West side video love

Tuesday is one of my "mom" days, i.e. I have baby sitting covered and I get to do something for me. I didn't have firm plans set for today. When I got a last minute email from my pal Celia Chavez to come out and be an extra in her music video in Santa Monica, I thought, "Done!"

It has been gorgeous in Los Angeles lately. The kind of weather that makes to you want to live out your life here. Low to mid 70s, sunny, blue skies, mild breeze. Perfect. I was actually a little worried that it might be cold and foggy out west being that it's been so mild over on the east side. I checked the weather and it was the same. Great.

For those of you not familiar with the greater Los Angeles acu-weather forecast, you learn quickly that weather varies greatly depending on where you live. The coast gets June gloom. The valley roasts under 100+ degree days in late summer and on sporadic heat waves. The same goes for the east side. I swear when you cross I-5, the temperature rises or falls 5 degrees. We have desert climate where I live. Cool at night with wind from the canyon and days that can bake under long sunny days with limited large tree shade.

That explained, I was psyched to head west on a perfect day to help out a friend. Turns out, she'd invited some other common friends to be part, so bonus! I knew I would be able to see and catch up with other old friends I hadn't seen in a while.

I pulled a few "looks" that met the wardrobe spec and threw in some fun heels and espadrilles, then took off toward the beach. Actually, we didn't shoot at the beach. My friend had another friend offer up her home on a quiet street. Very generous. And upon arriving, not only was I welcomed by the home owner, but I was ushered in to a huge backyard (double lot, easily) with a gigantic tree in the center.

Now this wasn't some sweet gum or palm, this was one of those MAGICAL trees, the kind that reach up with gnarled branches, shimmer with lanterns and chandeliers and beckon you to climb up into its arms and take a long nap. Within 10 minutes of getting there, I was up in the tree. I didn't head up very far because of my "You're someone's mother now" excuse I use these days. I included a few pics from the tree here.

I also sat down in one of the lovely resting spaces, this one a couch and table near the back of the house, and got to know the owner, a New Zealander who makes coasters with art and inspirational messages on terra cotta squares. She was hospitable and inquisitive. I enjoyed our conversation about transitions and life in LA and art and connections. More on her coasters here.

Now, as with most productions, this one was running behind schedule. Lots of late arrivals, which is fine. I wasn't there for the shoot. I was there to see some friends and if it worked out, be an extra in a party scene. It was a good way to approach the day. I figured I would probably not be around for much shooting even if it was on schedule because I had to drive back in rush hour traffic to relieve my sitter at 5 p.m.

And, I wasn't the only one with an early departure time... my old pal Will Hawkins was there for part of the pre-shoot wait time. I haven't seen him since before Riley was born. He's got a busy marketing company that keeps him several months here, then NYC, then Chicago. You know the drill. I knew Will from his touring musician days. In fact, he was the person who first got me over to London to tour. I owe him that introduction and many more. I met Will while attending the Northeast Regional Folk Alliance (NERFA) 2005? Conference at Kutcher's in Montecello, NY. He was rooming with my collaborating partner and friend Tom Glynn, and I crashed on their couch on a crazy tour schedule that had me driving to Carlisle, PA the next day.

I've seen Will go through many transformations and I'm happy to see him in his latest because he seems really happy. It's always great to witness that sort of things for people you've known for so long. We caught up and as he joked about getting older, I mused, "Well, I'm the one with the kid." And so it goes...

I had to leave. The first shot had yet to be shot and the male extras started a pick-up basketball game in another part of the lawn. I'm sure with that setting the final video will be lovely for Cel. I just had to get back and get my daughter.

So, a couple hours go by and on the topic of videos, my hub and I started our post-dinner couch routine looking for clips of "Pumping Iron" on Youtube, to no avail. A few nights earlier, we watched out of sequence clips of "Cocksucker Blues". Yes, this is what you get on Apple TV with no Netflix subscription. At least the Rolling Stones night led us to a slew of rare Beatles interviews about breaking success and the rise of Apple Corp's accounting troubles. This night, we gave in and rented another "everyone's talking about this show" show, American Horror Story.

Talk about a crazy show! Amazing title sequence. Super creepy suspense and action. Winding plot lines, in a good way. I think I may have found my new addiction. It even had me having monkey brain when my body decided to wake up after 5 hours of sleep on the dot, i.e. 4 a.m.

So video love, don't fail me now. I've got 2 seasons to devour and a really comfy couch. I don't know what I learned about myself or my journey on Tuesday other than I felt recharged and alive and connected with friends. Maybe that's all it needed to be. I really enjoyed seeing R when I got home and was a little sad that I didn't see her much that day at all. Oh, and I've been reading The Second Nine Months, a memoir by Vicki Glembocki, and it has been a wondrous thing to find someone else who struggled so much with the motherhood journey... and lived to tell. It's relief in the way you sometimes hear "your story" coming out of someone else's mouth in a 12 step room. I feel better about all the ups and downs of this job and am beginning to know it's not a bad thing to feel at all. So until I have another shake up or down, I'm sticking to it.

Today, we have swim class and play group. It's a lovely chilly foggy day on the east side. I can only hope it will stay that way all day, but I know the sun will burn through sometime midmorning. Such is life in LA...

Whoa, can I please get off this ridiculous ride?!?

It all began with the 3rd supermoon for 2013... and Jesus, can I just say that I'm ready for a little less cosmic drama. I feel like I've been on the most physical, emotional, and psychological roller coaster for the last week. Granted, I love a big full moon as much as the next stargazer, but I can live without all the crazy that comes with it. I'll just try to keep it honest and get my side of the street clean on a number of big events.

To begin with, I had a big communications misunderstanding with a friend. Sadly, I guess, I got the whole thing off on the wrong foot by texting the ice breaking issue. I know, my bad. Honestly, I have a really difficult time bringing up potentially controversial topics with friends and loved ones and yes, I chickened out to get the ball rolling. Text and email SUCK to this end. All kinds of misinterpretations occur. Anger rises. Tempers flare. Defenses go up, and tears are shed. Yuck. I apologized for my part in the drama, but it still makes for a big couple of days explaining my part and my fears to another trusted friend. Not to mention, you can't take words back. Sometimes they linger and the relationship changes from its previous state. You can only hope that, with time, you will come to a new and better place with each other.

Next up, the baby was walking on the back patio again and flopped down, as she tends to do a lot these days. All pretty familiar territory, except this time, she cut the inside of her lip with her new teeth and had a river of blood stream out of her mouth. I seriously did not even think or flip out. I ran into EMT mode and immediately took her in to get the blood out with a paper towel. The bleeding stopped shortly thereafter and due to a delayed icing of the lip, my daughter now resembles Angelina Jolie... but only on her right side. It's hard to watch a baby bleed like that. It got my head going in all different future projections like arriving to see your teenage daughter bloodied by a car accident. Also, there was this weird reaction to seeing her blood. I don't know that I've ever seen that much. It reminded me that she has blood in her, and a lot of it. It humanized her further for me.  Sometimes, as a new mother, I forget that she's actually a person. She is such a full time job that I get lost in the details of her routine or just try to keep up with her running around.

Then, we had gig night. I prepped for a month for a Friday night show, one I only took at the behest of folks who told me in the past that it was hard to get to a show on a school night. So, I did my routine of social media and newsletter promotion, did the "drum up interest" scene, tried to rally up a band (sadly no success there in LA's summer "touring season"), and then the strangest thing happened, maybe for the first time in my career. No one came. I should interject that my husband came, but I can think of a much better date night than sitting at a bar watching me play tunes.

So, that is a whole different kind of emotional land mine... You can't help but go to, why am I doing this? why take on the expense of playing live (gas, food, drink, babysitter)? does anyone even care? And then there's the embarrassment of falling short as a professional both to yourself or to a club/booker. Finally, there's the feeling of shit, I'm better than this crap. I got the babysitter, sent the email to the booker saying I could be late because the babysitter came 30 minutes later, engaged the audience, played a good set, tipped the bartender, watched the opener and then stayed for a bit of the act after me. This was a 22-year-old, Stevie Nicks-looking, The Voice contestant-sounding, young and slightly stage-awkward young woman who filled the room. If music is a young man's game and if the world is interested in that Aguilera style voicing, then frankly, I'm not in the right field. I don't sound like that. It's not my vocal ability nor is it one I hope to achieve.

So, I decided to put it behind me and focus on the weekend time with my family. We celebrated another first birthday of one of R's playgroup mates, while also checking out the new house of his parents, who are my friends. Then on a foggy Sunday morning, we got our asses out the door and took the baby for a walk along the L.A. River, which was a nice discovery. Speaking of discoveries and the universe taking care of you, as we walked along the bike path, I noticed a yard sale near one of the entry points. I wanted to stop and check it out. As fortune would have it, it was for the departure of a dear old friend of mine, who I had just mentioned to my husband. I thought she was moving north of Griffith Park, but as it would happen, she was moving to Seattle... this week... and she hadn't seen Riley since she was a few months old. It was a nice unexpected visit and one I'm so glad to have had, even if to say goodbye for a while.

I'm now sitting in my back yard on a lovely cool afternoon with a gentle breeze. I can watch the birch tree and bougainvillea sway in the wind. I eye the ripe cherry tomatoes I can use in a salad later. I hear birds chirp and these Biblical-sized flying beetles swoop down to the patio. It's a really good day, and I feel clear. I don't know what all these events are telling me yet, maybe nothing at all, but I really feel like my life is in transition. It's so hard to not try and control it. At this moment, I'm hoping I can be happy with that and not be such a malcontent, as I have been of late.

Ethiopiques 4

I began my day early (5 am) after a family dinner the night before that ended at midnight with cousins visiting from Austin, TX. I was beat, and these days I can't tell if I have the beginning of a cold or just bad lingering allergies. My glands were tender. My throat sore. My nose stuffed up. So, after trying unsuccessfully to catch up on sleep a few times, I threw myself together to have a lunch in Little Ethiopia with a fellow fit model friend.

It's her hood and she selected the restaurant. I simply gave her the request, "I want to see you and I want to get Ethiopian food (so I can eat with my hands and not have it be for my baby)." She accepted the challenge with gusto and said, "Then, we're going to Rahel's."

Off we walked from her apartment to the main drag on Fairfax. We hadn't seen one another since shortly after I had R so there was much to discuss and hear about. She's a pretty busy lady--writing/directing a feature, beginning a documentary, doing a weekly improv class, starting a new fitness class regimen, working the fit jobs and planning for her Burning Man character's story time act. She even bought and designed the artwork for her own custom hurdy gurdy! (which I'm here to report sounds like a cross between a harmonium and a organ grinder monkey, more on it here)

As we entered the restaurant, I heard the beginnings of an old friend of a cd. "Ah, Ethiopiques 4," I said. For those of you who know the compilation, you may immediately know the sound. It's a classic collection of Ethiopian jazz from 1969-1974, and proved to be the perfect soundtrack for our lunch buffet.

Man, I miss Ethiopian food. I love the squishy flat bread (injera) and all those amazing vegetable dishes (Rahel's is vegan) made from cabbage, lentils, yams, carrots and string beans. I think it had been over 13 years since I last ate it. I used to incorporate the fare into my mix of restaurants while living in San Francisco, but somehow managed to completely miss out while in NYC.

Besides a lovely visit with a very positive energy filled friend, I was taken on a bit of an African theme. First off, the food. Next, the music which reminds me of listening to that cd on repeat while living in San Francisco, as well as teasing my brain with reminiscence of my trip to Morocco in 1998--yes, yes, I know it's not Moroccan music, but the feel of its sexy, mysterious melodies and arrangement remind me of wandering souks and getting lost in time. Finally, I heard from my younger cousin who is currently living in Kenya and moving to Malawi. I guess between having a baby and catching up on sleep, I missed that she was there. I had a few very nice exchanges with her and learned of the blog she's keeping about her times there. I was happy to see her doing so well and traveling to such lengths, as I know she's dreamed of doing all her life.

So, I was in a misty African-themed head space and the message I left with from my lunch companion was "Be gentle with yourself." Maybe it's the message I've needed to hear for a while, especially as it relates to finding "me" again, with the new context of "mother" added. And I should add that in the last week or so, R has turned a corner yet again, becoming even more little girl-like and less baby-like. She's begun snuggling and sounding out full belly laughs. She loves her swing, which she refers to as "Weeee!" She's now climbing off the back patio to the ground instead of using the smaller brick steps. She has an assortment of new words that seem to grow daily. She loves playing with the hose in the backyard, the light switches throughout the house and her star turtle. She's a funny, loving little girl who steals my heart all the time.

I'm going to try to remember to be gentle with myself and perhaps I'll return to that Ethiopique 4 soundtrack as my guide to swerve slowly instead of rushing, to remember a cool peaceful approach versus a chaotic anxious panic. And I got in that nap to catch up after the baby went down tonight. Between that and a cup of hot tea, I feel like I may be on the mend.

Are you feeling it?

In my day to day scanning of facebook, I find some interesting articles. One I discovered last night was about why music gives us chills. Now I guess I'm part of the "50% that does" as the article stated, as in 50% of people feel chills when listening to music. 

My first reaction was, "Who doesn't feel chills at some point?" But that's a similar reaction to my other most popular question, "How can you NOT hear an out of tune note?" These are not judgmental replies, but rather, a real bemusement on my part. When I take something so much for granted, it seems impossible to imagine it any other way. But that's another story for another time...

What's interesting about the article is it goes on to point out that the chill factor often hits when the brain is teased into thinking the music is going to that special section, and then does not. It's the unexpectedness that brings on the chills, and the biggest pay off in dopamine response tends to come when you're anticipating the "chill" event and then it occurs. 

I'm still not sure I totally get the process they describe, but it was cool to read some science on a very personal and visceral bodily response (that I have) to music (something I love and try to do as a calling). That said, it's unexpectedness that makes you "feel" it. I guess that follows. I know I was enjoying some unexpected and "firing on all cylinders" joy that my daughter had on her backyard swing this weekend.

I know I get a huge rise when I'm listening to live music and someone goes to a chord that is not in the "pop" canon. I always say those chords slay me. I've made it somewhat of a point to try and incorporate them into my songwriting for a while now. I never stopped to think if my reaction to these chords or "special moments" was personal to me alone, or the 50% that might get chills, and that there are some folks who no matter how clever the turn of phrase or diversion of musical path, they won't hear it that way. Hmmm. Makes you re-think quite a bit about life and how you perceive it.

I don't know, maybe this is not at all something new. Or maybe I'm overthinking a simple idea. I remember at a certain point of trying to write simpler. I find it as I type this entry, several edits along the way. My mind becomes more susceptible to distraction when I'm not on a tight schedule. I can't tell if I go into over thinking because I have the time to actually think about it or if I'm filling that open time with it, almost like creating a puzzle for lack of mental challenges. Some folks do the NYT crossword puzzle...

So, are you feeling it? Right now, I'm feeling not chills but some nice peace of mind. I actually got a cumulative 8 hours of sleep for the first time in a week and honestly, I feel like I got years of my life back. Funny thing was the baby had nothing to do with the messed up sleep. It was my first babies, the cats. And now I look forward to a show on Friday and am thinking about the set list. Now that I know 50% of y'all don't get chills, I wonder what are the best songs to put on that set. I'm going to let my mind wander and see where it lands... and you can make suggestions to what you want to hear. Maybe we'll meet in the middle.

The Golden Hour

So after the last post, I think I needed to take a moment and not be so heavy in this blog. No one wants to constantly read about the downers of life. Let alone, the news of the last few weeks... So much heartbreak and negativity out there over the Trayvon Martin outcome, the recent Rolling Stone cover, the MLB and NBA scandals over racial slurs... I want to take a step back from all that and focus on one lovely thing, The Golden Hour.

It is upon us here in Los Angeles as I write. It's that pre- sunset time between 7 and 8 pm. The sky goes peachy and the sun glows like a huge orange fire ball. The mountains on my side of town morph into a gray-blue or lavender hue, and time moves a little slower. I am usually on my hour down from baby duty. I often sit on my back patio and catch up on emails. I prepped dinner tonight. I have to fold some clothes too. I am currently sitting on a pillow on the floor looking out my front window as the sun descends.

My body feels tender, and my joints are a little sore. It was my first time back to yoga in a few weeks, and the studio wasn't particularly ventilated. So, we basically had a bikram class. I was sweating like a pig. I probably pushed myself a bit more than I would due to the hiatus, and the heat probably allowed my body to go further than it should have. Ouch tomorrow!

So, the Golden Hour, it's my gratitude time. I'm usually silent, as is the house besides the muffled ocean bluffs from Miss R's white noise machine in her room. Sometimes the AC is still on cooling off her room that cooks in the late afternoon sun until it's finally dusk.

Gratitude. Today, I'm grateful that I could write and record music with my old collaborator, Joe Lewis, in London. I was grateful that I had a keyboard to compose some incidentals on for the piece. I was grateful that my allergies didn't kill my voice or tax my nose. I was grateful to get an iced coffee from Cafe Figaro in Los Feliz before yoga, and maybe the most butter-laden croissant of recent history. I'm grateful that Riley had a good day and was generally happy. I was grateful that I had the same.

These are simple pleasures. I used to disregard them in lieu of how many things I got checked off my list. Maybe this appreciation comes with age. Maybe it travels with quietude. Time to think or appreciate things like watching the sun set.

At this moment, I'm happy to be alive, to have my family, to live in this house, to recognize and enjoy silence of volume and of headspace. I'm lucky to have amazing friends and two great kitties. I hold hope for the future in my life and for humanity in general. I wish you all good evenings and breathe deeply.

OK to be not OK at it

With the beginning of a new week comes the Monday Sanborn Sprouts meet up. This is the bi-weekly playgroup my daughter is part of in town. I actually love these times too because it's a guarantee that I will interact with one adult that day, specifically another mother.

For those not on the parenthood roller coaster, I'll explain my situation. When I happen to go out of the house with my daughter, there's no real rule that says I'll be able to converse with another person, let alone one who understands or relates to some of my daily stresses... For example, I made my baby cry after raising my voice to her...never mind that the message was "Riley, NO!" as she was about to crawl into the cat's litter box...

Yeah, that's the stuff we go over in these times. We share war stories. Occasionally one of us will have a new project we're working on and talk about it. I'm often asked about my music work. Sadly, I usually answer, "Well, I'm not doing much of it these days..." It pains me to say that. It took me forever to get to the point where I was actually doing music fairly regularly that to be without it, I fear for my identity.

A little backstory, I was not always a working musician. In fact, for a long time, I didn't even play it in public. It seemed like a fairy tale. My folks were always telling me to find a real job. I spent my entire college career trying on internships to find the one that "fit". I'd worked in TV, film, magazines, public relations, and sales for most of my time before committing to music and fashion work. And let's face it, I knew with my height that I should really try to exploit the latter direction before I hit 40.

So, at said play group, I mentioned that I ordered a book called Sippy Cups are not for Chardonnay by Stefanie Wilder Taylor, to read a book that made me feel better about feeling badly about motherhood. One mother laughed and said "You're so honest." God, I hope so. I didn't spend as much time in meetings as I have to sit around and lie about how I feel about one of the biggest changes in my life. So yeah, I'm not a fan of motherhood. I don't want to be misunderstood, I LOVE MY DAUGHTER, but I'm not great at the job. And I'm not one of those women who dreamt of having kids or who felt everything light up when they put the baby on my chest. In fact, I think my exact thoughts were, "Oh shit!" So yeah, I need some levity.

I think it's a fairly common reaction too. Not all women are cut out to be mothers in my opinion. Some know in advance. Some find out after the fact. Some may actually be good mothers and think they're crap at it. I'm not sure where I am in this spectrum. I try. In fact, I try daily, hourly, by the minute. There are good days and bad days.

Today seems to be on the positive side. It's been filled with good naps, good meals, fun at the wading pool and on the slide, and maybe a visit to a new mother friend of mine in the neighborhood. It will be interesting to see how she's handling it. A little year along perspective. Maybe I'll be reminded of something by witnessing her. The universe sends us messages in the most unique ways. So, we'll see about it. Sometimes just admitting the negative feelings around motherhood wrack me with such guilt. I mean, R didn't ask for a mom who's not keen on the job. She's just a really loving little girl who loves her father and I implicitly... at least for now. Dreading the teen years already. Or maybe she'll be a sweet girl who isn't terribly difficult. Maybe she'll have a hard time with people in her life, like bullies. I just assume she'll be a fighter. She may be more sink than swim. And that would be even more heartbreaking in this job.

So, I'm trying to strike a balance between who I am and who this role requires me to be. They may not be mutually exclusive. I hope not. It will be best for all involved if that is the outcome. Plus, that little girl deserves better than some woman resentfully half-assing it. Wish me luck!

Life of Riley and other Wild Joys: Encounters

Life of Riley and other Wild Joys: Encounters: So, yesterday, I took a MOM day off and had a date with LACMA. Not some new mom lactation support group, as my friend Jefferson kidded, but ...

Encounters

So, yesterday, I took a MOM day off and had a date with LACMA. Not some new mom lactation support group, as my friend Jefferson kidded, but the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. I realized upon checking the current exhibition roster that I'd missed the Kubrick show (sadly), but I noticed a number of other interesting things I'd like to check out. Most notably, the Hans Richter retrospective.

The show is called Encounters. It's a term that Richter coined to define the context of his interactions with his fellow artists and filmmakers of a particular period of time. Heady enough descriptor, eh? But it was actually a really interesting tour through Modernity and collaboration in portraiture, film, music and political print. 

You see, Richter fought in WWI and after seeing the atrocities that come in war--and more poignantly, trench warfare--he became a pacifist. He also was associated with the Dadaist and Socialists of the time. Like many artists, he absorbed what was going on and took a spin on it for a while before moving onto the next thing. While I love this period of art and world politics, you have to wonder if it would not have been as groundbreaking if rich kids like Richter didn't have the time to hang out and do lots of odd artsy fartsy stuff. Mind you, I'm not knocking him. I would be doing the same thing if in the same position.

The show also got me thinking about collaboration in general. Musical collaborations. Love relationships as collaborations. All those Burning Man collective camps (FunkCamp, Fandango, Acid Cabaret) and the fundraisers I was involved in throwing to their behalf. It seems life is a string of collaborations. I mean, right now, my husband and I are collaborating on raising our daughter. And as any parent out there knows, you try to provide a unified front, but really, you're two individuals with different outlooks and opinions who have to work together to make something beautiful.

I've been lucky to experience this beauty many times in my life. I really love 3 collaborations in my musical life--"Feels Like Rain" with Tom Glynn, "Overwhelmed" with Tim Lefebvre and "The Low Hum" with Moby. All are very different songs and yet all resonate with me from a very vulnerable place. In that quiet softness, I feel beauty.

I feel like I've met some amazing people along the way. Both on a personal level and on a work level. I don't know how many of you know this, but I used to work as a freelance writer for film, music and lifestyle magazines. I was lucky to interview people like Joan Chen, David Cronenberg, and Norman Reedus among the known ones. 

But just as amazing were the people I met maybe only for a moment. Two specifically come to mind. One day in 1996, I was in NYC interviewing for some public relations job the summer after I'd graduated from Syracuse. After said interview, I changed into clothes that would allow me to survive that still, hot, humid weather and began walking around town. At a random sunglasses table, a guy asked me if a pair worked for him. We chatted a bit and then I moved on to get lunch. He came by and asked if he could eat with me. It seemed forward, but I had nothing in my schedule, so I decided to do so. He wasn't at all lecherous or even flirty, just a traveler in town for a day or so on some leg of a trip with no friends to meet up with until later that day. We had lunch and continued to talk about life in Madison Square Park that afternoon. At a certain point when I felt the conversation was played out, I said goodbye. He was kind and didn't press for more than a simple "Nice to meet you." I never saw him again. I can't remember his name, but I remember that day as one of those moments in your life. Maybe it was my opening up to a stranger in the present that wedged it into memory.

The other meeting was on a train ride from Fez to Rabat, Morocco, in December 1998. I was tiredly making my way back to a flight home after 10 exhausting days of travel across Morocco. I had done some fasting for Ramadan while on the trip and the combination of that, some food sickness, and the grind of the Medina each day had worn me out. In walks this woman wailing in sobs with her husband and child and they sit across from us on the train. "Oh shit," I think. "This is NOT how I want to spend the next few hours." 

After about 15 minutes of awkward silence while her husband calmed her down, the child engaged with me. His father was quick to apologize if the boy was disturbing us, but it was an in. Plus, I learned at this moment, they spoke English. Through some delicate questions, I learned that the woman's mother has just died and they were on their way to deal with the "biz" of death and the funeral. I also had a chance to talk to this woman, who I found out was an extremely educated person that had been living in a very remote town for her husband's job. She had reached out in her community to offer literacy classes to other women in town. She was seeking connection and was promptly ostracized for her efforts. So she was alone with out friends or nearby family, or in many ways, without her culture... Her story and openness moved me. Once again, I cannot remember her name. I never saw her again, but I remember her face, her stories and her young son's most amazing green eyes.

I long for these kind of moments, where life puts you in places and situations where something is created. A memory. A song. A dialogue. Maybe those are all around us and we just lose track of them. There's always an email, an errand or something in the news that distracts us from what is in front of us. I feel grateful that I had a little time alone yesterday to be inspired and to remember all this. I'm going to try and keep a little of that with me today.

Where's the good stuff?

Today was not a banner day for my "day job." Sadly, the kid wasn't even that bad, but those moans. Any parent who deals with teething can tell you that the moans really take it out of you. Well, that and if you're blessed with a hyper communicative and active child like mine, the constant motion. She doesn't sit still. The tricky thing is she's pretty advanced. She walks/runs on her own. She climbs stairs and just about any surface she puts her head to, and often, she does just that... puts her head to those surfaces.

We started today with a glorious high cheekbone check to the corner of an outdoor brick step. She wasn't even climbing this time. Just walking, then whoops, lost her balance and caught the mug on the corner. Broke skin and gave herself one hell of a shiner. Never mind that I'm now worried about anyone at swim class later calling Child Services on me, but she is also resistant to icing the swelling. After some coaxing with a boob and a gently placed ice pack, she gave me a few moments to nurse the bruise.

Anyway, she fought her nap then was great for swim class. Actually, she cried through half the lesson and from back floating onward was great. She did her typical clap and squeal dance on the lillypad portion of the lesson. This is likely only to be understood by the other parents in her Waterworks Aquatics swim class. But to say the least, she had fun.

Oh, and I forgot to mention, after getting her prepped for class at home (swim diaper, suit and dress on), I took her out of her seat at the destination and found she'd peed clear through her diaper and all through her car seat. Brilliant! Best part was she got to sit in said car seat on the way home too...

So, what else? Besides eating the whopping quantities of lunch foods I brought her for play group, she then picked at everyone else's food like a stray dog begging for scraps. Once she had her fill of that, she'd run off in the direction of the playground for a few turns on the slide. Mind you, I am trying to actually have a conversation with another mother at the time whose child seems content to stay in our general area. I realize that I'm hovering a bit, but I try to keep in mind that while she acts like a toddler, she's only a year old.

Onto the good stuff... there were baby Chihuahuas at the park and they were adorable! I got lunch in and hope to grab a small nap before the second nap is over for baby. I have a quick dinner plan for later. I indulged in my white trash dessert du jour, graham crackers and icing. And sweetly, while I was reading bedtime stories after the second fought nap attempt, R held my hand. Let's reboot and see where the rest of the day takes us.

What is a Fit Model?

This is a question I get about as often as "Do you know who you look like?" (by the way, I'll take feedback on the latter). It's one of those jobs you didn't know existed, unless you work in the fashion industry. Because deep down, who really thinks about how are clothes sized? and how is that size created?, other than the people who make the clothes, or in my case, the people who try them on and give feedback.

Yep, for the better part of nine years, I've worked varying numbers of hours as a fit model. I've been an independent as well as worked with a few agencies. I don't see either as better than the other. I've met cool Heads of Production at boutique design houses and been cattle for a committee of design liaisons for bigger labels. Sometimes I was asked for real pattern making feedback on the cut of a garment. Other times, I stood quietly for 3-4 hours changing garments while the committee assessed the "look" of it and compared the spec measurements on paper to the actual measurements of the sample I wore. OK, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's goto a definition, shall we?

According to Wikipedia...

"A fitting model (sometimes fit model) is a person who is used by a fashion designer or clothing manufacturer to check the fit, drape and visual appearance of a design on a 'real' human being, effectively acting as a live mannequin. A person is selected to work as a fitting model primarily on criteria matching the desired measurement specifications of the designer or manufacturer. These specifications generally consist of height, bust-waist-hip circumference, arm and leg length, shoulder width, and a myriad of other measurements as indicated by the garment type. This is the case whether the garments are for women or men of any size; the grading of construction patterns is often tested on a variety of fitting models to be sure that increases in size are translated accurately and evenly across the range.

Beyond merely wearing the garment for inspection, a fitting model can become an integral role in the design process; commenting on garments and materials with regards to fit, movement and feel on flesh, and objective feedback on the 'fit' and design of the garment in the stead of the consumer. Ultimately, a fitting model aids in confirming that the sizing, design and cut of the garment to be produced meets the designer's specifications and intentions."

So, a lot of details, not a ton of glamour or cat walking to report. Back to the here and now... I'm an out of work fit model. I was fairly actively working before I left NYC in October 2011 with a client roster that included J. Mendel, Lauren Hansen, A|X, Diane von Furstenberg, Donna Karan and number of other smaller companies or start-ups. Since moving to Los Angeles, I've been lucky to pick up some substitute gigs for friends at a few places. I was also waiting to see where my post-baby body would land "size-wise". It pretty much landed where I left it one year post-pardem. Maybe the boobs got smaller--the downside of nursing. This leaves me with a question:

How do models find clients in this town? and why are the rates so much lower than in New York?

I was told before coming here that NY experience would go very far in LA. Hmmm, still waiting to see that, as well as hear back from emails--don't even get me started about the time lag in replies to emails out West. Jarring, really.

It also makes me wonder if age is not a factor. I know that should be an understatement in the world of modeling, but we're talking NUMBERS here folks. If you fit the numbers and you do the gig professionally, you should be fine until there's a personnel change at the company. I don't want this to sound like a total rant. I'm not even sure I LIKE fit modeling, and I'm certainly not going to start attending rooftop hotel bar parties where models mingle and find work. BLEH! Maybe if I was 15 years younger and with half my IQ, I'd take a swing at it.

So, where does this leave me? An out of work fit model with a very scattered work resume besides it and music--both HIGHLY reliable fields of work these days. I suppose as much as this began a simple look at an relatively misunderstood job, it's returned to my "next chapter" question. I'm open to working and I'm pretty professional when I'm on the job, but if this door has indeed closed for good, what do I take from the experience to the next one? Sure, I've learned a lot more about how clothes go from drawings to runway to the store rack. Maybe that's enough. Would folks be asking Thoreau what he intended to "do" with the experience from Walden these days? Maybe some would. I hate falling into that trap, but I do it all the time.

For now, I'm going to rest knowing there may be more to come, or not, but I clearly am yearning for something else to do outside the role of MOM. 

Breaker 1-9, Come back?

So a friend gave me the idea to launch a blog today from a status update I posted on Facebook... I don't know how cliche that might be in the blogosphere, but what the hell... I'm a new mom. I have pockets of time (this is being typed at quarter of 11 before I give in today) and most importantly, I have questions and lots of observations of my child, my changing life and my questionable future.

Before I jump into a story of past revelry, a fear of my next chapter or some hilarious thing my daughter showed me today, I'll just say, I'm going to try to do this. If for no other reason, then to type something with regularly. Plus, it's nice to be doing this outside the world of FB for a change.

Welcome to The Life of Riley and other Wild Joys. I welcome feedback or topics to explore. I may mine some I find on other lists I read and will probably cross post to other sites.

First up, what is a fit model? Stay tuned...