Phoenix

stained-glass

Phoenix's 1st Dance
I had my nostril pierced yesterday. I hadn’t had a stud in my nose since age nineteen – almost twenty years.

My intense fear of needles kept me away. And yet, last night – while shopping for my daughter’s ear-piercing – I knew it was time. And while the rest of my family went to find a shop that would accommodate our thirteen year old child, I stepped into the back of another shop, sat on a clinical-looking table, and waited, my mind and body going into that fear-space. Resting as calmly as I could.

The needle drives in and I breathe out slowly. When the shock and adrenaline pass I say: “I put this off a long time.”

“Everything happens for a reason,” the piercer tells me now, in a mild tone, as she’s setting the jewelry – a stud so small that my husband and mother fail to notice it when they see me next. She is a small, gnome like woman with sleepy eyes and full cheeks – beautiful, placid, and to my way of thinking – incredible. I know I would have a very hard time driving a needle into someone else’s body.

And now, her simple words – “everything happens for a reason” – maybe said offhand even, somehow strike me as profound.

Our family has had so many changes these last few weeks. Life is not happening too fast, precisely, but life is definitely carrying me along the current. I am not steering – I am guiding our little vessel as best I can. The wind chaps my cheeks and I am not always sure what’s around the bend. I’m finding a beauty in every little thing. A fierce, out-of-breath wave of feeling in my breast.

My little silver stud installed, I step into the night street and travel a few doors down and wait for my daughter. This tattoo parlor is a little dirtier; a large television plays a reality television show. I wait for my daughter, only feeling a slight pang of envy that my husband gets to attend her as her earrings are set.

And my daughter – well.

She is ethereal, amazing. She is my very heart.

Tonight she attended her first dance. I spent all the time and all the money I could. I wanted to do it right. She will never not-remember her evening.

Phoenix's 1st Dance

this friday night / do it all again

FRIDAY LINKS! AW YEAH (if you’re new, please read my Comment Policy before posting)

The definitive response, or at least an incredibly good one, to the TIME magazine assery.

What the world eats, a week’s worth of groceries. h/t Jen G. who reminded me of this article.

From the archives: “Craft pr0n and how it’s killing America” at Underbellie. This two-year old post was recently brought to my attention as a few of my tweeps were diggin’ on it. By the way, only a few months ago I finally found the “affordable and well-made, probably used” dining room table I write about here.

Sea and Land by J. W. Buel, 1889. Do you even know how much this is my thing? Or how much I want this book, and to embroider plates from it? A LOT. My favorite was probably the Japanese spider crab, which turns out has recently been fascinating my brother as well. Oh, and it’s very real.

The Japanese, or spider crab.

Obama blows it, big time:

And yes. I laughed so hard I cried.

Ashely Judd on her “puffy” face, at The Daily Beast. (Did I post this already? I don’t think so. Anyway. Here it is. She rocks!)

SCIENCE figures out what really causes ice cream headaches. In the comments, admit it if you’ve had one in the last half year even though you’re a grownup.

Literally the Best Thing Ever: Fictional Rich People of the 1980s at RookieMag.

Hey, I missed James Brown’s birthday! Here, have some dancing lessons. Just be careful on what life lessons you take from the man.

Girls Gone Wild: Female Sex Addiction and the Internet at The Fix.
Readers looking for titillation will instead find a thoughtful piece written by a sex addict (yes, that’s a real thing). I’m not a huge fan of The Fix being as its for-profit motives mean well, what you might think. But this was a good article.

“The greater your shame, the more you do the thing that gives you shame. You feel bad about yourself, you’re lonely, you feel low self-worth, you don’t have enough endorphins to make yourself feel good, so you go back to the addiction because it pleases you and punishes you at the same time.”

This awesome dad takes awesome pictures of his awesome daughters, plus with extra awesome.

“I’m not ashamed to dress ‘like a woman’ because I don’t think it’s shameful to be a woman.” – Iggy Pop

“Talking About Independent Learning” at Natural Life Magazine: a schooled and non-schooled young adult discuss the differences in their learning environments. What a beautiful interview. “Maybe self confidence is something that doesn’t need to be built as much as it needs to be protected.” I’d say the same for critical/”free” thinking, compassion, and work ethic… you know, those things people are often saying need to be drilled into kids.

My favorite tweet of the week.

“I’m sorry the information is so scanty but I’ll send you up more as I get it. Blake out.” First, he is acting the hell out of this cut-rate scene in a Z-grade film. Second, his looks and mannerisms are uncannily that of my brother! Third – SCANTY. The information is SO SCANTY.

Speaking of my brother! A picture of him from 2005. Adorable.

working it

The hour of my birthday strikes. I’m lying across the bed in my underwear, a two-sizes-too-small vintage Def Leppard shirt with holes on it. Nels is kissing me thirty-five times because that’s how old I am.

I’m tired.

I’m tired from running errands most the day, then clapping and yelling for the Drag Show at the college (here’s a tiny bit of last year’s), then dancing a lot afterwards. I danced my ass off. For like, fifteen minutes. & I hurt my knees doing a few floor slides. I didn’t split my pants or anything, but I did get a considerable back tweak doing the Roger Rabbit in a dance circle.

The show was really beautiful. I’d suggested a friend as MC and she was absolutely fabulous. I also got to see a girlhood friend, the first person I met when moving to Grays Harbor, surprise-propose to her girlfriend via song. That was pretty… amazing. After the dance I went out with friends and had some wonderful food. If I wasn’t so tired I’d be writing all this eloquent stuff about it all.

But yeah. It was a good day, and a good evening.

Nels, dressed up for & checking the fit of his outfit tonight:

Nels In Drag, Checking Fit

***

This moment finds me very sanguine about my birthday. 35 seems such an auspicious number. I have some wonderful things in my life.

My little guy:

Slinking Back To The Pool

My daughter:

Off To The Races
 
Health is the greatest possession. Contentment is the greatest treasure. Confidence is the greatest friend. Non-being is the greatest joy. – Lao Tzu

Nels In Drag, Checking Fit

I am very grateful for many gifts in my life, and when I awake to experience my birthday in earnest, I hope to have as lovely day as I usually do.

just so you know i used to practice background vocal dance moves to this one

Friday links – just a vid or two. Also I’m about to give up on Google+. I mean not even a LOUSY +1 on the following most excellent piece of 80s radness.

 
Led by the child who simply knew at the Globe. This is an amazing story. I was going to write some of my thoughts but, you don’t need ’em. Just read the piece.

Hold me closer, tiny dancer:

 
From Denmark:

 
Happy Holidays!

like a sealed letter they could not plainly read

Today marks my ninety days in sobriety. This probably means fuck-all to anyone not in Recovery but it sure means something to me.

Tonight I sat tapping my foot at a dance in an old chair in a corner but I was too shy to run out and join the small group, although it was a song I enjoy (mostly because it’s a well-known and most excellent sleazy rock anthem, and points if you can guess it in the comments). I sat there like any wallflower and when I got over worrying someone would think I looked foolish I started to feel all sorts of things. I acutely felt the sunburn I got from two hours exposure in the sun today and I felt a fierce joy that today I’m too shy to run out on the dance floor. And my reticence and the pain between my shoulder blades and my calmness and my sadness and my joy and presence and anxiety, I just felt Alive like, This is a part of it.

At any point I can take a deep breath and make contact with myself and my spirit, and look to my husband or my friends and know I’m Alive.

Ralph, Nels and Phoenix joined me a few minutes into the dance and the kids ran out on the dance floor and started wiggling and jumping around immediately. And I thought how precious my little family is to me and how I managed to hang on to that and to them throughout all kinds of Hell (of my own making) and all kinds of difficult times.

Yesterday I was gone for several hours during the day and evening, and during this time my daughter scheduled a sleepover at the neighbors’, with her friend L. I heard later Phoenix was packed and hanging out across the street and as evening fell she kept looking out the window at our house. Finally L. said, “Do you want to go home, Phoenix?” and my girl said Yes. She came home and unpacked and wouldn’t talk to Ralph about anything – except to say she’d been homesick. Ralph asked her a question and she sat for a moment, and then a light came in her eyes and her shoulders lifted and she said, “When does mom get home?”

And when I did get home at 11 or so I got loved up on by both kids. And I put my face in Nels’ blonde hair and thought how much I love the way my kids smell and have known it since before any other knowledge, and I know it’s no coincidence but one of the most incredible blessings of my life.

Sometimes I forget how much my children deeply love and need me. I am rarely apart from them for hours, and when it is a long venture it’s usually of their own design. Take a half-day away for myself and I come home and I discover how much I’m appreciated and loved.

i’m all ears

I was proud of myself today, because despite this and that bit of crap-luck and small-minded asshattery and just a general difficult day, Hell Yes did I still get Phoenix and I out on the bike, and we rush-rush-rushed down to the bus depot, arriving there at the same time the bus did and trying to look nonchalant as I took the front tire off the xtracycle and hefted it up (it’s heavy and I seem to never get good upper-body strength going) and hopped on and while riding to the 7-11 (the only place my card can access cash without a fee) I set up Phoenie’s new doctor’s appointment and then, back off the bus, load up, get cash, hit the dance studio for the first bellydance class I’ve done in a while.

Let me tell you, Phoenix was wonderful. She caught the front tire expertly as I popped it off; she carried it on board and paid our fare. She was entirely attentive at every juncture I needed her to be, smiling and laughing during dance class and minding herself with aplomb, popping over to the tienda for a soda. Then after dance class carrying also my precious, precious cargo of tacos, arroz y frijoles from my favorite taquería.

Good weather (or good-ish) means more bike rides which means lots of compliments, questions, gawks, and some bus drivers reacting in alarm when I load the bicycle. What I’ve observed is the same transit employees who speculate I won’t be able to load and secure my longtail (a minority, thank goodness) are the same who wouldn’t budge a corner of an asscheek out of the seat to directly stop me, so I ignore what they’re saying through the glass at me, get it all set up (quite securely mind you, perhaps even more so than a standard bike; there is no excuse in the world for these crafts to be disallowed on a transit as I hear there are in other places) and hop on board and go from a super-friendly space. “You sure that’s gonna work?” the driver asks today. “Oh yes, I’ve done it many times.” [ smile ]. I sit down. An older man sitting nearby leans toward me, “You sure that’s gonna work?” Yes. Really. My ladybrain senses you have concerns? So I tell this fellow, “Yes, I’ve done this many times before.” A pause, then: “It was an expensive bike and I wouldn’t risk it.”

When we got home Nels was on the porch, a look of concentration on his face: he was cracking and eating pistachios. A few minutes later I had a hot bath ready and put my head out the door before hopping in: my kids and about six others from the neighborhood, plus an honest-to-god PUPPY, all playing outside in the sunny grass. Perfect.

After the bath I check my email and receive great news from Chicago; my latest sewn creation, a custom design, was well received upon arrival (clients are allowed to send back any item, no questions asked, if it’s not to their liking). So now I can go public, here are some pictures of “Tigre”, a little newborn-sized bunting that left my house last week:

Tigre!

Back View

Hood

I wrote a little about the inspiration for this project, time spent, and materials cost on my Homesewn site; as per usual I put construction details in the Flickr tagset. I had a wonderful time, in particular with all the structural support and the handsewing.

Inside

So yeah, today ended up going better than how it started.

& now? Pedaling my 73 pound daughter around, and dancing for the first time in a while, then rushing off to a meeting this evening, and then a grocery trip for this week’s Conch – well, I’m a bit more beat than usual.

Blue Dragon Egg Jacket (Plus, Lady Ralph)

I told myself I’d finish Phoenix’s new coat for my birthday. And I did.

Blue Dragon Egg Jacket

Sly

(& yes, that’s right, I lined up the front perfectly). What’s cool is I designed the whole thing. HECK YES. All of it. Including the pleated hood and the ears:

Happy As A Clam

Hood, Pleats

And the double-layer sturdy pirately cuffs, and the ruched pockets, and the two-fabric sleeves with ruched sleeve heads:

Ruching In The Sleeve Head

And yeah, it was my idea to line with sateen. This TOTALLY works well and (I predict) will stand up to children’s more rugged uses of clothing.

Lining, Facing

I came up with a lining/underlining method that was quite easy to pull off. In fact I made much of the coat yesterday while we had a family over and their kids chatted with us and used computers and ate homemade veggie fried rice and I traded theories with the seventeen year old, exactly seventeen years younger than I, about the film Inception.

Back to the coat. Phoenix was so appreciative as I sewed it. When she awoke today she asked me to snuggle and we talked a bit. I then told her I’d finished the garment just now. She whispered, “Thank you,” and hugged me. She wore it to the drag show and we immediately began to get praises for it. At one point after I used the bathroom and returned she said she was getting stares and she’d fielded more compliments. I asked, “Do you like that?” (meaning the stares) and she nodded Yes. “I want to be a movie star someday,” she told me. I responded, “Well, you should let me sew for you, because people will look at you if I make you unique clothes.” Let me tell you, she was a treat at that show and very proud of her father’s performance (I think a video may emerge from this so, stay tuned).

Pointing Out Cat Hijinx
(Pointing out cat hijinx. No, I don’t want to look.)

There are more pictures of the coat, including construction details, at the Flickr tagset.

The drag show was fun, and so was the dance afterwards. My lovely husband post-act (much of his make up had worn off):

Post-Routine

Signing memorabilia for some fans:

Lady Of The Evening

For now, I’m tucking into the following: a homemade sandwich with fresh mozzerella, homemade Italian dressing, olives, and a lovely birthday wine from Jasmine. Hot, hot, hot bath to follow and a b-movie. Tomorrow a birthday dinner with friends and family, and (I think) Wednesday a spa date up in Tacoma.

w00t!

im-a-mother-fucking-creeper

“Pull in your navel! Relax your shoulders! Is that the best you can do? Really?”

I feel sheepish about how little I understand some of my children’s computer activities and passions. Currently Ralph and Nels are discussing the best way to learn Java in order to write class files for modifications to Minecraft. Daily the children install mods and texture packs with fluency; they discovered, installed, and self-taught usage of an inventory editor (I’m told this is no big deal, by Ralph) and get into very excited conversations with one another, or other teens / grownups when the opportunity arises, about these features and their own methodologies and – of course – gameplay and strategy. I think of all the goatee-stroking and chortling grownups are wont to do, thinking they’ll top-down “teach” kids some skill, while anyone who’s been around a freechild for long soon is humbled at their dexterity, perseverance, logistical skills, and flexible intelligences – and, often, how quickly they surpass us when it’s something they’re interested in.

My lack of understanding when it comes to computer programming is largely a function of personal disinterest. It’s a position I can afford to take, since there is another person in the house who serves as a mentor and assistant (don’t ask me why the kids are so hopped-up on computers but have shown only passing interests in sewing – my equivalent passion, I suppose, to Ralph’s mad tech skillz; I suspect, however, the kids are learning to sew and will sew well and at least semi-regularly in the future). I know in the end I don’t need to be an enthusiastic fan to still be a supporter and advocate for the kids; it was in fact me who squawked rather loudly and uncharacteristically, knowing a while back laptops were the best next tool for our family. And, of course, our entire life is structured around supporting them in the exploits they choose whilst not wasting their times with ones they have no use for.

But the truth is my ignorance and slow-wittedness serve to imbue me with unease. Several times today Nels asked if I would look at his newest installation. I kept saying “no”, not because I was so busy but because there’s something in the whole business that panics me. It isn’t that I think I won’t be able to understand the tech aspect – the other day my daughter patiently explained the horse breeding schema she was using within the game mod, including genetic values and a complex series of stables (read through this and tell me if it makes sense) and it was like this dim lightbulb flickered and I kind of got it – it’s that I’m worried upon my grasping more I’ll feel even worse for not previously knowing more about what they love, and why. So I sit here on the fringe dithering about it, I guess.

Gee, when I write it out I sound like a tremendous assy coward.

[ * cough, cough * ]

Tonight my mom literally rescued me from an intense case of ennui by taking the kids and I out to a burger joint (where I had my all-time tired-ass choice, a veggie burger and fries). It was pretty funny (to me) that we ordered all this food, and they didn’t have what my mom wanted (a corndog), so she said, “That’s OK!” and sat with the kids and snuggled and loved up on them, and after the lady rang me up I said, politely and all classy-like, “Are you paying?” and my mom said, “Oh!” and grappled at her wallet, and I laughed because I got one over on her and I always feel appreciative when she helps support us but it’s also just kind of funny, like she’s getting screwed, which is kind of how I feel about this whole having-kids business, although I love them dearly of course, and it just is what it is, including Grandma’s generous support. The bill was a little over twenty dollars and my mom waved at me to give a few dollars tip (which, judging by the near-empty jar, is not something most customers do). Speaking of the tip bit, she’s always like that. Really an incredibly kind-hearted person.

Her car wouldn’t start so we walked home in the light rain. Nels was dismayed about this and wailed loudly for about a block, then soon he and Phoenix were running full-tilt down the wet and scary sidewalks in torrents of musical laughter while my mom and I hoofed it behind them and I texted Ralph to help her out with her new and temporary car-ass scenario.

After we got to my house my mom headed home and the kids and I settled in; while I await the opportunity to purchase carbon chacopy paper I am sewing a decidedly-custom coat for Phoenie. Ralph arrived home late after his class and brought in Jasmine – they have a drag act they’re performing on Friday, my birthday (not for my birthday, just a coincidence). As they got started on the choreography I made coffee and watched for about two minutes before intervening. Look, Jasmine had one hundred percent talent but Ralph’s dancing concepts and skills in moving less like a huge energetic man were just not cutting it. I’d been thinking about how often I don’t claim my talents and you know what? I can dance OK. What followed was an intensely funny, as in peeing-our-pants-laughing, two and a half hour series where I am not lying when I say I turned into a sweaty and intense dance monster and at practice’s end frenetically smoked on the porch while seething the show acts were not open to the general public and even considering some kind of sabotage. Later in the evening, after Jasmine left, Ralph would be washing dishes or something and I’d say, “Look, let’s try it again, don’t move the rest of your body, for a shimmy just punch one shoulder forward then relax, let the other one follow.” He eventually told me I’d worn his body and mind out and that he wasn’t sure if he had it in him anymore to do even one more move.

Hee.

OK – it’s almost 3:00 AM as I type this and I suppose I should go take a look at what that Nels has been making a fuss about.

Deep breath.

im-a-mother-fucking-creeper

suspicious characters

My husband takes a deep breath, sighs, looks pointedly at the steering wheel, then kills the engine.  I know exactly what he’s thinking.  Is the truck going to start when we return? I’m hoping it will as we have kids at home getting up to God Knows What while we shop for groceries and believe it or not, asking people for jumps gets a bit old (although it must be said in Grays Harbor people are really ready for this eventuality, my friend J. tells me they also carry chainsaws in their trucks ready to cut down trees lying across the road, you know, just in case).

The truck thing is kind of his fault.  A few days ago before he embarked on fixing my mom’s troubled beast I’d asked him if the vehicle mayhap have a charging system problem, not so much a battery problem, take it and get it diagnosed first, blah blah.  He figured it was the battery, a good guess really plus he was doing the repair bit on lunch break, so he bought a new one on my mom’s dime and now the damn thing still dies every two days (if you use headlights at all).  OK: so, fine.  Tomorrow I’ll take it to the shop my dad always recommended.  And the kids and I will bus back. And I hope it’s not raining, ugh.  You know, that whole hour in between buses shit in the wind and rain.  Today was sunny but cold when you’re out hoofing it.

You know in Hoquiam and Aberdeen very few people take their errands or their work commute by walking, biking, or the public transportation?  It’s fricken rare to see people hitting the streets who aren’t poverty-level or dealing with a variety of drug, court, mental health and/or welfare problems (I currently have none of the above). Most peeps in my peer group are in their cars, minivans, trucks shuttling back and forth.  In fact there are huge swatches of pretty much normal Aberdeen where by being seen walking you’re judged to be either down-on-your-luck or poor or prostituting or mething and heavily judged or WTF’d based on any of these assumptions (actually, don’t even click and read the comments in that link, it’s just kind of depressing).  As for the supposed sketchy areas of the fair township, my pwecious widdle babies and I walked some of them today, first getting a hot dog at the stand by the carwash (not very prepossessing in appearance but delicious all the same) then some helado a la tienda naranja before ending up in my Monday afternoon belly dancing class.

IMG_4341

IMG_4338

IMG_4343

P.S., why am I in a belly dancing class. First off, most the ladies in there seem really into the scarves and skirt and jingles.  I own not one skirt except a denim mini (which I happened to wear today b/c of the sunshine).  I don’t like flowing veils or fringe or all that wispy twirling around with scarves thing.  So, I dance in my jeans with my fat rolls hanging out the top.  FTW.

Which brings me to:  I do like the dancing.  It feels great.  I like the ladies in the class, especially my friend J. and the instructor L.  I like really dancing, energetically so.  I try not to glimpse myself in the huge studio mirror, because my cavorting looks so much less impressive than it feels.

Which is my second Why am I in a belly dancing class query, because really?  Yes, I can do a bit of a camel walk or a figure eight or large hip circles or a shoulder shimmy or a veil drop.  But ask me to combine two or more?  Why don’t I just fall down, break my arm, and piss my pants while I’m at it, because that’s where I’m going to end up.

Oh and by the way, Ralph and I made it home from the grocery store.  The truck survives to fight another day.

IMG_4335

Documenting my domicile: our little porch.  Adorned with the Hogaboom Lemon Tree and (lower left) a Thrift City bifurcated rag rug for $2, which I carried all grimy-like in my fist for a half hour in line at the store, then washed and dried at home and you should have seen Ralph’s expression, although he has come to believe it’s a nice addition, so that’s good.