something far away

The second time I visited Singapore, in 2006, I flew alone the twentysomething hours to meet with my husband who had been there for a week already, working. I had plans for our time together - botanical gardens, night art festival, tour of Christmas lights, visiting an old Catholic convent and Snow City, lots of eating & drinking & taking probiotics. We did all of those things, and they were wonderfully memorable (partly because of how much we sweated through every outing). But like with most vacations, the mundane can become the sublime, too, if you're paying attention. 

I wanted to wash some clothes during our stay and after an hour-long adventure in miscommunications with the hotel staff - plus one confusing trip to a restricted area - I realized there was actually no place in the building where I was allowed to do it on my own, and the hotel service would cost somewhere in the realm of the US national debt. So Stu & I took a cab with our two bags of sweat-soaked garments to the mall and handed them to the old woman at Washy Washy, an even hotter place than the sidewalk outside, where the only area not taken over by clothing was our space at the counter. It felt a little scary considering I had only the outfit I was wearing and maybe one more left in my suitcase at the hotel, but my husband had had good luck here the week before. The old woman smiled & nodded at Stu like they were old friends as she grabbed our bags, pulled at a few items on top, then tossed them to a corner full of other bags, shouting in less-smiley Chinese to a worker.  We had to prepay our 22SGD, which was so significantly cheaper than the hotel rate that I once more doubted I'd see my clothes again. 

We had lunch at the Hard Rock Café (because, Americans) then shopped along the main road. I considered replacing all of the clothing I'd just handed over to Washy Washy but settled on just one Esprit shirt and a cute long denim skirt that ended up being very difficult to walk in. 

I'm pretty sure I slept fitfully that night, worrying about whether I'd get my clothes back, if they'd be wearable (I had a feeling no one was looking at labels about dryer heat recommendations), if I would have to spend my teacher pay on a new wardrobe. But when we returned to the launderer, the old woman smiled & nodded in recognition and went right to our bags. Everything inside was clean and folded with care, nothing was missing or misshapen or shrunken; in my relief, I left an embarrassing tip. 

I tried many times to toss out the receipt for our laundry but something kept it in my wallet. Every time I saw it, I remembered how much I loved Singapore (despite the breathtaking heat) and I felt accomplished somehow. I felt like an adventurer, finding a way to get something done without taking the easier, expensive, tourist way. I realized later no one at Washy Washy had spoken English, yet we did great business together. 

I hope I can go back someday. 

me today

With Mark Wahlberg and the spirit of Adam Yauch, in my classroom trying to catch up + get ready for Monday. 

I love my job teaching teenagers, but 'love' is a funny word. In our Poetry class, we call it taboo; instead of telling, show what love looks like. Feels like. Smells, tastes, sounds like. 

So. 

This is what my love looks like : a bulletin board next to my desk filled with handsome men and thoughtful quotes and notes from students, and an old laundry receipt from Washy Washy in Singapore; I bring what makes me smile, sigh, wistfully remember and pin it to my periphery for inspiration and joy and relief. My love also looks like tables arranged for seeing each other, a raised eyebrow, hands in the air, faces awake with thinking or furrowed with disagreement or blank with confusion trying to be alleviated. Sometimes it looks like eyelids fighting sleep because that's how life is, for all of us. 

This is what my love feels like : the shaggy velour pillow against my back in the desk chair, the push of tacks and squeeze of binder clips, a swipe of Lip Rescue, the smooth glide of Flair pens on papers, tension fading in a student's shoulder, breath catching in my throat during a discussion, the empty-building concrete cold that settles in my fingers and under my socks on days like today.

My love smells woody like pencil shavings, floor cleaner sharp, deliciously acrid like playing school in 5th grade with markers that made me lightheaded, Tropical Sorbet spray when the paper mill stench stretches up the hill, and meadow gardeny when I slather on hand cream at the beginning and end of every day. 

Love that tastes like black tea sometimes hot and sometimes lukewarm, fast lunches, secret chocolates in my desk drawer & stale emergency crackers in another, salty smoked almonds for sharing. 

And this love sounds like my IHeartRadio New Order station (Van Halen on Fridays), the daily grind of a pencil sharpener, a whirring projector, scraping chairs and teenage voices negotiating for seats, maybe loud, maybe quiet from the edges, powerful words put into powerful sentences, "Good morning, Mrs. Spencer" and "Bye, Mrs. Spencer, have a nice day."

I love my job.

yellow, for sam

This print belonged to my mother-in-law. After she died I decided I would like to have it, not realizing until I brought it home that it exactly matched the walls of our bedroom. I keep it above my nightstand and think of her every morning & night.

Sam championed just about everything I did - after not killing her son with my reckless driving out of the dorm parking lot where she stood meekly waving goodbye one sunny Pullman afternoon in 1989. She did not like it when I considered myself not good/smart/capable enough so she often praised my sense of style, my decorating skills, my writing, my teaching, and later my mothering. It took awhile for me to believe her but then I realized, she was not a woman who wasted time or energy with lies. Whenever I start to feel not good or smart or capable enough, I remember Sam's earnest face and I can hear voice telling me to just get moving. Try. Stop wasting time. 

Spirit. 

oxo

new year sky

"I made no resolutions for the New Year. The habit of making plans, of criticizing, sanctioning and molding my life, is too much of a daily event for me." ~ Anaïs Nin

Start a marvelous 2015, friends

fun #photoadayjuly

Silhouettes at night
A perfect night for fireworks
And memories made

best part of the day #photoadayjuly

After a few hours of rain, it was sunny. My son & I were midway through the 5 hour trek to my hometown. We had shared fries, strawberry lemonade, and a love for Queen (though he prefers I not sing along). Just as I told him to put away his DS for awhile, I noticed two enormous airplanes coming our way - military transports. Even though I grew up in a Navy town, I still marvel at jets and all things jet-related. I pointed them out to Mason and told him to get a picture. He took about a dozen shots of those first two before we spotted another; he aimed my phone through the windshield, sunroof, and behind my back out the driver's side window.

The best part of any day for me is connecting with my kids. In these moments on the road today, my son was not negotiating video game time or lamenting the lack of Weird Al in my iTunes or arguing about how stupid everyone in his school is. He was giddy with me about the size of these machines, their seeming proximity to our car, and what they symbolize; we giggled over his frantic attempts to find a perfect angle within the confines of our Mini Cooper.

Transported.

busy #photoadayjuly

I love these piles. Stockholm Syndrome?

photo a day : self-portrait

This picture of me is the best I got from 7 tries
I rarely feel photos show what I think I really look like,

which I suppose says a lot about my level of self-delusion
I like my hands, my hair, my glasses, my eyebrows
I love being in London, and traveling in general
I am essentially happy with life

I'm trying to play along with Fat Mum Slim's Photo A Day challenge. You should too!

72/365 "really"

In My Room

I got this fabulous poster from my favorite snarksters/societal vanguards at Regretsy. Please read the stories about the trials of Atlanta artist Tori LaConsay that led to her getting not only recognition and an apology from retail giant H & M but also a donation to animal rescue organizations in her city. Because her plight was publicized & promoted and eventually resolved largely through Regretsy reader support, Ms. LaConsay offered to send signed posters to those who donated to the assistance fund for her sweet rescued dog-friend Fred who needed surgery. [Fred is recovering well and enjoying celebrity on Facebook; Ms. LaConsay is no longer sending posters and I cannot for the life of me find any place online to get hold of her lovely works right now. Bummer]

So. To make a short story a tad long, I gave a bit and got a lot. When meeting with the architects of our school, we teachers specifically requested these cozy corners in each classroom where a student can go when he/she needs a quiet place not-too-far from the madding crowd, or where a small group can spread out a project, or where I can offer easily-distracted individuals a calm reprieve from my otherwise visually overstimulating classroom; in any case, I want whomever lands there to know: You look nice today.

It's something we all like to hear, no? Well, you do.

71/365 "recreation"

August trip-planning
Big Apple with bff
Getting obsessive

70/365 "reminisce"

Cupcakes for Girl Scouts
Celebrating one hundred
years of good service

69/365 "reflection"

At our school's office
Boards await end of classes
Proper Renegades

68/365 "refreshment"

She knows it's Thursday,
But wine is in order now.
The queen has spoken.

67/365 "rejoice"

Rise, foreign object
After cold and rain and snow
Just what I needed

66/365 "rebloom"

Let us try this again.
As my girl Emily Dickinson said, 'Forever is composed of Nows.'

23/365 "resolve"

Most people who know me for more than ten minutes are aware that I prefer not to workout; that word alone has always made me shudder. My friend found a magnet for me that explains it all: "Whenever I say the word 'exercise' I wash my mouth out with chocolate." Of course I realize there is merit to exercise (hello, Hershey!) but I am so busy, and I can't find an activity that I enjoy, plus I've been lucky enough to stay reasonably healthy without it for decades. Okay, really I'm disgustingly lazy.

But recently something came over me. Maybe it was the whirlwind series of doctor appointments, trying to figure out the source of my increasing fatigue, wherein I had to repeatedly check the "Sedentary" box on health history forms. That is simply embarrassing. So I decided to join my man at the gym - this time not just so I could buy some cute new yoga clothes but also so I could get my heart pumping, while having 45 minutes of uninterrupted reading time and John Mayer playlist. Multiple win.

And strangely, I kind of like it. My man & I actually talk to and from the gym, and sometimes we compete for distance on the elliptical machine. I don't lift weights with him (how could I read like that?) and I cannot bring myself to coordinate visits with actual fitness classes, but I still think good things might be happening. At the very least, I occasionally break a bead of sweat trying to average 3 minute miles on the stationary bike (see photo!); it depends on how involving that night's chapter is, or if I get sucked into Facebooking instead of reading or riding.

Just don't say I'm exercising, please. You'll owe me some chocolate.

22/365 "resolve"

To do: Life.

21/365 "joy"

Cocktails on date night
Celebrating the weekend
Unleashing the week

20/365 "joy"

bright
bangle
beads
best friend
bought
beloved

19/365 "joy"

If you say so, cookie.