being human

Here I am, and here is William, mother and son, but we were like twins on the days we were born. The more things change, the more they stay the same, and yet I worry about the future, especially late at night. Like a mother whose teenager isn’t home yet, worry for the world lodges in my mind.

For example, isn’t it crazy-insane that there are children who go hungry here in Charlottesville? Hungry! Here and in a million other places. And this year it seems just too warm for wintertime. Sure it’s pleasant, but what does it mean for the future, and shouldn’t we collectively work to do something about it? And what about politics–that thing that candidate said that he must have known was not true? What about fairness, and truth? My night worry has no bounds.

Sometimes, I worry about my cousin. I’ve been writing him since both his mother and grandmother have died. He has been in jail for 15 years—3 of Will’s lifetimes—and is sentenced for 15 more. I worry about people who have no way to reclaim their lives, whose crimes and punishments mock and defeat them.

I worry about myself, Billy, and William: Here we are, in these times, but we are just blood and tissue and bone. What a terribly predicament, being human. What an opportunity. I worry that I will squander it.

Photo of me, left, by Papa Johnson and of William, right, by Billy.
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christmas morn

We kept our tree up way too long, until it looked as ironic as Gingrich stumping for Morality. Now, finally, with the tree flung out and capsized in the yard, we’ve put a proverbial fork in Xmas 2011. Tonight I noticed the sky was lighter at dinnertime than it had been a few short weeks ago. I suppose this is the nature of time, as a grown up: you wait and build toward some point in the future, but before you know it, you’ve already surpassed it.

But at least, (and thank baby Jesus for this) there are the photographs. I know baby Budha would chide me, ‘Don’t hold onto things so tightly, Girl’, but I am guiltily fond of looking back. It’s so nice to reflect on those moments, like Christmas morning, that in the making, are too sharp to truely see.

Photos of Uncle Steve, Aunt Teena, Grandma, Mimi, and of course the boy, by Papa Johnson. Thank you, Dad!.

apropos MLK quote for these times

‘I have the audacity to believe that people everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture for their minds, and dignity, equality, and freedom for their spirits…’

Grandma, my Uncle and Aunt, last year at the MLK memorial in DC

Photos by Papa Johnson.

will’s hands

Kinder work by my boy, part of a JV booklet.

Photos by Papa Johnson.

d is for downtown

My third grade art students illustrated an ABC guide book about Charlottesville, written by former Murray Student Rebecca Coughlin. Rebecca brought good cheer and NBC29 on her visit to the school. The third graders were ecstatic; the camera was way big; I was so proud.

Check out the 29 news clip, which aired on 12/26, here. More on the book and where to find it here

Downtown by Maeci and Catherine; Cover By Colby.

uptick

I must admit, 2011 is ending on an uptick: the world might be buckling, splintering apart; but Billy, William, and I are cleaving together. Happy to see one another. Happy to have one another. And truly, what more can person ask for?

Happy New Year!
Sincerely,
Jocelyn

Photos by Papa Johnson.

overlap

Billy has been overlapping images: new bodies over old book pages, illustrations, and charts. This process of overlay is generally how our family gets by in the world—layering fragments, hoping for completion, and maybe a little beauty.

Wishing you all a lovely solstice, a Merry Christmas, and a happy, happy New Year.

I heart this new set of photos by Billy.

occupy charlottesville

I kinda miss the rag-tag sloganed-sign-making Occupy camp that used to be in Lee Park. Don’t get me wrong: I know why the city evicted them. I understand the relative ugliness of it, that bothersome peeble-in-your-shoe kind of feeling you might have when driving by. Or that slight grown-up feeling of the futility of it: fighting the power, ‘The Man’, with a small camp of mostly fringed-out folks, wielding magic markers and posterboard and raised voices…

All that said, the small eyesore of Occupy C’ville served as a physical point of conscious for me. A reminder of the very real and mostly unseen suffering of people. I already believe in compassion, in our shared responsiblity to one another, still I forget all the time; all the time, I focus my worry myopically on me and mine and our future, as if it is some separate strand of a thing. When deep down, I believe it is more like a braid: a thing that depends on the future of us and ours.

So there was something wonderful, I think, in the inconvenience of those few folks waving paper banners, sleeping in the cold, flashing strange gang signs in an excercise of community. Is it all that audacious of them to believe their camp will help the rest of us remember? Is one little park too much to sacrifice for that?

In a rare moment of 5-year old altruism, William says about Occupy Cville: ‘Maybe we don’t have to sleep outside, Mama. Maybe we could just put up a sign out by our house that says ‘If you are hungry, we can share…’

Billy took photographs the night the police (gently) evicted the Occupy dwellers at the city’s behest.

billy’s first mullet

Billy got first mullet at a Tough Mudder event he was photographing at Massanutten this fall.

Beautiful video of less than beautiful hair presentation, Video by Amoeba Films.

films in

We had our first film-night at our house, watching Lars von Trier’s weighty work Meloncholia, big on Billy’s portable screen. Impending doom was made enjoyable by friends, drinks, and popcorn with nutritional yeast on it. Not to mention smack-talk of Kirsten Dunst’s impressive bosom, and next-day emailed revelations about what it means to be human.

Billy and I had missed Meloncholia at the most recent Virginia Film Festival, here in Charlottesville. But we caught some other great flicks, including punk rock dad’s in ‘The Other F-word‘ and one weird, hot mom in ‘Natural Selection‘

If you wonder what the end of the world might really be like, if you grew up listening to California hardcore or are a conflicted parent, if you wonder about how people get trapped and break free, then I recommend these movies.

Which movies do you love?