strict joy

Been listening to this all morning.

happy weekend

{image}

non conformist

I pulled my hair back today in a somewhat professional-looking pony. However, there is this one bit of hair that refuses to join the crowd. All day I've seen that brave batch in my rear view mirror and in front window reflections, boldly defiant in a stubborn stance all their own. Like a child raising his hand with the right answer who just might die (seriously) if you don't choose him, it stands vertical when everything else is horizontal.

I went about my day interacting with all sorts of people whose eyes have wandered up to look at the collection on my coif every point five seconds.

I'm trying to decide if this hair mishap is a metaphor for my life...


*e. del mar: Three parts.

pray for purple

Robert Frost said, "The best way out is always through."
* * *
One year for our birthdays, my sister and I got matching bikes. I remember choosing them together. I saw the purple bike with the banana seat and began to plead with my little kindergarten heart that my sister (the biggest tom boy in the neighborhood) would love the pink one. I prayed for the color purple. A birthday gift from the color gods, my purple prayer was answered, a purple predicament solved. My childhood bike rides were on a purple banana seat bike, my tough-as-nails sister by my side on her identical pink one.
* * *
Today I hate the color purple*. I hated it more and more as the minutes went by. I have a client who won't budge. It's purple and only purple. There's no way around this giant purple people eater of a room and so I'm left with only one choice: wade knee deep in thick, messy, purple. California Raisin. Grape Soda. Plum. Dimetapp. (Except Dimetapp makes things better. I don't see how this can get better.) Mulberry. No matter what you call it, a purple by any other name remains, well, purple.

In a dark and dreary mood, I thumbed through racks and racks of fabric samples today. At the end of the purple brick road, there definitely wasn't an Emerald City. Oh, how nice it would be to ignore my client. To pay no attention to that proverbial man behind the (purple) curtain. When I reached the end of the all the purple, there was empty space. I wish I could say that my purple plight has come to an end, but all I have are sample bags full of purple gook. A goulash. Like ink from a leaky pen, my hands are stained purple.

Please, oh please pray for purple.

*Not the movie, just to clarify.

Kershisnik Exhibit: Over Looking

Young Astronomer by Brian Kershisnik

Brian Kershisnik Exhibit: Over Looking
David Ericson Fine Art
through Oct. 23rd 2009
418 South 200 West
Salt Lake City, Utah 84101

There are so many things that draw me to this painting: the combination of turquoise and red, the soft lines of the mother's dress against the angled edges of the window. The dark red carpet. The intensity of the night's sky. The small town cloaked in shadow. The angel peeking in the window. How completely engrossed the mother is in her book. The faces on Kershisnik's babies and children are so delightful.

Also...
The texture, size and color of Kershisnik's paintings do not transfer to this page. Seeing them in person under gallery lighting is an experience not to be missed.

happy weekend

going pumpkin picking this weekend. can't wait to find the perfect pair:
one ready for porch sitting and one for carving.
{image}

Sunday Storm

will break for lunch

The other night we gathered at Sarah's to celebrate Elle's upcoming nuptials. Many stories were told to her soon-to-be hubby. I was amazed at our ability to bring up Billie (Elle's nickname) trivia. We were holding our sides and burning off our chocolate cake dessert before it had a chance to digest. Here's one story I didn't tell:

The first time I got a speeding ticket I was 16. It was the first day I was allowed to take the car to school. At lunch we piled into the car and drove down 900 South, Whitney Houston's "Heartbreak Hotel" blasting on the radio. Em, who knew all the words, was shotgun, Elle was in the backseat, along with Kates and I don't remember who else. The cop was hiding behind the corner, speed gun caulked, perfectly out of sight. He was ready and waiting for such innocent and oblivious 16 year-olds off on a 15 minute joy ride. I was car dancing and slapping the steering wheel as we headed to our usual lunching location: Great Harvest. We'd spend .75 cents on a cinnamon roll and, with purchase, get a slice of bread as thick as a brick. I'd slap honey on mine and with sticky fingers head back up the hill for 4th period.

We coasted down the hill with ease, feeling fun and fancy free (as fun an fancy free as you can feel in a minivan). I remember looking at the speedometer mid-decline and seeing the needle hit 40. I felt a tinge of remorse, and made a complete stop at the stop sign, Whitney's voice accompanying my regret. Ready to repent, I started slowly, but was flagged down by a man in dark brown. He motioned for me to pull around the corner. DJ Em at the dial, she turned the volume soft soft soft, until Whitney was on mute. Down went my window and up went my heart rate as the cop came forward asking for my license. I'm pretty sure they covered this in the first day of Driver's Ed - anytime you're behind the wheel, have your license. It's not that I missed that class but in the mayhem that was the last-minute decision that I'd be the taxi to Great Harvest, I didn't run back to get my license in my soccer bag. I handed over my high school ID as my form of identification.

After a few minutes worth of lecturing, some snickers from the back seat, and my first signature on a traffic violation, we were on our way to Bread Heaven and back to school before the bell. We took the 800 south route, no radio, and somehow the honey on my bread that day wasn't as sweet. Between the bunch of us, there were several other tickets those two and half years before we parted ways for college. We reminiced about the best of them the other night. I think we'd all agree that the lawn mowing, too-much-school-spirit, "Use of horn" takes the cake. Way to go, Kates!