A friend of mine asked me to consider this topic for my blog a few months ago. I think life clogged up the lines, and I didn't get to it. I also wasn't sure how I could answer this question when I myself don't even have a clue how to do it.
I know that even having the time and wherewithal to consider this question is a "high quality problem" as there are many women struggling to support a family on their own, let alone the number of women living in poverty conditions globally. I realize that I am lucky beyond my wildest dreams to be in the life I am in. I am further blessed to have a calling that is a passion, and not simply a job I got good at that pays. I have also been a freelancer for my entire adult career and therefore have crafted a life which enjoys a good deal of freedom. So, all that said, you can hate me now and stop reading, should that be your proclivity.
Otherwise, here we are... I'm a mom. I'm a singer-songwriter. I occasionally still work as a fit model. That's about the order of things these days. I should mention that the split of my time percentage wise is skewed disproportionately toward the former over the latter two. But I'm trying...
Often I ask myself, why am I making things difficult for myself. It sure would be easier to stop hustling to get my music out there, or play gigs, or write and record music with people. It would be less insulting to my self image to not fret over my waist by the inch or keep close watch that my jean size doesn't change. But these are habits and sometimes even great pleasure points for me. I've done them for God knows how long and I define a lot of myself by them.
So, what's up with this next chapter? That's the one thing they don't really tell you when you have a kid, or maybe they do and I wasn't really listening, but things change. Not necessarily in ways that completely alter your being, but they do. You now have a new person in your life that you can't blow off when you're not feeling like hanging out. You have a buddy, a rival and a new love of your life all wrapped up in one. And if you've ever been in love, you know how much time and brain and heart space that takes up. So, you have to do some creative time management.
I envy those women who had a job they had to go back to after giving birth. While I know it must be very hard to walk away from your baby so soon, you had to. And your child and you learn to not be so co-dependent. You also get to return to your job, which I'm assuming you like on some level or you might have left it when you had the baby. For those of us in the freelance end of things, it's not so easy. You have to find child care and then you have to find a place to work. Then you get the benefit at times of chasing the checks or paying out of pocket to keep up promotion of your services. It can be ok once you secure great child care and get out of the house, but there's the screaming and tears of the bonded baby upon leaving. There's the extra pressure to not only prove that you "still have it" or are just as reliable as those kidless competitors, but there's the guilt of doing what you love, instead of necessarily "loving" every minute of being a mother. And for what it's worth, you're never by yourself again in that way that you think about your child at some point. Those thoughts never crossed my mind before I had a kid.
The next chapter? Is there such a thing? Or are we fretting over something that we can't control and the unpredictability is what's driving us crazy? I don't know if it's self-imposed or societally driven, or something else entirely, but here is where I sit with it today. The next chapter feels like a race I'm running every minute of my life. I have a drink at night to toast that I survived yet another day as a mother and hopefully did one thing that retained some resemblance of the me before baby. I try not to beat myself up if the house is kind of trashed or the kitchen floor needs to be swept and I just don't want to do it. And man, if I get all that done and I sneak in a chance to read a book, my lord, it's a banner day! I'm curious to hear more from other moms out there on it.
On another note, I had a child-free afternoon today and comedically found myself eating lunch at a park with a big playground watching kids. I saw a woman with young triplets and I thought, "My god, how do you do 3?!?" I also saw a beautiful butterfly land a few times on the sidewalk and it made me smile as I thought how I would point it out to Riley if she were there with me. Like I said, you're never truly alone again...
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Waning posts and bluegrass hosts
If you've been wondering why this blog hasn't been as active, I can explain it with the title above and my experience over the years. While I think I'm known more as a songwriter, I've actually been a "writer" (not of song) for as long as I've been able to write. An avid journal keeper, I've also dabbled in poetry, fiction, journalism and yes, songwriting. BUT - and here is the problem - I rarely do more than one type actively at a time.
For example, when I'm busy with the blog, I'm usually not writing music. I went through a similar period right out of college when I was writing a novella and didn't write more than one song in a year. I was so busy trying to map out the narrative strings and flesh out my characters, I couldn't bother with playing my guitar, let alone write a tune.
I find myself in another creative flush with music, so the blog posts have become less frequent and less thoughtful, in my humble opinion. I'm thrilled to be writing even if it's in the quiet of my home studio until I let the music out for folks to hear.
What else can I say? I saw an unexpectedly great show last night at UCLA's Royce Hall--Ricky Skaggs with Bruce Hornsby and Kentucky Thunder. I say unexpectedly because quite frankly, I wasn't sure what to expect. I'm a bluegrass admirer from afar, like the kind who enjoys bluegrass brunches with pancakes at Burning Man, but I don't know the history, the artists, the recent albums, etc.
And all I knew of Bruce Hornsby was "That's Just the Way It Is" (which they did a rip roaring bluegrass version of last night) and that he toured with the Dead (which I learned from my handsome husband who used to go to Dead shows while in college at Boulder). But I have to say, Hornsby is a great pianist, and I greatly appreciate his sense of "out". He did a lot of 12 tone wandering on the keys, which helped to make the evening a bit more complex musically. I appreciated that immensely because I get bored when the songs sound the same after about 30 minutes. He was also a nice sarcastic foil to Skagg's mostly sincere delivery.
So we had a great night of music with friends, and then paid a babysitter more than the cost of the tickets. And they wonder why date nights are so infrequent in new parents... Find me a competent and available sitter who doesn't charge at least $16 bucks an hour and you'll see Brad and I out a bit more often. But until we're there, we'll be hanging at a pumpkin patch with other parents of R's play group mates and retiring to our couch with a few nice drinks before crashing.
Welcome to the 2nd year...
For example, when I'm busy with the blog, I'm usually not writing music. I went through a similar period right out of college when I was writing a novella and didn't write more than one song in a year. I was so busy trying to map out the narrative strings and flesh out my characters, I couldn't bother with playing my guitar, let alone write a tune.
I find myself in another creative flush with music, so the blog posts have become less frequent and less thoughtful, in my humble opinion. I'm thrilled to be writing even if it's in the quiet of my home studio until I let the music out for folks to hear.
What else can I say? I saw an unexpectedly great show last night at UCLA's Royce Hall--Ricky Skaggs with Bruce Hornsby and Kentucky Thunder. I say unexpectedly because quite frankly, I wasn't sure what to expect. I'm a bluegrass admirer from afar, like the kind who enjoys bluegrass brunches with pancakes at Burning Man, but I don't know the history, the artists, the recent albums, etc.
And all I knew of Bruce Hornsby was "That's Just the Way It Is" (which they did a rip roaring bluegrass version of last night) and that he toured with the Dead (which I learned from my handsome husband who used to go to Dead shows while in college at Boulder). But I have to say, Hornsby is a great pianist, and I greatly appreciate his sense of "out". He did a lot of 12 tone wandering on the keys, which helped to make the evening a bit more complex musically. I appreciated that immensely because I get bored when the songs sound the same after about 30 minutes. He was also a nice sarcastic foil to Skagg's mostly sincere delivery.
So we had a great night of music with friends, and then paid a babysitter more than the cost of the tickets. And they wonder why date nights are so infrequent in new parents... Find me a competent and available sitter who doesn't charge at least $16 bucks an hour and you'll see Brad and I out a bit more often. But until we're there, we'll be hanging at a pumpkin patch with other parents of R's play group mates and retiring to our couch with a few nice drinks before crashing.
Welcome to the 2nd year...
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Things go by quickly these days...by leaps and bounds
Riley is growing up, by leaps and bounds, daily. She is so not a baby anymore. She is squarely a little toddler. She talks an assortment of words, mostly animal sounds, and at this point, can open her bedroom door knob by herself. The latter has made bedtime routine fairly difficult, esp. when after bath, the naked baby can break loose of her bedroom and run free around the house until this mamma chases her down to get her PJs on and off to bed.
She's also begun enjoying the Tickle Game. I'm a big fan of tickling, but I know some folks (like my husband) are not, so I try to do so with reserve. Riley never seemed ticklish before, but now she plays a couple games with us. The first is when my husband teases her "I'm gonna git ya..." and makes the tickle hand gestures. R has such a great reaction. Her eyes widen. She turns on a dime and runs away full throttle, usually toward me, the "base" in this tag game. She will climb onto my shoulders if I let her just to get away from the tickler.
The next evolution of fun tickling is in the fact that she also knows and does the sign language for "More." So, we'll start down the tickling avenue for fun and then I will stop. R immediately signs for "more." So we do it again. Stop. "More." It's a really cute interaction.
Another cute thing she does is say the words "Okie dokey", which sound more like "cookie cookie." I'm not even sure what possessed me to ask her to repeat the phrase back to me at one point, but it is now the reigning favorite phrase next to "go-ga" accompanied with a downward facing dog pose or her tongue flick/fishy face for "what does a fish say?"
Her hair is so long too. We used to be able to pin back the bangs with barrette, but now she knows that word too and pulls out all barrettes as I put them in. She holds them and says "barrette." She doesn't even seem to notice she's pulling out her hair. Good thing she has a ton of it.
Each day brings new things she does and another one of those is saying "No." It actually sounds a bit more like a nasaly "nawh." It hasn't become a terrible thing yet, but she is definitely rejecting food or activity suggestions lately. We make due. She's a lovely little girl, who kisses all her stuffed animals and squeals with delight when I get back from a few errands. She makes me feel loved by signing "I love you" or blowing me kisses.
Something turned when she became this toddler who interacts with me more. Sometimes I find myself just watching her talk to herself or figure out how to turn the lid on a water bottle by herself. It thrills me that she's doing this all for the first time. I watched her for 15 minutes moving candles onto the coffeetable and back down to the floor over and over again, like some elaborate game or code she was trying to crack. Maybe all that newness has helped to inspire me to write more, not only this blog, but also music. I've embarked on a couple new collaborations that I hope will lead to a new album. More on this when it has materialized into a fuller concept. I'm happy to have our respective discoveries feed off of each other. I know that's assuming a lot about her, like that I might be feeding her discovery process, but it would be nice to think of our journeys as symbiotic in a way. Who knows... until more stuff is revealed...
She's also begun enjoying the Tickle Game. I'm a big fan of tickling, but I know some folks (like my husband) are not, so I try to do so with reserve. Riley never seemed ticklish before, but now she plays a couple games with us. The first is when my husband teases her "I'm gonna git ya..." and makes the tickle hand gestures. R has such a great reaction. Her eyes widen. She turns on a dime and runs away full throttle, usually toward me, the "base" in this tag game. She will climb onto my shoulders if I let her just to get away from the tickler.
The next evolution of fun tickling is in the fact that she also knows and does the sign language for "More." So, we'll start down the tickling avenue for fun and then I will stop. R immediately signs for "more." So we do it again. Stop. "More." It's a really cute interaction.
Another cute thing she does is say the words "Okie dokey", which sound more like "cookie cookie." I'm not even sure what possessed me to ask her to repeat the phrase back to me at one point, but it is now the reigning favorite phrase next to "go-ga" accompanied with a downward facing dog pose or her tongue flick/fishy face for "what does a fish say?"
Her hair is so long too. We used to be able to pin back the bangs with barrette, but now she knows that word too and pulls out all barrettes as I put them in. She holds them and says "barrette." She doesn't even seem to notice she's pulling out her hair. Good thing she has a ton of it.
Each day brings new things she does and another one of those is saying "No." It actually sounds a bit more like a nasaly "nawh." It hasn't become a terrible thing yet, but she is definitely rejecting food or activity suggestions lately. We make due. She's a lovely little girl, who kisses all her stuffed animals and squeals with delight when I get back from a few errands. She makes me feel loved by signing "I love you" or blowing me kisses.
Something turned when she became this toddler who interacts with me more. Sometimes I find myself just watching her talk to herself or figure out how to turn the lid on a water bottle by herself. It thrills me that she's doing this all for the first time. I watched her for 15 minutes moving candles onto the coffeetable and back down to the floor over and over again, like some elaborate game or code she was trying to crack. Maybe all that newness has helped to inspire me to write more, not only this blog, but also music. I've embarked on a couple new collaborations that I hope will lead to a new album. More on this when it has materialized into a fuller concept. I'm happy to have our respective discoveries feed off of each other. I know that's assuming a lot about her, like that I might be feeding her discovery process, but it would be nice to think of our journeys as symbiotic in a way. Who knows... until more stuff is revealed...
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Organize! - Ralph Nader Remixed
My good friend and musical collaborator, Art Hays, made this. Good politics, fun and very catchy! Please watch and share!
Monday, September 23, 2013
Blue Man and Spells and Stresses, Oh My!
What a strange few weeks I've been living. A mix of goods and bads, highs and lows and a keen anxious streak throughout... Let's begin with the good. I had the distinct honor and privilege to sing with the Blue Man Group for its two shows at the Hollywood Bowl. As if playing the Bowl weren't great enough, I also was fortunate enough to do so with dear old friends, people I hadn't seen in a few years let alone worked on a creative project with. I've been bandmates with the BMG (Blue Man Group) band over the years. I've also seen a lot of these folks go through big personal changes and blossom from it. I've done similar things. It was such a lovely way to spend time, rehearsals and actual shows, with these wonderful people, doing things I love--music and comic relief--as the newly added "ZuZu singers" ensemble. Yes, there was a bit of "Who better to play a Zuzu singer than Emily Zuzik?!?" But on top of the gargantuan feat of pulling this show off (featured acts, the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra, Blue Men, etc), I met some new amazing artists as well. My fellow female Zuzu, Sara Leib, for instance, who is a consummate hostess and funny Jewish Grandma type, not only sang and mugged her heart out as a Zuzu, but she also performed as a scat Jazz singer in the Bolero skit and brought wine, tequila and champagne for the entire cast on closing night! My Zuzu boys, Kalen Allmandinger and Scott Speiser, were both charming and funny "box mates" as well as being the low end of our vocal quartet. It was a very special show and life experience, one I doubt I'll ever forget.
Then, there was the bad. My daughter began having seizures some weeks ago. Luckily, we picked up on them and were able to get her to her doctor, a pediatric neurologist and appointments for both an EEG and MRI. Happily, the tests all came back normal, and the doctor believes she will grow out of. It's enormously stressful to both see your amazingly smart and precocious little girl having mini seizures for short periods throughout the day, as well as to not know why they're happening and if it's a serious or benign cause. And then there was the fact that most of this went down the week of rehearsals and shows for Blue Man Group. Talk about living in two lives. Opening night I began by holding a crying tired baby attached to 12 electrodes for an EEG and ended it center stage at the Hollywood Bowl singing to nearly 18,000 people. It's a fucking head trip, for sure!
I'm happy to report that in the last week or so that I began this blog that lil Riles has been pretty much reduced to few if not completely seizure free. The doc initially said this kind of stuff often happens to kids who develop faster than average--walking at 10 months, talking words beyond Mama and Papa shortly after a year, getting into everything she can. Like her brain has trouble keeping up with her body and she short circuits. Weird, amazing and definitely not the usual. But I wouldn't want her any other way.
As for me, I've returned to a mostly Mom schedule again. I do miss the full day rehearsals and the adult time, but I have also needed to catch up on the physical and mental stress and exhaustion that came with all the highs and lows. I'm happy to be recording and mixing with Jimmy LaValle of The Album Leaf tomorrow for this ProSeed Books project, and based on how this song comes together, I'm inspired to make another ep of trip-hop/downtempo music soon. In the meantime, I'm napping when the baby naps and trying to fit in a yoga class once a week. I'm feeling really good about being Riley's mother and giving myself time to figure out the rest of it.
Then, there was the bad. My daughter began having seizures some weeks ago. Luckily, we picked up on them and were able to get her to her doctor, a pediatric neurologist and appointments for both an EEG and MRI. Happily, the tests all came back normal, and the doctor believes she will grow out of. It's enormously stressful to both see your amazingly smart and precocious little girl having mini seizures for short periods throughout the day, as well as to not know why they're happening and if it's a serious or benign cause. And then there was the fact that most of this went down the week of rehearsals and shows for Blue Man Group. Talk about living in two lives. Opening night I began by holding a crying tired baby attached to 12 electrodes for an EEG and ended it center stage at the Hollywood Bowl singing to nearly 18,000 people. It's a fucking head trip, for sure!
I'm happy to report that in the last week or so that I began this blog that lil Riles has been pretty much reduced to few if not completely seizure free. The doc initially said this kind of stuff often happens to kids who develop faster than average--walking at 10 months, talking words beyond Mama and Papa shortly after a year, getting into everything she can. Like her brain has trouble keeping up with her body and she short circuits. Weird, amazing and definitely not the usual. But I wouldn't want her any other way.
As for me, I've returned to a mostly Mom schedule again. I do miss the full day rehearsals and the adult time, but I have also needed to catch up on the physical and mental stress and exhaustion that came with all the highs and lows. I'm happy to be recording and mixing with Jimmy LaValle of The Album Leaf tomorrow for this ProSeed Books project, and based on how this song comes together, I'm inspired to make another ep of trip-hop/downtempo music soon. In the meantime, I'm napping when the baby naps and trying to fit in a yoga class once a week. I'm feeling really good about being Riley's mother and giving myself time to figure out the rest of it.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Thursday, August 22, 2013
You know what's really annoying?...
I can have a great day. A really nice, mellow day with the girl. We didn't do much but play group, but at home, we attacked beds, snuggled pillows, read books, rode in her "car car" around the back yard and even got in the swing once. All sounds misty and Lifetime Channel, right?!?
Well, I'm annoyed by two things that sadly, dictated my current "I need a drink" state. The first is my daughter's obsession with pools. She loves water and swimming as she sees it. We hit a wading pool in play group today. My daughter basically needs a leash. One second not "on" her and she's running toward the pools repeating the word "pool, pool, pool". I drop everything and take off after her. She has a way of always finding the danger in a situation and going for it. I love it about her as a friend, but as a mom, not always so much.
So, other than one instance early on where she either tripped or decided to drink the water and subsequently submerged herself (don't worry, EMT Mom yanked her out and then calmed the following crying from the yank scare), she just wanted to be in the water all the time in Glendale's midday 90+ heat and direct sunlight. Not cool! Then it was the playground. Then the pool. Then approaching elder strangers in powered wheelchairs repeating "car car car." As hard as I try, I want the baby to understand logic, or at least, sit still for maybe 5 minutes. That actually did happen a little later on under a shady tree with the help of baby whisperer Bess Fanning.
Onto more pool drama. So, we live in a house that is surrounded by neighbors with pools. I should add that I've not seen more than one or two actual usages of said pools in over a year. So, baby R is running from one side of the yard to the other yelling "pool, pool, pool". She wants to see them. I will show her them and then I feel badly. I remember being the kid in a neighborhood of pools, wanting to swim in them and not understanding that you needed to be invited to swim. She doesn't get it. Neither did I. It makes me feel sad for her and also annoyed that I'm fighting with my nearly 15 month old whose desperately trying to scale a fence, scream with frustration, or arch her back while thrashing as I take her back into the house.
So, point one, pools. Next up is the brushing of the teeth. Jesus Christ, why did I have to read that dental care is paramount in kids? I mean, seriously, my daughter doesn't sit still before naps or bedtime. She gets cracked out and runs around avoiding anything after the bath. I have to close the door so she doesn't hightail it out of her room. Still, she runs away from me with each thing I try to do--hair combing, PJs, picking out books.
The toothbrush though is the WORST! I understand that she may not like something invading her space, but I'm not breaking her gums with force. She fights. More back arching and screaming. Tears and aggression. Quickly trying to get off the bed to the floor where more running around can continue. I'm trying to sing her into a calmer state while doing the obligatory brushing and then either hand it over to her, "Now you brush your teeth," or defer to binky, books and lights out.
Even when you get to the point of walking out of the room, which feels like a reprieve, if she cries and screams as you're doing this, it feels like nails on chalk board. I'm done, lady. I don't have more to give to this crazy behavior. In fact, I kind of need to get out of there before I blow my top.
So those two things really annoy me. I'd love feedback from other moms or dads who've had these scenarios. I get guilted into thinking I'm a shitty mom from all the progressive parenting verbiage out there. I'm doing my best, and I love that girl to the ends of the earth. Maybe that's the most annoying part, that I am trying to do my absolute best and not repeat crap I dealt with growing up and yet I feel like I never get ahead, like my inner annoyance or rage pops up at very inopportune times.
[Ed. Note: Annoyance with pools has been tapered. Toothbrushing, not so much, since the original writing of this post]
Thursday, August 15, 2013
In the rush of all that is
It's been a week and I feel it... I've been busy with a bunch of stuff that includes work and relaxing with family, both very much needed. Wherever shall I begin?
Well, I was recently introduced to a friend of my pal/fellow musician Shannon Curtis who is organizing a great project for an app he's building. The basic gist is he puts together a photographer and a musician to inspire a new song based on the images of the other. Let me begin by stating emphatically that I LOVE THIS KIND OF PROJECT! I love it for the spontaneity. I love the collaborative spirit. I love music that stems from imagery. I love the ART of the creation. So often, I personally get in the head space of "Well, let me write a [enter genre or popular artist name here] song." It's a challenge, but when you strip away commercial leanings and get to the heart of a song for art's sake alone, I get goosebumps.
I did a similar project like this a few years back for Esopus Magazine in Spring 2010. That time, each artist had to write a song about a particular visual artist and that was the only criterion. I went directly to my main man, Ernst Kirchner, highlight of the German Expressionist movement of the early 1900s. I always loved his depictions of the Ladies of the Night in turn of the century Berlin. I also write most of my songs with a strong feminist viewpoint, so it seemed like serendipity. You can hear a sample of the tune here.
I was lucky to get a series of photographs that depict a small French riverside town at day break. The shots are all black and white. It casts a sombre vibe and seems both epically romantic and lonesome. I LOVE that dichotomy and I can't wait to develop this song. I've sketched out the basic form and chords. I have ideas for lyrics, melody and harmony. I'm doing little bits each day so that every night, I can listen to where it is and see how I react to it. It's growing slowly, but I can't imagine a song like this inspired by those shots could grow any other way.
On a completely different musical note (pun intended), I learned that one of my older tunes, Fly, appeared in a reality TV show about fashion designer Betsey Johnson. Once again, my worlds overlap. As many of you know, I've worked off and on as a fit model for about 7 years, I honestly can't remember exactly. So, if there was ever a nice coincidence, I'd say that might be it. Plus, the tune is my "house" track, so that is probably appropriate for fashion as well.
Speaking of fashion and fit, it appears I'll be working my annual sub gig for a fellow fit model and Burner who is off to Black Rock Desert for Burning Man in a couple weeks. I met up with this woman a few weeks back and I have to say, I love her enthusiasm for the event and the costumes and the playa identity building. I remember being there myself a few lifetimes ago and I can definitely get steeped in heavy nostalgia for my days as part of the Funkmobile or Church of Funk camp in Fandango Village.
And on the topic of getting away, my fam and I went on our annual trip to a guest ranch near Solvang, CA. My hub and I went last year while R was only 8 weeks old. Needless to say, there was a lot of lump in the ergo carrier that year. One mega highlight was I caught her first ever smile on camera in our room. We were excited to return to the wide open spaces and family-centered working ranch (complete with pool, lakes, golf course and spa) with our little bundle of excitability. She loved the entire trip. She made a beeline to the fenced in pool every day repeating "pool, pool, pool!" Did I mention this girl loves her swimming lessons? She also visited the slides 2-3 times a day and repeatedly squealed with joy on each descent. She got to the point where she'd let go and push herself off the top to the bottom. She ran around in large grassy fields, explored new landscaping, got mauled by her very enthusiastic older cousins and, I think, had a great time. We all had some much-needed together time and unplugged from the hectic city distractions. And don't even get me started on the weather... perfect! I sang some karaoke. The baby rocked some pink cowgirl boots and boogied down to Johnny Cash being covered by the hoedown band. We even got a babysitter so my husband and I could hang out after the baby was down, outside the room. It reminded me what a little time outside the "routine" could do for us all.
Finally, I have to say that R is in a great place right now. She's laughing and funny. She equally performs for attention and snuggles for affection. We've been very close, playing and singing together. I bought her a drum like one she likes from a Mommy and Me class we take, and she just about lost her gourd. She's banging the mallets on this mini tympani one minute, shreiking and climbing on its head the next. I love it when I get it right like that. Then a fellow musician/father friend of mine made a comment on a video message that I need to grow up and stop saying I'm a terrible mother, that in fact, I'm probably a great mother. I like hearing that. I don't know about the growing up part, but I like thinking that I'm doing the best I can and maybe the best is actually pretty damn good.
I am hoping that each post talks a little bit more than just about the "where I've beens" or "what I'm doings" in my life. I am down in writing songs so I think a bit more of my meditative side is going to that end. It will return as much as it always does with time.
Well, I was recently introduced to a friend of my pal/fellow musician Shannon Curtis who is organizing a great project for an app he's building. The basic gist is he puts together a photographer and a musician to inspire a new song based on the images of the other. Let me begin by stating emphatically that I LOVE THIS KIND OF PROJECT! I love it for the spontaneity. I love the collaborative spirit. I love music that stems from imagery. I love the ART of the creation. So often, I personally get in the head space of "Well, let me write a [enter genre or popular artist name here] song." It's a challenge, but when you strip away commercial leanings and get to the heart of a song for art's sake alone, I get goosebumps.
I did a similar project like this a few years back for Esopus Magazine in Spring 2010. That time, each artist had to write a song about a particular visual artist and that was the only criterion. I went directly to my main man, Ernst Kirchner, highlight of the German Expressionist movement of the early 1900s. I always loved his depictions of the Ladies of the Night in turn of the century Berlin. I also write most of my songs with a strong feminist viewpoint, so it seemed like serendipity. You can hear a sample of the tune here.
I was lucky to get a series of photographs that depict a small French riverside town at day break. The shots are all black and white. It casts a sombre vibe and seems both epically romantic and lonesome. I LOVE that dichotomy and I can't wait to develop this song. I've sketched out the basic form and chords. I have ideas for lyrics, melody and harmony. I'm doing little bits each day so that every night, I can listen to where it is and see how I react to it. It's growing slowly, but I can't imagine a song like this inspired by those shots could grow any other way.
On a completely different musical note (pun intended), I learned that one of my older tunes, Fly, appeared in a reality TV show about fashion designer Betsey Johnson. Once again, my worlds overlap. As many of you know, I've worked off and on as a fit model for about 7 years, I honestly can't remember exactly. So, if there was ever a nice coincidence, I'd say that might be it. Plus, the tune is my "house" track, so that is probably appropriate for fashion as well.
Speaking of fashion and fit, it appears I'll be working my annual sub gig for a fellow fit model and Burner who is off to Black Rock Desert for Burning Man in a couple weeks. I met up with this woman a few weeks back and I have to say, I love her enthusiasm for the event and the costumes and the playa identity building. I remember being there myself a few lifetimes ago and I can definitely get steeped in heavy nostalgia for my days as part of the Funkmobile or Church of Funk camp in Fandango Village.
And on the topic of getting away, my fam and I went on our annual trip to a guest ranch near Solvang, CA. My hub and I went last year while R was only 8 weeks old. Needless to say, there was a lot of lump in the ergo carrier that year. One mega highlight was I caught her first ever smile on camera in our room. We were excited to return to the wide open spaces and family-centered working ranch (complete with pool, lakes, golf course and spa) with our little bundle of excitability. She loved the entire trip. She made a beeline to the fenced in pool every day repeating "pool, pool, pool!" Did I mention this girl loves her swimming lessons? She also visited the slides 2-3 times a day and repeatedly squealed with joy on each descent. She got to the point where she'd let go and push herself off the top to the bottom. She ran around in large grassy fields, explored new landscaping, got mauled by her very enthusiastic older cousins and, I think, had a great time. We all had some much-needed together time and unplugged from the hectic city distractions. And don't even get me started on the weather... perfect! I sang some karaoke. The baby rocked some pink cowgirl boots and boogied down to Johnny Cash being covered by the hoedown band. We even got a babysitter so my husband and I could hang out after the baby was down, outside the room. It reminded me what a little time outside the "routine" could do for us all.
Finally, I have to say that R is in a great place right now. She's laughing and funny. She equally performs for attention and snuggles for affection. We've been very close, playing and singing together. I bought her a drum like one she likes from a Mommy and Me class we take, and she just about lost her gourd. She's banging the mallets on this mini tympani one minute, shreiking and climbing on its head the next. I love it when I get it right like that. Then a fellow musician/father friend of mine made a comment on a video message that I need to grow up and stop saying I'm a terrible mother, that in fact, I'm probably a great mother. I like hearing that. I don't know about the growing up part, but I like thinking that I'm doing the best I can and maybe the best is actually pretty damn good.
I am hoping that each post talks a little bit more than just about the "where I've beens" or "what I'm doings" in my life. I am down in writing songs so I think a bit more of my meditative side is going to that end. It will return as much as it always does with time.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
The Meaning in Weaning
She'll be 14 months this week. I remember initially hoping to nurse for a half year. And in the first month, I wanted OUT of that deal.
Any mom or lactation consultant will tell you, breastfeeding is HARD! They never tell you it's going to be, and so many women struggle with the process. It's no wonder there are so many formula-fed babies. With all the pain, latching difficulties, over or under supply issues and more, it's no wonder women give up. I almost did on a number of occasions.
But now it's almost 14 months, and she still nurses. I should also point out that R also eats truckloads of turkey, eggs, cheese, bread, grapes, peaches, yogurt, oatmeal, green beans, broccoli, peppers, meatloaf, pasta... pretty much anything she's offered. She now also washes them down with cold, out of the fridge cow's milk. No allergies. No digestion issues. No fighting. She loves it all!
So why then is she not weaned?
Bottom line. I'm lazy. It's kind of easy to just whip it out and let the girl drink. Side note: In California state, mothers are protected by law to breastfeed in public. In a city like Los Angeles, which is very pro-breastfeeding, it seems like there is support all around you. La Leche League meetings abound. You can cruise over to The Pump Station and take free seminars on topics like breastfeeding multiples, new mothers BF support group and a sling workshop that likely demonstrates how to position the baby in said sling to breastfeed discreetly in public.
Of course, as a friend once told me, "You need to reclaim your breasts for you. Until you do, you won't totally be free." Not sure what I'll suddenly be free to do once I don't have a baby attached to one of them at a given moment, but I get the message. So, just to review my uphill climb with the process.
It begins the moment R is born and the doctor places her on my chest. Where I delivered, they have a strong "skin to skin" policy, which is not some subgenre of porno shot in Encino, but rather a philosophy that the newborn is placed directly on the mother's bare chest and remains there for the first hours of life instead of being whisked away to the hospital nursery. It's a bonding experience. In those new moments, they encourage getting the baby to latch and used to the idea of breastfeeding, which you, as the mother, are unlikely to do immediately due to the fact that your milk hasn't come in yet.
What? Another thing I learned in childbirth classes and books, you have to wait to get your milk. So, you're going through the motions. The baby is maybe getting a bit of colostrum until your become engorged with milk, pained by the fact that your boobs swell up to the size of a booth babe at the Adult Entertainment Expo.
I always thought of breastfeeding as some kind of softly lit, soft-focus edged experience between a doting mother and a docile baby. I didn't quite have that scenario. I honestly can't remember much of the early days (likely because I wasn't sleeping) and then once she learned to move, she's been wiggling, kicking, rolling and doing anything but lying still. So let's see, there's also the difficulty in getting the baby to latch, plugged ducts, leaking boobs, hot and cold compresses, the smell of stale milk on your clothes, products like Lanisoh and Booby Tubes. Not exactly that Lifetime movie special...
For us, we had issues early on with R in that her belly would swell hard as a rock and she had gas that kept her screaming into the night. She also had gastro issues involving blood in diapers that led us to a specialist at Cedars. He suggested that we put her on a hypoallergenic formula to see if the breast milk was causing the issues for her. I didn't want to put her on formula, but I did it for a day and noticed a complete turnaround. The doctor said that was good because it meant that there wasn't a more serious problem with the baby's digestive system. I could switch to formula or go back to breastfeeding and see blood.
I called my husband sobbing on the phone with my 8-week-old saying I didn't want to have her on formula and deny her what I thought would be best for her immune system. He agreed and we went back to BF about 90% of the time, supplementing with the occasional bottle of formula to give her system a break.
Later, I learned at a La Leche League meeting that gastrointestinal issues like bleeding is pretty common with breastfed babies. Of course, no one in my family had EVER heard of it and so there was a lot of blood updates with family phone calls for the first 6 months of her life.
Next up, breast feeding while teething. I will not go into that. Let's just say, it fucking hurts!
So, I'm staring down 14 months and my rationale is I'm lazy, not good with structure, etc. It's easy to nurse now that R and I have the routine down. She likes it. But now there's also a little voice in my head saying "Why do you want to force this? Once it's gone, you can't go back!"
Whoa! I never pegged myself as the woman to hear that voice in my head, quietly or loudly. It's like somewhere along the line, I bonded with my baby girl and this was part of the process. I still relentlessly multitask while nursing, like pick dried oatmeal out of the hair behind her ears or scroll through a text on my phone, but the idea that it might suddenly be gone--and that I might actually miss it--was a new revelation that nearly shocked me.
What do I do with this information? I doubt I'm going to be the type of mom like Game of Throne's Lysa Arryn, wife of the late Lord Jon Arryn, suckling the child until a tween. But I don't know if I'm ready to let go of that connection. I'm the only one who can offer her this and when it's gone, I will be demoted a bit as well. I will be like everyone else. That saddens me.
I suppose the meaning for me lies in not weaning, right now, at least. I recognize that weaning is the end of a chapter for R and I. I guess, as much as my husband and I joke that the girl's not giving up the boobs anytime soon, that these boobs, or rather, her mother isn't letting go of her either.
Any mom or lactation consultant will tell you, breastfeeding is HARD! They never tell you it's going to be, and so many women struggle with the process. It's no wonder there are so many formula-fed babies. With all the pain, latching difficulties, over or under supply issues and more, it's no wonder women give up. I almost did on a number of occasions.
But now it's almost 14 months, and she still nurses. I should also point out that R also eats truckloads of turkey, eggs, cheese, bread, grapes, peaches, yogurt, oatmeal, green beans, broccoli, peppers, meatloaf, pasta... pretty much anything she's offered. She now also washes them down with cold, out of the fridge cow's milk. No allergies. No digestion issues. No fighting. She loves it all!
So why then is she not weaned?
Bottom line. I'm lazy. It's kind of easy to just whip it out and let the girl drink. Side note: In California state, mothers are protected by law to breastfeed in public. In a city like Los Angeles, which is very pro-breastfeeding, it seems like there is support all around you. La Leche League meetings abound. You can cruise over to The Pump Station and take free seminars on topics like breastfeeding multiples, new mothers BF support group and a sling workshop that likely demonstrates how to position the baby in said sling to breastfeed discreetly in public.
Of course, as a friend once told me, "You need to reclaim your breasts for you. Until you do, you won't totally be free." Not sure what I'll suddenly be free to do once I don't have a baby attached to one of them at a given moment, but I get the message. So, just to review my uphill climb with the process.
It begins the moment R is born and the doctor places her on my chest. Where I delivered, they have a strong "skin to skin" policy, which is not some subgenre of porno shot in Encino, but rather a philosophy that the newborn is placed directly on the mother's bare chest and remains there for the first hours of life instead of being whisked away to the hospital nursery. It's a bonding experience. In those new moments, they encourage getting the baby to latch and used to the idea of breastfeeding, which you, as the mother, are unlikely to do immediately due to the fact that your milk hasn't come in yet.
What? Another thing I learned in childbirth classes and books, you have to wait to get your milk. So, you're going through the motions. The baby is maybe getting a bit of colostrum until your become engorged with milk, pained by the fact that your boobs swell up to the size of a booth babe at the Adult Entertainment Expo.
I always thought of breastfeeding as some kind of softly lit, soft-focus edged experience between a doting mother and a docile baby. I didn't quite have that scenario. I honestly can't remember much of the early days (likely because I wasn't sleeping) and then once she learned to move, she's been wiggling, kicking, rolling and doing anything but lying still. So let's see, there's also the difficulty in getting the baby to latch, plugged ducts, leaking boobs, hot and cold compresses, the smell of stale milk on your clothes, products like Lanisoh and Booby Tubes. Not exactly that Lifetime movie special...
For us, we had issues early on with R in that her belly would swell hard as a rock and she had gas that kept her screaming into the night. She also had gastro issues involving blood in diapers that led us to a specialist at Cedars. He suggested that we put her on a hypoallergenic formula to see if the breast milk was causing the issues for her. I didn't want to put her on formula, but I did it for a day and noticed a complete turnaround. The doctor said that was good because it meant that there wasn't a more serious problem with the baby's digestive system. I could switch to formula or go back to breastfeeding and see blood.
I called my husband sobbing on the phone with my 8-week-old saying I didn't want to have her on formula and deny her what I thought would be best for her immune system. He agreed and we went back to BF about 90% of the time, supplementing with the occasional bottle of formula to give her system a break.
Later, I learned at a La Leche League meeting that gastrointestinal issues like bleeding is pretty common with breastfed babies. Of course, no one in my family had EVER heard of it and so there was a lot of blood updates with family phone calls for the first 6 months of her life.
Next up, breast feeding while teething. I will not go into that. Let's just say, it fucking hurts!
So, I'm staring down 14 months and my rationale is I'm lazy, not good with structure, etc. It's easy to nurse now that R and I have the routine down. She likes it. But now there's also a little voice in my head saying "Why do you want to force this? Once it's gone, you can't go back!"
Whoa! I never pegged myself as the woman to hear that voice in my head, quietly or loudly. It's like somewhere along the line, I bonded with my baby girl and this was part of the process. I still relentlessly multitask while nursing, like pick dried oatmeal out of the hair behind her ears or scroll through a text on my phone, but the idea that it might suddenly be gone--and that I might actually miss it--was a new revelation that nearly shocked me.
What do I do with this information? I doubt I'm going to be the type of mom like Game of Throne's Lysa Arryn, wife of the late Lord Jon Arryn, suckling the child until a tween. But I don't know if I'm ready to let go of that connection. I'm the only one who can offer her this and when it's gone, I will be demoted a bit as well. I will be like everyone else. That saddens me.
I suppose the meaning for me lies in not weaning, right now, at least. I recognize that weaning is the end of a chapter for R and I. I guess, as much as my husband and I joke that the girl's not giving up the boobs anytime soon, that these boobs, or rather, her mother isn't letting go of her either.
Friday, August 2, 2013
Can there be a hereditary gene for ONJ love?
Olivia Newton-John's Greatest Hits, Volume 2
I've had this record since I was 8 when I used to spin it on my tan Fisher Price portable record player. It showed the scratches and the love. That record is 31 years old! It's probably the oldest disc in my collection, as far as ownership is concerned. Somehow I've toted it along over many decades, multiple players and even more homes.
Riley has been grabbing that particular album cover out of my stack for a while now. It depicts Olivia in her cropped bleached, spiky hair look á la Physical video. I remember bringing this album cover to my hairdresser at age 9 or so and saying I wanted that cut. It didn't quite work out that way. See below...
My husband said, "I had the biggest crush on Olivia Newton-John."
To which I replied, "So did I! Everyone loved her then."
"I wonder what ever happened to her..."
"Oh, she's still around. (I left out the part that I follow her on Facebook) But I think with everyone big in the industry, she got overexposed and then it's hard to come back from that." I replied.
I remembered ALL the words and ALL the vocal inflections. I sang them with gusto while dancing with my girl. She was boogie-ing down and smiling with glee the entire time. I promised her when she was older that I would introduce her to the movie Xanadu, which I own on VHS and still keep a video player in my garage to someday re-watch it. (Interesting article on Xanadu obsession here)
It was a fun morning. I got to thinking, can a parent's LOVE of something transfer to his or her child? It's a leap of scientific faith to try and equate eye color or cleft chins to an emotional love for a song like "Hopelessly Devoted to You," or "Xanadu," or even lesser known cuts like "Make a Move on Me." (Check out this AWESOME "Solid Gold" (with Marilyn McCoo) performance, and yes, that was the haircut I wanted!) But I thought it would be interesting to ponder.
I tested the idea further when I found yet another album I'd forgotten I owned. One that I wore out on cassette when I originally had it. 1998's The Smithereens "Green Thoughts."(You can check out the video for "House that We Used to Live In" here) I was pleasantly surprised to see her throw her arms in the air and rock out to the distorted guitar intro of one of Side One's tunes. I hadn't remembered all those words. But it spoke to me in that nostalgic way that music does. I remember that record was the pre-cursor to grunge, and I was in the transition between 8th grade at my Catholic school to 9th grade in public middle school. I chose to leave the last school and made a deal with my parents at the time to get my Confirmation and then get out. REM's "Green" was the hot record of the year in that 60s throwback style, but I preferred the Smithereens as a garage rock Beatles type of band. They strike me as very midwestern, like a Chicago band, but after a quick Wiki search, I learned they were from New Jersey.
So, Friday's here with a good kick-off soundtrack and I'm steeped in a bit of nostalgia to start the weekend. I'm glad to tap into a bit more past in the blog. I want it to be a place to "get to know ya" of sorts--past, present and look ahead to the future.
NEW: A fun discovery on YouTube. Olivia Newton-John's first interview on Mike Douglas 1979.
I've had this record since I was 8 when I used to spin it on my tan Fisher Price portable record player. It showed the scratches and the love. That record is 31 years old! It's probably the oldest disc in my collection, as far as ownership is concerned. Somehow I've toted it along over many decades, multiple players and even more homes.
Riley has been grabbing that particular album cover out of my stack for a while now. It depicts Olivia in her cropped bleached, spiky hair look á la Physical video. I remember bringing this album cover to my hairdresser at age 9 or so and saying I wanted that cut. It didn't quite work out that way. See below...
My husband said, "I had the biggest crush on Olivia Newton-John."
To which I replied, "So did I! Everyone loved her then."
"I wonder what ever happened to her..."
"Oh, she's still around. (I left out the part that I follow her on Facebook) But I think with everyone big in the industry, she got overexposed and then it's hard to come back from that." I replied.
I remembered ALL the words and ALL the vocal inflections. I sang them with gusto while dancing with my girl. She was boogie-ing down and smiling with glee the entire time. I promised her when she was older that I would introduce her to the movie Xanadu, which I own on VHS and still keep a video player in my garage to someday re-watch it. (Interesting article on Xanadu obsession here)
It was a fun morning. I got to thinking, can a parent's LOVE of something transfer to his or her child? It's a leap of scientific faith to try and equate eye color or cleft chins to an emotional love for a song like "Hopelessly Devoted to You," or "Xanadu," or even lesser known cuts like "Make a Move on Me." (Check out this AWESOME "Solid Gold" (with Marilyn McCoo) performance, and yes, that was the haircut I wanted!) But I thought it would be interesting to ponder.
I tested the idea further when I found yet another album I'd forgotten I owned. One that I wore out on cassette when I originally had it. 1998's The Smithereens "Green Thoughts."(You can check out the video for "House that We Used to Live In" here) I was pleasantly surprised to see her throw her arms in the air and rock out to the distorted guitar intro of one of Side One's tunes. I hadn't remembered all those words. But it spoke to me in that nostalgic way that music does. I remember that record was the pre-cursor to grunge, and I was in the transition between 8th grade at my Catholic school to 9th grade in public middle school. I chose to leave the last school and made a deal with my parents at the time to get my Confirmation and then get out. REM's "Green" was the hot record of the year in that 60s throwback style, but I preferred the Smithereens as a garage rock Beatles type of band. They strike me as very midwestern, like a Chicago band, but after a quick Wiki search, I learned they were from New Jersey.
So, Friday's here with a good kick-off soundtrack and I'm steeped in a bit of nostalgia to start the weekend. I'm glad to tap into a bit more past in the blog. I want it to be a place to "get to know ya" of sorts--past, present and look ahead to the future.
NEW: A fun discovery on YouTube. Olivia Newton-John's first interview on Mike Douglas 1979.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
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...
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...
Sunday, July 28, 2013
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, July 22, 2013
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.
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.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, July 15, 2013
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!
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!
Friday, July 12, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
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.
Monday, July 8, 2013
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...
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...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)