Art. Making art, looking at art, learning about art, being art. (We’re all art.)
Handmade things. I’m so lucky to have been raised and loved by makers. My every day life is filled with handmade items and almost no millennial grey.
My porch. I am sitting on it now. It’s rush hour but I live on a bike route so it’s just more people to watch. I just saw a very fluffy dog riding standing up in a front cargo box wearing pink iridescent gaggles looking majestic as fuck. There’s a breeze. I am writing. I love my porch.
The porch log. We keep a journal on the porch with tallies of things we see a lot of (group bike rides, dogs on bikes, people walking and reading) and notes about anything extraordinary, like the person we saw rolling a joint while skateboarding.
New to me music. A song I’ve never heard by an artist I love? Cool! A whole new band with a dozen records? Excellent. A new one hit wonder? Great. My ears say gimme.
Talking on the phone. I don’t do it much anymore but I grew up talking on an old school rotary phone. There are a handful of people who I can still spend hours on the phone with and a few friends who just call instead of texting and it’s great.
Writing letters. Much like talking on the phone, it was a huge part of my younger years. I maintained many relationships via the postal service and still have friends I write to.
The library.
The Muppets.
Mel Brooks movies.
Peter Sellers movies.
I haven’t been fully afflicted with birding the way friends have but I still enjoy getting to know the birds in my immediate vicinity. Our front yard is visited by a flock of bushtits daily and I love them.
Crows. I have caught the crow hyper fixation and it’s paid off. Crowpotkin has brought gifts.
My tiny crows feet. I’ve never once looked in the mirror and felt anything but love for the lines forming on my face. I’ve spent too much time fretting over my skin already and life is just too fucking short.
The sun on my shoulders. It’s the thing I ache for during winter. (And yes, I use sunscreen.)
Sun warmed blackberries off the bush. Any fruit right from the source is great but standing at a blackberry bush on a hot day, staining your fingertips and mouth for perfect berries is what summer is all about.
The smell of tomato leaf when I’m watering the garden in the morning.
Swimming in a cold lake or river.
Napping with a cuddly animal.
Red shoes. Maryjanes, converse, cowboy books, Jordans. Red shoes make any outfit better with minimal effort.
Yellow flowers in general. Sunflowers in particular.
Periwinkle. The word and the color. Periwinkle.
The furry ball of chaos that is an orange cat. I had two. One was an almost 20 lb. menace to society. The other was my sweet angel but I’ve heard others call him an asshole. My memories may be biased. My downstairs neighbors have a big boy named Todd likes to shout “Hello!” at me.
An old tomatoey orange pick up truck. I tried to talk a neighbor into selling me his because he never drove it and it reminded me of my grandpa.
Driving on a summer night with the windows down, a good playlist and no destination.
A dog rolling in dirt. Or on grass. Or in mud. A dog, rolling ecstatically —anywhere, really.
A pet with a food based name. I love a Meatball. I’d love my own dog named Pickle someday.
Pickles.
The way I had an answer ready for my true crime obsessed co-worker when he asked me what my last meal on death row would be. Gnocchi in a light pumpkin cream sauce with crawfish and a glass of cold white wine.
Handing someone I love a bowl of food because they’ve shown up at the exact right moment for dinner.
Having friends who are comfortable enough to just show up.
Scout’s Ham costume in To Kill a Mockingbird.
A heist movie. Almost any heist movie.
The Thin Man movies. The drinking is excessive but wow, they had fun.
The way Blake Edwards movies had me convinced that adulthood would prominently feature over the top parties where hijinks would ensue. I am happy to report that I have attended more than one such soirée.
A stupid animal. A friend’s cat has one brain cell that can be watched ping ponging back and forth behind her eyes and good gravy, I love her. Don’t even get me started on a big dumb dog.
Cicadas. They’re so weird and I love the noise.
Fireflies. I have such clear memories of our yard being full of them as a kid and that feeling magical.
Thunderstorms. It’s the trifecta of Midwest summer wonders that I miss being on the west coast.
Rain. I moved to the right place.
Hot Springs. Again, I moved to the right place.
The neon green of the first buds of spring. It’s always shocking against the grey winter sky.
Fuzzy fiddleheads unfurling, in the spring — stretching out, waking up.
Dancing. In my room, at a show, in a dance class, whatever. It makes me happy.
But learning choreography does tickle my brain in the best possible way.
Road trips spent navigating with an old school atlas.
A novelty print dress. I need to find somewhere to wear my dog party print dress.
Paying compliments forward. When someone compliments me, I always try to compliment at least one other person that day.
Following my curiosity. I’ve never really been ambitious but I’ve always been curious and I think it has served me well.
The eight bouquets of flowers my friends brought me for my birthday.
I did it. I know it’s not all my best work and some of it may not even be good but there are some great sentences and ideas and things to build upon. My goal was just to stop being so scared and put some work out there. The more I posted, the less I thought about who may be reading which was freeing. This whole thing was freeing. Not free from typos, though. My god, the typos. We’ll see what I do next.
Here’s what I’ve posted since I last emailed:
I’ll Be Your Mirror, Your Flamethrower, Your cup of Ayahuasca
Thanks for being here. I love you.
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