206. Wings

Did I post this before? I think I am losing it!



- excuse the typos...posted via Windo's iPhone

205. Puzzled

I came home tonight and had so many things to do. I taught almost the whole day so I hadn't checked my email, voice mail, graded, read, walked, photographed... anything on my standard lists of things to do. Katie and I have been working on this puzzle. It is particularly hard because almost every piece fits together. You have to watch the shapes and colors on the pieces ever so carefully to be sure the piece really works. I have had to undo and redo several sections in order to complete them. Tonight I could have done a thousand other things, but I started working on the puzzle and had trouble moving away from it. As you can see, its still not done. Ug.

204. Space case

Soccer season is two weeks away. This is the time of year that I am likely to lose my voice every Saturday yelling from the sidelines. I yell the same thing over and over, "Abbey wake up! Where's the ball?" Abbey likes to space out on the field. She seems more interested in the light on the grass than the ball game. I wonder where she gets that from?

203. Walk

Many of my friends and family know I am attempting to walk 40 miles in one weekend in order to raise many for breast cancer research. The Avon Walk is in two weeks and I have been training for almost one year. Unfortunately I feel I am not ready. I have been walking every week, several times a week but have had some serious set backs due to blisters. I think that I have finally tackled the blister problem - a combination of calluses, powder, bandaids, second skin, moleskin, new shoes, new socks, and new orthodics. But in the meantime I just couldn't walk more than about 10 miles. Now the blisters are under control I am trying to turn up the mileage. The day was beautiful (not too hot) and free of obligations, so I decided to walk until I just couldn't walk any more. I could only make it 18 miles. That is a whole 8 shy of what I need to do in one day in just two weeks. Just not good enough. I am truly frustrated!

202. Dressing up

I spent a chunk of the day watching my colleague and friend photograph a house for a book on modern architectural design. The house was incredible and I felt as if I had walked into a architectural magazine as I entered the front gate. Even though the house was beautiful, each room was redressed to perfection by an interior designer. All personal effects stripped from the shot and a cleaner image was recreated with props. Once the room was dressed the photographic proofs were scrutinized on a laptop and vases, jugs, plates, and other props were moved just so until perfection was achieved.

I couldn't help but notice how much the work flow of photography has changed. We all used to be so careful. Proofs were done with expensive polaroid film - less proofs saved money. The photographer now shoots tethered to a laptop and a click of the "K" key will take a shot - no extra cost. During the process photographer, two assistants, and two interior designers huddle around the laptop to discuss the image and then they all scatter to make the necessary changes before returning to view the next proof. The whole team works until the shot is satisfactory and then it onto to the next set. If something isn't perfect...photoshop. No surprises when your film comes back from the lab. Actually, no lab. Convenient.

201. Nightmare

Wondering if I have any good photos left in me or if I am spent?

200. Piece of Cake

Post 200... if this was Hollywood somebody would have thrown me a party and baked me a cake. Too bad this isn't a sitcom.

199. Voyeur

My friend had to run to the airport tonight after her child was asleep. She asked me to come babysit her sleeping child. I got here about 10pm and again had put little thought into tonight's blog. At least had the forethought to bring the laptop and the trusty iPhone. First step? I need a photograph. I start taking photographs but it feels so wrong, so creepy. Nikki is a good friend. I am sure she doesn't mind me taking photographs in her house. I not searching through any cabinets, just taking photographs of the way things are displayed and organized in plain sight. But it feels so wrong. Why I am not sure.

When I was a teenager a lady knocked on our front door. I have never met her before. She asked to speak with my mother. After their conversation she asked me to babysit. I didn't want to. I babysat rarely in my youth. My first gig consisted of a 9 month old vomiting all over me and my house for a few hours. When the mother returned she was apologetic and gave me a whole $2 per hour. Of course that didn't include an hourly wage for the cleaning up vomit for the rest of the afternoon. The second babysitting job I was talked into consisted of watching a set of twins girls, daughters of my dad's friends from Mexico. They didn't speak a word of English but they were older, may be 6, so I finally agreed to it. Not 10 minutes after my parents and their parents left for dinner one of them had an accident (no. 2) in her pants. She was embarrassed and tried to clean it up herself rather than ask for help. It was everywhere and of course the smell made all three of us... you guessed it... vomit!

Back to the lady that knocked on my mother's door. She wanted me to babysit her two year old daughter, every Friday night after the kid was asleep. Her husband and her just wanted to get out together. Given my job experience I reluctantly agreed. I went over to her house about 9 pm. It was dark and quiet. She asked me to not watch television because the child was a light sleeper. For several Fridays I sat in the dark afraid to make a noise - I never heard or met the child. To this day I am not sure there really was a child. This went on for a few weeks and I was so creeped out by the nights at her house that I decided to quit. The lady probably thought I was nuts. Not that I am disagreeing with her - she paid me well and I didn't have to do anything for the money. I wish I had thought to bring my camera.

198. Nil

197. Complaints Department

Considering I tried to quit last night and no one noticed I can't believe I decided to torture myself more tonight. My husband's comment is "Stop bitching and either do it or don't. But it's annoying to read 2 out 5 posts complaining that you have to work on you blog."

It's my blog and I will bitch if I want to!

- excuse the typos...posted via Windo's iPhone

196. Uncle

abandon

buckle under

capitulate

cave in

cede

commit

concede

consign

deliver up

eat crow

eat humble pie

entrust

fall

fold

forego

give in

go along with

go down

go under

hand over

knuckle

knuckle under

leave

let go

pack it in

part with

play dead

put up white flag

quit

relinquish

renounce

roll over

submit

succumb

throw in the towel

toss it in

waive

yield

...just may be

195. What it must be like.

By Sarah Brill


Tonight I get to guest blog on my sister's site. A privelege in my world. Being the baby, everything my sister does has always been bigger, better, cooler and impossible. So, when the moments come that she welcomes me into her world and trusts me to take the reigns, I always feel a sense of accomplishment.

We shared a bathroom once upon a time, my sister and I. She was 18. I was 3. The epicenter of my awe for her, that bathroom was. I remember sitting on the counter, in a trance, watching her apply her makeup. It was in there that she told me purple was her favorite color. It was in there that she magically revealed 'No More Tangles' so that combing through my matted curly hair wasn't such a nightmare. It was in there that I imagined where she must have been going, who she must have been going to see, and what her magical life must have been like.

This afternoon a parallel universe came to be. I arrived at my sister's house and found my two nieces, busily at work in their own bathroom practicing their makeup skills. Abbey, takes after her mom. Her favorite color is purple too, but she likes it for her eyeshadow. Katie sprayed almost an entire can of hairspray into her hair. They made faces and imagined themselves preparing for an evening out as adult girls. I found myself, once again, wondering, what it must be like. Only this time, I am the adult and not the child.

What's it like to be a child? To not have a care in the world. Where the power of imagination is enough to create enough excitement to last a lifetime. Where the act of spending time in a bathroom with a sister is the best place a person could imagine being.

Actually, I know exactly what it's like because I remembered that feeling this afternoon as I watched Katie and Abbey immerse themselves in the task they had in front of them. I was reminded of the importance of the moment. Sometimes wondering what it's like someplace else can remind us that we are exactly where we need to be.

194. 12¢

193 posts have generated $26.80 in ad revenue. This blog was never about making money but I really thought that 6 months of hard work would yield more earnings. I suppose as artists that is why we make art for art sake more than for profit. I can't help but think about Ansel Adams. Yes, his work reached technical perfection and his subject matter was breathe taking, but it was his knack for self promotion that made him legendary.  I got none of it... and I like it that way.

193. End of Summer

Really, summer is almost over? Not the season, but the vacation. Back to school and wishing there were more lazy days ahead. But summer wasn't really as relaxing as I thought it may be.

192. Line up the Shot

Most my friends don't know I have a hidden talent for miniature golf. Do you think it has something in common with photography?

- excuse the typos...posted via Windo's iPhone

191. Anger

I had a long chat with my step mom tonight. Someone who has always been there for me in my life. Someone that taught me to appreciate fine art. Someone that taught me it is ok not to be perfect. In our conversation she said something that stuck with me, "A child deserves nothing that is said in anger."  So true, so profound.

Anger, a natural yet destructive force - like a tornado. It comes out of the blue, often unexpected and unpredictable. It demolishes everything in its path. Leaves absolute destruction in its wake. It is still nature - a natural human emotion. It can't be controlled.

Since my step dad died and my mom's health has declined I feel angry a lot of the time. I hate being angry. I don't want this feeling, but its here. It comes from the inability to change ones position. The lack of power. The feeling of helplessness or the feeling that you are not being listened to. I rationally understand its origins and manifestations but I can't control it. I just want it to go away.

This week we have had to hire a caregiver to help my mother - against her will. My mom is angry. She has tried so hard to care of herself since my step dad died. But she has lost weight and her disease causes enough confusion that her doctor insisted that we have a caregiver for her. My mother's anger is real. She has lost control and does not have the ability to change what is happening to her body. She feels betrayed and disrespected by her children. I am the child that lives the closest - the child that provides the most care. So the anger is directed at me. It sucks - there is no eloquent way to put it. I try so hard not to disagree or argue with her, but every conversation ends in with the silent treatment. I just want my mom back.

Tonight when I got home I cried. Katie asked me what was wrong. I told her that my mom was angry with me. I told her that I hoped that when I got older I wouldn't do that to her. Katie responded, "I can handle it mama, you are always angry with me." Ouch. She's right.

I can't change what is happening in my life - I feel my step dad's terminal cancer and my mom's Parkinson's disease has robbed me of plans and dreams that will never be realized. I am angry, pissed, or as Ken always corrected, irritated. My patience is thin. Obviously my kids noticed and I haven't been there in the calm and patient way a mother should be.

I have been told be many that the anger my mom directs at me is the disease talking and not really her. I have been told that I need to ignore it or look past it. So much easier said than done.

190. Light headed

I have to return to the office tomorrow and classes begin in a week. After spending a time teaching at 11,000 feet it is really hard to refocus on the lecture hall. I know I am being a little redundant this week, but it is hard to think of much else.

189. Preteen

In my mind she is still a toddler, but staring at this photograph I realize she is closer to becoming a woman than remaining a child.

188. Climb

My good friend Nikki took our girls out climbing today. What an incredible experience. All of the girls got a bit freaked out at first but eventually rallied for a second and stronger climb. As a child I was active - soccer, softball, ballet, but I was never able to try and climb a rock wall. I think what they learned today and the fear they over came is not comparable to any traditional learning experience. For the last two years teaching photography in the field and witnessing experiential learning it is getting harder and harder to think about the lecture hall I will be in for the next 16 weeks. How did we end up with the traditional and passive learning model anyway? It is a terrible model.

- excuse the typos...posted via Windo's iPhone

187. Subject

Even with the speed of today's camera the subject has to be some what cooperative. Curtis wasn't interested in being the subject tonight...

186. Plans

Life is not turning out as I planned. Since I was a little kid I liked to plan, make lists, and visualize my future goals. This has worked out well for me. I wanted to study and teach photography. I wanted a kind and dedicated husband. I wanted five great kids, but readjusted for two (this demonstrates well thought out flexibility in my planning.) As a teacher I planned to have the summers off to spend with my family. All this is fine.

What I didn't plan for is the declining health of my parents. In my visions they were always there supporting me. As I don't really see myself aging, I never saw them getting older.

When I was pregnant with my first child, Katie, my mom and I loved to go shopping for baby clothes and furniture. After, we would go to a long lunch and talk about the future. My mom was 60 at the time and wanted to retire and spend more time with all her grandchildren. And for the first couple years she was able to. But a few years ago, about the time she finally retired both her and my step-dad's health started to fail. This changed my plans, all our plans in a way that is so hard to remedy.

This last year has been terribly overwhelming - trying to deal with both Ken's death and my mom's continued declining health. Today, another hard day of many, made me realize that it is the lack of ability to plan that makes these days so much harder than any others.

185. No Joke

For the last fifteen hours in the car I listened to comedy CDs - Curtis' preferred choice of entertainment. Something that I have put up with for years.  I am a very literal person. I don't have a sense of humor. I don't know how to lighten up. Curtis on the other hand is a natural comedian. Quick whitted and hilarious. Opposites attract.

I can't help not having a sense of humor. Its just the way I was born. And then my environment didn't help. My parents were serious. I don't believe that I have ever heard my mother or step-mother ever tell a joke - ever. My biological dad only tells inappropriate racist or sexist jokes. My step-dad was hilarious, but we laughed at him as he laughed along.  So generally I never had a chance.

I think Curtis (and now our children) know I am an easy target and enjoy time as a family because it is easy to make me the butt of their jokes. Even though I don't have a sense of humor, I can take it.  But there is one thing that I can't stand... it is some of the comedy dialog that Curtis likes. We have fought about it in the past and will likely disagree about it in the future.  I understand that each generation of comedy needs to push the line further than their forefathers, but when does that line become totally inappropriate? A few years ago I got back into my car after Curtis had borrowed it. The radio was on and Howard Stern instantly started to assalt me. The conversation I entered into the middle of had to do with a joke about gang raping a woman from behind. I was shocked and appalled. I didn't anything funny in the issuing conversation. I was absolutely disgusted. And every time Curtis wants to listen to comedy I get incensed thinking about this Howard Stern episode I was subjected to. He thinks that I over react to everything - likely.

So when is comedy ok? From this not so funny person... I think it isn't ok to make jokes about hatred and violence. Curtis' defense is, "Because they joke about it, doesn't mean they want to do it." But to me, rape just isn't funny in no way, shape, or form. Neither is genocide or racism. That is the line I draw. I wasn't born with a sense of humor. I may try to lighten up a bit, but I am not moving the line - never. No joke.

184. 12 hours

12 hours on the road. Oregon Coast to Redding with several stops in between - juevos rancheros, doughnuts, and Arbys. Watched my feet against the dashboard for much of it and thought about how I really need a manicure.

- excuse the typos...posted via Windo's iPhone

183. Go Fly a Kite

1. What I'd like to be doing.

2. What I'd like to tell my blog to do.

- excuse the typos...posted via Windo's iPhone

Location: On the road from Manzanita Beach, Oregon

182. Anal

Half of 365 is 182 1/2 ... I have felt a lot of anxiety about tonight's post. Am I half way through this crazy project? Or just on the cusp of half way? Crazy as it seems I don't want to celebrate pre-maturely. I tried to discuss the matter with Curtis and my friend Dave and they both had a similar reaction - does it matter? This is my blog, my rules, if I want celebrate who cares. And as Dave noted how many people really have time to read the blog any way. True, all true. But to me it matters. I wasn't sure I could make it a month much less six. So here I am splitting hairs...being overly anal about the rules of this blog. Did I make it? Am I half way?

181. Road Trip

We have been away from home and on a road trip for the past 8 days visting friends and family all over the Northwest. When you jump on a plane and fly from one city to another it is like climbing abroad some strange time machine - you sense of how far away from home and reference of time is completing thrown out of whack. But when you drive,  you realize how far home is. You gain a deeper understanding of the changing landscape, temperature, architecture, and community as you pass through town after town. I love the experience of a road trip.

When I was a child it was torture. Boredom can overwhelm a child in a matter of hours and spending more than a few hours in the car with my parents made them turn into demons when we asked, "Are we almost there?" Even though I hated it, I think I learned to enjoy a long road trip by driving to my dad's house in Colorado, or going skiing in Utah with my mom.  Because once I grew up I couldn't wait to spend the summer touring the country in our car, family in tow.

My kids have it easy. Several years ago we bought an inexpensive portable DVD player that hangs across the two seats. They watch movie after movie all day with little awareness of the landscape that changes past their windows. I wrestle with this DVD player on every trip. I know that it lessens the torture of the lengthly car rides, but it also allows them to be obvious to what I want to absorb about the various places we drive by. The road trip is instead a string of movies linked together with bathroom and fastfood pit stops in between.

180. Such Thing...

I think there may be such a thing as too much fun. We are still in the Seattle area and spent the second day investigating the city and hanging out with friends. It is well after midnight and I can't keep my eyes open. More on our adventures tomorrow.

179. In Vain

In Vancouver we went to visit the site of 2010 Olympic Torch. As  we came around the corner a woman dressed in heels and a shorter than short mini dress was setting up a camera and tripod. From that moment on it was difficult to watch anything other than this woman - she was taking self portraits with a wireless remote. As she was methodically working on her photographs she was oddly oblivious to the many other tourists that were also documenting their experience at the place. Minutes later a young man without a shirt joined in the mix. The two, the half-dressed man and scantily-clad woman, didn't seem to know each other or acknowledge each other's existence. Given their similarity of dress (or lack there of), vanity, and timing it seemed hardly a coincidence they should both be a the torch site that day. May be a modeling gig with no crew? May be it was performance piece? A flash mob that we didn't stay around to see? At the time we were tired and hungry and wanted to get back across the border. But of course now I am dying to know.

178. Over Easy

There is something very odd about this blog... when I have had a hard day, a really hard day full of frustration and conflict it seems that it is easier to write. When I have had an easy day like today - a day of old friends, warm conversation, and hanging with my children I struggle to put my fingers to the keyboard and fill the scene with text. 

177. Pass on it

For someone who leads a fairly boring and normal life I have a bunch of irrational fears. I don't like flying. I don't like elevators. I don't like heights. I absolutely hate tunnels -  particularly if they go underwater. Vacationing in the Northwest is always a bit anxiety provoking for me.

To deal with the first fore-mentioned fear I make my family drive instead of fly. This take a total of 4 days of the the vacation allotment to drive to and from Los Angeles to anywhere north of Grant's Pass. I try and sell it under the guise that as a family we can experience more on the way up and the way down by stopping at National Parks or visit friends and family members. Whether my husband buys the idea or not is irrelevant - it is more likely that he just puts up with my phobias. The girls are too young to really know how much I hate flying, but they are beginning to catch on.

It is not that I don't fly, or ride in an elevator, or cross a bridge, or drive under the bay... I do all these things, but I hate them. Today, we drove across the bridge at Deception Pass that links the islands of Whidbey and Fidalgo in upper Washington State. It is an impressive bridge you can not only drive across, but walk across to enjoy the view.  On the way back to Whidbey Island tonight (we crossed the bridge for the second time) we stopped to take in the sunset. I got out and walked across the bridge. It wasn't graceful or with confidence but I did do it. It would have been easier to pass on the experience and wait in the car. But I know I have all these crazy irrational fears and the only way that I can keep them from ruling my life is to tackle them head on. I set out on the bridge and just kept inching forward. I thought I would pass out, but didn't. My brain starts to play tricks on me... the wind could pick me up and whip me over the railing... the seam in the concrete is starting to separate and it is only a matter of minutes before the bridge crumbles... my foot will slip through the narrow slit between the bottom rail and the ground... etc. I have to constantly knock these thoughts out of my head to keep me from losing it.

I thought that as I got older and wiser that some of these fears would lessen and dissolve... but actually it is just the opposite. I have to work hard to keep fears from being added to the list. This week we are visiting my Aunt on Whidbey Island. We were chatting about the fears that we have in common - there are a lot of them. May be it is genetic? That would be an easier excuse for my insanity.

176.