eat, sleep, love
Our friend Shannon says that her perfectly lovely boy could turn mean when he was hungry. A teenager now, and still, occasionally, she has to trick him into eating something—anything—and then almost immediately things take a turn for the better.
Always wise, I think Shannon may be onto something profound here. When William goes wild, Billy and I often search for deep-seeded reasons, devise complicated interventions, but maybe it’s simpler than that.
Most of the time he needs one of three things—to eat, to sleep, our love—or some combination. Usually in that order.
Eat.
Sleep.
Love.
And mostly, we’re ready for anything.
Photo by Papa Johnson.
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Filed under family matters, motherhood, photographs | Comment (1)some other girl, part 4
I always marvel at where stories come from. This story started with real students eating lunch in my classroom and talking innocently about casting spells. I imagined whole new girls, older and innocent and dark at the same time, with complicated desires.
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Filed under Podcast, short story, writing | Comment (0)best of billy
Boylan Heights commercial, Powhatan Studios.
Billy is on fire, and I’m not just saying this because he is my husband. His Boylan Heights video is so pretty, his most recent photo-shoot: stunning, and simultaneously, William crowned him ‘World’s Best Dad’ this past father’s day. I’m inclined to agree. I lucked out with this one.
If you like Billy’s work as much as I do, vote for Billy Hunt Photography for ‘Best Photographer’ in the Best of Cville issue. This issue will come out August 17th.
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Filed under family matters, photographs, video | Tags: best of Cville 2010, boylan hieghts, charlottesville, charlottesville Photography, video | Comment (0)graduation
This year I went to fifth grade graduation. I sat to the side, on one of the folding chairs patterning the gymnasium floor. Most seats were filled by wistful parents, holding Mylar-balloon-congratulations. Waiting.
The graduates were mine too, my art students for their last three years of elementary school. They filed into the gym in purposeful attire: a boy in a navy blazer with brass buttons and a stripped tie, like a tiny lawyer. Another, identical, except with shorts for that pre-frat boy look. Yet another a pink polo, pomade in his hair.
The girls paused at the entrance in their pink cake-topping frocks or darker pre-prom numbers. Then they hurried to make up the time, clicking on new heels; they teetered with the hurrying, the new height, but they did not fall.
We wavered with them, listening for each of their names to be called, crossing our arms in mime as they took their diplomas from the principal, all of us dreaming on who these young people would soon become.
Photos by Billy
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some other girl, part 3
Momma, Amber said…You told me, you promised me, it would be different once we moved here.
It’s not so easy, Mrs. C said roughly. she pulled off that visor, her red hair matted in a ring beneath it. Its not so easy, girlfriend, she repeated, and I felt like she meant this for me too—like I was included, even though I no longer wanted to be.
do what you want, she said. But its not so easy. You’ll see.
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Filed under Podcast, fiction, short story | Tags: charlottesville podcast, fiction, short story | Comment (0)some other girl, part 2
As far as our spells went, we had a special way of doing them. We’d sneak around gathering our regular tea candles, making sure the coast was clear. Amber would grab a beer from the fridge. It makes the spells more potent, she’d say. Sometimes I’d take a sip or two in my mouth. Never more. Always Amber would squeeze my hand tightly, and we’d hold the spell with our free hands between us.
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Filed under Podcast, fiction, short story | Comment (0)the wonderful wild
This is William’s grace, said before our suppers on mix-matched dishes with mason jar cups. We hold hands ever since that time at my folks house at Thanksgiving, and also, we hold our eyes closed tight.
–Thank you, William says, for the lovely food, and thank you for mama and dadda hanging with me and thank you for the wonderful wild.
Except when William says this he crowds all the words together, too closely, like a stream of conscientiousness poem unfettered by capitalization or punctuation.
dankyoufordawonderfulwild, he says.
We squeeze hands,
Say Amen,
and eat.
Photos by Billy (above) and Papa Johnson (below).
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some other girl, part one
If you haven’t listened to any of this collection yet, Some Other Girl is a nice place to start. One of my favorites.
Amber and I are not witches, but if we were, we’d be the good kind. We’d wear white and pick those plain white flowers that grow like weeds in Amber’s yard. If we tried a spell or two, it was only for fun, or to pass the time. We didn’t mean anything by it.
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Filed under Podcast, fiction, short story | Comments (2)have cake, eat it too
Maybe those mythical mean girls have it right, at least in one regard; when it comes to dear friends, maybe you have to choose the ones you want, fiercely, (and so, by default, leave some other perfectly decent chap un-chosen). Maybe you have to take sides, save seats, guard places in line, because that makes this other person special, like a candle atop a birthday cake. You cannot save a place in line for everyone, real nice-like, as if friendship is your default setting. You cannot have your cake and eat it too.
Photos by Billy(above) and Papa Johnson (below).
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Filed under family matters, photographs, the world we live in | Comment (1)rear-view mirror
I am a much worse driver since I became a mother.
There, in the cockeyed rear-view mirror, William dominates my view.
I see my life forever skewed in that convex reflection.
Nonetheless, I toggle the turn signal, merge, try to keep my eyes on the road. All the while, aware of this new back and forth in my life. Here William, take this juicebox, this tuperware of cored apple, cut into boats. Take my attention. My safety. My self.
It feels the same with art, but crooked views can be precious things, if you look at it right.
And back and forth are just part of the process.
Tight spots, every once in a while, yield grace.
Photo by Billy
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Filed under fiction, motherhood, photographs, writing | Comments (2)