Souvenir Foto School
One of the best times I have ever had blogging was when I participated in Tristan’s Souvenir Foto School, Alphabet Edition. (That link is to my collection of images and posts that came from the project.) The assignment was to take an image a day that represented a letter in the alphabet, but I decided it would be fun to write a short story or journal entry with each picture and post it here on the blog. After 26 days I was exhausted, but I think I was being a major wimp. A year later I did Nester’s 31 Day series. That’s exhaustion.
I’m doing the project again this year. We’ll see how and where I post the images. I’m still deep in my multi-step decision making process and will know more once the ink dries on all my decision matrices. If you want to join me, you can learn more about the project, including price, here. Full disclosure: I’m not paying the fee for the class. I’m helping Tristan with the Besotted Brand look-book, so we decided to call it even.
Last year, my only goal was to complete the project. This year, I want a collection of images that are consistent in tone, mood, and subject matter. I want to have a look! It’s on my life list to improve my photography skills and become adept at using my camera. Participating in projects like this will help me to that end. I hope.
Unstyled Life
On Wednesday afternoon I danced along the fine edge of parenthood we all have, the one that separates the parent you can be from the fallible adult you are. I do a fair job keeping my foibles and neuroses from affecting the way I parent. Like almost everyone else, I keep out that which I don’t want them to model with the help of a self-made retaining wall–but the Hero of Haarlem is proof that doesn’t always work. What you try to keep out will find a crack and trickle in. As a parent, it’s my job to see the leak and plug it.
I was helping Mikey with his picture of an allosaurus attacking a triceratops when Nicholas reached across the coffee table and reached for the pastels. He wanted them because he watched me explain to Mikey how they work, how you can shade and blend and mix to make color progressions and all around awesomeness.
“Nicholas, please don’t. Use your crayons, please.” He looked disappointed; he wanted to be like his big brother. I wanted to avoid a mess; I didn’t want them to get on the carpet or sofa. I didn’t want them to break or wear down. He reached for them again, and I sighed.
“Nicholas,” and I paused, trying to think of a nice way to say don’t touch my stuff. I couldn’t figure out a way to say please don’t touch my pastels from college, the ones I used one semester 19 years ago, the ones we found last summer buried under decades worth of memories in your grandparent’s storage unit. Please don’t touch those.
I felt ashamed.
Search for cracks. Find the leak. Plug the dyke.
When we were kids, my youngest brother and I used to roshambo over who would swipe the knife across a new tub of margarine. Neither one of us wanted to do it–it looked nice and new and pretty with it’s little dollop on top. After the first swipe, we could care less. Smart Balance for everyone! But there was something about that first swipe. Same thing with new clothing, or socks and underwear. I used to buy what I needed and then continue to wear my ratty t-shirts and socks into oblivion. I wanted my new stuff to stay new as long as possible. I thought I was over that silliness but, so it would seem, pastels bring out the cray-cray in me.
“You know what, Nicholas, go ahead and use the pastels. Use the q-tips and cotton balls like mama showed Mikey. And use these, too. These are called oil pastels, and you can blend them with your fingers.”
A happy Nicholas started coloring, and Mikey continued outlining his picture of a dinosaur, and I got up to stretch my back and crack my knees because sitting on the floor to color for more than an hour is almost as hard as parenting. The picture of Nicholas and me dancing underneath a layer of pastels (and crayons and pencils and charcoal) is worth the achy joints.
Return All the Things
If ever I needed proof of my type-A personality, my suffocating need for achievement and perfection, or my tendency to over-think, over-analyze, and over-everything, I could point to my 25th birthday present. My mom, aware of what I really needed, bought me Simple Abundance: A Daybook of Comfort and Joy by Sarah Ban Breathnach. But I won’t, because it is far more telling that I never opened the book until this summer, 14 years after the fact.
Of course, I opened it back then on my birthday. I read the inscription and smiled, as good daughters do. I even carried it with me on the flight home (I was visiting my parents in Lake Tahoe) and when the pretty Indian woman in her 30s leaned over to ask me what I thought of the book, I looked down at the book in my lap and said, “I haven’t read it, but I’m sure it’s good.” She smiled back with a look that said she knew me.
I found the book in my childhood room, lost among all the other books. It was shortly after Helena’s parents died, and I grabbed it because it seemed much more relevant 14 years later. I had changed.
Then I opened the book and noticed it was a devotional of sorts, that there is a short essay for each day of the year and that the first date is, naturally, January 1. The introduction said to not worry about dates, and that “if this book finds you in April, don’t think that you can’t use it.”
I closed the book again–this time bringing it home for safekeeping–and made a mental note to start reading in January. I hadn’t changed that much.
On January 3rd, I read the following.
There are six principles that will act as guides as we make our inner journey over the next year. These are the six threads of abundant living which, when woven together, produce a tapestry of contentment that wraps us in inner peace, well-being, happiness, and a sense of security. First, there is gratitude. When we do a mental and spiritual inventory of all that we have, we realize that we are very rich indeed. Gratitude gives way to simplicity–the desire to clear out, pare down, and realize the essentials of what we need to live truly well. Simplicity brings with it order, both internally and externally. A sense of order in our life brings us harmony. Harmony provides us with the inner peace we need to appreciate the beauty that surrounds us each day, and beauty opens us to joy. But just as with any beautiful needlepoint tapestry, it is difficult to see where one stitch ends and another begins. So it is with Simple Abundance.
I wrote the word Excellent in the margin.
It was the very thing I needed to hear, that it’s okay many of the projects I do are practical, boring, not even remotely pinnable. There is an order to things, and before I can get to zshushing I have to work on the foundation. Otherwise, it’s just lipstick on a pig.
We hosted a dinner for out of town relatives a few days before Christmas. Our advent candles had burned down low, so I made a quick visit to Michael’s for more. I found the pretty gold candles on sale for a ridiculously low price and, thinking they would look lovely on the table, bought two boxes of four. I was right. They were lovely. That is, until they burned for more than a few seconds, and their marked down, too-good-to-be-true price made sense. (Not cents.)
They melted. They melted everywhere, and fast enough that you would think someone held a blow torch to the wick. They melted down the candle, down the candlestick, and pooled on the antique table we are borrowing from my mom. The table is flimsy and of little value, but that didn’t make scraping wax off the finish any less annoying. Stupid, cheap, golden candles.
After Christmas, I was left with an annoying decision. I knew I would never again use the candles, but I didn’t want to throw them out, either. It seemed wasteful, even though I didn’t spend that much. And it was the small amount of money I spent that presented the problem: large enough to keep me from tossing them out, small enough to make me put off returning them. Before this summer, before October, and before the estate sale, I might have kept them just in case. Or, I might have stored them so I could sell them at a future garage sale.
Storing worthless candles I have no intention of using so I can salve my ego or make 50¢ at a mythical garage sale is silly. Taking the time to tuck them away in pretty organizing bins is putting lipstick on a pig.
I returned them. I waited until I had errands that would put me near a Michael’s and walked out ten minutes later with, I don’t know, maybe $5? It seems silly, but these little purchases here and there add up. I keep my returns under the entry table in my kitchen, always in plain view, so it’s the last thing I see when I leave the house. I don’t store them in baskets or make them look pretty. I’ll forget them if I do. Instead, I let them plague me like an unwanted suitor until I can’t take it anymore. I returned a box of candles at Michael’s, two duplicate toys at Target, a purse and a necklace at Macy’s. Suddenly, I have money to work on projects around the house.
Return all the things. I did.
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Now it’s your turn! Feel free to share how you have lived according to the William Morris quote, “Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.” Made a plan? Cleaned a drawer? Bought a sofa? Let’s hear it with a link or in the comments.
A few guidelines:
- Please link to a specific post, not a general blog address.
- No links to giveaways, please.
- A link back to this site is always appreciated. There are buttons to add to your post or sidebar, too, thanks to the lovely Alex of Type A Calligraphy. Just copy the code and insert into your blog post or sidebar when in html mode.
- Let’s use this weekly link up as an opportunity to gather inspiration and motivation. Click links. Discover new people. Say hi and good job. I know I will.
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The Phenomenally Indecisive Book Club
Tagline: We couldn’t decide, so we’re reading it all.
The name of our new club started off as a joke that stuck, made all the more appropriate by my inability to think up a memorable name with staying power. It’s fitting. We never did come to a consensus on what genre to read other than everything, please. Like me, many of you experienced mild angst when it seemed one genre was in the lead. When everyone called out “Contemporary Literature and Fiction!” I immediately thought of no less than 12 young adult books I wanted to read, and all of a sudden the idea of a book club centered on anything else pained me. Those dozens of young adult books about dystopian societies overthrown by packs of time-traveling mythical creatures in love with humans dangled above my head like forbidden fruit. (Weird how the fruit hung in series of 3-5 and came with optioned movie rights.)
Once I decided we should read whatever sounded good, I sat down with a few avid readers to decide on our first book. It was as easy as eating a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.
Lies!
I don’t need to tell you how crazy I drove Andrea, Gail, and Erin. I don’t need to tell you because I’m sure they’ll tell you in the comments. Let me explain. It’s not that I’m indecisive. No, seriously. Nicole described me best when she said, “It’s not that you are indecisive. It’s that you over-think every decision you make.”
I do. By training or nature, I’m a strategist. I plot, and anticipate, and foresee, and predict, and then act. Then I reevaluate and course correct, often when it’s completely unnecessary. To pick out our first book I consulted several book club forums, The NY Times, The LA Times, National Public Radio, Good Reads (you can friend me at that link), Facebook, Book List, Amazon, and countless other sources. I even consulted Pinterest (you can follow me at that link) to see if I could get a feel for popular book club pics. (Don’t ask. I don’t even know.) (In my defense, there were a lot of book club boards.) (Lots of pins on The Help.) (Even I’ve read that one.)
In the end, thanks to a flurry of emails and mad Googling skills, I decided on Rules of Civility, by Amor Towles.
Here is the description:
Set in New York City in 1938, Rules of Civility tells the story of a watershed year in the life of an uncompromising twenty-five-year-old named Katey Kontent. Armed with little more than a formidable intellect, a bracing wit, and her own brand of cool nerve, Katey embarks on a journey from a Wall Street secretarial pool through the upper echelons of New York society in search of a brighter future.
The story opens on New Year’s Eve in a Greenwich Village jazz bar, where Katey and her boardinghouse roommate Eve happen to meet Tinker Grey, a handsome banker with royal blue eyes and a ready smile. This chance encounter and its startling consequences cast Katey off her current course, but end up providing her unexpected access to the rarified offices of Conde Nast and a glittering new social circle. Befriended in turn by a shy, principled multimillionaire, an Upper East Side ne’er-do-well, and a single-minded widow who is ahead of her times, Katey has the chance to experience first hand the poise secured by wealth and station, but also the aspirations, envy, disloyalty, and desires that reside just below the surface. Even as she waits for circumstances to bring Tinker back into her orbit, she will learn how individual choices become the means by which life crystallizes loss.
Elegant and captivating, Rules of Civility turns a Jamesian eye on how spur of the moment decisions define life for decades to come. A love letter to a great American city at the end of the Depression, readers will quickly fall under its spell of crisp writing, sparkling atmosphere and breathtaking revelations, as Towles evokes the ghosts of Fitzgerald, Capote, and McCarthy.
I picked this book (with the help of Andrea, Gail, and Erin) because it was the one book several people suggested in the comments a few weeks ago. It’s not a new release, so it should be available in most libraries. The reviews have been favorable, and it sounds like an enjoyable read.
“The new novel we couldn’t put down…in the crisp, noirish prose of the era, Towles portrays complex relationships in a city that is at once melting pot and elitist enclave – and a thoroughly modern heroine who fearlessly claims her place in it.”
-O, the Oprah Magazine“This very good first novel about striving and surviving in Depression- era Manhattan deserves attention…The great strength of Rules of Civility is in the sharp, sure-handed…evocation of Manhattan in the late ’30s.”
-Wall Street Journal“Put on some Billie Holiday, pour a dry martini and immerse yourself in the eventful life of Katey Kontent…[Towles] clearly knows the privileged world he’s writing about, as well as the vivid, sometimes reckless characters who inhabit it.”
-People“Even the most jaded New Yorker can see the beauty in Amor Towles’ Rules of Civility, the antiqued portrait of an unlikely jet set making the most of Manhattan.”
-The San Francisco Chronicle“The best novels are the ones that completely transport you to another time and place. This beautifully written debut does just that. With wit, wisdom, and rich language, Towles introduces a cast of unforgettable 1938 New Yorkers, who change the book’s heroine in surprising and absorbing ways.”
-J. Courtney Sullivan, author of Maine“Terrific. A smart, witty, charming dry-martini of a novel.”
-David Nichols, author of One Day“Part love story, part social observation, 100 percent absorbing.”
-Redbook“It’s the Depression, and a gal Friday with a mouth like Dorothy Parker’s is dallying with the smart set…turns out she’s not the only climber. A joyride through the ups and downs of 1930s high society.”
-Good Housekeeping“A smashing debut…remarkable for its strong narrative, original characters and a voice influenced by Fitzgerald and Capote, but clearly true to itself.”
-Publishers Weekly“The characters are beautifully drawn, the dialogue is sharp and Towles avoids the period nostalgia and sentimentality to which a lesser writer might succumb. An elegant, pithy performance by a first-time novelist who couldn’t seem more familiar with his characters or territory.”
-Kirkus Reviews
I’m excited to read it, but I’m really excited to start The Phenomenally Indecisive Book Club (PIBC). (I’m still not sure about that name. I know. Kill me now.) This is a book I would normally walk past, only because there are so many books to read that I am prone to making safe selections among authors I have already read. I hope each book we pick falls outside our comfort zone and exposes us to something we wouldn’t normally experience. To me, that’s what makes a book club great.
PIBC officially starts in February, so we have two weeks to secure our copies of Rules of Civility. Next week we’ll talk about where we will “meet” and how often. And, because I’ve had this question a few times now, I want to confirm that anyone is welcome to participate. There is no official membership, unless we decide to move to a private chat area like Google +, Yahoo Groups, Facebook, or Good Reads to discuss the books.
Stuff Mikey Says, Vol. 4
On marketing
“I can’t believe I was tricked into reading Beauty and the Beast.”
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On sustenance
“I’m thinking…do I want to plug my arteries with a burger, or do I want Chipotle?”
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On humor
“Of course I know you’re joking on me, Dad. You joke about everything serious or dangerous.”
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On fantasies
“I’m having an awesome dream right now. It’s about Star Wars, Indiana Jones, and Mary Poppins.”
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On authenticity
“Never try to be somebody else, or else you will lose your magical powers.”
