From No to Yes-Ville

Graham and I have recently made the decision not to move. We looked into apartments and were so SHOCKED by the prices that have sky rocketed since we moved into our apartment 3 years ago. (For an example, we recently learned that the people who moved into our building 2 years after us are paying $700 more a month for the essentially the apartment.) When we realized that we were looking at moving into smaller places in crappier and less convenient neighborhoods, for considerably more money we put on the breaks and FAST. All this during a time when we heard daily NPR reports about real estate prices plummeting. We laughed and said, “Not in New York, baby.”

So we decided to take the money we had saved for our move and make our apartment more functioning and pleasurable to live in. One of the things we desperately need is a rug for the living room to cover up the wall-to-wall crap carpeting that our cats (ahem) enjoy using. I have been flabbergasted at the prices of rugs. Holycripes, now I know what business to go into—rug making. It’s up there with real estate! Yesterday, in a fit of desperation, I finally said, “You know, I’ve always wanted to make a rag rug—that’s what I’ll do. I’ll MAKE a rug.”

Yeah, I’ll just add it to the list of things I am already doing. Right in between my two books and one-woman show. Oh, help me, people; I think I might be crazy.

This led me to do some soul searching (I know, I know I do the laundry and I am suddenly seized by the need to search my soul, but I digress…). Where did this unfiltered need to DO to SIGN ON to GO come from? How did I get here?

I used to not be this way. I used to very much occupy a “no” world. Anything I wanted to happen was automatically followed by a “Nope, that’ll never happen.” Up until about 4 years ago I seemed to think my main purpose in life was to sit in a barren tower of remote possibility staring out at what I saw as the lush lives of other people. I believed that everybody else already had what I wanted, and although I’d like to have something for myself, it just wasn’t possible. It was a convenient life. It ran on two currents: despair and envy. I knew what to expect and I also didn’t have to TRY. Then, slowly, slowly, slowly I started thinking, maybe? Then I started thinking, perhaps? This grew into, Okay, I don’t how it will happen, but I’d like to see if I could. It’s now gone into a full fledged YES YES YES. Which has its benefits—but it’s like I’ve turned on the faucet with no way to turn it off or even down.

The upside from going from No-Ville to Yes-Ville is that I am accomplishing my goals more than ever, living a life that is the closest thing I have ever come to my dreams, and feeling pretty good most of the time. The downside is that I sometimes feel flighty, anxious, impatient, scattered, and overwhelmed. I don’t know when to say “no.” I’ve gone from one extreme to the next. I’ve just been scared that if I say no to something that it will never happen and I so want EVERYTHING to happen! However, the gifts of choosing “no” I am coming to realize may create more time, less anxiety, a quicker route to getting things done, and a deeper feeling of (dare I say the word?) BALANCE.

So maybe, just maybe, I won’t make the rug TODAY. Maybe, like the choice not to move, I’ll discover the riches of NOT doing. I am trying, but it’s so tempting to GRAB ON and head for the hills.

How to Keep Cool In New York: Homemade Ice Cream

It was too hot to bake a cake for Graham's birthday, so we made banana chocolate chip ice cream. All I can say is: OH MY GOODNESS.

Graham's Birthday Banana Chocolate Chip Ice Cream

Ingredients:

• 3 bananas
• 2 cups of heavy cream, well chilled
• 1 cup of milk, well chilled
• 3/4 cup of granulated sugar
• 1/2 cup of semi sweet chocolate chips

Directions:

• Puree bananas using either a food processor or a blender of sorts. In a mixing bowl, combine milk and sugar and whisk until sugar is dissolved. Add cream and bananas and mix well.
• Turn on ice cream maker and pour in mixture. Let it do its thing for about 20-25 minutes. About 5 minutes before it's done, gradually add the chocolate chips.
• For soft, fluffy ice cream serve immediately. For firmer ice cream, put it in the freezer for at least a half hour.

Notes:

• Because of the banana, the texture is a little bit more silkier and stickier than other home made ice creams we've made.
• We also found the flavor even better the next day.
• If it wasn't Graham's birthday and if he wasn't so dead set against nuts, I would have added chopped walnuts too for the full Chunky Monkey experience.

29 Years Ago Today

My little brother Luke, my tall husband Graham

If your birthday is today then you must be a totally excellent person, who makes those who love you crack up on a daily basis, are considered a "griddle master," making the BEST pancakes and bacon EVER, and are kind and caring and good with kids and animals (see above). If your birthday is today you must be Graham.

Happy birthday to my groom. I am so glad you were born!

Reunited (and it feels so good)

Well, like usual, we had a FABULOUS time at the Graham family reunion. We flew into Santa Barbara on Friday afternoon thinking that all this talk about a giant HEAT WAVE was pure silliness. It was DRY heat after all, and the warmth was durable. Then Graham's dad drove us up into the mountains to be greeted by 114 degree heat! HOLYCRIPES! The heat provided us with a few useful things: 1) perfect swimming pool weather 2) a cancellation of 85% of the planned activities which led to 3) just hanging out time. Perfection.

Graham's folks surprised us by putting us up in a teeny little air conditioned cabin that was so perfect for us. Since we were on New York time, we watched the sunrise every morning come over the amazing mountain, while we drank coffee on the porch.

I've never eaten so much meat and starch in my life. The last night we all congregated for dinner all the younger women folk collected to make dinner. All of them are moms (except me) and I think they were all feeling the lack in the vegetable department. I practically DOVE into the salad and bowl of steamed broccoli that was on the picnic table. Even Graham, who's diet consists of the three food groups meat, burrito, and sandwich with meat, was grateful for the greenery.

One of the highlights of the trip was going into Santa Barbara and going on Graham's uncle's boat. Graham speaks of his Uncle Jack's boat rides with a misty affection he reserves for little else in his childhood. Not only was it just plain BEAUTIFUL to be out on the Pacific ocean, but it was also like seeing a nine year old version of my husband dancing about the boat, checking the fishing lines, and grinning from ear to ear.

Also, can I just say I LOVE nieces. In case there is any doubt, here is a picture of me and Graham with our niece Avery, who although had her FIFTH tooth in a week coming in, and had a fever of 101 the entire time, still proceeded to be the LIFE of the party. Maybe it was her hat.



The last night we all congregated for the "family trivia and talent show," which consisted of Graham's mother asking the kids to guess which adult was matched with what fantastical fact. All the kids thought Graham or his cousin Craig were responsible for the trivia linked to acts of crime or punishment. Then the two oldest of the kid's group--both girls--performed for us. Graham's twelve year old 2nd cousin, Bailey (who told us at the beginning of the visit that she wanted to be called "Meadow," to which I responded, "I think we're going to get along just fine, Meadow,") played "The Can Can" on her flute and then shyly sang a song that brought everyone TO TEARS. Sometimes I think that children's singing could close prisons, end wars, and heal the hearts of all the broken people in the world. Meadow's voice was so pure and tender that I felt all my nervous sarcasm and defensive individualism just MELT AWAY. I took Graham's hand and looked out at all these people wiping their faces and laughing at each other and thought, "This is family."

40 Years of Marriage and All They Get is a Weekend at a Dude Ranch

Graham and I are off tomorrow for a weekend adventure of family reunion excitement and celebrating his parents' 40th wedding anniversary. I am excited to to celebrate Jenny and John's 40 years of marriage, and to spend time with Graham's extended family, but I am having mixed feelings about the long list of activities that has grown over the last few months. My adolescent shyness is taking over as I type just THINKING about the e-mail where my wonderful mother-in-law excitedly proclaimed that our family talent show would have to be moved to SUNDAY night, because we will be doing LINE DANCING on Saturday. Plus, she wanted us to remember to send her a fact about ourselves that nobody would know. With the exception of Graham's parents and sister, NOBODY knows ANYTHING about me, so I figured I could just SHOW UP and have everyone ponder the mystery of my very EXISTENCE.

It's going to take place on a Dude Ranch (DUDE! It's a RANCH!), and I am looking forward to spending some time with horses and maybe swimming with our little nieces Lauren and Avery. My mouth is watering just thinking of the baby's sweet bitable chub. Yummy babies!

Hope you all have a grand weekend. I'll tell you how the line dancing goes.

You Can't Hear Music in a Comic Book

I once wrote a short story in college called "You Can't Hear Music in a Comic Book." It was based on my love of all things Josie and the Pussycats as a kid--and how my mind filled in the music I was never actually ever to hear from Josie and her band of scantily clad Pussycats. It wasn't a very good story--it was a STRETCH, where you try to milk MEANING from the flimsiest of sources. Yet, I always liked the title and it has stuck with me all these years later and it was buzzing in my mind when I made this comic for Skirt! Magazine based on my blog entry on mixed tapes.

I haven't drawn comics since college and I found the experience of this VERY satisfying. I think I like the one page form. I am an impatient person, and have always found the medium of comic book drawing TEDIOUSLY slow. I remember attempting my own version of a graphic novel--an autobiographical number on a childhood marked by divorce (or as I liked to say in the dramatic and oppression-crazy 199o's--a childhood SURVIVED through divorce). At the time I read Art Spiegelman's Maus books and thought I might (modestly) attempt something akin to it in scope. It took Spiegelman YEARS to create both books and they are researched and created with such incredible and beautiful detail, I look back on my 10 pages of sad, attempted HIGH DRAMA and realize just how FAR OFF I was. I remember my advisor Bill VanderClute (hello wherever you are Bill VanderClute!), looking at these pages and saying, "You don't think those tears are just a bit TOO MUCH?" I thought as a fellow SURVIVOR of divorce he'd be more UNDERSTANDING of what I was trying to do, but obviously, he was not familiar with the genius that is known as graphic ART. He also came to it like a writer who might be able to um, EDIT a story--and well, once I had inked in a single page that had taken me HOURS to create, he wanted me to CHANGE IT? Silly editing writer man.

After the semester I never went back to my attempts of serious comic book creating. I put it on my list of things that I would do in the future--right in between marrying River Phoenix and becoming a rock star. It was fun to return to the medium in a simpler and more specific form. Like so much else I have learned since college, it was a great example of break it down to the essentials, start small and create from what you know. And because I was familiar with the music depicted so assuredly in this comic, I swear I could hear a soundtrack blaring from those black and white boxes.

Be of Service

Be of service. Go where you can help...If you're an artist, be of service to your art; don't have it the other way around. You have to put away your dreams of being a hot shot and learn to be useful...You step up every day, and get a nice clean hit, and you're done.


-Cary Tennis

We Went To The Renegade Craft Fair And All We Got Were These Fabulous Mustaches

Mustaches from the excellent Philadelphia duo Something's Hiding In There.

Preferences

Mama Kitty prefers the soft cushion of our new vintage tangerine number...

...and Graham prefers the high back of our new-for-us orange wing back chair...

...while Kingsley prefers the cardboard box.

Perfectionism

I am going to get personal for a moment and disclose that I sometimes suffer from anxiety. A few months ago, I was suffering over such intense anxiety over a situation that I had no recourse, but to seek out help. Through that help I discovered that a good deal of my anxiety comes from...are you READY?...perfectionism. Frankly, no one was more shocked than myself to discover this bit of psychological information. I thought I'd covered everything in the neurosis department, but apparently, there was a sneaky, PERVASIVE behavioral trait that was (is) RULING MY LIFE.

I used to read about perfectionism in other creativity books--most notably in SARK and Julia Cameron's books. I used to read it and think, "Oh yeah, that's cute and fine for them," but I never associated it in myself. I'd think: my house and my art is often a mess, unfinished, and so that must mean I am not a perfectionist. But being anal and being a perfectionist are not necessarily the same thing. Here's how perfectionism shows up in my life: I am not allowed to make mistakes. I mean EVER, in any situation. I'm never allowed to not say the right thing at the right time. I'm never allowed to not be likable. I am not allowed to be a beginner at anything--I need to be able to PERFECT an activity and then and only then can it be REAL.

I am working on a project right now that is a real STRETCH for me--a project that I am only now realizing is asking me to be a BEGINNER and I just HATE THAT. My resistance to being beginner in anything is so INTENSE that I feel like I am doing anything and everything to stop from actually FACING the work. Because I have such HIGH STANDARDS I have been PROCRASTINATING as a way to stay PERFECT. But as the man says, POTENTIAL IS A DRUG. This is a project I have dreamed of doing since I was 12 years old, and I have long fantasized about what it would be like to make something like this and participate in it, but the fantasy so DOES NOT include me flailing around not knowing what the heck I AM DOING. The fact that I am working with someone else almost makes it worse--what if I show up with my material and it, um, SUCKS? Say it isn't SO!

Well, if I want this to project to happen, I need to get down on my hands and knees and start getting to work and doing something. I do practices every day to help with the ol' emotional brain stay healthy, but the one thing that eluded me (AGAIN) is that actual practice of starting from scratch, of showing up, of being a mess, of trying on something to see if it fits. The beauty is, that if it doesn't fit--as long as I keep trying in the smallest ways--there's more where that came from.

We Can Do It!

The other day I was on deadline to get an illustration out the door and I thought I was going to use an image of Rosie the Riveter so I decided to dress up like her and take a photo as an image source--and then I just got carried away. It's frickn so FUN to dress up like Rosie the Riveter--an image and a style I have always adored. The shirt I wore is an old shirt of my mother's from 1969, but I felt more like my grandmother, who didn't work in the factories, but who did other work for the war effort. She always felt a kinship to the iconic poster of Rosie showing her muscle and declaring WE CAN DO IT. So have I.

I felt so fabulous that when Graham came home and asked if I wanted to go out to dinner I said yes and didn't bother to change. I rolled up my jeans and put on some red shoes. A working girl deserves a night out every once in awhile you know?

Ways to Enjoy New York in the Summer: Cold Foods

Okay, here’s something that totally depresses me: The radio announcing that it’s 79 degrees out…and it’s 6:30 in the FRICKN’ MORNING.

A plan needed to be made and PRONTO. So G. and I got up and were at the store by 8:30 and stocking up on foods that A) Require no heat to cook B) that will be YUMMY and REFRESHING.

I’ve been in the kitchen this morning preparing what I hope will be at least a few days of food—and it’s all refrigerated, all the time, baby:

Gazpacho with avocado, Tabouli Salad, and fruit salad with mint. For breakfast, smoothie makings and cereal. Then, for the beverage department, we have seltzer with fresh limes, lemonade on hand, and home made herbal iced tea. Don’t forget the FRICKN’ ICE. If nothing else, we will be REGULAR.

I am reminded of my dear friend Diane’s series on her blog this year of trying to embrace March in Vermont. It was a real FEAT to love March in Vermont, when it was freezing, snowy, and OLD. I am a little scared that it’s only day 3 of the summer season here and I am FREAKING OUT.

Ricky Schroeder's New Life

Well, like I suspected, I had a very good time off the ol' Internet. It really felt like a vacation. I hung out with people. I made things. I gave things like this drawing of Ricky Schroeder NEW LIFE. And then suddenly, yesterday, the summer hit New York like a TON OF BRICKS. It went from mild, pretty days to HAZY, CRAZY HUMIDITY and HEAT.

It's 8:30am and I am sitting out on the fire escape in a tank top and a skirt and am near sweating. Let the season begin!

Summers in New York City are an experience that is hard to describe unless you've been here during them--for more than a couple of weeks. It's beyond anything I've ever known. I lived in Boston for 7 years, and while it was hot and humid, it still is NOTHING like it gets here. Maybe it's because it's more of an URBAN JUNGLE, with sprawling asphalt that acts like a heat conductor. Or maybe it's the fact that it's wall to wall people among all that dirt, heat, and moisture. It's an INTENSE experience. It's its own animal all together--and I am still learning to work WITH IT, to find how it actually DOES work. Even so, as I sat with Graham and Felicia yesterday at noon in a Starbuck's gulping in the A/C like it was the last vestiges of sanity, while the world outside BOILED and COOKED and I thought, THIS IS ONLY THE BEGINNING.

I think I will be spending more time on my fire escape in the mornings. I think I will be seeing more movies, like Iron Man, just for the relief of a dark, cool room. Maybe this will be a new project--ways to love New York in the summer. Oh help me, I need to know how.