We went to the Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art today. It's a hike, about 2 hours away near Northhampton, MA, but totally worth the trip. We broke it up by stopping at Jes' house first in West Stockbridge for coffee. It's so nice to go to a place so geared toward kids.
There are three small galleries.
One features Eric Carle's work and a display that shows the materials and process that he uses for making his collages. I have been interested in this because I think it translates well to quilting. He manages to evoke very specific imagery with very simple materials and lines. I want my next quilt to be for Aidan and he is insisting that he wants one with boys playing ball. I found the idea of that completely overwhelming at first, but I had the idea to draw from Carle's depictions of children. I think I can do that. Origami is interesting to me for the same reason - the art relies on revealing the essence of the subject in the simplest possible way.
The second gallery contained a collection of Book Week posters. It was really interesting to note the styles and the dates that they were from. One from the 40s looked like a communist propaganda poster. There was one with a mime: 80's. I was fascinated with one: The left side shows a group of children holding signs. The signs say "BOOK POWER". One child has a red star on her sleeve. Next to them is a stack of books with another child on the top, facing the group with his fist raised in the air. Leaning against the stack of books to the right is a very small child who has fallen asleep with his sign. The date? 1969. The atmosphere of protest had infiltrated something as everyday as a Book Week poster. It reminded me of a conversation that a friend had told me about after 9/11. She and a friend wondered what 9/11 would mean for Rock-N-Roll. (see post below)
The last gallery had stunning illustrations by Nancy Ekholm Burkert. They ranged from images that I recognized from James and the Giant Peach to a series illustrating an early version of the Prince and the Pauper. The complexity of these last images was mindboggling. They were pictured as if the story were staged in Medieval times. I love that sort of thing - it's like the staging in the film version of Rosencrantz And Guildenstern Are Dead - where a piece of silk waved across the stage is water. It's dreamy and magical and low tech.
There is also a theatre there that had a performance of James and the Giant Peach, a Library where they had story time, a studio where children of all ages could create, and (of course) a store with a fantastic selection of children's books.
Aidan managed to not nap at all on the whole trip there and was sleepy to the point of being close to meltdown the whole time we were there - but I think he liked it anyway.
Democracy doesn't work without an independent media. This is what I'm talking about.
Aidan has been sick since Monday: no appetite, nausea, vomiting and occasional fever. I actually thought he was going to be better yesterday because he woke up with no fever, but when he still wouldn't eat I knew he'd have another day of sickness. He only threw up once yesterday, but he slept a lot. I'm afraid he's going to loose all of his baby fat and will completely transform into a little boy when its over. He handles the sickness really well - he knows just what he needs. Everytime he is sick its like this, a routine. This time it is how he drinks - a sip of water followed by a couple of gulps of milk. I wouldn't have offered him milk, but he demanded it, and now that this has been going on for a few days I'm glad that he's had the nourishment. He's still nursing too, but I can't imagine that he's getting a substansial amount of milk from me at this point.
(WARNING: POSSIBLE SPOILERS IN THE NEXT PARAGRAPH)
I picked up Memoirs of a Geisha at the library last week and this was a good time to have it. It is total candy. I read the whole thing in three days and the characters and settings are still swimming around in my brain. The happy ending bothered me a little bit with its fairy tale neatness, but at the same time I found myself lying in bed last night thinking that I'll have to read that chapter again. There was something so satisfying about it. I'm afraid that if it had ended messier or sadder I wouldn't have such a good feeling about it.
A new friend had asked me recently what types of books I like and I told her that I don't really read fiction. She saw the book here and said, "I thought you didn't read fiction." Well, it's not like a rule that I have, its just my tendency lately, and now I know why. I get completely wrapped up in a book like that and neglect everything else until I've finished. It was perfect for a week in the sick house, although I walked around my messy downstairs yesterday thinking that it would have been a perfect day to make the house (barn) nice and clean, since there was no kid following me around, messing up what I had just cleaned. But I didn't. Oh well.
And that brings me to another thing: I wanted to add it to the sidebar but my template updates are not working! In blogger it shows the code for the new template, but its not showing up on the published page. Is anyone else having this problem? What did you do about it? I reported it to blogger but no luck. Someday I'll switch to MT.
I just finished this website for my sister-in-law.
Saturday was a gorgeous day for a march, and New York City is a fantastic place for one. I do, however, wish that we had been marching because we had prevented the war, rather than marching to show how angry and disappointed we are.
We took the LIRR into Penn Station and made a pit stop in Macy's to use the bathroom as the one in Penn Station was out of order. We got to 36th and 6th at just about noon. There were quite a few kids there, but a lot of adults too and there certainly wasn't a cohesive "kids contingent". This was very disappointing because Aidan had been telling us that he didn't want to march and I was hoping that he would be happy to be with a bunch of kids. I had brought white balloons to blow up and draw peace signs on and pop up into the crowd to help entertain him and the other kids, but it just didn't really work like that. The kids were all mixed in with other groups of people and Aidan was tolerant, but not at all happy.
I didn't feel too bad because it was a gorgeous spring day and he was in a stroller. About half way through we were around a completely different group from when we started and the new group was noisy. Aidan began to cry and I started to carry him. I told him that at the end of the march there would be a big park and we would go to play on the playground. This satisfied him greatly and he sat on my hip for the rest of the march. He weighs about 45 lbs, and I hardly felt him - I was so glad to be there, taking some action, being around people with enough sensitivity and compassion to march against war.
The march went to Washington Square Park, and we would have just stopped at Union Square, but we ran into Olympia, a drumming friend. Aidan was happy to see her and cheered up and we decided to finish out the march with her.
We saw many supportive bystanders in shop windows and balconies. There was a rug store with four men in work uniforms in the window giving peace signs. There was a mother and daughter on a balcony blowing a conch shell. There was a child on what looked like a restaurant balcony, waving a peace sign. The march roared and cheered at all of these shows of support. This was the nice thing about marching in New York, you feel seen. In Washington, there are no bystanders to see the march. Usually, the president is even out of town.
We ended at Washington Square Park where the playground was locked. Some fearless parents had helped to smuggle their children over or under the fence. We satisfied ourselves with the grass around the playground. Steve and Olympia got interviewed by a heavily pierced guy in a skirt from StopTheDrugWar.org. We spent about an hour at the park, just relaxing and enjoying the day and the people. At some point I looked toward the end of the march where people were still streaming into the park and noticed what looked like cops on top of the building above the end of the march. We kind of all assumed that they were snipers and talked about how ridiculous that was. Then we realized that they didn't have guns, but cameras. 35mm cameras and they were snapping pictures of the marchers. They were not reporters. Cameras creeps me out much more than guns.
I am so glad that we went. I've been telling people who say that they are lying awake at night crying to go to a march or a vigil. They will feel bouyed by the experience.
I have decided that I am not going to take Aidan to any more rallys or marches unless he asks to go. He is very sensitive to the noise and it scares him. He doesn't like fireworks either, which is almost as disappointing to me. I have told a few people this and they say, "well, that's no place for children anyway". But the fact of the matter is that I see lots and lots of children at these things who are just fine with it. And on principle, I don't see how it is any different from bringing your kids to church. When he grows up and asks me what I did for the world that he is inheriting, I have to be able to say that I did something.
I don't really know what to say since this war has started, and Rachael Corrie's murder has shaken me almost as much as the war. It seems alot of the other mama bloggers aren't writing too.
I got an e-mail about the march in NYC tomorrow - apparently there is a meeting place for a kids contingent at 36th between Broadway and 6th Ave. Thought mamas might like to know that. Maybe we'll see you there.
Peace.
Click here for locations for a global candlelight vigil this Sunday night.
The mortgage broker called today and says she has a bank. Nothing is definite, but there's hope and she said I'll probably hear from her on Monday. At the very least I know she's not ignoring us.
Snowing? Well, yes, it is snowing again, but that's not what I'm talking about.
Fucked by a mortgage broker is what I am really talking about. I just keep saying to myself, "I can't believe this is happening again."
The short of it is that all this time the broker has been telling us that she has two banks that would give us a mortgage if the roof gets fixed, and in the meanwhile I've been writing to credit bureaus to update and correct our credit reports to reflect the fact that we no longer have any debt. So last week she ran our reports again to submit the morgage application and she tells me (only after I call her a week later) that Steve's credit score had disappeared - he no longer has enough data for them to give him a score at all and this is worse that bad credit. There may not be a lender for us.
I spoke today to a mortgage broker that my friend and accountant recommended as someone with a lot of integrity. He looked at our previous scores and the appraisal for the house and said that there was no way he could get us a mortgage and any mortgage broker that can get us one is doing something shady. Well the shady thing apparently is a "stated" income morgage, which is the kind of mortgage that we've been dealing with both times. We were aware that the rates and points were high and we were willing to suffer through that because no matter how expensive it is, it would be less than RENTING.
It is still possible that the mortgage broker will come through with something, but it would be a miracle. We are looking at the distinct possibility that we might have to wait another year or two to buy a house. It's breaking my heart.
After I got cut from acting school I was horribly depressed and aimless. I moved back to Long Island from Chicago to live with my boyfriend and we tried our hand at poverty in both places. I worked at a Baskin Robbins for a week and a catering hall for a day. The second day at the catering hall there was a street festival in town and there was no parking on the street. We were forbidden to park in the catering hall parking lot, so when I went in to ask what I should do, they said to just park where it said no parking on the street and to put a catering hall business card in the windshield. Yeah right. I left.
My friend Abby's father offered me a job. It was an office job not too far from my house, scanning resumes into a database for a recruiter. Sheldon, Abby's father, was the manager - the boss.
He was the kind of boss that made everyone in the office thank their lucky stars. He bought lunch several times a week, he was hilarious and everyone loved and respected him. He made these bizarre mix tapes for everyone in the office for Christmas. After I worked there for a couple of months, he called me into his office and handed me a scrap of paper and told me in an authoratative voice to read it outloud to him. I read: I have more skills now than when I started. I deserve more money. He told me that I drove a hard bargain and he'd see what he could do. I got a raise.
Do all good things come to sad, miserable ends? The company got bought. The managers were the first to go and I was there to see my friend's dad get laid off. I got transferred to a NYC office with no windows where they paid me the same salary plus my train fare. I wasn't there much longer.
Abby's parents eventually moved to New Jersey. I don't think her dad was unemployed for too long. Abby lives on the west coast now and I just got this e-mail from her.
I also forgot to tell you that my dad has completely lost his mind and has a website now - check it out:
www.savesheldonfromarealjob.com
There is such a mud pit in front of the barn that we are almost getting stuck in it when we drive up. Can anything be done? I thought maybe we could cover it with hay. Steve thinks plywood is the answer. I'm afraid the plywood might blow away on a windy day and kill someone.
I went to see Anita Roddick, founder of the Body Shop and socially responsible business pioneer, on Wednesday night. She was speaking at a college in Troy that was establishing a BS in socially responsible business.
I was 21 when I bought Instant Karma, a store that I owned for 5 years, with very little money and determination that I had no idea that I had. From that time on, my tax return has said that my occupation was "entrepreneur". Anita Roddick started her talk with a discussion of what kinds of people are entrepreneurs. She said entrepreneurs have an idea and they want to see how far they can develop and manifest that idea. Entrepreneurs are not particularly interested in money, they are about having ideas, vomiting them was the strange expression she used. But they don't just have the ideas, they have a tremendous capacity for work, they almost don't know how to stop, which enables them to see those ideas through. She described entrepreneurs as feeling like outsiders at a young age, which makes them fearless. They don't ever feel like they have to be like everybody else because they never felt that way anyway. She said that they don't know what they are doing, but it doesn't matter because they know how to ask questions and figure things out. One of her slides actually said, "Entrepreneur=Insane?". I wanted to ask her, when it was all over, if she saw any need to go to college to study such a thing.
The experience was very empowering for me because I've done all of that, I've been that remarkable person that she was describing. And I kind of needed a little lift after three and a half years of the stay at home mom life. My thirtieth birthday is approaching and I have no degree and no career. I have described myself at times as a "hopeless" entrepreneur, doomed to a life of no health insurance and an endless stream of business ideas. Anita Roddick made me feel pretty good about that - it was like a pep rally.
The timing is lovely too, because I have about three ideas right now that I am fairly excited about. There is an organization here that sponsors playgroups that I have become involved with that is going to start having these entreprenurial networking meetings for parents to support and mentor each other. The first meeting is this week.
This happened at the aforementioned mall of Dance Dance Revolution fame.
DOWNS AND HIS SON, 31-year-old Roger Downs, each had a pro-peace shirt made Monday night at a store in the mall. One shirt simply said "Let Inspections Work" on one side and "No War With Iraq" on the other. The other shirt said "Give Peace A Chance" on the front and "Peace On Earth" on the back.A Macy's employee saw the men in the food court and alerted security. Downs and his son were asked to remove their shirts. Roger Downs complied, but when Stephen Downs wouldn't, he was told to leave the mall. When he refused, he was arrested for trespassing.
I had a dream last night that we were moving out of the barn. We were actually in the car and driving away and I saw a cat that I thought was Roxy. For a moment I was thrilled and made Steve stop the car and jumped out. As I got closer to the cat I could see that the color wasn't quite right and then I could see that it didn't have Roxy's delicate and crazed face. It actually had kind of a mean, ugly face.
I don't really feel hopeful when I think about her now and I sometimes think about getting another cat. But having never had or particularly liking any cat before, I am finding it impossible to imagine liking another cat the way I liked Roxy.
Cats aren't like dogs, who make their presence known with consistent exhuberance and affection. It was a day before I noticed Roxy's absence, but now that she's been gone for a while I notice the times when I expect her to be present. While I cook, she would jump up on the counter and when I sewed she would jump on the fabric. We would wake up to her raising hell in the middle of the night, chasing animate and inanimate objects. She would make this funny sound the moment that she jumped up onto the bed, so you'd hear this little cat grunt and then she would be next to your head and soon she's be kneading your belly with her paws, making a space to lie down. We all slept with her curled up in the crook of our knees or right on top of us. She always came to nap with Aidan as I nursed him to sleep. She would attack our legs with a flying leap whenever we walked by the bathtub. If she needed food she would continue her assault. She often attacked Wes' legs in the same way when he came in the house. He pretended not to notice.