family self portrait January 2012

fits my current mood.





to find out what this is about go here.

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January

dance of the Hippo. on ageing disgracefully

I know I should probably feel proud, but in all honesty, I can’t even bring myself to look at my reflection in the mirror.

After  more than 20 years, (you do the math,) I’ve gone back to taking modern dance lessons.

The last time I saw myself reflected on the mirror attempting to follow a choreography I was over 20 years younger, prettier, thinner, stronger... After class #1 all I wanted to do was bury myself in denial and  alcohol, but the doctor won't let me have any alcohol (more on that later), and without it denial seems highly ineffective.

The teacher is young and pretty. Skinny and regal as the bare trees in winter. Hell, the woman has  a  British accent for gawd's sake.

It's an adult's class so most are  youngish girls, you know, early thirties. A  couple are on my boat, you know, the one that already sailed. And there we are, strutting our stuff (more like jiggling it really).

 ...and all I could think about was Disney’s dancing hippos on the movie Fantasia....

There was a little part of me during  class #2  that started getting into the groove. My body no longer felt like a strangers or like it had been kept in  ice. My arms responded and my legs were somewhat willing to lift me from the floor without me having to get on all fours. I was able to let it go a little and blend with the music…  I even dared to go as far as peeking into the mirror, and there I was, a proud dancing hippo. 


I know I should probably feel proud. I know it is good for the mind to keep trying  new things, healthy to challenge your body in new ways, but what can I say, it's sh*t for my self esteem, and it's making me aware of how OLD I am in a very undeniable way. 

dry snow- photo post

from my Ethiopia series... some times you have to focus on the little things

on winter - photo post

I think we should just hibernate in winter. My heart agrees...

Day 30: one word for 2012

(still catching up with my December Challenge prompts)

Day 30: one word: You told us what your one word for 2011 was, now, when we meet 

again one year from now, what would you like your 2012 word to be?

there is this picture in my new yoga place. I don't know who this person is, but I find her expression inspiring.  She looks happy and at peace with herself. Kind. Present. Like someone who has followed her heart into a a good place. She looks honest and transparent. Gentle yet  strong. You can tell she is not where the tides took her, but where she chose to be. She was -is- not scared to follow her path, she is not frightened of her choices. She is content. She  doesn't question so much, just  is.

I want my 2012 to be like this

on writing without a muse

This morning I went to visit an angel. I took a train all the way to Babylon, then I boarded a taxi which took me to her door step.

With her fragile smile of one hundred years, translucent skin and thin white hair she spoke:

“enjoy your writing, enjoy your kids, enjoy what you have and who you are because this is it. This is what you will accomplish”

She said this while slowly pouring hot tea into my cup.

***

Life’s a funny old thing. It never occurred to me that I too would be but one more. That I would never be but mediocre, nothing but average.

It never does. We all expect to be special when really, average means just that, it is where most of us should expect to find ourselves.

***

so I should expect no shimmer or shine, just skin drying and lines growing deeper until I part ways with myself and disappear.

Tears will be shed, but no poems will be written to commemorate me. The day will pass to the world unannounced. The news will continue without the mention of my name, and I can’t help but wonder if when I look into the mirror I too will be able to feel proud of what I did with my time.

I will write once again. I will continue to write pages that will go unread, spending paper that will turn to dust instead of pixie magic.  We continue to write because that is the only truth we know, and so that in our death beads we may at least say that we tried. That we searched for our muse and it was she, not us, who failed you.

***

Hope tiptoes to hide under the bed as I write this, fearful of the look in my eyes, while depression lies on the bed smiling, waiting for me to join her. Perseverance is silent. She’s seen me here before, but not quite here, not this far along. 


And then hope whispers:

“we are running out of time”

And I look at her, tired, and somewhat defeated respond:

“I know”

Here come the girl scouts… finally (a book review)

What can I say, it’s just refreshing. I’m up to my ears with pink and princesses, and they are all white and blonde,  they all want to find their prince and get married, and as much as I enjoy watching my little monkey dress up and kiss imaginary frogs, couldn’t we mix it up a bit?

My princess monkey, as we like to call her, is strong and agile. So strong she has on occasion left older boys who wanted to play rough crying. She is strong, and lean, and coordinated. She can climb what most kids her age can’t, and she’ll do it in shiny shiny leggings with a few bangles too, thank you very much. And that is fine. That is fun, but, where are the books that talk about that?  Where are the books that  talk about her and her potential, her strengths? Where are her role models? Where are the books that incite her to climb and be outdoors? To learn how to get the skin off a sardine for her prince.

When Shana sent me a preview to her book I was doubtful. I’d heard great things about her and her work, but the idea of non-fiction books for kids seemed a bit ambitious. Ok, so I was ignorant and naïve, sue me. She had me at  “Daisy was a girl with gumption” which, just so you know, is page one.

The book is fun to read, which is already a plus for those of us who are forced to read these stories over and over again. It is educational, and I’m not talking about the monkey here, I knew nothing about the girl scouts other than –you guessed it- they sell cookies. First thing I did when I was done reading was look up the nearest girl scout group in the hope that I could get the monkey to join. But the most important for me is that it is inspirational. I want my girl to read over and over again that  “girls can do anything”. And I don't mind my son hearing it too. That you can combine your passions, that you can rebel against  convention and expectations, against what society dictates women should or should not do, should or should not want, to come up with something entirely new. And then  see that  this figment of Daisy's  imagination is still standing 100 years later.

The illustrations are joyous, colourful and modern, filled with affirmative and positive messages  waiting to be discovered together with your child (you know, the eleven hundredth time you read it). And for the more ambitious, a little bio in the back will provide further details.

Over all, can’t wait  to get it, and no, this post is not sponsored, I’m just hoping it does well so publishers get the message. Pass it on sisters.

About the author and illustrator:

Shana Corey grew up in the South and writes picture books about brave women and girls in history, like Amelia Bloomer and Juliette Gordon Low. Oh yeah, she is also al children book editor at Random House, and is apparently available for school readings (mental note: follow that up).

 She lives with her family in Brooklyn, New York, 

Hadley Hooper is an editorial artist whose work appears regularly in The New York Times. Here Come the Girl Scouts is her first picture book (but will not be her last I tell ya).

She lives in Denver, Colorado. No idea who with.