After Paw died life went on, as it does. I entered high school and my schedule became even more crazed. I was still fully committed to competing with my studio, but I also joined my school's dance team, the Jazz Cats, a team name that imbued all sorts of innuendos from the boys. We rehearsed and competed regularly in addition to dancing at all the football games and pep rallies, plus there were all the social engagements that were a must in order to survive these awkward years - school dances, parties, dating, and generally just figuring out who my friends were and weren't. I also got my first job when I was sixteen - my allowance was no longer cutting it and the costume expenses were mounting. I was busy, but I still visited with Mawzy when time allowed. We'd play Gin Rummy at her kitchen table or I'd go shopping with her at Tuesday Morning. Our trips to the Alabama country house lessened, as did my time exploring my imagination in that enormous yard. I was growing up.
LA State Champions, Sophomore Year
During my sophomore year I wrote a bunch of poetry, mostly teenage angst stuff, and kept it in a blue binder. That thing went everywhere with me, until the day it went missing. I had no idea where I could have left it, but I searched every nook and cranny for weeks. As it turns out, my little sister had it the whole time. She liked my poems so much that she wrote her name on scraps of blue post it notes which she then taped over my signature. Over 30 post it notes! She was 10 then, and no doubt thought this was a discreet stroke of genius. This was cause for sibling war back then, but today, it's pretty damn flattering.
Homecoming 10th grade (my favorite dress ever, given to me by my godmother, Aunt Carol, with sparkle straps & jewelry by Mom)
Mawzy caught my lil sis with the binder and returned it to me directly, but not until after she had enjoyed a little light reading. It's not often you stumble upon a gem like that, and she, like most of us, could not resist the temptation. I remember feeling upset and ashamed that she was now privy to my innermost thoughts and feelings as I navigated the tricky road of young adulthood. At that time in my life I rarely let anyone read what I was writing, and here were the most personal bits of my journey exposed in emotional detail.
Naturally Mom wanted in on my business then, too. No way in hell was that happening! Mawzy had told her that she thought I had talent. When Mom shared that little tidbit with me my feelings of embarrassment transformed into an innocent confidence. Mawzy was someone I looked up to, so a compliment from her held real value. I was fifteen then, highly impressionable and deeply inspired when I felt supported, a feeling that has remained with me throughout my life.
After the lost and found binder incident, Mawzy gave me a number of journals to write in. She'd hand them over to me with the expectation that she'd get to read them when they were full. I never let her. Turns out, I didn't have to. We would go on to have many heart to hearts as I blossomed into a young woman. I came to learn that my innermost feelings of happiness, sorrow, anger, confusion and peace - all the things that make me human - were safe with her.
The journal I carried with me through Europe the summer after my freshman year of college. A gift from Mawzy.
In the 80's Avon was a really big deal. I remember Mom and Mawzy always looking through those pamphlets for perfume and makeup. I wasn't allowed to wear makeup outside of the house at that time, other than for performances, but I indulged in Mawzy's every time I visited. She kept it in the bathroom cabinet, easy access for me, and she didn't mind. I really loved the way my 5th grade teacher, Mrs. Morton, did her eyes. Green shadow on the outer lid and a bronze color on the inner. One of Avon's top-selling products was that blush that looked like a fat tube of lipstick. Two birds, one stone. I'm sure my cheeks always looked like a clown's, but my eyes looked fabulous and that was all that mattered.
www.bestthingsinbeauty.blogspot.com
Mawzy had ordered something that her Avon lady delivered in a tiny, pink paper box with white polka-dots. Mom and I decided that the little box should hold kisses for Paw so he wouldn't miss me when I wasn't around. We stuffed a piece of cotton into the box and sprayed perfume on it, and I presented it to Paw who was, predictably, delighted. Every time I saw him he'd tell me that he was running low on kisses, so I'd open the lid, spray an ungodly amount of stinky Avon perfume on the cotton, and somehow manage to not choke when I puckered my lips up to it with a kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss.
www.orientaltrading.com
Mawzy and Paw owned a country house in Alabama that was situated on an enormous plot of land surrounded by thick woods on one side, farm animals belonging to my aunt and uncle in the back, and across the street, the largest vegetable garden I'd ever seen... great for hide and seek until I saw Children of the Corn. When my dance schedule wouldn't allow me to accompany them, Paw would take his box of kisses with him. But the times I did go were always so exciting. Their Weimaraner, Kitsel, and I would pile into the back of the minivan, best pals for the 5 hour drive. I had distant cousins around my age there, and we would play in my very own clubhouse which was nothing more than an over-sized, empty wooden shed with a dirt floor. We'd go swimming in water I wouldn't put a toe in now, walk to the corner store for candy, and use cardboard boxes to slide down the hills when fall set in and leaves were abundant. "Going to town" was always a big deal. The nearest grocery store was an hour away. Mawzy watched me "marry" my cousin, Jimmy, from the kitchen window of that country house. She had the decency not to make me feel weird about that. He owns the house now. I'm glad it remained in the family.
Kitsel & Me - I was probably 14ish here
I have no idea how many kisses I put in that tiny pink and white polka-dot box, but once bright and perfectly shaped, it had become faded and well worn, as if Paw had carried it around in his pocket. Since I couldn't go with him on his final trip, I refilled the box one last time and sent it with him.
By the time I was eight years old I'd had five years of training and had started dancing competitively. I lived and breathed the art, and at 14, was recruited by the owner of top award winning studio, Creative Dance, where I finished out my competitive career. Fifteen years of this - sequins and makeup and pointe shoes and broken bones, and of course, blood, sweat and tears, along with an insane amount of determination and dedication... all those things that make a competition dancer - Mawzy was always there. She must have really loved me to support me in this passion. Anyone who's been to these things knows they can be long and tortuous to sit through. Unless, of course, you're one of the dancers with a vested interest.
Age 9
On Friday, January 27, 1989, sleep was escaping me as I lay in bed attempting to shut down the adrenaline that always preceded a performance weekend. I had to leave town early the next morning for a two day competition in Biloxi. I had my own phone in my room. Purple and gray, and all mine, thanks to Mawzy and Paw. So when it rang around 10pm that night, I was grateful for the distraction from my insomnia. It was Mawzy, and she sounded scared. She asked me to put Mom on the phone right away. Mom left the house shortly after that, so I knew something was awry. The next morning my aunt and uncle picked me up for the 2 hour drive. My cousin and I were both dancing that weekend, so this didn't seem out of the ordinary. But Mom and Dad never showed up that weekend, and that was odd.
Age 10
My aunt and uncle drove us back Sunday night, but instead of turning off on my street, we continued the mile down Highway 190 to Mawzy & Paw's house. We pulled up in the driveway and there were people milling about everywhere. Family that lived close by, family from out of state, some I'd never even met before. In my self-centered 10 year old brain, I thought "Wow! What a welcome home." I was probably even still wearing my medals, ready to proudly show them off to whomever would listen. Someone had me by the arm and was leading me to the front door. Everyone looked worried. My cousins' mouths were talking at me as I passed, but I couldn't hear what they were saying because this odd buzzing had suddenly taken over my auditory perception. I knew something was quite wrong.
I was led all the way to the back of the house into Mawzy's room and the door shut behind me. My parents were standing there and Mawzy was slumped over on the edge of the bed. I plopped down next to her and gave her a hug. I'd never seen her look so sad, and I knew by the heavy energy in the room before I even asked. "Where's Paw?" Mawzy's answer came in the form of a sob, the first time I'd ever seen her cry.
Mawzy's bedroom
Paw had been brushing his teeth in the bathroom when she heard a loud thud that Friday night. It was a brain aneurysm that would have left him in a vegetative state forever. She had made the decision to let him go just hours before I'd returned. My best friend was gone. The man who encouraged me to be Wonder Woman. Who'd let me practice my dances for him as he tried to imitate the moves. Whose lap I'd sit in while doing my homework. The jokester who called bad drivers "dumb dumbs." The loving man who taught me that instant grits on a Saturday morning was the only way to roll. The man whose name I'd bestow on my own son many years down the road. Gone. Just like that. I slept with Mawzy on his side of the bed with his favorite green pillow that night and every night after that for a very long time. And I never stopped dancing. Even 27 years later, that passion is a source of comfort, release and freedom. No doubt because of the incredible support system I had from the very beginning.
Always the avid reader, Mawzy worked for a stint at the library in our small town. I was 11 or 12 then, and my little sister and I would ride our bikes there every single day of summer since we didn't have a permanent babysitter. Most kids would hate being told to stay at the library all day. I'm positive my sister was bored out of her gourd, but I loved it.
The old Lacombe Library where I spent my summers (the branch moved to a new, bigger site in 1993)
I relished the five minute bike ride there. We took empty back roads that were paved around hundred year old oak trees. Those trees were majestic, towering high above us with moss hanging low enough to tickle my face as I cruised by. Sometimes I would just look up at them amazed that it only took one to provide a vast canopy, shading us from the scorching Louisiana sun.
Lacombe, LA Oaks... it was easy to appreciate trees here.
I loved the way the scent of old books was like fresh air. The small storage room was just large enough for me to practice my dances in on days when hardly anyone visited this magical place. I spent hours getting lost in books, helping facilitate the summer reading programs and plays, and helping to re-stock books once they were checked in. I learned the Dewey Decimal System long before its details came up in school. Nancy Drew, my childhood hero, became a daily friend - I read the entire series in the course of a little over a year. Books that were banned for various reasons made their way to Mawzy's house, and much much later, to mine.
Mawzy gave me these old discarded books for Julien when I got pregnant. They still smell like the old library!
And it was inside those walls I got to read the Sweet Valley High books, mine and Mawzy's little secret, since at home it was strictly forbidden. Mom only let me read Sweet Valley Twins, the middle school stories that took place before Elizabeth and Jessica Wakefield started kissing boys. But Mawzy told me that if I read them at the library and left them there, then it was okay. She was so cool.
One day I came up with the perfect plan to bring Sweet Valley High home and not get caught. The middle school books had larger covers, so I thought it'd be easy to hide the high school one inside the middle school one and feign innocence as I learned what high school would (supposedly) be like. I decided to execute my clever plan in the backseat of Mom's minivan. I got busted on the first go. Mawzy and I were both in trouble, but it was two against one, and I think we won that particular argument because I don't remember Mom making such a big deal out of it after that.
This was the first time I remember Mawzy having my back. What I didn't know at the time was just how much of a support system she would become for me during the bigger trials of my life.
I couldn't have been older than 5. Mawzy and I would sit on the front porch swing basking in the tranquility of the morning while eating peanuts straight out of the Planter's jar, singing Sweet Chariot, a tune from 1909 that gained popularity in the 60's during the Civil Rights struggle. I'd always chime in on the chorus because it's the one part I could always remember. It's the only song I ever recall her singing.
Sweet Chariot by Etta James
Perhaps she preferred listening to the birds twitter. She had more bird houses than anyone I've ever known. They were scattered throughout the front and back yards, and one entire dining room wall was hidden behind a shelf cluttered with them. She'd bring in old nests from the trees and place fake eggs in them to add charm to her impressive collection. Anytime I asked her what she wanted for Christmas, it was always a new bird house or feeder.
Or something lavender. She loved the scent. She had a real appreciation for all flowers - there were countless times she'd send me outside late in the afternoon to watch the 4 o'clocks blooming just off the back porch. But she really loved roses. She introduced me to The Secret Garden, a film about mystery, magic, friendship, love and overcoming that which limits us. I watched it (the 1987 version) again and again in my youth. I had a hat similar to Mary Lennox's, and I would roam through the yard in whatever dress I could find pretending to be her. About three years ago Mawzy sent me back to Austin with her copy of the book.
The Secret Garden (1987) Trailer
I couldn't possibly count the hours my cousins and I spent playing in that ginormous yard - hide and seek, soccer, Easter egg hunts, climbing the tree in the front yard, riding on the three wheelers, catching lizards to wear as earrings which never worked out how it was supposed to, playing "doctor" - the last of which was apparently a big no no past a certain age.
Mawzy's house today
A small portion of the land she called home
I think my generation might be the last to have vivid memories of playing outside. I was lucky because I developed a close relationship with Mother Nature on a quiet plot of land surrounded by a thick forest of tall pines. Those imaginative days early in my life are probably the reason I'm such a dreamer today. I was introduced to beauty and peace by my Mawzy, and it is of vital importance to me that my son experiences the same. I will follow in her footsteps and make certain he knows it is in places such as these that he will always find comfort, soul cleansing and joy, no matter his age.
Many of us have a special someone who touches our lives so deeply that when the time comes for him or her to leave, the world seems a whole lot emptier.
That person for me is my grandmother. She died one month ago, but I feel her spirit very much alive inside of me today. We were close, Mawzy and me. My childhood is stocked full to the brim of fond memories with her and Paw, who was my best friend, until he passed away when I was 10.
Paw & Mawzy, Pre-Me
As a youngster I hung out at their house nearly every evening after school until my parents got home from work. I'd help Mawzy cook dinner, mostly I remember her spaghetti - she made her sauce from scratch. We ate grits for breakfast every morning if I stayed the night, and when I'd behave, and most times when I didn't, we got Mooky Mooky, which was Mawzy's fancy way of saying root beer float. She had a nickname for everything.
All southerners, especially those in Louisiana's deep south, know that most great memories involve great food. Mawzy loved going to "The Restaurant," a seafood place right down the street, where she'd always order the Crabmeat Pontchartrain, a rich, butter baked dish which definitely won't clog your arteries. And ordering a burger from Char Lou's was always a treat, particularly since it was the only place in town to get a burger. When I was about 7, Mawzy made a dessert that had cream cheese in it. Paw hated cream cheese. But he loved that dessert. So we had to keep it a secret - Ignorance is Bliss 101.
Mawzy had a tremendous amount of arm fat, more than the typical woman over 30. She called it her "fluff." All of us grandchildren were obsessed with touching it. It was soft, the word feathery comes to mind, and it jiggled, a solid form of entertainment in which she willingly obliged. For as long as I can remember her fridge held a magnet of a hippo in a tutu that read, "I'm not fat, I'm fluffy." Her fluff was a joke that never got old, though now that I have some fluff of my own, it's not nearly as funny. She was a good sport.
I credit Mawzy for my love of shenanigans. She was a top notch prankster. Their yard was home to the largest grasshoppers I've ever seen. Thick-shelled black things the size of (in my child's mind) lobsters. I was scared to death of them. She would lure me over under the pretense that she wanted to show me one of her flower gardens, and as soon as I'd get close enough, she'd whip one of those ghastly things from behind her back at which point I would run as fast and as far as possible, convinced she was on my heels. By the time I'd stop, my heart threatening to pound right out of my chest, I would hear her laughing. I'd peek around the corner of the house and find her still standing where I'd left her. The only critters that scared me as much as the grasshopper lobsters were the stick bugs who, according to her, spit out purple poison.
The stuff of nightmares.
Mawzy was clever, and as time went on, she stopped using bugs and figured out more creative ways to prank those of us closest to her.
What does it mean to take flight? Choreographers Julia Duffy-Dzubinski and Amanda Leigh Oakley, co-directors of Sling Dance Project, aim to answer this question in the title piece for their upcoming performance, Take Flight, premiering this weekend. Oakley came up with the idea for "Take Flight" after having a conversation with her boyfriend, Nicholas Hanson, the lead singer for Ghostbunny, who feels anxious when flying. While she personally has no fear of going down on a plane, she started thinking about how many people do, and the idea just grew from there. How scary it is sometimes to grow your own wings and take flight, to take a leap of faith and fly away from the place you are and move on to something bigger. So, big picture, "Take Flight" is about facing your fears.
Sling Dance Project Company members
Photo Credit: Dean Campbell
I am lucky to be performing the piece with the two collaborators, along with three other talented Austin dancers - Pamela Patel, Emily Knox and Sammi Waugh. As a dancer I feel it's important to know the origin of a piece's concept because I want to have as close to a real life experience as possible. I believe it helps the choreographer's vision read more clearly to an audience. To me "Take Flight" is a wonderfully physical exploration of how it would feel to be a passenger on a plane in jeopardy. Set to music by local Austin band, Ghostbunny, the movement feels at times jerky and rough, as if we are being thrashed through the air as a plane whips out of control, but also holds moments that suggest we are floating outside the atmosphere. Just when it seems we will tumble in slow motion from a precipice, we are sucked back by an unknown force into real time for the next happening. There are many surprising moments in the piece and as a dancer, it's a welcome challenge to perform them. My personal experience throughout the rehearsal process has allowed space for reflection on how I perceive and approach turbulence in my own life.
Rehearsal for "Take Flight"
The piece requires technically sound dancers to execute successfully, but Dzubinksi says, "It's the concept that drives the technique." I can get behind this. Too often I find myself bored at performances that focus solely on the physical talent and not on the emotion behind what is being presented. I can walk away from performances like these and say, "Wow, those dancers sure can lift their legs high." But ultimately I want to FEEL something.
Guest Choreographer Nicole Olson
Sling is relatively new to the Austin dance scene, having produced two shows previously - "Glimmer in A Room" (Cafe Dance, August 2014) and "Passengers" (The Off Center, December 2014). Dzubinski previously produced the highly successful and anticipated No Assurance shows for three consecutive years prior to teaming up with Oakley last year. This performance is host to a variety of other choreographers and dancers as well, which is how Dzubinksi also arranged No Assurance. Sling's mission is to provide a platform for artists to express and challenge themselves, and they prefer working with choreographers who are willing to venture out of their comfort zones. The company doesn't limit the style of dance to only contemporary or modern so it opens the door to a variety of dance forms. The directors have a handful of choreographers they ask to create for each show including Hannah Brightwell of Verge Dance Company; Rosalyn Nasky, a stunning, long-bodied soloist from Austin whose works never cease to amaze me in their both graceful and disjointed manner; and Pamela Patel, long time friend and collaborator to Dzubinksi. I usually present a piece as well, but sadly one of my dancers was injured, so the duet I had planned will land in a future performance down the road. Once the "regular" slots are filled, the company does an open call to the dance community, often hosting choreographers from outside of Texas. The point is to create as diverse a program as possible.
Guest Choreographer Elisa Marie Cavallero
Photo Credit: Scott Belding
When asked why she decided to leave "No Assurance" behind Dzubinski told me that after having her second child she realized that she didn't have the time to dedicate to producing full length shows alone. Oakley reached out to her saying she was interested in helping, and thus, Sling was born. Both choreographers felt that Austin's dance performance opportunities were limited, with most being full time companies or extremely specific styles, but they knew that people wanted to move. Okay, so why call it Sling? The two brainstormed over a long list of words that implied movement - the slinging of a body through space, propulsion forward. Dzubinski also mentioned a body sling, in that it is wrapped around one's body - a circle, or feeling of connectedness.
What's it like co-directing?
"Different," laughs Dzubinksi. The two had to learn each other's communication styles early on, and with each show things run more smoothly. This is your first time choreographing together. Tell me about it.
"It's been really good," says Oakley. "We have different visions, but once you relinquish control it all comes together into one solid thing. I like the team element of co-choreographing."
Are all your future pieces going to be co-choreographed?
Not all of them. The creative process has been wonderful since deciding to work together, but life gets in the way, so time management becomes an issue, though they both would love to work together again creatively.
What are Sling's future goals?
Everything is still short term since the company is still living from show to show. But eventually Dzubinksi would like to present two shows per year - one would be presented in the vein the shows are now, with multiple groups performing; the other would be a formal Sling show with works choreographed and performed by the company dancers. Sights are set on travel to nearby Texas cities which host a range of different festivals. Oakley would also like to bring in musicians to perform live with the dancers, and have a more interactive vibe with other types of artists.
"Take Flight" is happening Friday and Saturday, August 14 & 15 at 8:00PM at Bravo, Balance Dance Studios. Tickets are already on sale and will likely sell out, so head on over to Brown Paper Ticketsto get your's now.Complimentary wine will be served before, during and after the show!
Sia's "Elastic Heart" video is an evocative, contemporary dance piece that takes place between a man played by Shia LaBeouf, and a young girl, prodigy dancer Maddie Ziegler. In a behind the scenes making of the video, we are told that Maddie represents some of Shia's self states, perhaps an inner child or some of his personal demons. But since the story is presented in the form of artistic movement, the audience can interpret it however they wish.
I see it as the dynamic between two people caught up in a narcissistic love cycle. The video fast forwards through most of what happens in this type of relationship - the flattery, seduction and love bombing; the mirroring of one's personality, conditioning the target to believe in what is, ultimately, one long con - and skips straight to the end of this abusive cycle, when the narcissist's target knows something is quite wrong and has begun to lash out, even though she may not understand why.
Set in a gigantic bird cage, the two characters begin in a face off, with eyes determined and deadly. They are dressed in nude clothing and they are filthy, having already been dragged through the mud by events that have taken place prior to this moment. At first you believe the girl is the antagonist. Villianous, out of control, full of inexplicable rage and aggression, her movement plays out like an angry animal who doesn't want the man to get close to her. Anytime he approaches she attacks, making him appear the victim of outright lunacy.
She manages to scare him away and he climbs out of her space to the top of the cage where he dangles above for a spell, observing her until she is no longer agitated. She finally has a moment to rest, but once he sees that she is calm, he drops down to land beside her, coercing her to come to him, like someone encouraging a stray dog with food. She is drawn to this ostensibly selfless behavior and wants to trust it, but she knows in her core that he is going to harm her, so she bites down on his hand before he can. She then opens her eyes wide with her own hands to tell him that she sees through his manipulative tricks of persuasion, and she slips through the bars of the cage revealing that she always had the choice to leave.
She watches the man lose control because he can't reach her outside the confines of his prison. She could be free of him if she just walked away, but like so many caught up in this kind of addictive cycle, she chooses to go back in and help him because she knows that he is a wounded creature who can't help himself. Tragically she is fooling herself into believing she can save him.
It is her return to the cage that gives him strength, and for the moment he listens as she exposes the many masks he wears. But when holding his hand she attempts to lead him out of the cage, they find he can't fit through the bars. She expends a great amount of energy trying to pull him out, and when the sad truth sets in that he is stuck, he grabs hold of her waist begging her not to leave him. You watch this fruitless endeavor for several moments after the song has ended. His eyes become lifeless and his body eventually goes limp as he loses hope, but she continues to fight his battle for him in a grand effort to free him from his despair.
The video ends before we know whether she gave up or if she returned to the cage a second time. I have hope that she realizes she'll never be able to free him from his own prison. If she does, another innocent soul will sadly take her place. Kind people are abundant, and they don't like to see a wounded creature trapped.
Here's the curious thing. When he was hanging from the top of the cage above her, there was a brief moment in which he looked up, and from the outside looking in, you can see that the opening at the top of the cage is big enough for him to fit through if he were willing to garner his strength and climb out. Instead he chooses to focus his attention on her.
If he would only look up to that expansive sky and coax himself out, he might find that he has his own wings.
"Elastic Heart" is the second video of Sia's trilogy starring Maddie Ziegler.
Sia never ceases to amaze. I highly recommend buying all her albums. "Elastic Heart" can be found on her latest album, "1,000 Forms of Fear," my personal album for this year. As LaBoeuf puts it, "Her work is very cathartic. You listen to the album, it's just like reading a diary."
All images in the post were found in a Google search for Elastic Heart Video.
Beautiful orbed ruler of goddesses, I see you in all your silvery glory, ablaze in my soul. I bow down to you tonight letting go of all that has held me back. And gazing up at you with eyes innocent and bright I admire your fierce glow that radiates inside me. Raising my arms with heart thrown wide open, I welcome your magic. You are my loving earth guide, and you give me strength, courage and wisdom as I slip into the thick forest of Venus Retrograde.
For all my sisters
who search out truth and enlightenment,
I seek with you.
For all my sisters
who use their gentle touch to heal and nurture,
I praise you.
For all my sisters
who aren't afraid to stand up for themselves,
I sing with you.
For all my sisters
who allowed one to mishandle her heart,
I feel your pain.
For all my sisters
who revel in taking a challenge head on,
I roar with you.
For all my sisters
who celebrate their own transformations,
I am reborn with you.
For all my sisters
who rejoice in their thirst for life,
I drink with you.
For all my sisters
who open their hearts to give and receive light and love,
I see you.
For all my sisters
who protect themselves from darkness,
I salute you.
For all my sisters
who have souls as deep as the ocean,
I dive there with you.
For all my sisters
who yearn for inspiration,
I dream with you.
For all my sisters
who make those dreams happen,
I work with you.
For all my sisters
who embrace being in control of their lives,
I take the reins with you.
For all my sisters
who say fuck playing the victim and being helpless,
I own my choices with you.
For all my sisters
who refuse to lie down and be door mats,
I stand with you.
To all my sisters
who are gentle with themselves,
I am your pupil.
To all my sisters
who are gentle with their enemies,
I admire you.
To all my sisters
who know, love and accept themselves,
I am learning to be one of you again.
To all my sisters
scorned who have risen above,
I am on my way to meet you.
My son and I are 35 years apart. I'm supposed to be his teacher, but I think in many ways that is backward. Here are 10 things he's taught me in his short time on earth.
1. The messiest activities are the most fun.
2. Being naked is better.
3. Swimming can always turn around a bad day. Every time.
4. Children are natural helpers, they want to work with you.
5. You can play hide-and-seek anywhere. Anywhere.
6. Popsicles rock.
7. Spending an entire day outside can kick insomnia in the you know what.
8. Running through the sprinkler on a hot day is as fun now as it was 30 years ago.
9. Goodnight Moon is actually creepy and disturbing.
10. Life offers a multitude of reasons to clap and giggle every single day.
(Some of our faves - dogs, sneezing, fake sneezing, wiggling toes, belly buttons, animal sounds especially monkeys and elephants, burping, dancing, jumping, shhh-shing, crunching food, the wind blowing on our faces, walking down the street, car rides, tickling, funny faces, peek-a-boo, yogurt.)
There's the kind of tired that you feel from working too much. The kind that grabs hold of you during a midafternoon slump when your coffee has worn off. The one that you experience after you eat too much. Or a couple hours after a particularly good workout. The kind of exhaustion you feel after you've had too many thoughts, or didn't sleep well last night, or pushed yourself for too long without a break.
Then there's the kind of tired I am tonight. The kind that involves a blazing hot sun beaming down through a clear sky. Music, laughter, and friends old and new. The wind carrying the sweet smell of bbq with dogs grinning and people connecting and hearts dancing. Being swished up and down and around by the gentle rocking of the boats' wake, embracing my squealing, laughing, innocent boy who chooses moments, specific in his mind, to stop what he's doing, put his hands on my face and pull me in for a kiss. Throw his arms around my neck and hug me tight, telling me thank you for this wonderful day. We give and accept love. This is how it works.
I am grateful for my freedom. Our freedom.
And I close my eyes, with a smile on my face, feeling blissful and content and full.
If you're anything like me you abhor traffic. And if you live in Austin or have spent any amount of time here, you know that the roads are congested for most of the day.
It's been bad for a long time. I remember dubbing Mopac "Slowpac" about two years after getting here. That was 10 years ago. And now, with the influx of people and the exploding population in the last 3-4 years, it is a tad unbearable.
I began to notice my increasing road rage two and a half years ago when I was pregnant. I don't know if it was the hormones, the protective urge I suddenly felt, or simply the fact that with all the new drivers came a whole new set of rules. Whatever the case, I started to feel this bubbling rage that at times would spill over. I'd catch myself shouting at other people on the road, sometimes giving the finger, blaring down on my horn, shaking my head at their stupidity. I'm sure I looked like a lunatic. I certainly felt like one.
WHY must you cut me off?
Is it so hard to STAY IN YOUR LANE? (Seriously, if you can't, you need to trade in your Suburban for something smaller.)
GET OFF YOUR EFFING PHONE AND DRIVE!!!
Are you SERIOUSLY putting on mascara while driving at 70mph?!!!
Ohmygod, GOOOOOO!!
FML.
Some people can take the bus or ride their bikes to get around town. That's great if that is an option for you. Unfortunately I need my car for work. Cap Metro is not the most stellar transportation service, and riding the bus is not a very efficient use of your time if you are on a tight schedule. My daily Clone adventures and my son's to & fro's require me to be on my own timetable, not Cap Metro's.
I'm lucky enough to be self-employed and not forced to use the roads during peak hours in the morning or evening. I generally avoid those times altogether, sticking close to home or not leaving my office at all, and when I have to, I take the back roads, but even those are getting congested. Everyone is learning the secrets of the city. Damn it!
At 7:30 this morning when I was slamming on my brakes behind bad drivers on Capital of Texas Hwy, I started thinking about my grandfather, Paw. When I was little he'd pick me up nearly every afternoon and drive me to his house where I would hang out with him and Mawzy until my parents were off from work. He drove a chocolate brown King Cab truck that had a CB radio he talked on frequently, but the thing I remember most about riding in that truck is when someone would drive badly he'd shout out, "YOU DUMB DUMB!" At the time I found it funny, but as an adult dealing with lots of dumb dumbs behind the wheel, I'm positive that this was Paw's version of road rage. I also think that he probably didn't have the right of way half as often as he thought he did. I wonder how he'd react to the chaos wreaked by Austin motorists today?
Paw, decades before he became my best friend
It's easy to get frustrated at every wrong turn someone else makes, whether it's because they clearly earned their driver's license in a different country or simply because they are distracted, but I have learned that reacting to it by yelling, throwing my hands up or leaning on the horn only fuels my rage. Instead, starting today, I'm going to take a deep breath and channel my Paw, imagining the other driver feels 110% confident that he or she is driving politely. Then, with a smile on my face, I'm going to calmly say...You Dumb Dumb!! At least that's the plan. I'm hoping I can make traffic one less thing to stress about.
"The simple act of writing things down (or typing or texting) quite literally alters the cognitive function that helps increase efficiency." I read that in a brief article on Manta.com the other day about the benefits of making a To Do List.
I have always reaped a tremendous amount of satisfaction from crossing off lists. You know that feeling you get when you are on a roll with something? That feeling of "I. Just. Can't. Stop." That's what a To Do List does for me. When I complete each task, I methodically cross it off the list. Sometimes I mutilate it. Taking the pen to the paper & doing a scribbly dance to black that task out of my life forever. Particularly if it was a less appealing one. And sometimes, when I'm feeling like I haven't gotten enough done, I add things to the list that I have already done so that I get the satisfaction of that beautifully hand crafted strike through. Each line item is like a small mission (sometimes I do feel like I missed my calling to work for the CIA). So I go on, seemingly, a thousand missions per day to succeed as a mom to a toddler, the owner and operator of a growing local business, and someone who also manages a house by herself. I know it's a bit obsessive, but I get a lot of shit done. A lot. People are always asking me how I can accomplish so much in such a short period of time. I'm telling you, it's the To Do List. It helps to get the brain storm out of your head and into one neatly wrapped package over which you can exercise some control. The To Do List is my secret. It is like magic for life's over achiever. A vertical timeline to guide you. It only takes 5 minutes to make one. And I want to share mine with you. 1. On Saturday I make several lists for the coming week.
In this case they were categorized as Groceries, House - To Do, Home Depot and Office Depot.
2. Create a list for each day of the week.
Below is my House list... Omg, I will never accomplish all that in a week. So before I get all revved up about it, I'm going to choose the things that are priority, and I can save the rest for another week. But at least I have them out of my head and in front of me, making them much more likely to happen.
3. Time Management
EXERCISE - You'll notice that I try to do some form of exercise every day except Sunday. Typically, I base everything around my work schedule, but I prefer to exercise in the morning because it starts my day off right, with a positive mindset and a higher metabolic rate increasing my energy. Plus, I'm exhausted by the time I put my son to bed, so am much less likely to exercise at 8:30pm. I am fried by that point and generally tend to answer emails, write or zone out on Netflix.
SUN - Since I typically try not to do Clone work on Sundays, I know I can get a lot of stuff done around the house so I focus my list at home this day.
MON - Errands, work, some stuff around the house
TUES - Work, some stuff around the house
WED - I have my son for the first part of the day on Wednesdays so I'm able to do more around the house & less for work.
THURS - WORK WORK WORK! My son is with his dad this whole day so it's my time to make money!
FRI - Work, fun with my son on a Fri night
SAT - Fun times, some work around the house, make next week's list
Do I stay on track completely? Of course not. This is life, and inevitably there will be curve balls. What to do then? Sometimes, you can jump ahead if a task is easier to complete today rather than tomorrow. Sometimes stuff just doesn't get crossed off. Is it worth beating yourself up over? No. You're not a robot. The list is your guide, not your Bible.
Here's what Tuesday night looked like.
And Saturday night when it came time to make the next week's list.
So I just moved those things that didn't get done to the top of my general list for next time.
4. To Do List for Work
For me, technology is key here. I use Google Calendar, and for each client and for my own office hours I keep a running list within each calendar appointment of things that need to happen, items for which I'm waiting for responses ("WFR") in order to move forward, and tasks that have been completed. Since many of my work items are ongoing, I find it easier to keep an electronic list, particularly since so much of my work is done on the computer.
Here's what my "Clone Office Hours" calendar appointment looks like.
Here's what doesn't work.
That's just chaos.
If you can get things accomplished this way, please write to me.
I'd love to know how you do it.
5. Staying Motivated
If you find that you are struggling to accomplish the things you set out for yourself, perhaps you should try making shorter lists. Or find small ways to reward yourself in between tasks. When I'm cleaning my house I like to have a good smelling candle in each room. Every time I finish a room (I mean finish - dust, sweep, declutter, whatever needs to be done), I get to light that candle. You will be surprised at how much the simple pleasures matter.
Go outside. Stop to smell the roses. Really.
Play hide & seek with someone.
6. Don't Be a Zombie.
Write your shopping lists on piece of paper. Paper is just as transportable as your cell phone, and you are less likely to run over someone's heels with your shopping cart.
If you get thrown off your schedule, don't fret. The list will be here tomorrow. Try to stay on track where you can and know that when your alarm goes off tomorrow, you have lots to do and feel good about accomplishing.
