Tuesdays? Gone?

Tuesdays will bring me down semester. They will be the death of me.

Working for 9 am to 9 pm--in between, a small window in which to swing in to the grocery store on the way home from subway, wave to famed street photographer Clayton Patterson from across the street and get an iced coffee at Cakeshop--fuel for biking to work and working through my night gig.

I did not write. Only thought about the writing of others. And the songs of others.

Beginning of semester. Needy swarms of students. You know how I love to help.

What inspiration can I steal from Skynyrd, circa 1976? TUESDAY'S GONE! Emotional indulgence? Should I throw a train in somewhere? Look out how the keyboard player segues seamlessly from piano to organ--how can I translate THAT to the page?

Searching for the End

Even after almost a year of consistent blogging, blogging hasn't become any easier.

I have no idea of what to say tonight.

Mostly, I'm tired . . . and sick.  As I type, my nose is running.  Throat hurts.  Coughing.

How boring.

What has made me happy today:

Making another phyllo-dough apple-thingy for a dinner party tonight.

Listening to (New Jersey's) WFMU streaming.

Listening to (Salt Lake City's) KRCL streaming.

Listening to the holiday Bach Fest on (New York City's)  WKCR streaming.

Finding out that the band of a good friend of ours was the download of the day pick on Rolling Stone's website.

Easting satsuma tangerines.

Buying a big plastic bear of New York state honey.

Buying marshmallows for the fondue I'm going to make on New Year's Eve.

Working on a story set on Christmas Eve inspired by a friend who was born on 12/12/66.  He died unexpectedly a few weeks after 9/11/01.

The downside is I didn't take a single photo today.

Here's a little indie Xmas song I found randomly in my search for a way to end this post:

multi

whisking and editing

a weird combo of happenings tonight.  nothing weird weird, just not our typical sunday night.

kale and meatball soup with cranberry cheddar grilled cheese.

first off, we didn't go to bam's for dinner as she was recuperating from thanksgiving. we had her over here, and i made stock with the turkey bones (i love turkey stock way more than turkey meat), then put together a soup of the turkey stock, kale, mushrooms, noodles, and lamb and sausage meatballs.  it tasted so good.  you just want vegetables after a week of feasting.

aunt bonnie doing dishes in cool tights.

secondly, the simpson's was just.  off tonight.  funny moments, but not the best episode.

compulsive editing & simultaneous cooking.

thirdly, i try not to do work on sundays, to shut off my brain for a day and re-set, but i got really caught up in the paper i'm working on, and kept going back to it and revising all day.  even whilst whipping cream to put on leftover pumpkin pie and bread pudding.

you know when you just finish writing something and you keep going back to check on it and admire it, before the loathing sets in and you realize how crappy it is?  yeah.  that.

well.  good evening, and happy normal week to you all!

legwear: black pointelle tights

inspiration: homer (the poet AND the simpson) and rich turkey stock

looking forward to: yoga, school, and work.  normalcy.

Pasts That I Know

The days leading up to my birthday have been rather difficult and cantankerous.  My kids seem to be arguing more vociferously than usual.  There have been too many dumb shows streaming from Netflix, not enough deep, rewarding activities happening.  Things are planned then cancelled.   I'm not sure what that would be--maybe an entire film instead?  At this point, I'll take it.

So my birthday is tomorrow and it seems as if I'm getting older at an alarming rate.  This wouldn't be so bad, I think, if I didn't feel like the tight space I started the year with is still largely intact, and I'm not quite sure what to do with that.

So what am I doing?  I'm writing about a past--not mine--but creating a past for characters based on pasts that I know.  Above you see a house that lives on Douglas Street in Salt Lake City.  I'm pretty sure I lived in this house when I was a graduate student at the University of Utah in the very early '90s.   The story I wrote today is set in the house, in the basement.    Writing these stories every day have been the best thing I've been doing every day for this past week.

Tomorrow is my birthday.  Lara, there is still no cake.

Looking Backward

This photo was taken last week.  I did not have my computer, but I so badly wanted to write that I was relieved I had packed a little notebook and pen in my massive bag that my phone and wallet hide in.

I snapped this photo while writing because the woman with her back to me so reminded me of a Gerhard Richter, although it probably doesn't remind you of a Gerhard Richter.  This is the painting I was thinking of:

I've been spending the evening looking backward.  I randomly pulled a fat folder out of a drawer.  The drawer is a mess and the folder was bursting at the seams with fliers for punk rock shows and BYU parties, stories I wrote while sitting on the floor of my studio apartment in San Francisco just after graduating from BYU, papers I wrote during my MFA program at the U of U,  and syllabi for classes I taught while a graduate student there.  Can I just say this?  I was a great teacher, maybe not the smartest of my colleagues, but I put together really interesting classes that were hard but fun and--I'd like to think--transformative.  I hate when people brag and self-aggrandize; humility and modesty fits me a lot better, but I looked over these papers and felt so sad that I got out of this "lane," that I spent huge chunks of my life forgetting who I was supposed to be.

I don't know what I should do with this now--put the folder back in the drawer, I guess, but never forget that it's there.