ingrid

Things always happen serendipitously around here.  I was just telling running partners about my glory days in college performing in a “band” (well, it was kind of a band…).  My band mates were a sweet hippy drummer boy and a very talented and still-working artist Dawn Dineen.  We entered the Willamette Valley Folk Festival in 1992.  I think we got second prize in a song writing contest.  The following year, I was asked to sing back up for another woman who was sort of in Dawn’s social group.  She entered her song, and she (or we I guess) took first!  I really enjoyed working with her—she was very focused and our voices sounded really tight together.  It’s not often that I find people who I blend with as well as my own flesh and blood, but her voice is definitely of that ilk.  She contacted me this week, not even a whole week after I was relating this tale in the wee small hours of the morning (while huffing up a massive hill).  Joelle sent along this audio, which I will post for your listening pleasure here.  Prepare to take yourself back to the 90s—

Johnny Will You Wait is Joelle’s song (and she is playing guitar on it as well).  Mystic Suitcase is something that Dawn and I played around with but never performed.  This recording is Joelle and my interpretation of that song:

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2 Comments | In: The Arts | | #

Francis asked for a Little Red Riding Hood this last Christmas.  Being the generous, always ready to give mother that I am, I sighed deeply.  The kid wants EVERYTHING.  Really.  If I wasn’t so exhausted with her requests, I would admire her pure desire (and imagination too really).  Like most things she asks for, I started sort of “hell no!” and worked towards, “hmmmmm….”.  Hmmmm won out obviously.

Back in high school, my friends and I made capes to wear around, because we were just those kind of dorks.  One of my fondest memories was of wearing our capes down to the beach one night and stripping off all our clothes to go jump in the ocean.  It was dark, the beach was empty except for us, and it was probably cold too as we’re talking about the Oregon Coast where the water reaches a balmy 40 degrees.  We were 18 and preparing to go off to college, so jump in the ocean naked, right?  Totally logical.  Many of my friends were quite conservative young ladies, so when I saw their bare little butts go bolting down the beach, I fell on my face in the sand laughing.  I don’t even remember jumping in the water myself (although I certainly did).  I just remember eating a lot of sand.

Anyway, the point of this digression is that I have made a cape or two before, so I figured I could whip one out again.  All the same, I thought I would buy a pattern just to be sure.

Too bad that my resolve to make things does not match my ability to read a pattern.  Sigh.  Directions.  What a drag that there are people out there who know how to do things and think that they can TELL me how to do it!  It is like my brain refuses to learn.  It is like I enjoy being ignorant or something, because truly I sit down to figure out a pattern and find myself skimming the written instructions.  I find myself daydreaming.  I need to talk sternly to myself to focus.  FOCUS, Ingrid.  You stupid, stupid girl.  You NEED this.  Now think!

I actually find that I am able to better follow directions if I sort of act them out.  If I read slowly and make hand gestures for things like “RIGHT SIDE OF FABRIC” then the words more readily permeate my dura matter.  ”Seam allowance” needs a hand gesture too.

All the same, I, of course, bought the wrong amount of fabric because I didn’t understand the numbers on the back.  Turns out those numbers were referring to how large the bolt of fabric is…like the size of the roll.  I couldn’t figure out why the pattern that to my mind was for a taller person needed LESS fabric.  Of course these things are all clear when you sit down to cut things out and can’t get the pieces out of your chunk of fabric.  Ohhhhhh.  In my defense, would it have killed them to write “size bolt” under the numbers?  No, not really, but these pattern people think they are dealing with the able-brained public.

Ennnnyway, I made the capes.  They look great, and I am pretty proud of them when the kids get compliments.  (I do need to teach them to beam beatifically and say, “My wonderful MOTHER made it for me!”).  I didn’t realize that I would get such an onslaught of requests from strangers for making capes when we go out in public.  I am numbering about request number 20, so if I ever need to go into business, I know where I will turn (but surely someone is doing this on ETSY right now?).  I really can’t imagine being motivated to sew a million and one capes.  It was not that exciting truthfully, and required far too much ironing for this girl who never wields an iron even for her own clothes.

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I am in week 2 of teaching Ceramics at the kids’ school.  It is such a total joy to be back at it.  Kids love clay, and I love clay and we together are a perfect pair.  We are actually 8 pairs as I have 16 2nd-5th graders in there.  It is one of the largest classes that I have taught in a long time, but it feels much more manageable as I no longer have unwieldy and malfunctioning sewing machines to wrestle with.

The first day I thought I would let the kids touch and mess around to their hearts’ content.  It is sort of  hard for me to turn over control when I only have 10 weeks of instruction, but it seemed wise to let them mess around now before we launch into real building.  I gave them the assignment of making a magical place to go on vacation to.  They needed high places and low places.

This is a cliff with snake holes (complete with snakes!).

Here is an arch with vines and a tree.  Zephyr was in class that day, although he won’t be for the rest of the term.  The kid is only 5 and can’t handle that we will be smashing some projects.  I’m moving him to theater!

This is a savanna scene.  Obviously, none of this would hold up well if fired, but experimentation was the goal here, not end product.

The students really enjoyed playing without much guidance.  The room became relatively mellow, with most of the conversation just expressions of excitement for each other’s inventiveness and desire to show off their ideas to me.  I know the days will come when there are tears of frustration and heartbreak at the limitations of clay, but for now, it is all good times.

Really, I do have students in there besides my kids, but until I get formal permission to picture them, I am cropping those babies out!

Best thing about the new class?  I get to work in the art room.  The teacher gave me two whole shelves!  Imagine that!  She totally needs every inch of storage she can get, but she generously gave me two whole shelves!  There is a sink there.  Yeah, really, I know!  Don’t I sound like a public school teacher, rapturous about a sink?  And I hate to admit it, but the teacher there is messier than me, so I don’t have to worry too much about annoying her too much.  Anything I do in her room is seriously making it cleaner, not messier.

Worse thing?  Ummmm… see that clay there?  I got two huge bags of it for free a few years ago.  I knew that it was some fancy clay from Georgies, but I didn’t do my research before having the kids do an actual project with it during week 2.  I thought I was saving money, being prudent.  Turns out that : “The coarsest of all our sculpture clays, this body contains two types of coarse sand plus nylon fiber. The character of this clay comes from the basalt sand that bleeds out when it fires.”  That is code for “this clay will spit out chunks of melty stuff that will stick all over your kiln shelves when you fire it”.  It requires a process called “wadding” which I have never done and am not really sure how to do.  Well, crap.  I’m so glad I got it for “free”.  Now I need to hop off to the store and buy kiln wash and wadding material which sounds like a chemistry experiment.

All the same, clay is awesome.

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I had meant to update y’all on my braces thing.  I am sure that my international readers (2) will be very interested in the wheres and whys and hows.  First of all, I will be very forthright in saying that it is all my cousin Carla’s fault.  My cousin Carla is so lovely—always been lovely, always will be lovely.  Round about last year though, she got braces.  Her teeth (I think) were sort of crooked like mine.  You never really know in what way a person’s teeth might be crooked, because mostly you don’t notice it unless it is strikingly distracting or you are one of those terrible people wandering through the world picking on the physical flaws of others.  Or maybe you have teeth issues.  Anyway, I had noticed when she got braces, but didn’t think much of it until she sent out a photo postcard as a “save the date” wedding announcement.  When I opened it in my kitchen, my “Oh MY GOD!” was not about her getting married in the summer; it was about her teeth!  Perfect, gorgeous, straight teeth.  Right then and there I decided— I’m getting braces.

Most things that I decide take me about 2 years to put into action.  I am now running regularly (which I resolved to do 2 years ago).  I should start meditating/praying more regularly (but I have another year to go on that one).  I am a couple years late to start those guitar lessons, (any minute now though!).  Normally I would put this one off for as long as possible.  I don’t like pain much and I like looking stupid even less.  My husband pointed out though that if I was intending to return to teaching soon, I might want to do it AFTER I had the braces, not during.  It’s painful enough to deal with teenagers.  They will all have braces.  You don’t want braces too.  Good point.

I have had some sort of interesting comments since getting braces.  A few people have said, “Your teeth weren’t even crooked”, which I know is their way of being kind.  They are trying to say that they didn’t sit across from me and obsess about my crooked teeth.  But I don’t want to hear that at all.  The whole braces thing is sort of bothersome and I feel like a stupid teenager, so of course I want to BELIEVE that it is all worthwhile.  The comments I have most appreciated have been from my friend who said, “Yeah, I always wondered if you were ever going to do anything about your teeth.”  And my husband said, “Yeah, they are sort of crooked.  You’re totally cute, but if you want to do something, you should do something now.”  Thank you.  No, really.  Thank you.  I want to hear that I look like a crooked, crooked squirrel-mouth.  My teeth were sort of crazy looking but are getting less so every day.

A lot of people didn’t realize that my teeth had problems because I had a tooth physically on top of another one.  Yup.  Two teeth in the same spot, one in front and one behind in case the one in front ever got knocked out in a tavern brawl.

The little tiny tooth behind never saw the light of day, and the tooth on top was up so high in my jaw that it never ever would wear down.  It is about twice as large as the canine on the other side of my mouth.  It doesn’t show up much in any of these pictures because I think I subconsciously turn my head to the side to catch the more normal looking side of my face.

And my ortho person says that I have what is called an over jet, which is like an overbite but faster.

(No, I guess it shoots out the front of your mouth at a not-so-great angle.)

I got the braces in mid November and have until summer to wear them.  Already there is tons of change in my little old mouth.  The shy toothling has popped out into the light of day!  The bottom teeth are falling in line too.  I don’t have any close up pictures because I always seem to be the person wielding the camera in this family, but here is one of me one month after getting braces:

They aren’t too noticeable really.  I’ll get a better picture up soon where you can really see all the crazy shit in my mouth.

But it does hurt.  And I can’t eat anything crunchy (which is all I seem to want).  Thank God it is the winter and there aren’t a lot of good vegetables available anyway, because it is a serious senior citizen diet for me.  Come see me and we’ll eat applesauce together.

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Yes I have gotten older, yet again.  Here I am on the cusp of 40, and I figured it was time to throw a big shin dig.  Usually I do just about nothing for my birthday, and who knows if I will feel like doing a big 40 bash, so I made a plan to have a big old 39th karaoke birthday party at a club in town.  And you know what?  It was about the best birthday I have ever had.

I don’t know what it is about singing—maybe just a bunch of oxygen gets into your brain and lights up those foggy areas—but I know it makes me really, really happy.  And I don’t just mean that I enjoy it and feel basically good, I mean that it ignites all the pleasure cortexes in my brain and makes me ELATED.  Really.  I go to gospel choir once a week sort of tired and down, but the minute I start singing I feel full of energy and life.  I went to a karaoke party for a friend a few months ago and suddenly it was 2am.  I had a huge smile plastered on my face that didn’t fade for days.  Happy.  And my birthday party?  Well I am still sort of high off it.  I love to sing.

I don’t think I am alone in this either.  Some people just gotta sing.

Singing in our culture is sort of hard sometimes.  We tend to lump it into a whole host of things that you are either “good” at or not good at, and if you are not good at it, we surely don’t want to hear you…. I don’t care if you are only 7 years old.  I’m not sure what makes a person a good singer.  Is it genetic?  Is it exposure?  A combination of both?  And what about those people who have really nice voices that are just sort of boring?  If their noses were a bit longer or their larynx a touch shorter, would they have awesome voices?  It is sort of sad to me that we Americans don’t let everyone just experience the joy of singing without worrying about being “good”.  It seems clear that we are only focused on the performance aspects of singing, not on the communal aspects or the mental health aspects or just the spiritual aspects.  There is a lot of singing to be done in the world; very little of it for an audience’s entertainment!

Check out my braces!

What would I do if I couldn’t sing?  Something else I guess… but I can not imagine not singing.

At the beginning of the party, only my immediate family was there, exactly on time, which was sort of funny. We are a prompt bunch.

Here’s to another year!   (And here’s to Brad’s grandparents Elsie and Elmer Werth who gave me money for my birthday which I used to throw myself the BEST BIRTHDAY EVAAAAAAH!)

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Sorry I have posted for awhile.  It’s that stupid Twilight series!  I don’t care what people say; that vampire soap opera is engaging!  I had to read all four books over Christmas and it was a major time suck….ha ha.

Speaking of things that didn’t suck— how about that 2011?  I was a fan of it myself.  Here for you is a list of the best (or at least the most important) life elements of 2011.

1. Inez finally potty trained.  Oh thank God!  It was getting so tiresome changing those diapers, struggling with her, begging, bribing, threatening in the hopes of her refraining from crapping on herself.  Life is way better now.  I was reflecting on this just last night— rarely a week goes by that Brad and I don’t comment on how happy we are that Inez is now out of diapers.  How long will this reflection be relevant and bring us such joy?  When she is 12 will we still be saying, “Oh man, I am SOOOOO happy that this kid is out of diapers!”?
2. Zephyr went to kindergarten.  I like Zephyr, really I do, but I am so pleased to have him at school every day.  The kid is learning up a storm, slowly starting to read in Spanish and English, and just generally thrilled to be out in the world.  Is it pain-free?—-no.  There are some adjustment issues on his side, usually expressed with dumb-shit behavior like breaking all the crayons on his desk or throwing his body so far back in the chair that he ends up sprawled out on the carpet.  His teacher is kind and patient though, and we think he’ll figure out how to be less obnoxious by June at the latest.
3. Cargo bike!  Cargo bike!  I totally love our new bike.  And I do ride it even now when it is raining.  And it is still a kick to fit all the groceries in there plus a kid or two.  Yay for biking!
4. The yearly trip to Ashland with my parents continues to be the high light of the year.  In case I didn’t write about it before, the gist is that we go to Ashland with my mom and dad, rent a house for a week and see as many plays as we can.  Mom and Dad go to matinees while our kids nap or read, and Brad and I do the evening shows while my parents watch our kids.  During the daytimes we ride bikes, wander to shops, go to the waterplay park, wade in Lithia Creek, take walks and visit.  It is so nice to be with Mom and Dad outside of either of our homes.  It is just relaxed and fun… and full of ice cream.  Our kids love it.  We love it.  I hope Mom and Dad love it because I never want to quit going!
5. Family art night is still going strong on Monday nights.  The kids really look forward to the next big project for our family, and the studio space gets a lot of use.  I haven’t made anything too great lately, but even if I use this time to sew buttons back on shirts, we’re doing things together which makes it feel worthwhile.
6. There were a lot of funerals this summer.  I can’t say that this was a “hit”, but it was definitely a defining part of this year, and gained importance as I did a lot of funeral music.  I guess I am getting old because I lost a grandfather and a grandmother, plus a friend from Gospel Choir and a family friend from Sheridan.  I did the music for all the services which was really rewarding because it is something to do when you feel sad, and  a way to comfort people when you feel helpless.  I have felt a bit of a calling to turn my music into something tangible and useful, so funerals fit the bill.  When acquaintances express surprise that I am a musician and ask where I play, I tell them to just kick it before me and I will put on a great show.
   

   Does Frances Wilma Parmeter look like anyone you know?

7. Anne returned from Japan.  I missed her, but now she is here and I can see her (almost) any time.  It is always fun to be with Anne.  It is great to have her back in Portland.
8. Francis and Zephyr are much, much more independent this year.  During soccer season, Francis rode her bike with a neighbor all the way to our local park for practice two days a week.  And in addition to zipping to friends’ houses down the block, we’ve experimented with the kids walking home from school on their own.  They are doing a great job, and have been very trust worthy and followed all our rules (which include them holding hands ALL the way home….how long will that one last?).  I feel really good about seeing their confidence and self-reliance.  The kids know they can take care of their own safety, which makes me super happy, and the transition to the responsibilities of an older kid will just be that much more smooth.  Let’s hear it for the free-range kid!
9. My saeurkraut is awesome.  ‘Nough said.
10. There have been some rough spots for our darling Clementine.  In addition to having a baby nearly three months early, Clementine’s husband lost his job and the family ended up homeless, all within one month.  We offered that they might move in with us, but coming back to the Portland area wasn’t a good long-term choice for their family, so they moved into a shelter.  This was a shocking and difficult choice, but the right move to fast track them to low-income housing, where they should have been a good year ago.  It was a heart-breaking time full of tears and panic and problem-solving, but it all worked out for the best.  In late July the family ended up in an apartment of their own; in August, Madina came home from the hospital to be with them.  They are happy and healthy, but still without employment.  Please take a moment to offer a prayer that Clementine or Mohammed get a job this year! Let me take a moment to say:  thank you God for Catholic Charities.  I am not always proud of the machinations of the Catholic church—they’ve done and continue to do crappy things that do not promote the dignity of every person, but they also teach a brand of social justice that is about direct action.  Our country has become one of the worst places to experience poverty, and it seems harder than ever to escape poverty of your own will and determination. But thank you for the shelter full of kind workers and caring volunteers.  Thank you God that people still care about the homeless.  I hope that we will do better for our brothers and sisters in 2012.

For 2012: People have asked me what my New Year’s Resolutions might be.  The quick answer is just to keep on keeping on.  I want to keep on making art, keep on spending time with kids, keep on cooking good food and taking care of our chickens, keep on praying and singing (so redundant!), keep on spending time with friends, family and neighbors, keep on reading and learning.  Big on my “keep on” list is running.  I am still running twice a week at 5:30am, which is shocking in itself because that is eaaaaarly for this girl who loves to sleep.  No marathoners will be too impressed because my running group doesn’t go far nor fast, but this is a major thing for me because I am really feeling the difference.  I am more fit and have more energy and less aches and pains.  (My husband says my butt looks good too, which is SOOOOO important, yes?).  It is a big thing for me to keep this up as I had been intending to get a positive pattern going for years, but somehow fell short of actually making it happen.  It’s happening and I am so thrilled with myself that I am determined to KEEP it going.

Blessings in the New Year.

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We named her Eva and she is about the cutest thing ever.

Eva is a modern game hen, which means she is tiny, long-legged, and super friendly.  Here is a comparison photo so you can see how she measures up in our backyard—

This is not a fantastic photo of course, but you can see the stark contrast between Eva and the other monsters around here.  She’s the one who looks like a little crow.  She’s small.

And I got her at church!  After church I usually have a lot of “business” to do—volunteer positions that I have stepped into, people dying and needing attending to, babies to rejoice over, music to learn, friends to chat with or arrange dates with, kids to plan activities for—that sort of thing.  This means that I stick around for awhile chatting while my kids run like dervishes through the community center.  While hanging out, I was approached by a homeless man looking for a bathroom.  When I pointed him towards one, I noticed that he had a CHICKEN poking out of his pocket.

ME  ”Hey!  Tell me about your chicken!”

HIM  ”I got her out on Alberta Street.  I had to chase her all over the place but she is the sweetest thing now.”

ME  ”What’s your plan for that chicken?”

HIM  ”Uuuuuhhhh, I guess take care of her.  She’s so nice!”

ME  ”You know, I have chickens and could take her home and take care of her if you wanted to part with her.”

HIM  ”Oh.  Could you kick me some change for her?”

And so we walked home, Eva snuggled safely in Francis’ coat the whole way.  Poor Eva smelled strongly of alcohol but I knew she would dry up once in our flock.

I’ve got to say, I REALLY like this chicken a lot.  When I walk outside, she jumps up on my shoulder.  If I am sitting still, she snuggles into my lap.  She puts our numbers over our permit limit, her breed are not particularly great layers, and she would make a really quick lunch for a passing hawk, but she is the sweetest thing.  And that was not just the alcohol talking.

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So I got this chicken at church… no, really.

It’s a great story, and I will definitely tell it later.  I’m tired though (and the furnace clicked off and it is freaking cold in here which makes it hard to type).  And I gotta wake up at 5 to run tomorrow.  So…. tomorrow.

3 Comments | In: Chickens Are Super Fabulous | | #

Our kids’ school did an 80s Prom night for parents.  There was a band playing Flock of Seagulls and Tears for Fears and Cyndi Lauper.  There was a photographer snapping photos, there was a snack table prepared by mothers (us).  There was a really big keg—which I guess you didn’t see at prom night back then.  As one mother put it, “It was even better than the hype!”.  And let me tell you, there was a lot of hype.  The weeks before prom, the talk on the playground was all about what you were going to wear and did you get your dress yet?  And would your husband agree to come?  And was the band going to play Rod Stewart?

I don’t know what it is about reminiscence.  As I was busy being a teenager, I had no sense that my era had much to offer.  I remember dressing up for “50s Day” during spirit week.  My dad still had his letterman sweater from the 50s and he let me wear it.  Now there was a decade!  And the 60s!  My mom had such cool clothes.  My mom STILL has cool clothes.  There is a leather dress hanging in my closet right now, but I can’t wear it without my ass hanging out.  (If I were but as willowy as she was in her late 20s, then I would be wearing it right now and looking awesome.  As it is, I just look obscene.  Speaking of obscene—-holy cleavage Batgirl!  I swear that dress did not look like that when I bought it).

Anyway, we went to prom in an NE artists’ studio space festooned liberally with crepe paper.  I ratted my hair.  I dressed Brad up and gelled his hair exactly like the teenage me would have loooooooved.  He was super cute.  (I wish you could see all his Russian pins on his lapel.  He had about 5 of them.  So AWESOME!).  And it was fun.  Really, really fun.

Three days later I got braces…. just like the teenage me probably should have done in the 80s.

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You know what is really great?

Having a baby around that you are in no way responsible for taking care of!

You get smiles, cuteness, a warm body to cuddle, but you don’t have to wake up all night to take care of her, nor remember where you put her down.  It is great.

Our friend Clementine came to visit us for two weeks with her new baby Madina, and it was such a relaxing, enjoyable time.  I don’t know many people who I would relish having around for two weeks, but Clementine, because she lived with us before, felt comfortable and easy to be with.  She expects very little.  She is accustomed to “hanging out” and makes the most of that social time without suffering from the itchy legs-oh-my-god-I-must-be-doing-something-right-now that I experience.  We fell right back into our old patterns—flowing in and out of the living room, drinking tea, inviting various friends and acquaintances over, eating squash, trying our old Thai food haunts.  Clementine, like always, was helpful with kids and dishes.  I, like always, have too much spare clothing and was able to outfit my African friend in more weather-appropriate attire.  (These African ladies!  They walk around in the the thinnest–albeit voluminous– dresses and SANDALS, even though it is sleeting rain outside!)  The various Portland friends together sent Clementine back to Seattle with boots, tights, a hat, gloves and a sweater.  I repaired a couple dresses and skirts too, so I felt useful.

But Madina!  Sweet Madina is one of the best babies ever.  Brad pointed out that Madina complains only slightly more than Clementine (which is never).  The kid eats.  The kid sleeps!  The kid smiles a radiant smile.

I hate to use the word “miracle” to describe her, but because Madina was born early, early, early at  2 lbs 12 ounces, I know we are all lucky to have her here.  She spent her first 3 months in the hospital, so it is even more of a pleasure to see her chubby and happy.

Being with these friends (this new baby friend here) makes me thrilled at the surprises in life.  You think you know what you need in life, but there are such other intentions for you in store…and you have no idea what they might be, what deep place inside you they make feel full and whole and perfect.  It is sappy to say, but such a joy to be alive!

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