The way we roll. Whidbey Island, WA.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Kelley
Burnt
Screeching,
Reaching
For the brakes
Nowhere to be found.
Outside the half-rolln' window,
Passing
In a blur,
Greens and blues
Like run-together watercolors of
A blender-blown Monet,
Life
Marches
On.
But passing Go,
I'm on a roll
Winded and blinded
Momentum,
My own.
At the wheel
Still screeching,
Reaching
For the brakes.
Oops.
Wasn't
That
A Stop Sign?
Screeching,
Reaching
For the brakes
Nowhere to be found.
Outside the half-rolln' window,
Passing
In a blur,
Greens and blues
Like run-together watercolors of
A blender-blown Monet,
Life
Marches
On.
But passing Go,
I'm on a roll
Winded and blinded
Momentum,
My own.
At the wheel
Still screeching,
Reaching
For the brakes.
Oops.
Wasn't
That
A Stop Sign?
Monday, June 22, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Kelley
An evening at home....
Finally feet up,
Ice cubes clink in my gin & tonic.
Blinds clap in the evening breeze, and
Birds chirp good night through the screen.
A ceiling fan whirs above my head, while
The dishwasher purrs.
Then, as expected...
A crash, clank and roll of Charlie's pacifier jetting out of his crib
Amplified across the wood floor upstairs.
The monitor detects a wimpy cry that
Escalates into full blown wails.
A major bedtime meltdown.
Up the stairs
To calm the storm.
And down again.
The ice cubes have melted,
Birds are asleep,
The fan is too cold,
And the sun has set.
Another evening at home.
Finally feet up,
Ice cubes clink in my gin & tonic.
Blinds clap in the evening breeze, and
Birds chirp good night through the screen.
A ceiling fan whirs above my head, while
The dishwasher purrs.
Then, as expected...
A crash, clank and roll of Charlie's pacifier jetting out of his crib
Amplified across the wood floor upstairs.
The monitor detects a wimpy cry that
Escalates into full blown wails.
A major bedtime meltdown.
Up the stairs
To calm the storm.
And down again.
The ice cubes have melted,
Birds are asleep,
The fan is too cold,
And the sun has set.
Another evening at home.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Kelley
You snooze, you loose...
Charlie is sound asleep.
But under his window, not more than 15 feet away, his all-time favorite entertainment is happening without him: A 310SG Deere 3-in-1 Excavation Backhoe tractor is absolutely shaking the house and tearing up our front yard. For those who are not familiar with excavation trucks, this one is like an amped-up Transformer toy; It has a shovel and dump end with jaw-like "teeth" to clamp objects between the lift and the blade (as it smashes the 50-year old cement slabs in pieces and hauls them to another dump truck). It has a scoop end with two crustacean-like retractable claws that break apart and haul smaller objects. The claws levy down to the ground, turning into "feet" that steady a 25-foot hydraulic scoop backhoe with sharp nails for digging. And it has a piercing, backup emergency beep- a sound that is driving me crazy at the moment.
But, my little truck-lover snoozes on.
I can't beleive he is missing the action, just under his window.
Sorry Charlie, you snooze, you lose...
Charlie is sound asleep.
But under his window, not more than 15 feet away, his all-time favorite entertainment is happening without him: A 310SG Deere 3-in-1 Excavation Backhoe tractor is absolutely shaking the house and tearing up our front yard. For those who are not familiar with excavation trucks, this one is like an amped-up Transformer toy; It has a shovel and dump end with jaw-like "teeth" to clamp objects between the lift and the blade (as it smashes the 50-year old cement slabs in pieces and hauls them to another dump truck). It has a scoop end with two crustacean-like retractable claws that break apart and haul smaller objects. The claws levy down to the ground, turning into "feet" that steady a 25-foot hydraulic scoop backhoe with sharp nails for digging. And it has a piercing, backup emergency beep- a sound that is driving me crazy at the moment.
But, my little truck-lover snoozes on.
I can't beleive he is missing the action, just under his window.
Sorry Charlie, you snooze, you lose...
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Kelley
Agitated
The inexplicable,
Irrevocable
Invisible
Sliver of
Annoyance.
A paper cut
Wedged
Between the
Index and thumb.
Shins
Sandpapered raw,
Kneeling in alcohol.
A backache
That wraps around,
Inside
And out.
A shard
Of high-noon light
Cutting straight
Into
The pupil.
Long polished nails,
A receptionists' red,
Raking
The chalkboard
In a drawn-out
Edge
Beside an open ear.
Droning music,
On and on,
A half-static
Country station
That will not turn off.
A hangover's
Fuzzy teeth
And pulsing head
Lasting well into
The next day's sunshine.
A spindly
Accusing finger
Pointing
Straight
Into the face.
Cracked dry hands,
Chapped
And sunburned,
Weathering like
A lizard
That crawls across
The hot desert sand.
A permeating
Smell
Of burnt toast
And old socks,
Ammonia and mustard.
Dirty dishes
Stacked again,
Eggs
Glued
Forever.
The inexplicable
Irrevocable
Invisible
Sliver of
Annoyance.
The inexplicable,
Irrevocable
Invisible
Sliver of
Annoyance.
A paper cut
Wedged
Between the
Index and thumb.
Shins
Sandpapered raw,
Kneeling in alcohol.
A backache
That wraps around,
Inside
And out.
A shard
Of high-noon light
Cutting straight
Into
The pupil.
Long polished nails,
A receptionists' red,
Raking
The chalkboard
In a drawn-out
Edge
Beside an open ear.
Droning music,
On and on,
A half-static
Country station
That will not turn off.
A hangover's
Fuzzy teeth
And pulsing head
Lasting well into
The next day's sunshine.
A spindly
Accusing finger
Pointing
Straight
Into the face.
Cracked dry hands,
Chapped
And sunburned,
Weathering like
A lizard
That crawls across
The hot desert sand.
A permeating
Smell
Of burnt toast
And old socks,
Ammonia and mustard.
Dirty dishes
Stacked again,
Eggs
Glued
Forever.
The inexplicable
Irrevocable
Invisible
Sliver of
Annoyance.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Cindy
Running for my life. Royal BC Museum. (I'm sure we're the first to ever take this photo).
Photo: MSE
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Kelley
Tuned In....
We don't have a T.V.
But everyday at about noon, in an effort to know what's going on in the world outside my little domestic dome, I listen to the National Public Radio.
Today, as I was spooning lunch to my son, and occasionally catching the cascading bits of rice and avocado flying across my head as he learns to feed himself, I became convinced of something:
Our news is full of irony.
An 88-year old man, full of hatred, shot a young guard protecting the Holocaust Museum in D.C.
A woman surgeon peformed the incredible first transplant of a full human face, a new face for another woman who was shot up-close by her husband: he blew off her lower eyelids, nose and cheek bones.
A doctor from an abortion clinic, whose life's work was to give women a choice, was shot dead... in a church.
I want to know the news. Bad news and good news- it's our news.
But the stories of the world, in my opinion, are enough to hear. I don't need to see them all on the tele. I don't need to be pummeled with propaganda and catch phrases, media sound bites and video clips, talking heads or a scrolling bar of instant info across the screen.
I like to be able to tune in. Hear the news, maybe read it, and know what's happening at my own pace. And then turn it, in an instant, to the sound of a good song.
Or to simply...
Tune out.
*So here's my vote, if anyone asks, for a TV-FREE AMERICA
We don't have a T.V.
But everyday at about noon, in an effort to know what's going on in the world outside my little domestic dome, I listen to the National Public Radio.
Today, as I was spooning lunch to my son, and occasionally catching the cascading bits of rice and avocado flying across my head as he learns to feed himself, I became convinced of something:
Our news is full of irony.
An 88-year old man, full of hatred, shot a young guard protecting the Holocaust Museum in D.C.
A woman surgeon peformed the incredible first transplant of a full human face, a new face for another woman who was shot up-close by her husband: he blew off her lower eyelids, nose and cheek bones.
A doctor from an abortion clinic, whose life's work was to give women a choice, was shot dead... in a church.
I want to know the news. Bad news and good news- it's our news.
But the stories of the world, in my opinion, are enough to hear. I don't need to see them all on the tele. I don't need to be pummeled with propaganda and catch phrases, media sound bites and video clips, talking heads or a scrolling bar of instant info across the screen.
I like to be able to tune in. Hear the news, maybe read it, and know what's happening at my own pace. And then turn it, in an instant, to the sound of a good song.
Or to simply...
Tune out.
*So here's my vote, if anyone asks, for a TV-FREE AMERICA
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Kelley
Later
Procrastination,
The lurking thorn in the game,
Pulls at my hair today
True to its name.
Mile-high dishes
Glare at me,
And though I could make a dent
I'd rather not see.
A freelance job deadline
Hoovers in the air
Like overbearing perfume
Of visiting aunt- we'll call "Clare."
Two loads of laundry,
A Wash-Me type car,
Dustballs and dirt clods
From the trails near and far.
Finger-painted windows
In yellows, reds and greens
Revealing the story
Of Charlie- a Dinner Art fiend.
A cluttered pantry
A garage mice would love,
My closet in shambles
And a garbage in need of a shove.
Instead of tackling any of these
I'm enjoying the day off
A day without my little Charlie.
Procrastination
Has become part of my gait,
And the endless to-do list
Will just have to....
WAIT!
Procrastination,
The lurking thorn in the game,
Pulls at my hair today
True to its name.
Mile-high dishes
Glare at me,
And though I could make a dent
I'd rather not see.
A freelance job deadline
Hoovers in the air
Like overbearing perfume
Of visiting aunt- we'll call "Clare."
Two loads of laundry,
A Wash-Me type car,
Dustballs and dirt clods
From the trails near and far.
Finger-painted windows
In yellows, reds and greens
Revealing the story
Of Charlie- a Dinner Art fiend.
A cluttered pantry
A garage mice would love,
My closet in shambles
And a garbage in need of a shove.
Instead of tackling any of these
I'm enjoying the day off
A day without my little Charlie.
Procrastination
Has become part of my gait,
And the endless to-do list
Will just have to....
WAIT!
Monday, June 8, 2009
Kelley
Two burly moving men just left our house, after 30 minutes of measuring, finagling, squeezing and pondering the importance of keeping our walls intact. The final conclusion: I'm sitting in my living room (instead of the playroom where I wanted to be sitting) and I'm looking at the beginning of a huge project. A 1940's mahogany Emerson upright piano. Made in the USA! My goal: to learn to read music and play for my kid(s). With only 2 years of lessons under my belt, taken during the tumultuous years of early adolescence, I need to relearn the very basics of piano theory. Chopsticks and nursery rhymes will have to do until I have time for lessons! Wish me luck...
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Cindy
Victoria Harbour, by day & by night.
Just back from our 3rd very fun weekend out-of-town in-a-row, and am so glad to be home.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Kelley
The Sound
I'm grasping for
You
Through the useless
Clutter,
The droning
Busyness,
The muffle of endless
Noise.
Your voice is louder
Clearer
The fine thread
Of meaning
I seek.
When I meet
You
And we face
Breath to breath
Will I recognize
You?
Will my life
Have been
Pleasing to
You?
Looking,
I'm awestruck.
The intricacy
Of a caterpillar's 228 muscles
In its head
Alone.
The abundance
Of one elm tree's
6 million leaves.
The vastness
Of the Huble's
350 million estimated galaxies.
And our
One,
The absolute delicate
Balance
Of water
And oxygen
For life on earth.
The undefinable
Beauty of
New life
And passing death.
In it
I see
You.
Help me mute
The nonsense.
I want
To hear,
With my own ears,
The sound of
You.
I'm grasping for
You
Through the useless
Clutter,
The droning
Busyness,
The muffle of endless
Noise.
Your voice is louder
Clearer
The fine thread
Of meaning
I seek.
When I meet
You
And we face
Breath to breath
Will I recognize
You?
Will my life
Have been
Pleasing to
You?
Looking,
I'm awestruck.
The intricacy
Of a caterpillar's 228 muscles
In its head
Alone.
The abundance
Of one elm tree's
6 million leaves.
The vastness
Of the Huble's
350 million estimated galaxies.
And our
One,
The absolute delicate
Balance
Of water
And oxygen
For life on earth.
The undefinable
Beauty of
New life
And passing death.
In it
I see
You.
Help me mute
The nonsense.
I want
To hear,
With my own ears,
The sound of
You.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
Cindy
Birthday Table
For Birthday Dinner I was taken to my favorite little spot, very private, where only the freshest local ingredients are used. We dined on Birthday Cocktail: fresh squeezed orange juice, mandarin vodka, and champagne; beef tenderloin, asparagus, and potatoes. My favorite!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Cindy
My happy morning with Kelley, Todd, & Charlie! So glad to see you guys and hope to see you again soon!
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Kelley
An Evening at Smith Rock State Park....no words needed!
But I like words, so:
Golden sunlight, a rocky trail, amazing athletic bodies on
serious ledges, geese with gosslings floating the Crooked River,
Cheerios one-by-one, and a dirt-covered pacifier.
Charlie's first adventure at Smith!
photo credit: Todd
But I like words, so:
Golden sunlight, a rocky trail, amazing athletic bodies on
serious ledges, geese with gosslings floating the Crooked River,
Cheerios one-by-one, and a dirt-covered pacifier.
Charlie's first adventure at Smith!
photo credit: Todd
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Cindy
Imagine if you will a sunny hillside. 80+ degrees. No shade. Limited water. Plenty of alcohol. Lots of pale young skin, bikini clad ladies, and shirtless fellas. That would be the Sasquatch experience. I could have taken a whole series of photographs chronicling the painful yet comical burns of the day. That seems mean spirited, so instead I wish those folks a speedy recovery and a buddy to rub in that sunscreen.
Kelley
"You can call me Flower if you want."
-Baby skunk in the movie Bambi
Today began at 4:45 am with a rude awakening.
Not with a cry from Charlie, or a bright light in my face or an arm thrown across my chest, not even with a beeping alarm clock. Nope. Today began with a smell...a very bad smell.
A skunk found our house last night.
With all the windows open to let in the cool night breeze, we were saturated with skunk.
So when Charlie woke up a little later, our skylight revealing the morning horizon and the birds chirping their wake-up call, I knew what to do. Time to get out!
I placed Charlie in the center of our bed and dashed for my workout bag. Looking back at the two most special guys in my life there on the bed, I knew this would be a moment to remember. Charlie and his daddy, together in the wee hours of the morning. Charlie was drumming his daddy's back and somersaulting across the sheets, while his dad was half asleep and grabbing for an ankle to keep the little guy from catapulting off the bed. Despite the terrible smell of that striped stinker, my guys were laughing and wrestling, tickling and snorting at each other like farm animals. Maybe the skunk smell struck a chord. They seemed to enjoy it.
So me, I did only what a smart mom and lady of the house is left to do: I headed for the gym until the skunky air and morning hour passed me by. And I admit, I do smell better than my family today. You can call ME flower if you want.
-Baby skunk in the movie Bambi
Today began at 4:45 am with a rude awakening.
Not with a cry from Charlie, or a bright light in my face or an arm thrown across my chest, not even with a beeping alarm clock. Nope. Today began with a smell...a very bad smell.
A skunk found our house last night.
With all the windows open to let in the cool night breeze, we were saturated with skunk.
So when Charlie woke up a little later, our skylight revealing the morning horizon and the birds chirping their wake-up call, I knew what to do. Time to get out!
I placed Charlie in the center of our bed and dashed for my workout bag. Looking back at the two most special guys in my life there on the bed, I knew this would be a moment to remember. Charlie and his daddy, together in the wee hours of the morning. Charlie was drumming his daddy's back and somersaulting across the sheets, while his dad was half asleep and grabbing for an ankle to keep the little guy from catapulting off the bed. Despite the terrible smell of that striped stinker, my guys were laughing and wrestling, tickling and snorting at each other like farm animals. Maybe the skunk smell struck a chord. They seemed to enjoy it.
So me, I did only what a smart mom and lady of the house is left to do: I headed for the gym until the skunky air and morning hour passed me by. And I admit, I do smell better than my family today. You can call ME flower if you want.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Cindy
Sasquatch!
Watching DeVotchKa perform at The Gorge. Beautiful day. Great shows, friends, serious sunshine. Happy Memorial Day Weekend!
Friday, May 22, 2009
Kelley
Food for Thought
My kitchen knows me well.
As a mostly-stay-at-home mom, a great deal of my time is spent in that culinary space, the food place of our home. I plan, prepare, feed and clean up after everyone. And then plan, prepare, feed and clean...all over again. And again. And again. And again.
Breakfast-time, lunch-time, dinner-time.
The sun goes down and the sun comes up, and it starts all over.
The reality of this is that my days revolve around food.
Food.
Yes, the most basic element of our human existence. Second to water, food keeps our very species here and thriving on earth.
With this realization, that the clock I live by is driven by the quest to nourish me and my family, EVERY DAY, I am struck by another very serious fact.
Our world food supply is in trouble.
It sounds crazy, because as Americans we are used to seeing our supermarket shelves lined floor to ceiling with every food choice imaginable and worldwide produce at any time of the year at our fingertips. Watermelon in December, no problem. And which of the 24 brands of wheat bread would you like today?
Food shortage? No way!
But agricultural experts have predicted that in order to keep up with the world's population, farmers need to double food production in just a decade.
Twice as much food in our grocery stores?
Lester Brown, who is the President of the Earth Policy Institute in Washington D.C., says we are in a food crisis.
According to him, our fixation on oil insecurity in the United States has actually caused a food insecurity. The price of grain will go up indefinitely, he said, by the demand for grain-derived fuel. "We need to rethink our focus on fuel," he told NPR today. "It really comes down to food versus fuel."
One-fourth of our country's grain production goes toward ethanol production. However, according to Brown, a 25-gallon tank of ethanol fuel would actually feed one person for one full year.
A tank of gas versus one year of food.
Hmmmm.
Those who produce and use such fuel are receiving kickbacks in the form of our tax dollars. We are essentially subsidizing a rise in food prices.
So, I sit here in my kitchen (where else would I be?) and ponder these ideas.
A garden in Central Oregon might give me some of the food I need for, oh maybe TWO months if I'm a lucky green thumb...
And buying locally to support those farmers in my region could help...
But what about the population of China, a huge empire that is growing exponentially and only producing more mouths who need FOOD?
I'm just a mostly-stay-at-home-mom, who revolves around food mostly-all-day-long.
But maybe if I'm a lucky green thumb, and maybe if I can successfully feed my child through adolescence, maybe one day I can revolve my day around the solution to this food crisis rather than the unyielding need for food itself- the very problem.
My kitchen knows me well.
As a mostly-stay-at-home mom, a great deal of my time is spent in that culinary space, the food place of our home. I plan, prepare, feed and clean up after everyone. And then plan, prepare, feed and clean...all over again. And again. And again. And again.
Breakfast-time, lunch-time, dinner-time.
The sun goes down and the sun comes up, and it starts all over.
The reality of this is that my days revolve around food.
Food.
Yes, the most basic element of our human existence. Second to water, food keeps our very species here and thriving on earth.
With this realization, that the clock I live by is driven by the quest to nourish me and my family, EVERY DAY, I am struck by another very serious fact.
Our world food supply is in trouble.
It sounds crazy, because as Americans we are used to seeing our supermarket shelves lined floor to ceiling with every food choice imaginable and worldwide produce at any time of the year at our fingertips. Watermelon in December, no problem. And which of the 24 brands of wheat bread would you like today?
Food shortage? No way!
But agricultural experts have predicted that in order to keep up with the world's population, farmers need to double food production in just a decade.
Twice as much food in our grocery stores?
Lester Brown, who is the President of the Earth Policy Institute in Washington D.C., says we are in a food crisis.
According to him, our fixation on oil insecurity in the United States has actually caused a food insecurity. The price of grain will go up indefinitely, he said, by the demand for grain-derived fuel. "We need to rethink our focus on fuel," he told NPR today. "It really comes down to food versus fuel."
One-fourth of our country's grain production goes toward ethanol production. However, according to Brown, a 25-gallon tank of ethanol fuel would actually feed one person for one full year.
A tank of gas versus one year of food.
Hmmmm.
Those who produce and use such fuel are receiving kickbacks in the form of our tax dollars. We are essentially subsidizing a rise in food prices.
So, I sit here in my kitchen (where else would I be?) and ponder these ideas.
A garden in Central Oregon might give me some of the food I need for, oh maybe TWO months if I'm a lucky green thumb...
And buying locally to support those farmers in my region could help...
But what about the population of China, a huge empire that is growing exponentially and only producing more mouths who need FOOD?
I'm just a mostly-stay-at-home-mom, who revolves around food mostly-all-day-long.
But maybe if I'm a lucky green thumb, and maybe if I can successfully feed my child through adolescence, maybe one day I can revolve my day around the solution to this food crisis rather than the unyielding need for food itself- the very problem.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Cindy
Pure Joy
My beautiful mama and one of the horses she rides, showing off the saddle my papa had made for her.
Photo credit: Papa
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Kelley
Baby Days
Gone.
Those mini hands
And bitty toes
Have grown,
Big.
A toothy smile
Grins,
Out shouts
A big belly
Laugh.
You run
And jump,
Throw your shoes,
Far.
Sleeping now,
A spring evening
Rolls into
Your second summer.
And I rock you still,
With feet dangling
An arm wedged
Around
Me.
How long
Will you be
My baby?
Gone.
Those mini hands
And bitty toes
Have grown,
Big.
A toothy smile
Grins,
Out shouts
A big belly
Laugh.
You run
And jump,
Throw your shoes,
Far.
Sleeping now,
A spring evening
Rolls into
Your second summer.
And I rock you still,
With feet dangling
An arm wedged
Around
Me.
How long
Will you be
My baby?
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Cindy
Lola & The Wasp
Let this be a warning to all wasps: you will be captured, tortured, and left for dead. You only hope the humans catch you first. (At least you will have a chance at survival in a glass jar).
Monday, May 18, 2009
Kelley
Charlie's Garden
Snow's melting on Black Butte,
The experts say.
It's time for a garden
Safe to plant away!
Tear open the packets
Clear out the weeds.
Spread the seed starter
And planting soil please.
DON'T EAT THAT!
And clean off your hands!
The dirt in your mouth
Is from far away lands!
Here, take your toy shovel
While I water the pots.
No! Not the dirt again,
Your face is covered in mud spots.
OK, chase that squirrel
While I move to the deck.
COME BACK HERE, YOU RASCAL!
The street is not for your trek!
Finally, a diversion
You've discovered a hole.
Now, can I please finish?
I'm on a role!
Wildflowers, Snap Dragon
Blanket Flower, Lavender Glo.
Basil, Chives, Thyme,
Rosemary, and Oregano.
Now, if you will finally please take a good nap
WILL YOUR FIRST FLOWER GARDEN ACTUALLY GROW?
(wish Charlie luck!)
Snow's melting on Black Butte,
The experts say.
It's time for a garden
Safe to plant away!
Tear open the packets
Clear out the weeds.
Spread the seed starter
And planting soil please.
DON'T EAT THAT!
And clean off your hands!
The dirt in your mouth
Is from far away lands!
Here, take your toy shovel
While I water the pots.
No! Not the dirt again,
Your face is covered in mud spots.
OK, chase that squirrel
While I move to the deck.
COME BACK HERE, YOU RASCAL!
The street is not for your trek!
Finally, a diversion
You've discovered a hole.
Now, can I please finish?
I'm on a role!
Wildflowers, Snap Dragon
Blanket Flower, Lavender Glo.
Basil, Chives, Thyme,
Rosemary, and Oregano.
Now, if you will finally please take a good nap
WILL YOUR FIRST FLOWER GARDEN ACTUALLY GROW?
(wish Charlie luck!)
Cindy
After seeing what good gardeners we are, the landlord offered up a patch of land to call our own. From here on out known as The Farm, as seen in stage II. (I'd like to get a couple goats but I'm afraid the alley cats would eat them).
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Kelley
With my laptop wedged between me and the steering wheel, I am posting from inside my car. It's parked in the driveway with Wee Sing Folk music blaring, a squirmy child buckled into his carseat in the back, and the seatbelt indicator beeping in my ear. Charlie did not opt for a nap today. Not a wink. I've had a long day. "Mama's little baby loves shortnin', shortnin'....mama's little baby loves shortnin' bread." Oh yes, the music of choice these days! Now Charlie is yelling at his sock, it won't pull off. While it may seem that motherhood is full of these fleeting moments of solitude and endangered tidbits of adult interaction, it really is the best thing in the world. For those without kids, I do have a suggested reading. I recall what it is like without a child.....and this article is a funny reminder. A good look back at a childless life. It's called "Making Friends" by Amy Ozols in the Shouts & Murmurs section of the current New Yorker. I remember those Timmy's. (Cindy, I thought of you when I read this...did YOU write this article under a pen name?) A fitting note to end on here in my ear inside this quickly-becoming stuffy car, "The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be, many long years ago."
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
robyn
just thought i'd post what i'm working on right now. myself and two other designers are creating poster templates for all 50 states. this was one of my states. i designed 16 more. i'm kind of over it.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Kelley
Here and There
Liquid sky
Drips,
In both places
Melting like glass tears
Rolling off cool live
Foliage.
There.
A Mountain on the sea
And salty air
Seabirds circle
Their calls echo against
Creaking sails
Above Puget nets.
And you breathe
Green rain.
Here.
Water pelts down
In gusts
Like falling sheets
Above the pines,
Through the Rockies.
A lazy river rises
In muddy swirls,
As eagles prepare for young
With wet nests
Up high.
And I breathe
Green rain.
Liquid sky
Drips,
In both places
Melting like glass tears
Rolling off cool live
Foliage.
There.
A Mountain on the sea
And salty air
Seabirds circle
Their calls echo against
Creaking sails
Above Puget nets.
And you breathe
Green rain.
Here.
Water pelts down
In gusts
Like falling sheets
Above the pines,
Through the Rockies.
A lazy river rises
In muddy swirls,
As eagles prepare for young
With wet nests
Up high.
And I breathe
Green rain.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Kelley
A week in Montana! Cold sunny mornings, spring runoff and the peaceful roll of the Clark Fork river. Best of all, Grampy and Mimi to watch Charlie! I miss the Big Sky country.....
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
Kelley
Happy May Day! We've been up since 3:30 am with an insane teething toddler. That said, my creative brain is trying to get some sleep. But I do want to give my husband a big congratulations on another fabulous issue of Catch Magazine! It came out today catchmagazine.net
And now that it's finished, maybe I will finally see that man I'm married to...
And now that it's finished, maybe I will finally see that man I'm married to...
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Kelley
lukewarm
In her crisp white shirts and proper gloves
She calls herself
Devoted.
Upright
In her faith.
A true
Believer.
On Fire.
A Good
Doer.
Righteous.
But her Time with God,
In quiet prayer
And daily Bread,
The Holy life,
The Walk of Talk
Is tucked away.
Staunchly perfect.
A precious bundle
Like heirloom silver
Wrapped in linen
Placed carefully in a back drawer
Only opened
On Sundays
Or once or twice a year
When her mother visits
Or to dust
And let in
The spring air.
In her crisp white shirts and proper gloves
She calls herself
Devoted.
Upright
In her faith.
A true
Believer.
On Fire.
A Good
Doer.
Righteous.
But her Time with God,
In quiet prayer
And daily Bread,
The Holy life,
The Walk of Talk
Is tucked away.
Staunchly perfect.
A precious bundle
Like heirloom silver
Wrapped in linen
Placed carefully in a back drawer
Only opened
On Sundays
Or once or twice a year
When her mother visits
Or to dust
And let in
The spring air.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Kelley
Patience
Wet snow drips
Outside the window.
Tulips lean
In the vase on my table,
Stretching toward the damp light.
Waiting for Spring.
A promising sun
Seeps through clouds of bone-chilling fog.
Liquid sky
Floats in puddles.
Waiting for Spring.
Still waiting.
Tiny potted seedlings of
Carrots, Onions, Peas
Sunflowers
Sleep quietly in a blanket of new soil.
Waiting for Spring.
Still waiting.
April showers
Bring May Flowers
And all that jazz.
Still waiting
For Spring.
Wet snow drips
Outside the window.
Tulips lean
In the vase on my table,
Stretching toward the damp light.
Waiting for Spring.
A promising sun
Seeps through clouds of bone-chilling fog.
Liquid sky
Floats in puddles.
Waiting for Spring.
Still waiting.
Tiny potted seedlings of
Carrots, Onions, Peas
Sunflowers
Sleep quietly in a blanket of new soil.
Waiting for Spring.
Still waiting.
April showers
Bring May Flowers
And all that jazz.
Still waiting
For Spring.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Kelley
What the teachers don't tell you...
In the current New Yorker magazine, an article about Edgar Allan Poe caught my attention. Murder, scarey talking birds, signs of death and cold windy nights. Suspense. Chills up the spine. Police and detective work. Ugly. That's what I remember of his works, the assigned reading in high school. The Raven, The Gold-Bug, A Telltale Heart...all are dark and murderous stories with twisted plots in rhythm. However, while it was quite obvious that he was a very strange man, living through two major economic crashes in the 1840s and dreary unemployment spikes in New York city, the teachers never really told us about this guy. About the man behind the words. He was bad. A chronic liar, he was blacklisted among New York publishers for attempting to write crazy, outlandish and false autobiographies. He got off on insulting his readers, and while extremely talented at writing puns and cryptograms, most all of his works were out to dupe the reader. He hated his audience! He showed up drunk at a New York city speaking event, tricking the audience by reading one of his childhood poems instead of the keynote address. He sought money, but he pretty much starved his whole life. His literary criticism reeked with mockery and debauchery, calling out the incredible authors of the time from James Fenimore Cooper to Margaret Fuller. He failed at every magazine he began or edited, and his life was quite sad. An orphan, his foster father disowned him after he lied and stole from the family. And he was found wasted outside a bar, having spent the only 10 bucks to his name, which was intended as a community donation to his sickly wife. She died of consumption. He died of, as if the finale to his life's work, "mysterious causes," just three years later. Stephen King calls Poe the granddaddy of detective fiction. But this granddaddy was a bad dude. Sometimes it's sad that an author or artist never became famous during their life, celebrity achieved only after they're gone. In Poe's case, it's sad that he became famous at all. Bad people should not live on. I'm sure this was not on the lesson plan...
In the current New Yorker magazine, an article about Edgar Allan Poe caught my attention. Murder, scarey talking birds, signs of death and cold windy nights. Suspense. Chills up the spine. Police and detective work. Ugly. That's what I remember of his works, the assigned reading in high school. The Raven, The Gold-Bug, A Telltale Heart...all are dark and murderous stories with twisted plots in rhythm. However, while it was quite obvious that he was a very strange man, living through two major economic crashes in the 1840s and dreary unemployment spikes in New York city, the teachers never really told us about this guy. About the man behind the words. He was bad. A chronic liar, he was blacklisted among New York publishers for attempting to write crazy, outlandish and false autobiographies. He got off on insulting his readers, and while extremely talented at writing puns and cryptograms, most all of his works were out to dupe the reader. He hated his audience! He showed up drunk at a New York city speaking event, tricking the audience by reading one of his childhood poems instead of the keynote address. He sought money, but he pretty much starved his whole life. His literary criticism reeked with mockery and debauchery, calling out the incredible authors of the time from James Fenimore Cooper to Margaret Fuller. He failed at every magazine he began or edited, and his life was quite sad. An orphan, his foster father disowned him after he lied and stole from the family. And he was found wasted outside a bar, having spent the only 10 bucks to his name, which was intended as a community donation to his sickly wife. She died of consumption. He died of, as if the finale to his life's work, "mysterious causes," just three years later. Stephen King calls Poe the granddaddy of detective fiction. But this granddaddy was a bad dude. Sometimes it's sad that an author or artist never became famous during their life, celebrity achieved only after they're gone. In Poe's case, it's sad that he became famous at all. Bad people should not live on. I'm sure this was not on the lesson plan...
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