Mom for her birthday. Acrylic on Canvas.

And this is delicious fried catfish over rice with a mango, pineapple and garlic salsa on top -- with avocado. Yum!

123 - The Bill Murray Experience

2010-04-25T21:06:00.000-07:00

122 - Miranda's Painting

2010-04-21T06:22:00.000-07:00

My friend Miranda came over about a week ago and did this beautiful painting. The colors that she made are so rich!! She used acrylic on canvas. Thanks for sharing, Miranda.

121 - The Giant of Illinois

2010-04-18T08:36:00.000-07:00

The giant of Illinois
died from a blister on his toe
after walking all day through the first winter snow

throwing bits of stale bread
to the last speckled doves
he never even felt his shoes filled with blood

delirious with pain, his bedroom walls began to glow
and he felt himself soaring up through falling snow
and the sky was a woman's arms

a boy with a club foot
had sat next to him in school
once upon a summer's day
they went wandering through the woods

they spotted a sleeping swan
on the banks of a muddy stream
and they stormed it with rocks
till it collapsed in the reeds

they lay out on the grass
full of chocolate and lemonade
but underneath it all the giant was afraid
the sky was a woman's arms

120 - The Beginning

2010-04-17T09:33:00.000-07:00

I recently wrote the rough beginning for the Spence Story I'm working on. Here it is!

In a town called Hattersfield, a tall bell tower stood stone still while the wild summer winds picked up, sweeping through the empty streets lined with brick front shops and wooden benches. The full moon light glittered on the rooftops and slept on the surrounding countryside. In a small bungalow east of town an old man’s leg stirred in his sleep as a letter blew from his nightstand by the open window. In a small room across town a little girl rolled over in a cot lost in a dream where she flew over green hillsides. And in the skies not too far away, a little lost boy in a basket under a balloon was swept up by northern winds turned south and sent sailing off course towards the quiet town of Hattersfield.

This is the bell tower (sort of). :-)

119 - A short story (to become something else)

2010-04-13T08:30:00.000-07:00

I've been trying to write the beginnings of a chapter book for school this summer, and I'm using my character Spence. Here's one of his stories...

Spence and the Vimana

My name is Audri. I never lie and the story I am about to tell you is true. I live on the outskirts of a small town called Hattersfield. I am top in my class and only get A’s. I learn two new words a day by browsing an online dictionary, one word when I wake up and one before I go to bed.

I live with my older sister, Stephanie, who acts like my mother, because we don’t have one. I think it’s ridiculous. I know she’s not my mother, I also know how a woman becomes a mother, and this little act of hers does not have me fooled.

During the summers, since I don’t have school, I spend time in my tree house in the backyard. My tree house is not really in a tree; my uncle built it for Stephanie when I wasn’t born yet, but she doesn’t use it anymore, so now it’s mine. It is actually a little one-room house on four, four by four posts, reinforced with eight two by fours on each side. There is a ladder that I can retract once I’m up top so as not to be bothered.

I was in my tree house mid day this past June when I heard something smash into its side. I ran to the door and looked out, and on the ground below sat a child atop a pile of beat up hats, with a sheet lying out beside him.

“Are you okay?” I cried out.

“Uggggg,” the boy just moaned.

I threw out my ladder and climbed down to assist the boy.

“Are you okay?” I asked again. “What happened?”

“I crashed,” he snapped back. “Here, help me pick my Vimana up,” he said standing.

“Your what?”

“My Vimana, my flying machine,” the boy said motioning towards the pile of hats and sheet.

He started gathering up the hats into the sheet, and I helped him.

“What’s your name?” I asked, “Mine’s Audri.”

“Spence.”

“Oh, are you new here?”

“No. I live in Tunstall.”

“Oh, yeah, okay,” I replied. I had never heard of Tunstall, but planned to look it up later, so I just pretended like I knew where it was.

I invited him into my tree house, and once inside he pulled out a piece of paper with some calculations and drawings all over it.

“Hmmm,” he thought aloud, “I have to repair the Vimana. Can I do that here?”

“Sure,” I said. The boy was interesting. “You can stay in the tree house here and I’ll bring you food and water and something to sleep on. My sister thinks she’s my mother and I know she would not let you stay in the house since that’s what she would think a mother would do. But you can stay here and we won’t tell her. I can help you fix your Vienna.”

“Vimana,” he corrected me. “I just need to work out some calculations,” he said, mostly to himself. “Yes, this will do just fine,” and he pulled a pencil out of his sleeve. It looked like magic.

I told Spence to keep the ladder up at all times, unless he heard me below calling, “Spence, Spence, let down your stairs.” I didn’t want anyone to be able to wander up and find him. Plus I thought it would be fun to play a game like Rapunzel, who actually lets her hair down like a ladder in the story. He didn’t get the reference, though, I don’t think.

That night I snuck him out some dinner and bottled waters, and a pillow and sleeping bag. He was grateful for all of it.

The next day Spence had completed his calculations for the repairs on the Vimana and he needed the following items:

10 replacement hats

30 feet of heavy rope

2 sheets

a large needle and heavy twine

an enormous tub of paste

Well, I just happened to know a man in town who had a second hand store, and usually had hats in stock. We went there first.

I didn’t have any money and Spence said that they didn’t use money in Tunstall; in fact, he didn’t seem to understand the concept of money at all. So, we made a plan, and this is what we did.

Spence went into Old Man Giles’ second hand shop and laid down on the floor and started screaming that the demons were upon him. I taught him how to do it because I had seen this horror movie where a child had demons in her. Spence was magnificent. He mumbled made up words and sounds, screaming some and whispering some. He kicked his feet, flailed his arms, and arched his back. It was beautiful, and I would have loved to watch the entire performance, but I had to remove the hats from the store while he created the distraction. There just happened to be a roll of twine by the exit door in the shop, so I threw that in the big laundry bag along with the hats. That was what I like to call a freebie. Old Man Giles was the only person in the shop, and when he went to get the phone to call 911 (he moved so slow since he was so old) Spence got up and high tailed it outta there. At that point I was already most of the way home with the hats, so no worries about being caught since Old Man Giles didn’t know Spence and didn’t see me.

We still needed the heavy rope, the sheets, the paste, and the large needle. So, we stashed the hats and twine in the tree house, grabbed a paring knife from my kitchen, and headed up the street towards the Bellamy farm. The Bellamy’s were old fashioned and had a clothesline in their backyard where they hung their laundry to dry. The two Bellamy kids, Mary Rae and Duncan, were in my class in school, and they were not smart, and at the bottom of the class. That’s because they spent their summers and mornings working on the farm; going to bed and rising with the sun, taking no time to study. They had a mom and a dad, so they didn’t need to be that smart anyway, and they had a farm to get all their food from. I had to be smart so I could get a job and buy food one day. I knew the Bellamy’s would be out at work on the fields, and doing all those things that keep a farm running, so here’s what Spence and I did. We snuck around the farmhouse, one of us on each side, our backs against the walls so as not to be seen from the inside where Ms. Bellamy was probably doing house stuff. We ducked under the windows. On my way around I heard Ms. Bellamy fiddling in the kitchen. Luckily that window faced the side and not the back of the yard where the clothesline was. Once out back I met Spence, and the clothesline was in sight. I saw a set of sheets hanging to dry. “That’s a freebie,” I whispered to Spence. He then proceeded to crawl on his belly through the yard to the clothesline and I made my way back to the corner of the house, in between the back door and the kitchen window. Ms. Bellamy was still bustling about. While I laid in ambush in case she should emerge, Spence cut down the lines. He wrapped the set of sheets around the rope, dove to the ground, and crawled back to me. We ducked our way around to the front of the house and then ran to the street and back home. We left the knife in a ditch up the road since it’s dangerous to run with a knife.

Now all we needed was a needle and the paste. I didn’t have a needle, but I had a fishing set (because one summer I learned how to fish so I would never starve; Teach a man to fish, they say) and some pliers, so I made two heavy needles to hold the twine, one for me and one for Spence. I also remembered that I had a jar of paste in my room that I used for a science project last year on wormholes and time travel. Unfortunately I was unable to completely prove my hypothesis. I thought it would work, but it didn’t.

By this point we were tired and I suggested we begin repairs the next day, so that’s what we did.

The next morning, up in my tree house, Spence and I began sewing the three sheets together; the one he brought with him when he first arrived, and the two from the Bellamy Farm. It took us three hours to finish. We also had to put six holes around the perimeter of the sheets and reinforce them with double stitches of twine. Then we tied six pieces of clothesline, each five feet long from the holes.

The next part was the most fun. We began stacking all the hats, first lining the toboggans and stocking caps along the floor and sewing them together. Then stacking the heavier hats along the perimeter, and then the lighter ones on top, using lots of paste all the time, creating a large basket made of hats. It was about three feet tall and three feet around. The hats did not fall over.

I asked Spence how his Vimana worked. Surely it didn’t really fly. It was just a game.

“What are you going to do when we finish,” I asked Spence.

“I’m going to go home,” he said.

“I mean, what are you going to do with your Vimana?”

“That’s how I’m going to get home. I must soar over the sun and beyond the blue!” He stood and made that statement with such conviction that I felt the need to stand and salute, which is what I did.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Oh, just a salute, it’s like an honorable wave.”

“Oh,” he said plainly. He didn’t really seem to understand, so I sat back down.

“Well, that’s ridiculous,” I said, “it’s simply impossible. It’ll fall to pieces.”

“Tonight is a full moon, Audri,” he said, “and I will fly. You, of course, may not join me.”

“I’d like to see you try!” I exclaimed.

“You may bid me farewell tonight if you wish.” So I planned to sneak out of the house at midnight and meet him in the treehouse.

So, that night, I lay awake quietly in my bed till midnight. I didn’t want to set my alarm and risk getting caught by my sister. Just before midnight I snuck out the back door and standing on the roof in the basket of hats was Spence. And the sheets were filled and lifted like a hot air balloon. Spence waved and winked, I saluted, and he soared into the night.

That was the last time I saw Spence, although from time to time I hear about him in the papers or from a neighboring friend. Now, I know it sounds outlandish, and I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it myself. But I never lie and that’s why I told you it’s true. And it is.

118 - Yum, Tapas

2010-04-10T11:16:00.000-07:00

Reid and I made tapas the other day - very delicious tapas.

Kale, butter and garlic, warm dates, polenta

White wine garlic sauce with clams

Tomato, brie, rosemary bruschetta on crispy cracker

Brie stuffed dates and oranges

Olives!!

117 - GoodNight Whisper

2010-04-08T19:17:00.001-07:00

Wild wood and wimble wyre

lay upon your neck tonight.

And vultures swoop and queens crown kings

while children sleep in light.

When amble may-bell men-a-tire

go to feed the fire,

women lie in beds tucked tight

while gentle thoughts make briars.

And children weep of things remembered

under able choirs.

116 - UMC, onto Post Production!

2010-04-07T07:53:00.000-07:00

I just realized that I never posted anything about the film project, Universal Music Connections, that we finished shooting in March. So, here I am doing it now.

We finished our filming in Downtown Roanoke at the end of March and had a very successful two days of shooting. We were able to get interviews with many of the key people in Roanoke that promote our music scene: Chris Stup at the Music Lab, Ken Rattenbury of Fret Mill, Patrick from Blues BBQ (one of the top places to hear great local music), Kerry Hurley of the Blue Ridge Blues Society, William Penn at the Dumas Center - just to name a few...

Abbey Hoekzema, Mike Randolph, Lorenzell (Lo) Wilson

We also had the opportunity to present the Music Lab at the Jefferson Center with a $1000.00 check to further promote music education through their programming. The most amazing part of the weekend was the 'Musical Roundtable' portion that we shot in Kirk Ave Music Hall. Essentially we invited a number of local musicians to come join us for coffee and breakfast, and sit around a 'round table' to talk about music. --It turned out to be quite moving. Everyone was able to share what music means to them, how they began, what they're doing now. Sarah sang Summertime beautifully accompanied by Mike Randolph.

Both days were beautiful and our footage looks great. So, now it's onto editing and hopefully I'll have a rough cut trailer and some pictures to post here soon for everyone to see.

Until then, and if you're interested in learning more about the project, click Universal Music Connections or email me at artfor365@gmail.com. You can also read an article about the project here: Musical Chairs in Different Cities.

115 - A Basket is Found!

2010-04-07T07:38:00.000-07:00

I got an email a little while ago from a woman who found the basket I hid at Center in the Square! (check out what Center in the Square is up to lately - expansions look pretty cool!)
With her permission, I am posting the email she sent this morning!

Hello, today I found one of your little baskets. I was visiting the 4th floor at Center in the Square when, as I turned the corner, I happen to see this wonderful little basket with the note "Take me Home!" At first, I thought it was a mini-"lost and found", so I leaned over to see what small trinkets were in the little basket. It was empty! I picked it up and read the note and decided I would take it back to work and use it for my paper clips.

What a wonderful idea. It's a fantastic basket and everytime I look at it, I will smile.

Thanks for promoting the arts and especially music. My daughter is a music teacher in Georgia so I know the first things to be hit with cuts and suffer are the fine arts.

Sheri

--
If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it's yours. If it doesn't, it never was....Alison Wilcock

I was so excited to hear that her daughter is a music teacher, that the basket found a good home, and I love the Wilcock quote on her email - thanks Sheri!!

There's still four more out there and more to come - Good Luck!

114 - Great Success -- Baskets are Hidden!

2010-04-06T15:15:00.000-07:00

I hid some baskets in and around downtown today... can you figure out where they are? Here are some hints.

Hmmmm... interesting.

Preserving the Harvest!

Here's a hint...

Do you recognize this room?

Or this one....

One last little basket!

Email artfor365@gmail.com if you find one and Happy Searching!

113 - 8 Little Baskets

2010-04-05T14:24:00.000-07:00

I recently wove eight little baskets using a variety of materials. Sarah, a friend of mine gave me some baling twine to use, I also had cotton cord and some left over wire. All that, along with reed and brown twine, and I was able to make all of these. :)

As some of you know, I started a community art project months ago, hiding little baskets like these around town for people to take home... well, it's been months since I've hidden a basket, so I'm making up for lost time!! I'm going to a fundraiser at Kirk Ave tonight for the Music Lab at the Jefferson Center (to which the film project [UMC] I recently worked on was able to donate $1000.00 for continued music education in Roanoke - woohoo!)

Anyway, after that I plan on hiding these baskets all around downtown! - (Pictures of their hiding places to come soon)

These are made with baling twine, reed, and a little wire on one, a little cotton cord on another.

These two I really liked because they're so colorful. I used mostly wire and some different types of twine.

Happy Searching!!!

112 - More from Tom Robbins

2010-03-24T08:19:00.000-07:00

I read this the other night in Jitterbug Perfume - the book that's taking me months to read, not because it's not good - it's fantastic - but because I've been occupying my time with other things. Anyway, here's the quote:

Our individuality is all, ALL, that we have. There are those who barter it for security, those who repress it for what they believe is the betterment of the whole society, but blessed in the twinkle of the morning star is the one who nurtures it and rides it, in grace and love and wit, from peculiar station to peculiar station along life's bittersweet route.

Hmmm..... individuality, that's a tough word and a tough concept. I've certainly bartered mine before, working and living in the shadow of someone who's individuality it was a mistake to support. But, not anymore, I don't think.

Individuality is hard to separate from every other part of yourself, especially if you have friends and family and work and social relationships. All these other people influence you - and yet, you're still individual. But, maybe it's when you sacrifice those things that are so important to you, so much so that you can't express them to someone else, that you begin to sacrifice your individuality -- and maybe even become someone else.

I wonder what Brett would say about individuality with all of his philosophical reading? I can't say much philosophically about it, but I do know that I find my own individuality when I make something... when I'm writing, I'm making something new and it's from me. I have the same feeling when I make baskets or paint. Sometimes I feel individual just being lost in my own thoughts

Still, all that is 'making' provides something tangible that is literally and physically separate from me... Tom Robbins always gets me puzzling and thinking in circles and questioning....

Thoughts?

111 - thanks, Tom Robbins

2010-03-09T18:15:00.000-08:00

... [Pan] is associated with female values.
To diminish the worth of women, men had to diminish the worth of the moon. They had to drive a wedge between human beings and the trees and the beasts and the waters, because trees and beasts and waters are as loyal to the moon as to the sun. They had to drive a wedge between thought and feeling, between the lamplight by which they count the day's earnings and the dark to which our Pan is ever connected. At first they used Apollo as the wedge, and the abstract logic of Apollo made a mighty wedge, indeed, but Apollo the artist maintained a love for women, not the open, unrestrained lust that Pan has, but a controlled longing that undermined the patriarchal ambition. When Christ came along, Christ who slept with no female, neither two-legged nor four, Christ, who played no musical instrument, recited no poetry, and never kicked up his heels by moonlight, this Christ was the perfect wedge. Christianity is merely a system for turning priestesses into handmaidens, queens into concubines, and goddesses into muses... --- from Jitterbug PerfumeI went 'moon gazing' at the beach two weeks ago... it was a full moon and a clear night and beautiful. :)

110 - poem 2 (streams and silver water)

2010-02-14T14:09:00.000-08:00

In the south,
fog on streams hangs like golden smoke exhaled on tree tops.

Youthful girls slip ankles into silvery liquid flowing over stones that stand still,
and cold feet settle before running.

When Southern Youth tells you she's standin' still in the swamp, --
   -- you can't argue.
Knee high in mud water makes ya stagnant.

But bees buzz around you and her -
both of ya wearin' masks for protection.

And sweet, sweet honey touches your lips as the queen sweeps by your neck.

Do you know the sounds of south and suffer,
and the silvery tongue of the stream?

It sweeps by your ankles like a metallic ice lava flow that cools and chills your toes.

Youth steps in streams or walks over fallen oaks,
But we,
  (you and I)
   --- we remember the cool breath of spring and fall,
and that warmth that stays on our summer cheeks.

Wrinkles show life.
And living looks like bugs that flutter for a season and rest.

Can we die with strokes of each other on our cheeks?
Can we rest regenerated through youthful curiosity?
Can we grow old and still wonder?

When moonbeams coat soft lovely legs in streams of silvery blankets,
any woman will finally remember that she lives in flesh and she touches death with wrinkled fingers,
and No woman will cry for her loss.

Wrinkled fingers and youthful thighs in silver water make a much loved and lived life.
And silver waters brush thighs in southern lands, where youth makes herself a home.

109 - a poem & salamanders

2010-02-14T12:57:00.000-08:00

When lonely nights & days
drift in like slim salamander tails
slinking in & growing new -
new light illuminates;
& bugs burn in the night.

Within tree tops,
Canopies reach up branched fingers.

Blinking lights like stars in hand reaches make the birds cry;
and children chase false stars.

Parents curse love
from false emotion.
But,

trees stand tall in warm wind
& buds bloom with hope.
Any you,
like a child,
dream of something to come tomorrow.

Some kinds of salamanders have an amazing adaptation called autotomy (aw TOT uh mee). If something or someone snags the tail of one of these salamanders, the salamander can make the tail fall off. The salamander can then scoot to safety without its snagged tail.

That is not all that a salamander can do. After a salamander loses its tail, it can regenerate (ree JEN uhr ayt), or regrow, a new one. Some salamanders can regenerate legs, too. Some can even regenerate parts of their spinal cord, organs, and eyes.

At first, the new tail or leg or other body part looks pale in comparison to the rest of the salamander. Eventually, the color matches perfectly.

108 - Samantha Clark Cuts Out a Buffy Episode

2010-02-14T10:16:00.000-08:00

As those of you know, who follow my blog, a friend of a friend of mine had made promises of a 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer Fan Fiction Bonus Episode' back in November. Well, after months of anticipation (I know you all have been on the edge of your seats like me), Samantha Clark, of Samantha Clark cuts it out, has followed through and presented us with a most fabulous Buffy Opening Credits Sequence!!!

Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Slays Come Undone {INTRO} from Zak Tatham on Vimeo.

Demons, Vampire Slaying (Buffy Style), Feral Cats, all our favorites like Zander and Giles, not to mention the Sick Stunts (she does them herself!). This amazing woman not only has pulled off one of the best independent opening sequences to the best fan-fiction episode for the best show ever aired, she also recently received an Autographed Photo from Anthony Stewart Head (that would be none other than Giles himself). Samantha Clark, keep it up and cut it out - on behalf of ALL Buffy fans, you make us proud!

107 - Stop Motion Paper Animation

2010-02-14T09:06:00.000-08:00

This is a clip from a film called Metropolis by Rob Carter. It's an amazing stop motion animated film done with paper that traces the development and evolution of Charlotte, NC.

Metropolis by Rob Carter - Last 3 minutes from Rob Carter on Vimeo.

The film is being screened at the Museum of Arts and Design in New York through April.

This link will take you to watch the entire nine minute film. Enjoy!!

106 - Some Paintings

2010-02-05T16:15:00.000-08:00

So, I painted two little pictures the other night. I call them 'Two Cities, or the Tale Of'. Not really, but they are 2 cities, so, anyway. It was my first time painting with acrylic like this on wood. I liked the results. The paint doesn't seep into the wood like I would have expected it to - less than a primed canvas. The wood blocks are only about 7-8 inches square.

I really liked the way the red turned out - a nice, deep color. :)

105 - No Excuses and a Haircut

2010-02-05T12:27:00.000-08:00

Alright, I'm snowed in ..... again! How many days did I work this week? ONE!! This snow has kept most of us around here inside. But, although I haven't been blogging, I've been somewhat productive. I moved a bunch of stuff to Reid's place and WROTE the ENDING to my book (hooray). Played lots and lots of Mariokart on the Wii...

The snow is really coming down outside and has been since early this morning -- so I'm probably in for the weekend... hopefully posting on the blog! Nothing else to do - NO EXCUSES!!

I'll leave you with this - the Art of Cutting Hair:

I chopped all my hair off last week. I did it myself, and I never know how I manage to pull it off. I don't really know the art of it, because I don't know how I do it. Just start with a little snip here and there, next thing you know, you're hair's six inches shorter. ;)

Anyway, I like the cut. Here it is:

And I think it makes me look like Maggie Gyllenhaal. :)

P.S. That bed frame in the background of my picture is for sale - full sized - any takers???

104 - Walking with Dinosaurs

2010-02-01T08:00:00.000-08:00

I went to Walking with Dinosaurs with Reid a couple weeks ago. Pretty cheesy, right? (did you go to the link? hear the music?) Well, maybe a little cheesy - but more AWESOME! Of course, there were tons of kids there - all screaming and clapping and being amazed by the dinosaurs enormity. The next day at work, a little girl who had gone too, asked me if the dinosaurs were "really real"!
Here are some pictures:

103 - UMC

2010-01-14T15:46:00.001-08:00

Our website is up for Universal Music Connections! Hooray!!

102 - words and faces

2010-01-09T11:01:00.000-08:00

The apparition of these faces in the crowd: Petals on a wet, black bough.

101 - Missing imagination and just plain lazy: Or, Writer's Block Isn't Real

2010-01-09T10:15:00.000-08:00

I got up fairly early today for the weekend, around 9am. Made coffee and fooled around online reading various blogs and researching apartments and job possibilities in Brooklyn. Then, I put in some laundry and cleaned my room... fairly productive for Saturday morning, right?

All the time though my fingers twitched to write... I have an ending for my book! Hooray - I talked it out to myself (and Reid since he happened to be trapped in the car with me) on the ride home from New Jersey last weekend. Then, in a book about mythical creatures that I received as a gift recently, gave me an insight into my own magical beetle. So.. endings here, kinks worked out, maybe 30 or so pages to go. But... I'm not writing ANYTHING!

Ugh, do I have writer's block? I don't think so, mainly because I don't think writer's block is real. Fairies and flying contraptions made of shoes are real. Not writer's block - writer's block is, simply put, made up.

Nevertheless, when this sneaky made-up feeling of failure crawls up my spine and tickles the tips of my fingers, before I write anything, I read. This morning I chose to return to Tom Robbins Wild Ducks Flying Backwards. A book of short stories, poetry, essays, interviews - musings. Page 230 provided some insight:

What do you think Writer's Block is and have you ever had it?

I'm not convinced that there's any such thing as "writers block." I suspect that what we like to call "writer's block" is actually a failure of nerve or a failure of imagination, or both. (thanks, Tom...)

If you're willing to take chances, risk ridicule, and push the envelope, and if you've managed to hold on to your imagination (the single most important quality a writer can possess, even slightly more important than an itchy curiosity and a sense of humor), then you can dissolve any so-called block simply by imagining extraordinary, heretofore unthinkable solutions, and/or by playing around uninhibitedly with language. You can imagine a wordplay your way out of any impasse. That's assuming, of course, that you're talented in the first place.

Asked by New Times 2002.

Thank you and F*#@ you Tom Robbins. You know what this means? I better start writing something soon, or there's a possibility that there isn't any talent there to begin with. Maybe this was the kick in the rear that I needed... So, yeah, my imagination's been on vacation for a month now. I've been lazy about writing (not living), but writer's block? No, that's not it. Writer's block isn't real.

100th day - the big 1-0-0

2010-01-08T21:57:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about this post for a while. It fell nicely at the New Year. I could post a top 10, or top 100. Or, I could do 100 favorite moments in art. My favorite works. 100 reasons why I'm doing this blog.

Finally, I decided on something simple, photos of loved ones from the past year. Enjoy!

99th day - It's hard not to be Nostalgic

2010-01-08T20:48:00.000-08:00

So, here I am, although FAR behind, working on my 99th post - about to hit a hundred. It's a new year. I've stuck with my goal of continuing with my blog (however far behind). I have lots coming up this year - close to being finished with school - close to a move - a dear friend getting married. This year will probably be the end of my time in Roanoke...

...and you know what? Sometimes it's hard not to be nostalgic. There's been something tickling the back of my brain for days, getting louder and louder until it began screaming: "A New Year! Reminisce! Think of the old days. Think of the new days. Be nostalgic!!"

Then, I read my friend Eric's blog and he posted something similar. I had two weeks off (as he did) and two weeks of travel over the holidays. I spent the first week at home: in Cary and Greensboro with my family and some old friends. The second week was in NY with some new friends and some old ones. Familiar places; familiar faces. Some place new; someone new. It's hard not to 'miss the old days', if you will, and at the same time welcome the new.

I have plans for this year, sure. Nothing big: finish classes and start my thesis, finish my book (I finally have an ending! Yay!) Then, I don't know: Move to New York. Get a "real" job. Grow up.... oh, and turn 30. Really, nothing big... will it happen? Sure, it might, but I've learned it won't happen how I imagine it to.

And maybe that's why it's so easy to become nostalgic about a place, or a person, or a memory. Because it's NOT uncertain. It's how we remember it - with all it's fluff and changes - and it's familiar.

Eric posted a link on his blog to a friend of his who has started a 365 project like mine, but he's writing music. The particular song Eric linked to really does 'fit the mood'. It's been cold here... we still have snow on the ground from weeks ago. I'm home in Roanoke, but away at the same time. I was gone for two weeks, with wonderful people, but I wanted to come back here. Now I want to go back there... Winter months are here and I'm staying in. Lots of time to think... to plan... to reminisce...

98th day - Science, not art

2010-01-08T20:06:00.000-08:00

This was too cool not to post... Octopus with a coconut.

97th day - Giant Plastic Toys

2010-01-06T16:15:00.000-08:00

So, do giant replica's of Cowboy and Indian plastic toys constitute as art?

Red Indian #4 (Spearman):

Incidentally, I own a toy one. I call it Blue Indian #1.5

Art?

I'm not so sure.... what do you think?

96th day - The Dinner Party

2010-01-06T16:04:00.000-08:00

The Brooklyn Museum of Art is known fairly well for it's 'feminist floor' and the feminist art that the museum brings in. While I was there they had an exhibit by Judy Chicago called The Dinner Party. The Party is Chicago's most well known exhibit piece and was first exhibited in the Brooklyn Museum in 1979 and had returned to the museum for it's 30 year anniversary.

Essentially, Party is a multimedia work that exhibits a sort of representative history of women (mythological and real) throughout western civilization. You enter the exhibit through a hallway of 'welcome banners' that envision a world where women's histories are recognized equally. Next you walk into the dining room to find a huge group of tables set up in an equilateral triangle. The place settings are set for women throughout western history beginning with the Primordial Goddess and ending with Georgia O'Keeffe.

To exit the exhibit, you walk through a 'heritage room' where panels of text and photo collages portray the women represented at Party.

I think because the exhibit becomes so personal with the welcome banners, inviting you into the party, and the dining room being SO quiet and dark, it's easy to imagine all of these amazing women sitting and conversing together. Almost as if it's so quiet, you can feel or hear the faint sounds of their voices, as if they are whispering from their place settings around you. The room is also mirrored, and you can barely make out your own shadow, so your own shadow is by the shadowed voices (if you will :) ) of the women.

The needlework is beautiful! This is at the entryway with the welcome banners:

And the work inside the dining room - needlepoint and the ceramics and floor - were all just as beautiful.

I loved this exhibit!! I'm always a little hesitant with feminist art - some of it seems so over the top to me. But Party, although a HUGE and complicated installation, was still in its essence simple. If you're near Brooklyn, I suggest you visit - it's worth it!

95th day - Ram's Head White Hollyhock and Little Hills

2010-01-06T07:29:00.000-08:00

While I was in Brooklyn over the holidays I visited the Brooklyn Museum of Art and was pleasantly surprised when I turned a corner to find Georgia O'Keeffe's painting Ram's Head White Hollyhock and Little Hills.

I have always admired this painting... I'm not sure why. I stood in three different places to view it while I was there. Up close, but with the entire painting in my line of site, then from where the picture above was taken, then further back, at the end of the room. The farther back I stood, the more the ram's head seemed to be coming out of the sky - becoming clearer at each distance. The hollyhock, perhaps because it's smaller, or maybe because the ram's head is the center focus, continued to disappear. The hollyhock is almost like an accent that could be noticed consciously or not, only in the sense that there is something soft beside the ram's head.

The colors here are (unfortunately) enhanced - the colors in the picture from the museum are more accurate - grayish, darker. Here's what O'Keeffe says about the painting:

I had looked out on the hills for weeks and painted them again and again—had climbed and ridden over them—so beautifully soft, so difficult. . . . I could see them—farther away—from my window in the rain. So I tried again. They seemed right with the Ram's Head. I don't remember where I picked up the head—or the hollyhock. Flowers were planted among the vegetables in the garden between the house and the hills and I probably picked the hollyhock one day as I walked past. My palntings sometimes grow by pieces from what's around.

It's interesting to me that she says her paintings grow by pieces. I can sort of relate to that, when I use paint (acrylic) on canvas and add collage. I don't know from the beginning what's going to be there in the end. I have an idea, but it changes as I work.

The painting, as calming as it really is, seems to have movement too... I wonder if the ram's head is coming out from a storm that's about to hit...

94th day - Steph's Sketch

2009-12-24T07:52:00.000-08:00

Here's one of Steph's drawings:

It's pen and ink on orange paper. When I interviewed Stephanie about the drawing she said, "I was bored and cold because they (HGTR) don't have tv or heat, so I sat at the table and drew this." Then she added, "I hate art - put that in there too."

Thanks Steph, you're the best!!

93rd day - an homage to women (2)

2009-12-24T07:44:00.000-08:00

So, this was my second collage piece and this one hangs in my bedroom.

I like this woman because she's in this big, scary room all alone. It looks like the entire room is made of cold stone or marble, and she's dressed in black... but she's reading

Well, it looks like she's reading to me. And I liked the way this photo turned out when I took the picture for the blog. :)

I think backs can be very beautiful (on a man or woman). I found a series of photos similar to this one, with the cord sometimes on a leg or hand or arm. But, I really liked the one of the back.

I love this photo of this old woman:

I found this postcard in Spain years ago. I was living in Salamanca but went down to Sevilla for the weekend and found it there. I took pictures closer up because the more I look at this photo, the more I see every time.

92nd day - an homage to women (1)

2009-12-21T15:03:00.000-08:00

About a year or two ago I made these collage pieces to hang in our living room and my bed room from old art books I'd found around garage sales, Goodwill, and used book stores. Really, I just cut out pictures I liked and that showed women being women... in all their beauty!

Here's the first one that's hanging in our living room:

This painting is in the bottom right and is a print (i don't know the name) by an artist named Georgie Pocheptsov. He was eleven years old when he painted this!! Gerogie lives in Wilmington, NC and each year he would paint an original piece for the Children's Museum of Wilmington (where I used to work) to auction off at their annual fundraiser. I think this one went for something around $25,000, so as you can see, we really appreciated his donation each year. Definitely check out his website from the link above!!

I felt like, even at his age, he was able to capture this sort of romantic, but kind of playful, love between these two people. What I love most about this painting is the woman's bare feet. :)

This woman just really appealed to me, I think through the eyes. As with most of the pieces I chose, I don't know who did this one.

It's probably hard for you to see, but she just looks so tough, or stern, but also tired.

This last one, a photograph of three women just reminded me of Velvet, Em, and myself.

They just look so happy, don't they?

91st day - What's the Secret Art of Biscuits?

2009-12-20T19:38:00.000-08:00

Brett and I made sour cream biscuits the other night. What are 'sour cream biscuits' you ask? They are what you make when you don't have any milk, but do have sour cream.

It's a fairly easy recipe with good results. First you mix (and I sifted) the dry ingredients. We also used a 1:4 ratio of whole wheat flour to white flour.

Next you add in the sour cream and water as needed while you mix the dough together.

Break up and shape the dough, slicing it in half before baking. Then, in the oven!

We made a sort of frittata/omelet/veggie-egg-cheese mix to put on top - which was delicious, with spinach, onion, and garlic.

For some reason my biscuits always end up a little dry -- not 'flaky, delicious dry -- but kinda heavy and dry. Does anyone know the secret? Is it too much work when mixing the dough that makes them like that? do they need more milk or butter or water, or sour cream in this case? I just can't find the key to that fluffy deliciousness that makes us all savior a scrumptious biscuit...

Please send me your secrets!!! Until then, here's the recipe. :) Enjoy!!

Sour Cream Biscuits

2 c flour

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp baking soda

3 tsp baking powder

3/4 c sour cream

1 1/2 tbsp water (as needed)

Mix flour, salt, baking soda, and powder. Add sour cream and mix to a soft dough, adding water as needed. Shape dough with floured hands and bake at 450 for about 12 minutes.

90th day - Universal Music Connections in Chapel Hill

2009-12-19T13:17:00.000-08:00

Back in November I went down to Chapel Hill for our first weekend of production with Universal Music Connections - the pilot and documentary :). I recently got some pictures from Junius Hughes, Director of Photography, with One Cor Productions (check it out). And now I'm sharing them with you!!!

Look! I'm rockin out the boom!!!

Check out the talent!! Watching the HGTR concert, and Daniel, Second Camera, getting footage behind them. The beautiful and hilarious and sweet Sarah Garrison. The man behind the project, LOrenzell Wilson - talent, producer, comedian... he gets the job done.

This is Jimmy - Jimmy is producer, financial administrator/lord presiding over the "cash money", and comedian. Way to check that sound Jimmy!

Look! It's all of us at the end of the weekend outside of Cece's (Dr. Cecelia Conway, author of African Banjo Echoes in Appalacia). We're so proud of our accomplishments --- oh, and so professional. (lft to rt: Daniel, Lo, Reid, Me, Perry, Jimmy, Sarah)

Good times were had by all. Great footage was captured by Daniel and Junius. Fabulous interviews were taken by Lo and Sarah. Organization was in place thanks to Head Minion, Reid Dougherty. Perry and Jimmy rocked out the Punch Man of the independent film world helping out everywhere they could.... I did nothing but carry a notepad in my arms and a pen in my pocket... I think at some point I told someone to do something or other. :)

89th day - obligatory snow pictures

2009-12-19T12:46:00.000-08:00

So, we got lots of snow yesterday and here are some pictures. :)

our house yesterday afternoon:

a pretty house in the neighborhood:

this was yesterday around 4pm and it snowed until early morning last night, so there's a lot more now :)

i took this one at night from Reid's porch, but there was so much light reflecting off the snow, it looked like dusk like dusk:

i thought this was cool because you could see the wind sweeping the snow under the lamp:

reid gearing up in sweet boots (please note Wicked and Harry Potter on the floor) :)

the boys adjusting straps..... (or something of the sort).... before walking to the store:

And so, here they are, obligatory snow pictures and probably more to come. I shoveled snow down our walk today and it was a lot harder than I expected.... but I'm sorta lazy, so.....

88th day - Something Fantastic

2009-12-18T10:15:00.000-08:00

So, lets talk about Wes Anderson's Fantastic Mr. Fox. Have you seen it? As most of you know, I absolutely adore Wes Anderson movies -- all of them. His quirky humor and ability to capture real people through characters who actually seem more like characatures has always intrigued me. And his storytelling ability is an art in itself. What's so amazing to me about Anderson is that he has mastered the art form - as if he has a complete understanding of what the limits and unique possibilities working with film can offer. And, because of this understanding, he is able to encompass all aspects (storytelling, characterization, timing, setting, reveal and point of view, etc) to tell his story, using film as his medium, to the best of its, and his, ability.

Have any of you read Roald Dahl's Fantastic Mr. Fox? You should! Also, being more interested in children's literature than works written for adults, I have a special place in my heart for Dahl's book as well. In fact, I recently read the book to my kids at school. It's fairly long to read out loud, and it took us a few days to get through it. I was worried that the kids (kindergarden - 2nd grade), after being in school all day and itching to move around, wouldn't be able to sit through it. On the first day I read two chapters, and they asked for more. So I read five chapters that day. Then, everyday after before we finished, the kids came to After School (the program) and asked, "Are we reading Mr. Fox?" So, what does that say about Dahl? As most of us know, he writes a great story. I mean, what child (and adult for that matter) can't get excited about the idea of being so fantastic because you steal and save the day! It's the same reason kids want to be pirates, or play cops and robbers (yes, kids still play this) and all fight to be the robbers. It's an escape into a world where the bad is the good and the criminals are the heroes - it's exciting!

I couldn't think of a better person to take this classic and translate it to film. Dahl is quirky in his storytelling, in a different, darker way perhaps than Anderson, but quirky. Both are detail oriented storytellers. I think Anderson stayed true to the spirit of the book. A few minor changes here and there to allow the story to carry smoothly on film, but nothing major. (for example, one fox child as oppose to four). And, Anderson appealed to adults where Dahl appealed to children. A good example of this is the choice to take out the other three fox children. Why? Well, in Dahl's book, the cubs are heroes in a way because they go with their dad, the fantastic Mr. Fox, on his escapades through the Boggis, Bunce, and Bean farms as he steals their dinner. So, the children are also the heroes. In Anderson's film version, three of the cubs are removed and there's a cousin who comes to visit instead. This allows for the cub and his cousin to be individual characters, and for the adults to be the heroes.

There were kids in the theatre when I saw the movie. Two of them were taken out, not to return midway through. The others squirmed and talked and asked questions throughout. So, the kids can't sit through the movie, but they can sit through - and thoroughly enjoy - the book.

I think what Anderson did was clever. He took a timeless classic for children and gave it to adults. Now that's FANTASTIC!!!!

87th day - Things are Important

2009-12-18T09:35:00.000-08:00

Here is link to a recent friends blog called Things Are Important. Since things are important, and Eric's blog reminded me of that, I'm going to try very, very hard to catch up the days I've missed by posting 2 or so blogs a day until I'm on schedule. I found that once I got behind, it was so easy to let my goal go -- Even though I often saw or heard things that I thought would be interesting to post about, and even remembered nearly everyday how I had made a commitment to post everyday.

Today I don't have to work. And it was my last day before schools let out for break. But, we're supposed to get a lot of snow - (that was supposed to begin 28 minutes ago) - so schools let out early. I still have some christmas shopping to do, and really need to hit up the grocery store, but it's a nightmare out there I'm sure. People crazed over milk and bread and finishing their own shopping before they're snowed in (yeah right).

So, instead of going out, I'll stay in and write - write - write hopefully getting somewhat caught up... we'll see.

In the meantime, check out Things Are Important. - Why? Because it's an important thing for you to do....

86th day - mystery note

2009-12-10T20:25:00.000-08:00

Z: Lets say she wanted to make
   this really big cake.
B: ok, what kind?
Z: It would be a birthday cake
   and it would be magical, but
   she wouldn't know it until
   she ate it, then she would
   float into the dream world.

85th day - some birthday paintings

2009-12-10T20:17:00.000-08:00

So, I painted some pictures for Reid for his birthday. They are acrylic on cd cases!!!

And here they are all together how the were painted to hang. The bottom two I painted from photos that Reid took and the top two are collage pieces that I put together and then painted.

Haven't woven or hidden any new baskets lately, but I'll get some out before the holidays :)

84th day - hey Sleepyhead

2009-12-07T22:16:00.000-08:00

So, this one goes out to John, who introduced me to Passion Pit. To Brett and John and Summer and Bonnaroo - And everything is going to the beat - begonia skies like a sleepyhead - And to Rob, for showing me this video and reminding me.

Enjoy!

83rd day - a Mushroom Cream Sauce

2009-12-07T20:25:00.000-08:00

The art of making a delicious cream sauce, as Reid and I learned the other night, is to use heavy cream and not half and half, as we did. It was an attempt at something new - still good - but not quite a cream sauce, so we'll have to try it again.

But, either way, here's the pictures and process with 'helpful hints' on things to change.

We used broccoli, carrots, zucchini, yellow squash and onion for the vegetables. First we made the sauce with lots of garlic, onions and mushrooms.

Then added wine and cream (we used half and half and so our sauce separated). We also boiled the broccoli and carrots first and next time will just boil the carrots. Anyway, saute the vegetables and boil the egg noodles separately and then pour the vegetables over the noodles, and then the sauce over all of that. We added the veggies to the sauce and next time we'll keep them separate.

We also made butter garlic kale which was delicious and very easy to make. Blanch and wilt the kale, saute a lot of garlic in a lot of butter, then add the kale for a few minutes --- so, so, so good.

Then we had pickled beets and toasted bread with it. A very good meal in the end!

But - the most important part of making the meal, was learning that cats cry from onions -- or at least Momo does:

82nd day - an apology

2009-12-07T19:55:00.000-08:00

Hello Readers!

So sorry I've gotten so behind. Been busy with the film, the holidays, and then I was sick. Over the next few days though, I'm going to make an attempt to catch up.

This post is certainly a filler - not gonna lie - with a picture of the snow we got over the weekend.

More to come - I promise!!

81st day - mystery note

2009-12-01T15:24:00.001-08:00

Parker in the park,
Never after dark.
Parker ate a cake,
But really it was a snake.

80th day - and Rob sings another...

2009-11-30T19:20:00.000-08:00

...

this song was written as it was sung.... beautiful melody... :-)

79th day - a song

2009-11-30T16:47:00.000-08:00

Here's Rob singing one of his new songs:

78th day - My Lyrics are Bottomless...

2009-11-24T10:02:00.000-08:00

My rhymes and records, they don't get played
Because my records and rhymes, they don't get made.
And if you rap like me, you don't get paid
And if you roll like me, you don't get laid.

Why?

WHY - CAUSE I RAP ABOUT RE-AL-ITY,
LIKE ME AND MY GRANDMA DRINKIN A CUP OF TEA!

77th day - a poem

2009-11-24T09:52:00.000-08:00

I ate at Busybee last night
And drank a Worker Bee
And fell asleep on futon couches
And tripped and bumped my knee.

Ugh - I've been so busy... I'll catch up soon, readers!

76th day - a basket

2009-11-18T21:44:00.000-08:00

Tonight I hid a basket. Here are the pictures:

Also, I (and a friend of mine) mailed some keys to Dixon for her Community Art Project in Wilmington.

If you find the basket, send your story!!!! Or, mail your keys to: 2067 Harrison Street, Wilmington, NC 28401.

75th day - a Trickster Tale

2009-11-16T20:22:00.000-08:00

A couple of semesters ago I wrote a trickster tale for a children's lit class I was taking. It's about a little girl named Lyca (who's in other stories of mine) and a boy named Spence, who I also write about all the time. Both Lyca and Spence have their own stories - but they're also both tricksters of sorts. So, I felt they should meet and wrote them into a trickster tale.

I was reminded of this tale from years ago when I saw a bell tower this weekend. Let me explain: Presently Spence is living in a Bell Tower (and has been for the past two years since I've abandoned the story in which this happens, therefore leaving him stranded). It just so happened that I was driving along the Blue Ridge Parkway this weekend enjoying the weather, scenery, and some chocolates when I passed by a European looking church and bell tower on the side of the mountain... and I realized that was probably where Spence was trapped.

(please excuse the blurriness and poor quality)

So, in an effort to resurrect (eventually) his story, and get him out of his bell tower and back home, I revisited and reread this trickster tale about him and Lyca and decided to share it with all of you! Enjoy!

Lyca was walking down by the river, poking a stick in the mud, throwing stones in the water, and catching crayfish and letting them go when her stomach started growling. It was late in the afternoon and Lyca had skipped lunch because she had fallen asleep under a tree by the river. Just then, she saw a raft with a small sail moving upstream against the wind and the current. It was her friend Spence and she went to greet him.

"Hey Spence."

"Hey Lyca."

"Got anything to eat? I’m starving."

"Nah. But, I’m headin’ up to a party for a while and they’re gonna have birthday cake."

"Mary Ellen’s Birthday Party?" Lyca asked. "I wasn’t invited; she’s so stuffy."

"Neither was I," said Spence, "but there’s gonna be a circus clown and a real elephant there, and I’m gonna slide down the elephants trunk."

"How?"

"Gonna get on his back and ask him. Elephants are good listeners. Then I’m just gonna slide down. Wanna come?"

"Sure."

So Lyca waded into the water getting the ankles of her jeans wet and climbed onto Spence’s raft, and the two sailed upstream against the wind and the current to Mary Ellen’s house on the lake.

They docked the raft in some bushes and crawled on their bellies through the brush until they could see all the kids and parents out in the yard.

"I hate Mary Ellen’s stupid bows," said Lyca.

Mary Ellen had a huge yellow bow in her curly yellow hair.

"Shhh," Spence said. "We’ll sneak around to the front and ring the bell so it looks official. I even brought a present so we’ll be accepted," and he pulled a small gift from his sleeve with a yellow bow on it and Lyca thought it looked like a magic trick.

*******

Lyca and Spence were welcomed at the door by Mary Ellen’s mom and were sent out back to the party. A lot of kids were gathered around the clown who was making balloon hats and balloon animals and telling riddles.

"I’m gonna go get a stupid hat," said Lyca wandering off. "Let’s just stick around till cake time and then split."

"K," said Spence. "See ya later."

Lyca wandered over to the other kids around the clown to wait her turn for a hat.

"A girl with dirt on her nose

And between her toes

Knows where the magic lives

And where it goes." Said the clown putting a red balloon elephant into the hands of a chubby little boy named Eustace.

Meanwhile, Spence had made his way over to the Birthday girl.

"Happy Birthday Mary Ellen," He said.

"Who are you?"

"I’m Spence," he said, pulling a handful of yellow flowers from his sleeve.

"Oh, yellow, my favorite," she squealed.

"Hey, so can I get ride on that elephant," Spence asked.

"No, he’s mostly just for looking, but I’m gonna get to ride on him over to the cake right before I blow out the candles."

"Oh, well, I’ll trade ya."

"Trade what?" Mary Ellen asked.

"I’ll give you this star for your ride on the elephant," Spence said as he opened a box containing a small, shining star.

"What is it?" Mary Ellen asked.

"I told you already. It’s a star. Do you wanna trade or not? It’s magic, and you throw it into the sky at the time you were born and it’ll shine for you for a year and then fall back into your hands on your next birthday."

"There’s no such thing!" Mary Ellen said.

"Okay, whatever, I’ll give it to Lyca and she can have a birthday star."

"No, I DO want a birthday star. I’ll trade you anyway cause I already rode the elephant last year."

So Spence gave her the box containing the shining star and Mary Ellen led him over to the elephant. While Mary Ellen fought with her father over the trade, Spence made his way closer to the elephant and Lyca asked the clown for a hat.

"Can I get one of those stupid hats in green," asked Lyca.

"A stupid girl

Is one who trades

A solid prize

For one that fades."

The clown said as he put a green crown on Lyca’s head.

"Thanks clown," she said.

"Your welcome."

"Look over there," Eustace cried out.

And everyone turned to see Spence standing atop the elephants back. He took a bow, sat down, and leaned towards the elephant’s ear. Lyca rushed over to him and passed Mary Ellen who was crying and stomping her foot at her dad.

"Happy Birthday Mary Ellen," Lyca said as she passed.

Lyca stood in front of the elephant and called up to Spence, "Don’t forget the cake, she cried. I’m starving!"

The elephant winked at her and Spence jumped up in the air, throwing his legs in front of his body and slid down the elephants trunk. All the kids were jumping into the air and screaming and clapping, and Mary Ellen had even stopped crying.

Spence hit the ground, grabbing Lyca’s hand, and the two took off running towards the cake. The elephant turned towards Mary Ellen and picked her up in one giant swoop with his trunk and put her and her yellow bow into his mouth, her feet kicking out from under his trunk. The other kids continued to jump and clap and scream and Mary Ellen’s dad was crying, and her mom was chuckling behind her hand.

The clown was standing alone as Lyca and Spence ran by.

"A girl who is lucky is one

Who may not have understood fun

Until she was made to play

One fine day under the sun."

Spence grabbed the cake with his free hand and he and Lyca ran through the bushes to the raft they had hidden earlier and pushed it into the river.

A little while later, after the sun had set, the two were sailing downstream with the current and the wind behind them. They were eating birthday cake and lying on their backs on the raft. Just then, a brilliant star shot past them, and landed by the moon in the sky, shining brighter than any others.

74th day - A Poem

2009-11-16T20:07:00.001-08:00

Here's a little poem I wrote last year, I think around this time.

I fell onto you in mixed memories and dreams.

I saw spotted sand on beach porches and softness;
You remember being pillowed in new down comfort.

When night drifts in and waking weighs heavy, I turn over to curled toes that I remember encountering for the first time.

I saw a man with legs crossed and peace on his brow. He talked to me about the weather and I loved him.

Adventure itches my side and crawls up my leg. We found it today in autumn clouded fingerprints on boughs bent towards icebox harvest warmth. I slept for minutes by peace’s command. I woke swaying beside you and you gave me the gift of surprise.

You painted melted fire on a canvas of misery. I walked on one drip and my toes and heels were stained. I stepped home and fell on your heels. I saw a scar of calcium swollen and soft and suggestive.

I hum along with you and put cigarettes in my bag. My lashes look like fringe on Eskimo cheeks; soft pricks on white warmth. And new memories of cuddled fingers brush my skin as I fold within you.

73rd day - You got to learn to get happy

2009-11-15T21:09:00.000-08:00

Langhorne Slim - Diamonds and Gold

You can have all the diamonds
You can have all the gold
But someday your still goin get old
You've gotta learn to get happy along the way

Take some chances, allow yourself to get lost
Your beautiful baby, your the boss
You've gotta learn to get happy along the way

There's no foe to follow
Only stones left unturned
You must play with fire
In order to get burned

Toss your misery out the door
What are you waiting for?

You gotta learn to get a little happy along the way..
Its alright to change your style
Its alright to smile
Its alright to get a little happy along the way.

A Tough day at the office
And at worse, not at home
Don't want to talk about it, just don't want to be left alone
There's no joy in livin when your givin all and getting none
Its a new beginnin, you've thought you've lost oh honey your the one

You can have all the diamonds, all the gold..
Someday we're still gonna get old..
We gotta learn to get happy along the way...

Get you hat, get your coat babe
Leave your worries on the doorstep
We got to get a little happy along the way

72nd day - Little Hemp Basket

2009-11-15T08:27:00.000-08:00

Here's a little basket I made from hemp twine and leather cord. I'm hiding it downtown tonight -- somewhere with music -- and possibly an accordion.

71st day - Golden Spider Silk Weaving

2009-11-15T08:18:00.000-08:00

Check out this LINK to learn about this silk cloth:

Which was made from the golden silk of over a million spiders Madagascar.

70th day - Shout Out to Buffy and Samantha

2009-11-12T16:08:00.000-08:00

So, I've had a busy day and don't have much to post. But, my very dear friend Velvet told her roommate Samantha about my blog and Samantha contacted me with her own blog... so, I checked it out and was thrilled to see a post about a film project she's working on. What film project, you ask? Oh, just a 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer Fan Fiction Bonus Episode' that looks AMAZING!!!!!

Here's the link: Samantha Clark cuts it out!

I was just talking about Buffy this morning with my friend Reid --- and how much I miss watching it! Keep it up, Samantha, and make all of us Buffy fans proud!!!

69th day - A Basket is found!

2009-11-11T15:34:00.000-08:00

As most of you know, I'm working on a community art project where I hide little baskets around Roanoke. A man by the name of Ron found my most recent one in then Transportation Museum downtown!! Here's the email he sent me:

I found the basket today that you hid at the transportation museum. I am a volunteer there and spend part of my time in the auto gallery. This coming Saturday my car club is going to the museum to give the auto gallery a well needed cleaning and I was taking a look around and doing a mental inventory of what all we need to do. I came across your basket and note this morning and had to wait all day until I could get home and check out your web site to find out what it was all about. It was a real mystery.

Attached is a picture of where the basket sits now. It has a good home and will be around a long time since I like to hang on to anything of interest. One thing I enjoy is the "old west" and I have one room in my house dedicated mostly to things associated with that. Since the basket reminds me of American Indian weavings I decided to put it in this room.

I also enjoy music (I play a trombone) and most anything from the 1940's (music, art, automobiles, movies, etc.).

Thanks for making this an extra special day.

Can you see the little basket in the picture? Thanks Ron! - It's always an exciting day for me when I hear from the person who found the basket.

68th day - Our Tube

2009-11-10T09:00:00.000-08:00

Since we missed his 'Hey Hipster!', here's a different kind of ironic insight from Rob.

Our Tube (with Rob Bowman)

have you ever noticed how every video on youtube that has more than at least a few comments ends up in some sort of argument? these arguments also tend to run off on some sort of tangent that is completely irrelevant to the subject matter of the video itself.

for example, i watched a video just a moment ago that featured a piglet wearing rain boots so that it's feet/hooves wouldn't get muddy. the premise is quite simple: pigs generally like mud. pigs are quite cute when in their adolescent years, before growing up to the frightening monstrosities they become before being shipped out as pork loin. (which i have also found to be true with humans: little chubby kid playing in mud = cute. general responses to this image: "lets put him in a laundry detergent commercial." old, morbidly obese man playing in mud = frightening. this image will generally conjure up such observations: "cover the children's eyes.", "call the police.", and, my favorite, "jesus, my uncle has really let himself go.") anyways, pigs generally don't wear shoes of any kind. so, by having a video that involves a pig, boots, and mud and by placing these three subjects into one another (in the previously stated order. ie: pigs in boots. boots in mud. pig in boots in mud.) you have achieved what can only be deemed as adorable, hilarious and ironic. for now, and possibly forever, we will ignore why i was searching youtube for a video that involved piglets wearing boots and walking in the mud. back to the problem at hand. at some point in the history of people commenting on this video, several racial slurs ended up being thrown back and forth, a devout jew was shamed for not truly representing the tenants of his faith, people were accused of not being patriotic american citizens, civil rights was set back about two decades, and a baby was shot... in the face. okay, all of this happened sans the brutal baby killing. but, that is what it felt like... in my heart. this barrage of insults that are in no way related to the subject of the video has become an increasingly popular trend on the comment boards of youtube videos. it is really disturbing and a truly interesting phenomenon. are people becoming more hateful? is the world more divided than a young hopeful american, like myself, has been led to believe? is the true nature of mankind to war with one another? these are all questions that i obviously have the answers to, but seeing as its 4:50 in the morning and i am merely taking a facebook/youtube break while the latest episode of mad men finishes downloading, i will have to leave the answers for another time. what i will say is an address... to the state of the youtube union.

"ask not what youtube can do for you... ask what you can do for youtube." (i said that) "you can be in my dream if i can be in yours." (bob dylan said that abraham lincoln said that)

think about it. we, in this technological era, have achieved a medium in which anyone, from any background, from anywhere, can log in, post a vid, and share themselves, their friends, their dreams... a pig... wearing boots... with the rest of the world! is there anything more unifying than that? we all have the same chance, the potential to be this weeks viral vid! we can all aspire for a million hits! how many of us, truly, have the opportunity to get millions of dollars in the real world? people have literally achieved real life fame after posting a video of them singing a song, dancing poorly at a wedding, or riding a bike off of their roof onto a trampoline whilst being shot in the stomach with a potato gun. this is a world in the internet that is truly inspiring in a democratic sense. everyone has the same chance to reach obama stardom with a simple upload. consider this, my friends, followers. we were all there for chocolate rain. we marveled at his baritone voice and urkel-like appearance. we boldly stood and repeated our favorite lines in poorly executed impersonations of the characters voices from charlie the unicorn. we laughed and laughed and laughed as a young man cried and in hysterics asked us all, every one who has ever used youtube, to just leave britney alone. we were there. those days were glorious. but then youtube started putting advertisements in videos, and started making assloads of money, and neo-nazis, who once used the internet solely for snuff porn, discovered it as a forum to post videos where-in they describe their feelings for varying minorities, in their puny-headed, ignorant, and poorly spoken excuse for what they so boldly refer to as, not english... but american. things went awry and trouble was on the horizon. and rather than hearing the rejoicing sounds of mozarts concerto 622 when viewing piano cat, we started to hear his requiem. it was as though piano cat started to play us off stage. the stage that we made to welcome us all into the spotlight... together. the utopian world that we loved so dearly was growing up. and soon, these halcyon days would be gone and its little hooves would no longer fit in its tiny rain boots. it is up to us to save youtube, all of us should be overly ambitious in posting only the finest clips of karaoke videos, the best claymation reenactments of historical events, baby's biting their brother, and kids after being drugged at the dentist sounding like your first semester dormmate after his first hit of salvia. we can save youtube. instead of posting comments filled with hate and videos of the same nature, why not spread a message of love and peace through the limitless bounds of youtube-dom. unless, of course, there is a slightly offensive nature to the video but it is hilarious. that should be excusable. because, laughter truly is the greatest medicine for our broken hearts. if we aren't careful, this adorable little piglet, that we know as youtube, will grow up too fast. and then, we will be left with it's big, fat, filthy annoying older self. and no rain boots, no matter how large will be able to keep us all from getting our feet stuck in the mud.

67th day - Gabe on Hipsters

2009-11-09T22:52:00.000-08:00

Rob's 'Hey Hipster!' segment inspired my friend Gabe to write his own. So this week, I'm taking a break from Rob's Ironic Hipster Segments, and sharing Gabe's. Enjoy!

Hey, Hipster! (with Gabe Sealey-Morris)

Hey hipster, I saw you this morning on your moped. Yeah, it's really cool that you have a real Vespa. You look all Eurotrash, sweet. But what the fuck was that thing around your neck? I'm not even talking about the ironic jean jacket that looks like it came off the petite rack at K-Mart in 1989, or the fact that you're driving in heavy traffic without a helmet so the helmet-head won't ruin your bed-head. I'm talking about that thing around your neck. Seriously, what the fuck was that thing? I thought you had a ring of ferrets biting each other's tails, but if that was it, they all have mange and you really need to take them to the vet. Did you pick that up at a thrift store, or the yard sale some old lady's kids had after the old lady kicked it? It must have been wadded up in the back corner of a bureau drawer for forty years, and you bought it. What the fuck were you thinking? So are normal scarves humans actually wear not hip enough anymore? You had to take it too the next level and wear the tattered remnants of some old lady's prize squirrel-ass stole? Seriously, hipster, look at yourself in the mirror. There's ironic fashion, and then there's that thing you have around your neck. Take it off!

66th day - A Poem

2009-11-09T22:45:00.000-08:00

This is a poem I wrote this summer for a Forms Practice in my Craft writing class. It's untitled, but I think it needs a single word for the title.

It's about a place I used to spend time in the summer as a kid and it was written with my family in mind.

Although the bark left imprints

and black marks

down my back,

I leaned against the trunk

of the black walnut tree.

Although the shells,

scattered and hidden in the green grass, grey shadows,

left me limping

and hopping

(on one set of toes to the next),

I could not resist the cool shade

under the black walnut tree.

And when my hair

soaked

clung to my neck

sticky

and there was no relief even from the breeze,

the black walnut tree

cast out it’s arms over me;

(without fail)

forest green palmed leaves

casting dancing shadows

over broken shells

by my feet

while my back leaned against

the black walnut tree.

65th day - Trains and Baskets

2009-11-08T15:21:00.000-08:00

Today I saw some very big, cool trains:

And I hid a basket:

If you find the Little Basket, please email artfor365@gmail.com or leave your story below!

64th day - Little Baskets

2009-11-08T15:13:00.000-08:00

Here are some little wire baskets I just made.

63rd day - A Small Writing (2)

2009-11-07T16:14:00.001-08:00

I forgot to mention before that Small Writings always begin with a quote.
Here's another one about another dear friend.

On Writing and Receiving a Letter

“A pen—to register; a key—

that winds through secret wards

are well assigned to Memory

by allegoric Bards.”

-William Wordsworth, from Memory

Ally stepped away from her computer at home, had a bit of dinner with wine, and started driving. She drove for forty minutes to an empty recreation building, walked into the quite office, and sat waiting just in case the phone rang or a visitor wanted to use the weight room.

The office was quite and Ally was quite. The music Ally listened to said she was off in some empty daydream. The heater hummed and a flag rope clinked against its pole in the wind. Ally pulled a letter from her bag and as she removed the letter from its envelope, the paper made a soft crinkling noise. The letter snapped crisply as she unfolded it.

Ally read and reread the note. With every individual letter she remembered an eyebrow or a closed lid or a bit of messy hair. With every word she remembered a nervous hand lighting a cigarette or a steady finger picking a guitar string. With every sentence she remembered a genuine smile or a warm night or steady voice followed by laughter.

*********************************************

One week and one day earlier, Jon woke up, had a bit of breakfast and coffee, and started walking. He walked to the train station and rode silently to work. The music he listened to told him good morning. There were two girls talking in English beside him. The train was making noise on its track.

Jon was writing a letter on the train. The letter he wrote contained letters and words and sentences, all in straight lines. His body and hand rocked with the movement of the train on its track. So as he wrote, his pen and paper in lap moved in unison with his body and the train. The letter was neatly written.

When Jon got off the train, he sealed the letter in an envelope and dropped it in the international mail slot at the post office.

*********************************************

When Ally meets people, she doesn’t always remember their names. She doesn’t always remember their faces. Sometimes she doesn’t remember anything about them. Some people she remembers meeting, and she remembers parts of their faces, and the shape of their eyebrows and their teeth. She’ll remember their hairline and hair color, and what it looks like when they smile with genuine happiness. She never remembers the color or shape of their eyes.

Ally shook hands with Jon twice one year and one month ago. She shook his hand twice because she had forgotten when she had met him the first time. The two meetings are jumbled into one in her memory.

62nd day - A Small Writing (1)

2009-11-07T15:55:00.000-08:00

I have some catching up to do, so I'm gonna post some 'small writings' from a few years ago. Small Writings are sort of like creative journal entries. I learned the term from Brett, who learned it from a professor he had in college. They are more for the writer than the reader, but I'll share them anyway.

This one I wrote about a very dear friend of mine about two years ago, maybe more.

Beneath an Autumn Canopy
We’ll see everything: in the timid shade of the autumn leaves.
- Iron & Wine, Resurrection Fern

Sometimes on a Blue Ridge walking trail in early fall, the light from the sun will break through the trees’ canopy overhead and allow warmth, and a dusty amber radiance to brush the side of your cheek and shoulder as you step into that magic spot. Gwen was strolling along one of these trails, lost in her thoughts and memories, when she stepped into one of those places. If she had been aware of her thoughts just before, she would have recalled a memory of a child she had seen the other day at the grocery store, and a time when she was lost in a grocery store herself as a child.

However, at the same time she reached the canopy opening, she happened to pass a tree marked with a strip of yellow paint, so her thoughts transformed. In the few moments it took the hazy light to cross her lips, spread up the side of her face to her hairline, and get left behind her, she remembered Blake.

When the foggy beam first touched the corner of her lips she thought about how the tree was marked to let hikers know that they were on the right track. She also remembered that driving to the trail earlier, she had seen a plot of trees that were to be cut down. Someone had placed the value of the apartments higher than the trees already that stood there—and the trees were marked with orange plastic tags.

Just as the light moved from the corner of her lips to the shadow right below her cheekbone, Gwen recalled a job she once had at a secondhand store. Her job there was to price the donations the store received before they were put on the shelves. One man’s gift was another man’s purchase. She realized that her job had been to give those gifts a price tag.

By the time the warm amber sunlight swept the corner of her eye, she wondered if a tag could be put on a person. Before Blake was born, his mother had put him up for adoption. His parents, however, had anticipated his arrival. They had driven three hours to pick him up three days after he was born. A few months later he was issued an amended birth certificate that stated his parents names, not his mother’s. The three of them then belonged to each other.

As the light passed over Gwen’s hairline, the coolness of the shade covered her face and gave her a shudder, and she wondered if Blake had been labeled unwanted or his mother labeled unworthy. She continued to stroll forward, unaware that the sparkled luminosity and yellow paint streak had stirred her mind. But in the steady shade she continued to think of Blake.

61st day - Rob on Hipsters

2009-11-04T19:19:00.001-08:00

Hey, Hipster! (with Rob Bowman)

Hey, Hipster!

Check it out! I have glasses too. Yeah, their Ray-Bans. Wayfarers, right? That's so funny! We are wearing the same glasses. Yeah, see these lenses. They are real prescription lenses. In fact, they are sort of thick. It's a little embarrassing but, I can't really see without them. If I took them off now, I wouldn't be able to see who you are even if you were a fucking foot away from my face. It sucks. What's that? Oh. You don't need glasses. Those lenses are just plastic. You got them because you were going for that 'nerd-chic' look? What the fuck does that mean? You spent $200 dollars on glasses you don't even need? So, I guess it won't matter that they are about to be smashed. As I am going to punch you in the face for being such a retarded hipster douchebag.

Thanks for reading Hey, Hipster! (with Rob Bowman)

60th day - Another Shout Out

2009-11-04T08:47:00.000-08:00

Holy Ghost Tent Revival will be in Roanoke this Friday at Martin's downtown!! Come see them play!!! They have also so kindly agreed to come to my after school program and play for the kids (who are all very excited).

Anyway, if you're not in Roanoke, check out their website to see when they'll be near you!

59th day - the Film

2009-11-04T08:38:00.000-08:00

Monday night we had another production meeting at my house for the film project, Universal Music Connections. It was a really great meeting! The entire community of people involved in this project (around 30 or so) are all so unbelievably excited and supportive - everyone's working for free, offering their talents and services. Everyone's helping to raise a little money. The film is about music, musical connections, community, and giving back. We have many of the downtown businesses and organizations involved and numerous talented musicians who are playing on camera for us. We are focusing on the african roots of the banjo and have the number one specialist in the nation, Dr. Cecelia Conway, on board. I met with her yesterday and she is an amazing woman!

I want to tell you all so much more about the project, but I have to wait for our website to go up, which should happen in the next week or two. Until then, just know that Lo, the man behind the plan, has put together an amazing community project, and we're all very excited!