On Motherhood & Sanity


Sunday, July 24, 2016

we are in the business of saying good bye


they don't know any better really. It's their third continent, but they don't know any better. They don't remember anything from before. This is their home. This is their life. This is their story... about to change

We are but days away from our next move. It feels like we've lived here one hundred years.  My skin feels and smells like Brooklyn.

I don't remember it being so strange. this feels so much like home it seems hard to believe soon it will no longer be so.

They are brave. They are excited. they are marching into the unknown with a smile and a shovel.

Not entirely certain what the shovel is for.

But now, today, we are in the business of saying good bye. Different days entail different activities. and they are all about holding on tight to what we are about to let go. These days  are about creating memories. affirming that we are here.... having one last dance with who we are and who we love.

Monday, June 13, 2016

Erased.... June Family self portrait

It feels like we are being erased from the picture. 
The ground we stand on... almost photoshopped beneath us. 
We are but an image. 
Stand-ins in our own life. 
The countdown begins for us to disappear.





***
The family self portrait  project started in January 2011. 
I take one portrait of the whole family, myself included, once a month.  
In late 2013 a "ghost" writer joined the initiative and now each photo is accompanied by a poem.
In 2015 the kids started collaborating and introducing their own ideas
...the project has a life of its own

also,
Every family should do this. It's an amazing record of the little things that matter


To see previous months click on the links below:


***
2016



Friday, June 10, 2016

ridin' the waves or a bad case of the nomad cowboys blues



Last night home. I don’t want to go to bed. I don’t want to go to sleep. I don’t want tomorrow to arrive.

The house is eerie. I’ve never been here before without the kids. We have taken down the paintings, covered the holes on the wall, given away the plants. We are erasing our steps in the sand. Like we were never here. Like this time never existed. Nothing lives here anymore. Nothing but our ghosts sitting next to our suitcases. It’s quiet and dark, and somehow I no longer belong here… nor anywhere else.

When tonight ends, a certain world with certain possibilities ends. I rode home from dinner one last time. Rode my new bike, like a horse, through the trees and cobbled stone streets. I looked at the shops and the sculptures. Those things, right there in front of me, they are no longer mine. Those closed shops, for me, are closed forever.

I don’t mean to sound dramatic, but moving is a little bit like dying. A little part of you dies. Relationships end. Friendships and the stories to be told go unfinished. Some stories, they get cut off, mid sentence, as if it was some bad tumor. The body and soul become restless searching for that missing limb. Feeling it’s discomfort but unable to find it.

If I ever had to write a poem about my life it would talk about nostalgia and missed opportunities. Every move and every choice entails missed opportunities. An entire path you can imagine, envision, but never travel.

I know. I know. The new show is about to begin. I know we will be fine. I know there are adventures to be lived, new friends to make, new things to love. But I’m tired and I want to stop ridin’ the waves that come and go and leave nothing but foam in the sand.

Yet, I can’t conceive never moving again. I can’t conceive that my new home will be my last.
I got me a bad case of the nomad cowboys blues.

Wednesday, June 1, 2016

in order to be seen you need to be visible.




I have long resisted making my own professional website.

Frankly, I never used to see the point. Then one day, someone I was already working with mentioned another potential area of collaboration as a result of having seen my CV. It occurred to me then that  people know you for one skill, and might not think of you for something else, unless they have a chance to imagine you there.

That was probably 3  years ago, and since then I have been struggling with the idea that I should, but didn't know how to go about doing a website that was easy to navigate, not too boggled down on details, that would allow someone interested in my work to understand not only what I have done, but what I could do, and what is different about me. What I can bring to the table.

It was only this summer that my sister decided to go back to making websites and agreed to take me on board. I can be quite picky and obsessive about how I want things, but she not only took it in her stride, but showed me ways I had not thought of. created a simple yet blatantly frank logo that sums up so much. selected colors and styles (design, font, you name it) that for once make me look at the website and think , "yeah, this is me, in a nutshell"

I cannot recommend her more. If you've been toying with the idea  take this as the sign to move forward.  in order to be seen, you need to be visible. And if you are going to be visible, you need to make sure that -in a world filled with information- your message is clear and simple. that it tells your story.

to access the site press here 

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

building paper bridges...




Chaos has descended upon us.  The world is turning too fast  and we hold on tight hoping not to fall.

We are surrounded by long list of to-dos: things to book, things to buy, things to sign, things to find, .... they fall around us and weigh us down like heavy rain on our clothes.

We build  castles of cards that  regularly tumble down, and we pick them up, and they tumble down, and we do it again, moving forward, slowly building paper bridges towards an imaginary  ship that will take us to the promised land. That place we have imagined, that place we talk about as if we knew it, that life we have been promised, the story we have yet to write.

Meanwhile I feel like I'm making the whole thing up.

The children are impatient. They want the adventure to being.  They are wearing their travel boots and their visions of wonderland  and wondering what is keeping us all.

The parents are tired, snapping. Five am eyes wide open mechanically  reciting  the to-do  lists as if it was a prayer.

Tensions run high from anticipation of the short-term chaos.

We are about to jump off a moving train mid-sentence, and my heart breaks just a little for the stories we won't get to finish.

The world keeps turning.... this world set to  carry on without us