I'm working on getting into a creativity schedule. It sounds a little silly-- because isn't creativity spontaneous? Eh, as a teacher of gifted children (and as a graduate of the "gifted" program), I tend to think giftedness and creativity are both nature and nurture. You CAN create beautiful things out of nothing, but it's a lot easier to create beautiful things with fancy-schmancy art supplies, computers, and journals. Creativity is also a state of mind. I see pictures in the clouds. (And Colorado has an abundance of beautiful clouds!) I listen for unusual sounds and think in lyrics all the time. In working with children, I speak up about beauty around us-- in a sunset, in the set up of a plate, in the humor of a tv show-- to encourage creativity there too. Eh, who knows.
So, I have many, many posts trapped in my brain and scribbled in a journal plus many pictures in my camera and my phone to share. What's the hold up? Energy! Creativity! Cleaning up! Going to work!
This day has started fairly productively-- but it also started above 60 degrees (I walked the dog in a tank top, pj pants, and flip flops!), but it's been so blustery and windy, my dog keeps barking at all the sounds it's making in the corridor of our apartments-- to set that apart now, it's below freezing and raining-- which means, it will be snowing in about 3, 2, 1...yup. I see snowflakes out the window.
I know I moved to a state that has cold winters from one that has one or two snows a decade, but it's still instilled in me that snow= snow day. Stay inside. It's dangerous out there! There's a part of me that wants to just keep this cup of mint tea going all day and watch Buffy on Hulu. Le sigh. My little munchkin will be disappointed in the car line if I don't make it. :)
So some creative things on tap-- some recipes of yummy foods I've made lately, some hiking recaps with gorgeous pictures, more painting, more fiverr orders that I'm delivering (woo-hoo!), and concert reviews. I'm going to the Colorado Writer's Workshop on Friday and I can't wait to see what types of things I will learn to help guide me on a publication journey. We went to see The Airborne Toxic Event at the Ogden Theater in Denver over the weekend and it was incredible. I loved the theater and the whole evening. This is the second concert we went to where they were filming the music video that night. Chris nudged me at one point because I was so into the show that I didn't notice the camera man filming over our shoulders! We are going to see another one of my lyrical favorites tonight-- Bastille. Definitely looking forward to this.
Some of my favorite lyrics have beautiful imagery and symbolism to history, gods, and pop culture. I wonder where these guys were in some of my younger years-- I could have used these words:
When all of your flaws and all of my flaws when they have been exhumed, you'll see that we need them to be who we are, without them, we'd be doomed
If you close your eyes, does it ever feel like nothing's changed at all? How am I going to be an optimist about this?
I don't want to hear about the bad blood anymore. I don't want to hear you talk about it anymore. It's been cold for years, won't you let it lie?
Do you understand...the future's in our hands and we'll never be the same again.
Icarus is flying too close to the sun... Living beyond your years, acting out all their fears, you feel it in your chest...Icarus is flying to an early grave.
Are you going to age...with grace? without mistakes? with a path to trace? Are you going to age with grace?
Oh I feel overjoyed when you listen to my words, I see them sinking in, crawling under your skin; words are all we have, we will be talking, what is there to gain? I feel overjoyed when you listen to my words.
And last but not least, their Sesame Street-like take on learning vowels: Ay-ay oh Ay oh.
So, thanks for listening to my words. I hope to have some put together a little more coherently soon. Stay strong, my friends. Shine.
[I won't lie-- I had to look up the difference between capital with an a or with an o. Oh grammar, I just can't quit you!]
Lately, I've been trying some alternatives to traditional career moves and I came across a website my friend Redd from college has been actually making a LIVING off of. I have been so proud of her because she's one of the most creative and industrious people I've ever met. A couple of highlights about her...she moved from the UK for college in the US (so brave!), has supported herself working in a career of her dreams (stage management) in Atlanta, then took a huge leap and moved to Las Vegas and worked for Cirque du Soleil! How cool is that? She has written an excellent, relatable food blog that she also published as an e-book cookbook. Now, she's been doing voice over work for a long time and has made her career off of this site called fiverr. Her voice is beautiful and she's technically minded, so she can edit and market herself quite brilliantly. She's my "living her dream" hero!
A few months ago, I started my own fiverr. I'm sticking with stuff I know-- letter and card writing, water-color painting, and homemade natural living products. I'd like to add some editing and other digital services, but for now, that's what's on my plate.
So, if you're interested, please take a look! Feel free to share far and wide, because I'd sure appreciate it.
Remember my post about making natural deodorant? You can buy your very own container of it-- customized with essential oils of your choice. Click HERE for deodorant.
Want to relax and take a break? I've read recently about the effects of magnesium deficiency in our diets from the environment being stripped of certain minerals. Did you know a nightly (or weekly, comeon, ain't-nobody-got-time-for-that) bath in epsom salts can help restore your magnesium levels naturally and safely? Check out my customized bath satchets HERE.
My fiverr gigs also include hand painted water-color cards (or could be on a small, frame-able paper) HERE, post cards from Colorado HERE, and hand written, locally printed (Leanin' Tree Art in Boulder, Colorado) cards HERE. If you know me in real life, you know I send cards and postcards like nobody's business already. ;)
If you're interested in something along those lines from me...please send me a message! I am pretty shamelessly plugging myself here, but maybe you'd be interested in this cool world of five-bucks-a-pop.
Payment note: fiverr.com uses paypal. For some people, that's very easy. For others, it's a new financial system. Until recently (thanks, Trina!) I was not a paypal user. It's safe and easy...and I'm still scared of bitcoin.
I wanted to write a status update (a la my friend Joan who writes small missives about her day) in the moment about this little experience, but then it seemed like I had too many things rolling around in my head. (I love Joan's status updates. It reminds me the good things that can happen in rough schools with the right person wearing her heart on her sleeve!)
We have a wreath because adults have wreaths.
Lately I've been taking a step back, career-wise, and re-evaluating what I'm doing with my life. I worked really hard and nearly non-stop in my twenties and had a lot of stressful years. I have a lot of things I'm proud of-- a Master's Degree, many travels, much writing. Lots of stories from times spent with friends, romance and breakups, and laughter and tears. I said goodbye to my grandmothers in my twenties and I hold them very close in my heart-- their words sometimes echo in mine and I smile to think of all the skills and loves I share with them. Crock-pot cooking with whatever is in the house? Grandma Jane. Flower arranging (ah, dried eucalyptus smells so good!) and wreath making? Grandma Marilyn. I pulled out my watercolor painting supplies and have been working on those-- a skill I practiced while in one grandma's native Italy, the other's love of travelling firmly instilled in me.
The days of working 12 hours and feeling like nothing I do matters, even though I'm pouring my heart into every minute of planning, teaching, listening to, working with, assisting...lessons with children? That's on pause. And man, it feels GREAT. Teaching is rewarding, but it's become a field synonymous with levels of exhaustion akin to having triplet newborns. You love what you're doing, but as soon as one mess of poo gets cleaned up, there's another one waiting. So a gap year of sorts was in order for me.
I've been nannying and babysitting for families in the suburbs of Denver. I love it. [Any names I use for children have been changed for their privacy. Any pics have their identity obscured because I think kids should be protected from the evils of the interwebz before they're in high school!]
Crockpot stew like Grandma Jane's
The town where I have been working is a very special place. There's a manner of frozen in time going on with these kids' childhoods! Kids walk, bike, and razor-scooter to school. They ride their bikes and take the local bus to the ice cream shop and have milkshakes before heading to the library, skateboard park, or nature trail. They play musical instruments and soccer...and the parents are in the stands or audience, cheering for their babies. In a word, it's idyllic.
After working in inner-city and OTP Atlanta for 10 years, I was left with the sinking feeling that childhood was a myth. Kids had to deal with food stamps and immigration (and they still do), and were generally learning skills (manipulation and lying) to serve them in a life that I wouldn't be proud, personally, to live. They were learning that school was about test scores and nothing more. It is incredibly disheartening for all parties involved-- parents, kids, teachers, administrators, law enforcement. Where did middle class America go?
I found it! (And I dearly wish it for every kid everywhere.)
The cul-de-sac where I've been finding myself every afternoon, Monday-Friday, has kids with swings, apple trees, scooters, bikes, gardens, friendly Fidos, and sassy cats. There are a group of little boys (ages 5-9) who play outside every day. One was using a magnifying glass (from his chemistry set!) to try to start fires. I shared, "Oh, I used to do that when I was a kid!" and he responded, "My mom said the same. It must be a rite of kid passage." Gulp. Wut? Kids talk like that here.
No Holy Grail outfits, but they looked like this.
The boys also were playing with one of the oldest toys that any parent knows will entertain kids for hours-- a big ole box. I looked out the porch window and thought, "Oh dear. That child has a battle axe."
Box. Best. Toy. Ever.
Yup. The neighborhood boys were demolishing a large box with their medieval (plastic) swords and battle axe. Boys will be boys, but it sure looked like fun to me. They jousted, they hacked, they smashed, they pillaged. And when the box was in pieces (and had been converted also to a dinosaur costume), they placed all the pieces in the recycling bin. One of them asked if I could try to bring a box from my house tomorrow. I promised I'd do my best. (Recycling dumpster, don't fail me!)
One of the boys noticed my State Park sticker in the windshield of my car (oh skills of observation, very coveted!). I felt that I'd been transported to a beach in SoCal-- as he put his little hands up (in a stop gesture) and said, "Whoa! Whoa! Do you go to Eldo, like my Dad? He has a sticker like that on his car from Eldo." -- yeah, bro, the hiking and climbing at Eldo are totally choice.-- Not really, I said, "Oh yeah, this is a State Park pass for Colorado. You can go to any of the parks. You've probably been to Golden Gate Canyon and Cherry Creek? But I like Eldorado Canyon too." Totally rad sticker, dude-bro.
Just painting this picture of the nature of these kids. They play outdoors. They eat actual food (one of the kiddos had a playdate, in which she searched the fridge for cherry tomatoes she'd picked from the garden (because "they'll go perfectly with our snack!") to go with the berries, cheese, and pretzels. They make their beds. They have TV time limits. They are adorable.
So why did I call this post Feminism Friday? Well, one of the kiddos (who's a girl) was having a playdate with two other friends. They carefully sat down at the table and completed their math homework and quizzed each other over their analogies. I interrupted only to remind them at you have to say all the words that the colons stand for in analogies, or they don't really make sense. "Ship is to sailor, not ship dot dot sailor, as the colon suggests." These kids are that driven and sweet. There was no inkling that "math was hard because we're girls" and that's refreshing.
There's tons of statistics (like college enrollment rates) and research that support that women are still underrepresented in the STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics) fields. Women of color (more specifically Black and Latino) are terribly underrepresented, with this fear of science stemming (sorry) from elementary school years. Motivation, gender, and color are huge when it comes to which people will finish school with which degrees. Particularly, Latino girls see themselves as caretakers of others, and will, if they choose to seek a career, mention ones that relate to taking care of children and babies (teacher, day care worker, nurse), more than any other field. It's incredibly limiting and sad as a society to see this play out. The truth is, we need a society with women AND men scientists and doctors. Women and men bring different roles to the proverbial table, which makes better workplaces for us all.
(Quick side note: I just read The Green Glass Sea, which is a children's book that received the Scott O'Dell award for Historical fiction. It was GREAT. It dealt with a girl protagonist living on the base of Los Alamos when they were building the atomic bombs. The kids meet all the scientists you think about learning the early stages of radiation studies. It's a different side of WWII book than I'd read. If you have kids-- 8-12ish, make them read it.)
Imagine my surprise when the girls trotted upstairs to gather (it seemed like) every stuffed animal and
baby doll known to man to bring to the basement to "play daycare." I was a little disheartened-- these are girls who have scientist and engineer parents-- why are they stuck in this gender-role play?
I gave it some time, and laughed as I came downstairs to check on them. The babies were all in the side room-- in quarantine. They were using makeshift cell phones -- calculators, old phones-- to call all the parents at the day care. They'd come, not as day care workers, but as CDC doctors to quarantine the Norovirus. Yes. The Norovirus. One kiddo warned me, "Don't go in there. It's the Norovirus. There's vomit. EVERYWHERE! We have to keep these kids on lock!" They giggled and laughed as they put on their imaginary medical gear to take care of the babies and to put on press conferences about spreading the virus. They put on serious voices and made day care outgoing messages for the parents of the children struck.
With the Ebola virus crippling Africa currently and scaremongering laypeople about hospital care of those aid workers returning home, (even in my native Atlanta and alma mater Emory) it seemed prescient that these kids were playing doctor/scientist/aid worker in the basement in Colorado. They are neatly living this beautiful idyllic childhood, but the real world exists.
And this highly-contagious world may have a few health care workers coming up through the ranks in a few years!!
I've had this feeling. It's been growing- waxing and waning since about May. It's this overwhelming, but not scary, sense of gratitude. A sense that the town crier shouting, "12:00 and all is we-lll," is maybe, just maybe correct. It's late-- past my bedtime for sure. But this peaceful gratitude-- it means All Is Well. All is well? Yes. In two days, I'll be out of my apartment. My apartment was my safe haven, my cozy little spot. It was under 400 square feet-- just a rectangle with a closet, a bathroom, a kitchen, and lots of windows. Since I moved in my sedan, I didn't have furniture. So in August of last year, I was in little apartment with a slightly leaky loaned air mattress and a few boxes, bags, and suitcases of my things. I had a few things shipped from Georgia; I went to Goodwill, Bed, Bath & Beyond, Ikea, and Target; I checked freecycle and on Craigslist. I found an amazing amount of treasure next to the dumpster on my street, just waiting to be discarded, but with a former owner who hoped it could get some more use. Somehow, that little rectangle box with good windows-- it became home. It had my magnets. My cards. My pictures. My books. Somehow, all those things become you, even though 'you' aren't 'stuff,' our 'stuff' makes us feel like we belong. Have roots. In August last year, I bought a futon to sleep on. In November, I decided I was too damn old to sleep on a futon, so I bought a bed. That was a good choice. My little apartment with good windows had a rug, shelves, plants. The plants came from freecycle with many of the pots from Goodwill. Amazing what plants will do for a living space. But a year has come and gone. I've added clothes and accessories to my wardrobe I never needed before my life up here at 5280 feet. Snow boots, thermal layers, woolen socks, a headband with a hole for my ponytail. Hiking gear, running gear, picnic-in-the-park gear. I noticed it when I moved, and it became true for me-- I think Denver people don't mind having small apartments-- because they get to spend so much time in this great grand wonderful outdoors. The sun is shining 300 days a year-- even when it's cold, it's rarely miserable out. All of that stuff came in-- one bag or box at a time and all of it had to leave too. So, here we are and I'm back to being grateful. I sublet my apartment (shh!) while I was in Atlanta for a conference and much-needed family time and it turned out to be the best situation for both of us. My "housesitter" was recently out of a bad relationship and needed a homebase that wasn't squatting on her well-meaning friends' couches. She kept the place clean and nice and took care of my furniture. She's a photographer and makes beautiful art. She paid on time and in full. Can't be anything but grateful there. And here I am again, feeling grateful. A mom I met, selling her that futon that I got back in August, pointed out that she "meets the nicest people on Craigslist." I couldn't agree more. For all that furniture that I required to make my little space mine, a lot of it had to go. The counter stools, the futon, the ottomans, the mounted dish rack, the vacuum, the bed. One by one-- with ads on Facebook (a bust!), posted by apartment laundry rooms and door frames (a bust!), and craigslist ads, I got rid of those pieces one by one. I haven't met one mean person on craigslist. They've all been grateful for the deal they got and excited for the "new to them" from my home to theirs. Two of the women I met selling things I no longer needed? Also started out, this summer instead of last, with a car full of stuff and nothing else-- departing from "back East" to this haven of buildings, mountains, and rivers in Colorado. Something so poetic and cyclical about getting the things that I needed to replace to someone in nearly the same situation, a calendar's turn around the sun later. For all those things I "needed," I realized I had too much. I gave away items on freecycle. I placed books in Little Free Libraries. I brought a load of odds and ends to the Goodwill (the cycle continues!). And somehow, my Christopher could stop gently correcting me for saying "your" apartment to "our" apartment. My magnets and books and jewelry and things were incorporated with his books and video games and art and Das Boot memorabilia. The stuff? It's our stuff. Or it's now someone else's. Lots to be grateful for tonight.
Farewell little Dexter St. apartment. We had good times.
So what about you? Could you distill your life into a few small boxes and bags? Fit everything in the space of a car? What stuff would you get rid of in your life...if you dared?
My dog loves
people, but she knows no fear when she’s on her leash. Back when we lived the
suburbs in Georgia, she would tear out after those grey squirrels like nobody’s
business. When we lived in Atlanta, she would sniff like a bloodhound after
where rats (yes rats, eww) had been. (Atlanta has a bit of a disgusting rat
problem, but I digress.) Now, we’re in Colorado, and there are bunnies. At dawn
and at dusk, the wild rabbits come out to play, and boy-howdy, she takes off
after those bunnies! She drags me, running along behind her with her leash and
harness straining against all her 60 pound strength. There’ve been song birds
too—always where there are rodent critters around. In all her 10 years, I’ve
never seen my dog go after a bird. Just this morning, we went on a walk, and
the rabbits had already gone away, but there were robins and song birds.
There’s one little robin, with its proud blue-black head and shiny coppery
chest, that just tweets and sings, plucks the ground for worms and bugs, and
shows no fear near me and my dog. This robin, has some innate sense—that my dog
doesn't mean any harm to him. He’s just a sweet, singing robin.
A couple weeks ago,
the world lost a robin. Robin Williams allegedly committed suicide in his home
in California. I haven’t kept up with any news reports or sheriff’s details—I
really don’t want to know. Some things are meant to be private, even in this
paparazzi, social-media-laden world. I believe Mr. Williams’ family, friends,
and especially children, deserve the chance to grieve, without commentary from
the world. I greatly respect people who
work or volunteer with the mentally ill, and I deeply respect those among us,
who have the intense call to come to the end before “nature” intended. It’s a
personal decision that takes great suffering to attempt and achieve. As
horrible as suicide is for the survivors, it’s a horrifying space that that
person’s head and heart occupy—for who knows how long, that only the pain of
death can relieve. I write today, not a commentary of Robin Williams’ death,
but my remarks about his life.
I’m sure greater scholars than I have reflected upon Shakespeare’s
writing about suicide and its connections to Robin Williams. In fact, one of
the first films that popped into my head about Robin Williams was What Dreams May Come, a movie adaptation
of a novel. Both the film and the book explore the afterlife in a surreal and
fantastical way. Both knowledge of the afterlife, and the control we have over
it—as humans, bothers us. The novel quite differs from the book—there are some unique
plot points, but I remember when I read
it, I thought, that movie really captured the essence of this book, particularly
Robin Williams’ performances. He (his character, Chris) was so tortured by the
loss of his children and later his wife, that he literally journeyed to hell to
find her. His deceased son attended him in heaven, and what better way could we
imagine heaven to be? It was aesthetically beautiful and his kids were back. The
title of the book, of course, is borrowed from Hamlet’s Soliloquy in Act 3,
Scene 1. (Page 127, if you click on THIS link from the Folger Shakespeare
library.)
I can’t help but ponder some of the connections in this text—and
Williams’ connection to Shakespeare (in parody, in stand up, in referential
performances, and of course in Midsummer
Night’s Dream as depicted in Dead
Poets Society and Neil’s subsequent suicide in that film) foreshadowed some
of the pain and suffering that we, as his audience, were not privy to see. The
high school literature teacher in me can’t help but annotate a few lines from
Hamlet’s speech:
To be, or not to be: that is the question: I
believe we have the right to choose whether we’re here or not. Life is a gift,
of course, but to those suffering, it’s a curse.
To die: to sleep; No more; and by a sleep to say we
end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks Sleep, even
in death, sounds better than thousands of natural shocks and heart ache!
To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; Some say dreams are glimpses of heaven—perhaps it’s true?
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come Here’s that movie title there.
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, The imagery here, of mortality, choking us, coiling around us, never
permitting us rest or sleep—it’s a heavy line of thinking.
Must give us pause:
there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life; I can’t help but mention that Mr. Williams was 63 at his passing. He
acted and shared his life with the world from his 20’s. So long a life, yes, he
gave us many many moments of his.
But that the dread of something
after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
We,
as humans, simultaneously can’t know but desperately want to know (and dread)
the answers of finding out what happens after death.
There are many videos, blogs, news stories, etc. that came up after
Williams’ death about the futility of suicide. I don’t want to debate that in
this light, but I will mention that the National Suicide hotline saw a huge
percentage increase in volunteers offering to man the phones. What a tribute
and what a kindness to come out of the “undiscovered country” of another’s
death.
A much-loved Mork figurine left in honor of Williams
Speaking of tributes, and living in Colorado, I didn’t realize it, but
the house in which the TV show Mork and
Mindy was set is in Boulder, only about half an hour north of where I live.
My boyfriend and I went to visit it—to pay our own respects, and bring a candle
in honor of the memory of Mr. Williams and his beloved alien character Mork. There were cards, letters, flowers,
eggs, candles, a Mork action figure, and a Gameboy (as Robin Williams was a
huge gaming fan). Even as I sit here at my boyfriend’s desk, a huge poster of
“The Legend of Zelda” looms over me. Williams was so inspired by the game and
Nintendo, he named his own daughter Zelda.My graphic designer boyfriend Chris took these photos while I walked around, re-lit candles, lit
my own St. Jude candle, and read people’s missives and messages honoring Mork
and Robin Williams. The paper that caught my eye and caused a lump to grow in
my throat? That of a little cut out piece of paper in big, scrawly kid
penmanship, stating, “I love you Genie!!”
That paper memorial jumped to my heart as I remembered another entertainer’s death and
how it impacted me as a young child. Jim Henson, creator of the Muppets, died
of cancer on my actual birthday, when I was 7 years old. To that point in my
life, I’d never known anyone who’d died and Henson’s death hit me like a truck.
I went out to my backyard that day after school, eschewing my birthday dinner,
and made play-doh and clay muppets as a mini-shrine under the pine trees. I
felt like I’d been hit in the gut, that Jim Henson had left ME personally—and
seeing that small kid’s writing—brought all that back to me.
Variety of signs, flowers, candles, notes, tributes
Candles, Ork Eggs, letters at 1619 Pine St.
My childhood was of course, charmed, as most childhoods are, but it had
a great deal of heartache too. My siblings and I watched Nick @ Nite—so we saw
old, quality comedies, including Mork and
Mindy. Our family favorite movies were the Marx Brothers. I bellowed the lyrics for nearly every Rodgers and Hammerstein show tune. The Genie of Aladdin spoke to all that entertainment.
What talent Mr. Williams shared with me and my siblings (dozens of times on
VHS) of the Genie’s voices, accents, and songs. I didn’t associate
myself with being a princess or an orphan; I was the dancing, singing, helpful
one. I even had a big Genie pillow that I snuggled with each night. Even though he was sad and
trapped, he could still sing about it.
Around the time that Disney was
revamping gorgeous cartoon feature length movies, my family kind of shattered. It
was a huge adjustment and my father was absent for many big (and small)
milestones. I had so much heartache and I felt like something
was missing from ME because my dad wasn't in our lives. (See the note below.) I
don’t care how it sounds, Robin Williams was a surrogate “screen” dad to
me during those years. There was comfort in the fact that there were
writers writing movies and movies getting produced about dads that either weren't there or wanted so desperately to be in their kids’ lives. It meant I wasn't alone. And it meant that there were some dads out there, loving the shit out of
their kids.
Another film we watched dozens of
times, Hook, has a line, where Peter
Banning’s wife Moira, admonishes the dad Peter, saying, “You’re missing it,
Peter.” It echoed so much of my mother’s frustration with my own father. He was
“missing” our childhoods—the few precious years that childhood exists. Of
course, that film explores what childishness is versus childlike innocence, and
how kids deserve to hope and dream, and have their parents support them. The
line that Hook states to Peter, “Death is the only great adventure I have
left,” and Peter retorts, “No. To Live. To live is the greatest adventure.” How
I longed for my dad to have wanted to swoop in and save us from whatever ‘pirates’
existed, but I had Robin Williams as my screen dad to do it for me.
So many people are touched by his works.
Another one from that time is the
comedy Mrs. Doubtfire. It’s a divorced
dad who loses contact with his kids, so he dresses as an old lady in order to
be able to be around them. Once again, I wanted to be Mara Wilson, the little
girl in that film, or the singing little sister in Hook “When you’re alone, you’re not really alone,” so that my dad
would want to be around me and my siblings. Around this time too, I watched
Showtime’s Faerie Tale Theatre episodes—either ones that my grandmother had
taped for us, or reruns on the Disney channel. I was in late elementary school
when I started noticing celebrity—and that it was so neat that some famous
actors were in these shows made for kids. How generous of them! The Frog
King—where Robin Williams was a prince trapped in a slightly disturbing looking
frog outfit, stood out to me. I’d seen Aladdin, Hook, Mrs. Doubtfire…I couldn't get enough of this actor. I just had to see his whole body of work! One Friday
evening, I remember going to Blockbuster and handing my mom Goodmorning, Vietnam as my video that I
wanted to rent that weekend. My mom didn't quite explain it to me, but said,
no, I needed to pick something from the children’s section. How the 10-year-old
me would have been shocked by my hero’s language!
My family continued to be a
source of turmoil in my middle school years when Jumanji came out. My younger siblings and I loved this movie, even
though there were definitely some suspenseful and scary parts! The pain of the
father’s disdain for his son, as well as how the adult Alan and Sarah looked
out for the kids through so much danger and adventure, echoed with me
then. Robin Williams was so brave! Alan
and Sarah were going to be such good parents, I knew it. As I've become an
adult, it’s a film that I've used when teaching, because of all the imagery and
excitement. Kids in my classes from elementary to high school have learned
about writing and sculpting scenes from that movie.
A few other movies I’ve taught
with (in high school) are Swing Kids
and Dead Poets Society. Swing Kids doesn’t have Mr. Williams,
but it has the WWII era roots of students going against the grain of society
that the 1960’s DPS portrays oh so
well. The Thoreau lesson—“sucking the marrow out of the bones of life,” is one
my students quote back to me. Taking the kids outside to teach them to step out
of a pattern—to stand out? I’ve done that lesson for Iambic Pentameter. The
ripping out the boring literature book pages echo Billy Collins’ poem
“Introduction to Poetry”—I know he was playing a role, but it inspired some of
my best subversive and humanities-based teaching. The look of sadness in those
bright blue eyes, when he hears of Neil’s suicide—it portrays so much loss and
so much innocence gone, from the man who was the leader, the smart one, the
“Captain, my Captain.” How does one teach literature without that movie?
In about 40 minutes, more than a dozen came to pay tribute.
On a lighter note, my life
progressed and I survived my childhood (as we all do) and I no longer felt the
same attachment to Robin Williams’ screen roles in my childhood as an adult. I
knew he was making brave choices. I knew there were good movies of his that I
saw, some I haven’t, but I will now. The relationship portrayed by Nathan Lane
and Williams as two loving parents, aging and their child getting married—it’s
some of the most beautiful and touching examples of celluloid on the subject of
family.I’ve seen live stage
performances of The Bird Cage, yet
there are tons of lines from that movie that I just adore. They’re redecorating
the apartment to look “straight” and the gay club dancers keep adding over the
top things that surely all hetero people have in their homes—the candles, giant
cross, moose head, and he bellows, “Subtract, don’t add!” I hear his voice
every time I’m shopping at Ikea. I have enough stuff in my home. Subtract,
don’t add!!
1619 Pine Street in Boulder, Colorado
As time has
progressed, childhood has become but a memory, and the technology has surpassed
anything I could have imagined in the 90’s, I've been able to rewatch Sesame
Street clips on youtube—sometimes when I’m teaching, and sometimes when I’m
feeling nostalgic for a lighter time. Maybe I realized I watched Robin Williams
when I was a very small child, maybe I didn't. Toddlers and small kids don’t
understand celebrity, and frankly, I didn't really understand that some of the
people on Sesame Street were people and some were puppets. (Ah, Jim Henson, you
did great work.)
In searching for a
few things, I came across this gem of a video of Mr. Robin Williams from
several decades ago on Sesame Street. He acted on Sesame Street because it was
a job, I’m sure. But he acted on Sesame Street because it was something he
could show his kids. And for that, I’m grateful. (Note: I have read a few
headlines that people have been unkind to Williams’ grown children in the last
few weeks, and to that, I say, shame on those who seek attention that hurts
others. And I also say to Williams’ three kids, a heartfelt thank you. Thank
you for sharing your dad with the world. Some of us didn’t have a dad who would
fight for them, the way he did in his movies. I hope that you felt as much love
from him as he shared with the world.)
And on that note, I
leave a small clip. It reminded me of the little brave robin that was out while
I walked my dog this morning. Little brave Robin, we’re not so much different,
on the inside and outside. Depression is a real disease, which requires
understanding from loved ones and treatment.
Let’s be gentle with each other. Let’s not be scared of things that are different, because we’re all similar in some ways. Be strong, friends. Hold each other up. Shine.
Note: My father and
I have reconciled in the past few years. There are many words to be said, and
many years that have passed without words, but there is no time like the
present. I don’t write this as an insult to my dad, but as my words of truth
about the years in this little girl’s life where she felt broken and abandoned.
If there’s anything to be said, it’s that time heals many, many wounds, and
thank goodness to those surrogates around us who give us strength when we need
it.
I have quite a few blog posts to catch up on! There was a lovely long trip back home to Georgia, a surprisingly awesome cross-country road trip in a fancy car, many hikes in the Rocky mountain air, a change in job positions, and quite a few new experiences I've just GOT to chronicle in words. But for today, here's a couple pictures and thoughts about eating-- eating well and eating in.
For budgetary reasons, Chris and I are eating at home a lot and trying to use many interesting ingredients for the foods we usually tend to enjoy out. I follow the rules of thumb put forth by Lisa Leake from 100 Days Of Real Food about cooking, limiting numbers of ingredients, and working hard to cut processed food out of our daily diets. I also am an avid reader of Michael Pollan'sOmnivore's Dilemma and The Botany of Desire. Chris has a copy of the Forks Over Knives book and enjoyed the information presented in the documentary.
What a mess!
As an educator, I'm very concerned about childhood obesity, childhood hunger (and the health ramifications of that!), and the dangers of irresponsible foods being placed in school lunches. That's another soapbox (food crate?) for another day. The bracket on the door of the refrigerator cracked and broke this week, leaving a mess to clean up and less space to contain ALL THE FOODS I insist on stocking. All this stuff was in the door. A couple of glass bottles containing different things also bit the dust. Oh well.
So, for my blog post at a (failed) attempt at "Wordless Wednesday," I give you our fridge:
We seem to adore Target brands. (Hey, when their organic brands are priced better than the national brand, and have better packaging, why not?) And Trader Joe's. And dairy. There are at least a half dozen kinds of cheese in there. Plus lots of yogurt. My spoiled dog gets yogurt with every meal. << I wonder how a boy from America's Dairyland of Wisconsin and a vegetarian got so much cheese. Hah. >>
There's produce in the drawers-- romaine lettuce (it lasts so much longer when you chop it for salad yourself), Colorado peaches, peppers, kale (we have kale chips several times a week), apples, and zucchini and cucumbers from a local farm.
I have my Redd's Apple ale and Rocky Mountain peach whiskey plus Chris has all the summer Leinenkugal brews (another WI staple) stocked.
What're all those green wraps on things? A decade ago, some nice folks I was housesitting for (Ginny and Steve!) used these weird reusable green bags for produce. I was skeptical, but you can't argue with a product that works. You just toss your produce into these green bags, deflate the bags, and twist them closed. They work against the chlorophyll in the plant's cells going bad or something sciencey. The bottom line is, they are an investment in healthy eating! You can rinse and reuse the bags again and again and they still protect your food from going bad as quickly. Sounds like "As Seen on TV," but they work. There's heirloom tomatoes, blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries wrapped up still in their containers there.
Onto the door-- we have quite a few dressings! I have been on a Caesar salad kick as of late. The Trader Joe's caesar dressing is perfect to me. Horseradish is versatile too. Oh, so it would seem we like spicy and flavorful too! 3 kinds of hot sauce? We're on fiyah!
From L-R, clockwise: Smuckers Simply Fruit (nat'l), Organic grape jelly made by my students (CO), One Screw Loose special edition Orange Lavender (GA), and Kay's Kitchen Apple Butter (CO).
Couple of sweets in there too-- we tend to buy jams and jellies from farmer's markets-- some here in Denver and some I've shlepped back from Atlanta (One Screw Loose is from Barnesville) and aim for the ones with juice/wine/beer/fruit mixed with pectin. That's what you need to get into a good jam. Organic TJ's Hershey's? Doesn't have HFCS. Raspberry agave? Makes a great raspberry hot chocolate or mocha.
Last but not least-- I think I left off the savory! We tend toward Italian food and stir-fry, so the low-sodium soy sauce is great. I like the Amino Acid spray too-- I use it in salad dressings and as an alternative to soy sauce. Tastes just right.
A couple tips for a healthier fridge:
Sort your foods. It's easier to find what you want that way.
Buy healthier food. Seems like "duh," but you can't eat it if you don't buy it.
Vote with your dollar. Choose carefully-- local, organic, avoiding big agro-- whatever your interest.
Remember to eat it! Place to-go containers or leftovers front and center so you remember to eat them before they go bad. Remember granny always said, "Waste not, want not."
Keep it cool. Place eggs, milk, meats toward the back where the temperature won't fluctuate as much as it does in the door.
What's in your fridge? Any dirty little secret foods?
