writing

Summer To Do List, 2015

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And then they summer to do list Alma beachJune is here.  School’s almost over.  Summer’s coming.  I’m not the biggest fan of summer, I admit.  I thinking having a list of things to do this summer might make me enjoy it more.  A lot of these are also on my 35 Until 35 list, so that’s good.

  1. Pick a summer theme song. Right now I’m thinking of something by Jenny Lewis or Rilo Kiley.  We just saw Jenny last week, so I’m on a Jenny/Rilo kick.  Or I might throw back to some of my favorite summers, and go with a Dave Matthews song.  DMB songs always make me think of summer.
    I decided on Budapest because it’s fun, it’s on the radio a lot, and Peter just did a cool version.
  2. Take, and post to Instagram, a photo every day, starting June 21st and ending September 22nd – the first and last days of summer.  Recently I’ve gotten into sharing my day to day stuff on Snapchat, and haven’t been posting as much on Instagram.  I think I’ll look back and wish I’d taken more permanent documentation of these days.  This summer, I will post (at least) one photo a day and I’ll use the hashtag #93summerdays if you want to play along!
  3. Run through the sprinklers.  I tend to be an observer in this activity.  I vow to participate this summer.
  4. Play outside everyday.  This is a long-term goal to get my kids to play outside everyday, rain or shine or snow or fog or whatever.  I think they’re getting to be old enough, and creative enough that I can start this.  Best to start in the summer, I figure!
  5. Have a dinner of corn on the cob.  When corn is in season, there’s nothing better.
  6. Go to a concert.
  7. Stargaze with Alma. Ideally, I want to take her out into the country or wilderness where stars are brighter.  I think it would be fun to let her stay up late (or get her up) and take her out, just the two of us.
  8. KonMari Method everything. This will likely be an entire blog post, but I have read The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up and am in the process of getting rid of things that don’t spark joy.  It’s already been incredible, I can’t wait to continue.
  9. Go on a day date with Jesse. And then they summer to do list alma forrest
  10. Hike.
  11. Camp.
  12. Ride bikes.
  13. Make lemonade from scratch.
  14. Watch fireworks.  Big ones this year, I think.
  15. Build a sandcastle.
  16. Make ice cream from scratch.
    We made a cherry dark chocolate ice cream.  I liked it, Alma didn’t, Jesse was indifferent, Harriet likes anything.
  17. Redecorate the living room – specifically the mantel. It still is covered in Easter decorations.  Come on.  Jesus has already ascended into Heaven and we’re fully in a new church season.  Seriously, Carolyn.
  18. Go to the beach.  This should be easy.  We have another vacation to Coronado planned.
  19. Go to the mountains.
  20. Bake a crisp, or other summery dessert.   Blueberry cobbler ftw.And then they summer to do list harriet swinging
  21. Swim in nature – ocean, river, lake, stream.
  22. Eat wild berries.
  23. Make s’mores.
  24. Take each Harriet and Alma on an adventure, just us. 
  25. Plan our tenth anniversary celebration.  Ten years!  What?
  26. Learn how to shop at thrift stores.  They totally overwhelm me and I never buy anything.  I love to idea of not wearing new clothes – better for earth, better for the workers who make clothes, cheaper – I just don’t know how to do it.
  27. Go to the Country Fair. Photos here!And then they summer to do list alma doorway
  28. Go to new parks.  Maybe try for all the parks in Eugene?  Is that crazy?  Anyone want to attempt this with us?
  29. Shop at the farmer’s market as often as possible.  Maybe make it a weekly activity.
  30. Have a water balloon fight.
  31. Buy some treats from the ice cream truck.
  32. Go to the library.  Another weekly activity?
  33. Swim in a pool.
  34. Tie dye something.
  35. Go berry picking. And then they summer to do list harriet crawlingAnyone want to play along?  What’s on your list this summer?

In Order to Go Forward, One Must Go Back

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So, here we go.  I was trying to think of something to write about and I remembered all my amazing writing I did in college.  Then I jumped on into a college-era rabbit hole.  I found some great poems and stories that I will share below.  I also found some incredible photos.  You will notice that early-2000s Carolyn really loved to dress up.  Mid-2010s Carolyn might need to reinstate this form of entertainment.

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So, first comes a charming poem about squirrels that was written after having drunk a bunch of the new Lemon Pepsi.  I felt that the Lemon Pepsi made me much more creative.  But, really, I was in a poetry class where everyone kept submitting horribly depressing poems, and I wanted to lighten the mood.  But, the Lemon Pepsi thing is true, too.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAIf Only

If only I were a squirrel I would sleep on that ledge.
That one, with the little sprout that almost looks like
a miniature maple tree.
I would sleep in its shade and put berries in it for Christmas.
Every morning I would stretch my legs and climb
down the steep rock face to the lake beneath it.
I would use the cats tails to brush my teeth and
comb my fur.

All day I would hide in the cracks of the wall and
surprise all the rock climbers with a little nibble when
they put their chalky fingers in my little caves.
They would be so surprised to find a rodent in their
seemingly perfect handholds. Sometimes I might even
tickle their noses with my fluffy tail.
They would be so impressed with how soft it is.

At night I could lure all the female squirrels into my cave by
showing them my plethora of nuts. Then I could serve them
my homemade cocktails in my acorn shells.
They would be so in awe with my moss sofas they would want
to see my bed of chamomile blossoms in the back.

If only I were a squirrel.

Next is another Lemon Pepsi induced gem, also trying to add some humor to the entry level poetry class.

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“Blender”

You sit on my counter shining
and refracting light.

You just love to catch sunlight
and spray it around the room.

Sometimes you make your blades sparkle
as if you were showing them off.

You always make sure all of your little
white buttons are standing erect.

You are so proud of your
crush, chop, grind and puree buttons.

Yeah, you do more than just blend.

Your idea of a good time is
to be given the chance to make a daiquiri or a margarita.

You always are ready to invite
the challenge of making an Oreo milkshake.

You get grumpy when I don’t
keep your cord tucked neatly behind you.

Now you even insist that I keep you next to
the chrome toaster so you can see your reflection.

You didn’t used to be this vane.

You used to want to stay in the cupboard
with the mixer and the cake pans.

You would be so meek and frightened
when I would try to make a fruit smoothie.

Instead of the fierce grinding you do now,
you would gently whirl everything together.

But that was all before the party.

Before I started filling your pitcher with
rum, vodka, triple sec and other liquor.

Once I got a little alcohol in you
you were completely unstoppable.

You loved to feel your powers.

You watched as I poured the cups
of your drinks for my eager friends.

The more they enjoyed your work,
the more you wanted to make it

Soon everyone was running around
dancing laughing and singing.

It occurred to you that it was all because of you.

You realized that you could make people
do whatever you wanted them to.

That’s when you decided to stay on the counter.

Next is my favorite.  I actually read this at a poetry reading that our class put on.  I hope you all can understand the amount of love I felt for Dave Matthews when I was in my early 20s.  It was immense, but this poem was tongue-in-cheek, it’s not real, I don’t need anyone to report me.  Besides, this was over a decade ago.  And I obviously don’t have a daughter named Dave… anyway…

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Not Yet a Stalker

On Saturday I drove by his house.
Twice.
Slowly.
I even stopped
to take pictures.
I didn’t get out of the car
or knock on the door
or leave a dozen Krispy Kremes on the porch.
But I did take pictures.
1812 N 49th with his calico cat
sunning herself on the front porch.
Sometimes his beat up Subaru
with Virginia plates
has been spotted in the driveway.
It wasn’t there on Saturday.
I’m not a stalker, not really.
It’s just that my friend
who lives in Seattle
knows where he lives
and wanted me to see it.
Her friend has a friend
whose sister’s
friend said
she saw him at a coffee shop
down the street from his house.
I went there too.
I sat in every chair
so I could say I’d sat
where his talented butt had been.
It does worry me-
now I have the address.
Who knows what I will do with that
Precious Information.
Birthday cards for his twins,
flower deliveries every day,
requests for songs at his shows.
I could send him my drawings of him
or our secret family recipes.
But I’m not a stalker, not really.
I would do anything for him,
name my first born after him,
give him my first born.

So there you have it.  I hope you enjoyed my foray at poetry.  Needless to say, I don’t write many poems anymore.  But it sure is fun to look back at my younger days.  If you guys liked these poems, I might be enticed to share a couple short stories.  I even took my not yet a stalker poem and turned it into a short story with Britney Spears as the subject, but it has more spicy language, and it might cause some of you to lose some respect for me.

Such is the life of an artist… or something.

Thanks for reading.  *grins* bbl *waves* (as I would have said on AIM)

On Blogging

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What is a blog?  Why do I write here?  Who is reading this?  Who do I want to read this?  Why do other people write?  Why do I read blogs?

On blogging and then theyYesterday, something happened in my little internet world.  One of my favorite bloggers (and creative inspirations) was caught up in a blog-drama.  Elise is a truly creative blogger.  She has a new post every day.  She spends her time creating.  She is honest and generous.  She is dedicated and professional.

Yesterday, as part of her Make/Give30 project, she posted a quilt that she had made.  It was open for bidding, and the proceeds would go to Habitat for Humanity.  In her post about the quilt, she was honest about her process – that it wasn’t a perfect quilt, that it was never intended to be a perfect quilt (which in my opinion makes it better… quilts are made with love, to be loved, to show love).  In the comments, some people attacked her for even posting something imperfect, calling it unprofessional.

First of all, come on.  You don’t need to comment if you disagree.  Just move on, click the next blog, it doesn’t matter.

But, it got me thinking.  One of the comments that defended Elise said something, and I’m paraphrasing here, about how this is Elise’s house, and all of the readers are guests in her house and should act accordingly.

As a blog reader, my lists of blogs is constantly changing.  A writer will move away from my interests, or I will get annoyed by something, or they will write something I don’t agree with, or I will find myself feeling jealous of the blogger’s life.  And here’s what I do:  I unfollow the blog.  It’s simple.  The world – and the internet – is so full of negative things.  I don’t need to add to that.  I enjoy my life so much better when I’m being positive.  I don’t need to read things that make me mad.  I don’t need to read stories that make me feel jealous or insecure.  If I’m not comfortable in a blogger’s “house,”  I’m going to leave it.

Easy at that.

That is why I read.  And why I don’t read.

Why I write is something else entirely.

The last couple weeks I’ve been feeling sort of melancholy.  I think it’s a combination of coming home from vacation, being with the kids all the time, cutting way back on nursing Harriet (helllllllo hormones), and just the stress of the past year catching up.  I took some time to edit and post the Disneyland photos, and I instantly felt better.

My friend (and inspiration) Sarah, just wrote on Facebook about how a doctor once prescribed that she spend thirty minutes each day creating or meditating.

With this blog, I know that I go in spurts.  I will be super inspired for a while, and really keep up with posting on it.  Then there will come a time that I’m not inspired and I don’t feel like I have anything to post.  And the blog is quiet.  And (I know this sounds precious) my soul is quiet.  It isn’t that the work of the blog gets overwhelming, it’s more that I’m just not taking the time to create.

When I’m making things, and cooking things, and growing things, I am inspired.  I’m inspired to write and share on the blog.  Those are the times that I feel the best and the happiest.

I’ve tried many different iterations of this blog – a strict schedule, a flexible schedule, no schedule, no blogging, over-blogging.  I have grand ideas that I will be able to make this blog into a wildly successful corner of the internet, and have that success spill over into CaroMade, and I’ll be a super amazing blogger who creates for a living.  That’s the dream.

But for now, I’m going to focus on doing it for my happiness, sanity, inspiration, and as a positive place that I can call my internet home.  If I don’t blog for a week or two, I won’t beat myself up, but I will remind myself that I usually feel better after I write.

After all, this is my home.  And you are all welcome.

And if you are still here, and still reading, after all this, and are wondering how Elise handled her drama, she did it like a pro.  Today she came back with a post about sweet potato fries that began with a joke.

Discipline and Creativity

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So, I don’t know if anyone noticed, but I sort of stopped doing my weekly writing schedule a few weeks ago.  I liked the discipline of having a different kind of post every day of the week in theory.

In reality, it sort of stifled my creativity.  I would have a post on my mind, and didn’t feel like I could post it until the right day.

So, I stopped.  No one was making me do things a certain way, so I stopped.  I’ve had a lot more fun writing and keeping up with the blog (for the most part).

Having the framework of parenting, eating, creating, learning, giving thanks still works for me, and I still like thinking and writing within these categories.

But, now, I’m back to subbing more often, so I’m not sure how well I’ll keep up with the blog.  That’s where the discipline comes in…

So, keep checking back, I’ll keep posting.  I have some great ideas for future posts, and I hope to get to them really soon!

What do you want to see on the blog?   What do you like about blogs?  What are your favorite blogs?

From My Journal

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IMG_5308March 17th, 2008

I’m on a train at it’s still light at the first stop.  It’s a beginning of a journey I’ve been on for a long time already.  We stay at the first station until dark – the train daring my new found light and inspiration to get off in Hajigabul, and stay stunted and frozen like the village itself.  We start moving again, the light still sitting in the seat next to me.

Are we going backwards?  No.  It is just an illusion in the darkness outside the train.  I begin this journey of discovery on a strange ride across Azerbaijan.  Other trains go by backwards, making me blink, dizzy.

IMG_4808There are times in life where the inspiration strikes.  It is lightning.  It flashes.  It burns.  It is gone, but it leaves a scar.

There was a time, on a train, at night, in Azerbaijan.  I was sick and didn’t know it, but felt it.  I was living in a country far from home.

I felt the greatness of being.

The greatness of my being.

I can still feel that greatness.  The feeling of flying backwards on the train.  The feeling of time-traveling as we passed villages so old and dark that they were in the past.  The dizzy feeling of passing lights and smooth turns.  The feeling that I was put here, on this earth, with a purpose.

There was another time, in the day, on my way to the mailbox.  The lightning struck, and the ordinary moment of my life is permanently scarred in my memory.

There are more moments like this.  Moments where the lightning strikes, leaves a scar, a reminder of the greatness I can have.  The greatness I can be.

IMG_5298And, so.

I am in the mundane moments of my life, trying to find the sublime.

I make choices every day to ignore the scars from these life giving moments.

I am here.  I resolve to feel those scars, live in those scars, give thanks for those scars.  Be those scars.  Those fingerprints of inspiration left in my mind.  The light in the seat next to mine.  The memories of promise.IMG_4730

 

Dear Harriet, On Your First Birthday

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IMG_3724Dearest little Hattie,

You are now a year old.  You have been in our world for a year.  A whole year.  It is almost impossible to believe.  This year really has flown by.  It is a blur.  It is a fun, funny, overwhelming blur.

IMG_3729When we decided to have another baby, we had no idea how lucky we were going to be.  We were so lucky to have you as our baby.  No other baby could have added such joy to our lives.  No other baby could have been a better little sister for our Alma.  No other baby could have such such amazing and adorable cheeks.IMG_3732You have grown so much this year.  You started out with just 8 1/2 pounds, now you are nearly 20 pounds!  You have worked hard to grow so much – you have been a good eater from the start, and you love all the new foods we give you.  Your favorites are tomatoes, yogurt, grapes, blueberries, strawberries, pasta, and whatever Alma’s eating.IMG_3736You can walk, but you usually choose to crawl.  I think your record for steps is somewhere around 15.  You still can’t figure out how to stand up when you don’t have something to help pull up on.  I think once you get that figured out, you’ll be running all over the place.  As it is now, you’ll follow Alma around all day.

IMG_3740Right now, you want to be held by me all the time.  If I put you down, you do this terribly sad thing where you fold in half, with your face on the ground, and cry.  If you see me in the room, you pretty much just want me, but as soon as I’m out of your sight, you’re fine with whatever.

IMG_3743You can say ‘da’ for dog, ‘ba’ for ball, ‘ma’ for more, ‘baba’ for Papa or Grandpa, ‘dada’ for Daddy, and that’s about it.  I have yet to hear a ‘mama,’ but that’s okay.

IMG_3752This first year has been busy and hard, but it’s also been the best.  I love to watch you and Alma play.  I love to watch you learn new things.  I love to watch you watch the world.

You are sweet and precious and adventurous and strong.

You are My Hattie, My Harebear, My Hattie-Boo-Boo, My Hattie Bug Bites, My Harriet.

I love you forever, sweet baby girl,

Your Mommy

Maundy Thursday

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I wouldn’t say we go to an experimental church.  But, yesterday our church had an experiemental service.  They offered their first annual Maundy Thursday Family Service.  I would call the experiment a success.  The only thing they should change would be saving the nice towels for the adult service.  More on that later.

During the Gospel, there was a full chorus of children singing various versions of the typical child-song.  During the prayers, there was a line dance happening in the back pews.  During the children’s sermon, I counted at least three children who were expertly expressing their emotions.

Then came the main event.

Our lovely priest washed any child’s feet who wanted their feet washed.  There were pitchers of water, a big bowl for the feet, beautifully pristine white towels for drying.

The first spill happened right away, so it was good to get it out of the way.  The first spill was born out of exuberance and happiness. Feet were washed.

More water was spilled.  And more.  More feet were washed.

Then came communion.  When the kids gather around the altar, to be involved in the Great Thanksgiving, it was exciting, as always. Kids were watching the priest.  Kids were sitting together.  Kids were doing suspicious dancing, ending with mad dashes to the restroom.  Kids were refusing to stand with their friends.  Kids were spitting up.  Exciting.

One thing that our church does is this – before the priest says, “The gifts of God, for the people of God,” he hands the bread and wine to the children to hold up.  As he handed the pitcher of wine to Alma and another child, the priest said, “Here you go, Alma.  And Carolyn.  Help them.”  No more spills, here.

Then the service was over.

There were muddy little footprints in the aisle.

All the pristine towels were soaked.

The children had clean feet.

The priest had damp robes.

I felt overwhelmingly happy that this was our church, and this was what our church does.

And it was good.

 

Badımcan

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image

Our bunny died tonight.
Jesse and I were both with him and he just sort of went away.
Processing grief and sadness is always an eye opening thing for me.
I need to hold it – feel it – roll it around for awhile.
Badımcan was a nice, old bunny.
He.
Was.
Old.
Was.
He had a better life than most.
He was soft.
Impossibly soft.
My first thought was that I am glad our daughters are too young to need to understand.
My second thought was that we are never ever never ever getting another pet.
My relationship with him was so simple.
Easy.
But I never want to watch that again.

Goodbye, bunnykins.

Sarah Guthu – a new painting

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I had a friend in high school who was extremely talented, even back then. We spent hours in the theater at school creating sets, listening to music, and painting.  My most favorite memory of Sarah is when we were doing Once Upon a Mattress and she was tasked with painting a huge sheet of plywood, that was supposed to look like a constellation of a dragon, that would be hung in the wizard’s chambers.  I ended up helping her on it quite a bit, and it was amazing.  It ended up being almost a pointillism style dragon.  Sadly, for some reason (maybe she remembers), the director didn’t use it in the staging.  It should have been used.  I still remember the hours spent making little dots on a huge black board, having great conversations with a great friend.

Since graduation I’m not sure if I’ve even seen her, but I’ve kept up with her on Facebook, and on her beautiful blog.  Sarah is the kind of person who, I’m convinced, has more than 24 hours in her day.  She is always posting about her creative endeavors, culinary adventures, academic pursuits, and so much more.  I don’t know how she does so much, but however she does it, and whatever she does, it is sure to be inspiring.  A couple years ago she posted about making sugar plums, and I commented that I didn’t know they were actual things (I thought they were just fairy/ballet related ideas), and she generously and graciously sent me a box to try.  That’s just the kind of person she is – the best kind of person.

I have been eying her paintings for years.  She has a really interesting, original style.  Just a couple months ago, she started selling prints of her paintings on Society6.   I decided that I needed a print, and luckily she posted one of my favorites right around my birthday.Screenshot (2)

“Breath” has always intrigued me.  I love the motion in the girl’s pose.  I love the colors.  I love the mystery.  Since I hung it in my house, I’ve been trying to figure out the story in the painting.  It’s a little creepy, but really, truly beautiful.  When I asked Alma who the girl was, she said, “Mommy.”  I love this, because part of why I chose this painting is because it reminded me of how I picture both of my daughters looking someday.  The girl in the painting looks like she’s on an adventure, and I hope for many adventures for my girls.

And Then They - Breath by Sarah Guthu

We hung it over our front table, in the living room.  I love that, while a print, it is also a great piece of art.  Not just a poster or something.  Having real art makes me feel fancy (this is making me think that I should do posts about all our art, because looking around the house, I’m realizing that we actually have a lot of original, beautiful artwork!).

Breath Closeup
(the weird spots are glares from the glass in the frame, not part of the painting…)

So, if you’re looking for some creative inspiration, check out Sarah’s blog.  And if you’re looking for some beautiful art for your home, check out her Society6 shop.  AND, if you’re looking for an original, one-of-a-kind dress for a little lady in your life, look for her soon to come Etsy shop of literary inspired children clothes (areyoukiddingme?).

Thanks, Sarah, for your wonderful art, your incredible spirit, your constant inspiration, and for the memories.

Identity

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And Then They - Identity

Last night I went to see Divergent with the ladies in my book club.  Before the movie we met for dinner and drinks and discussion.  We talked about which faction we would be in (if you haven’t read the book, or seen the movie here’s a quick rundown:  in a future Chicago, the city is divided into different factions – Erudite where everyone is smart, Abnegation where everyone is selfless, Dauntless where everyone is brave, Amity where everyone is kind, and Candor where everyone is honest).

We talked about the faction we would have chosen when we were 18, and the faction that we really belong in.  (in the book and film the characters choose where they belong as teenagers… perhaps a reflection of the absurdity of choosing a major in college at such a young age.)

I don’t know where I belong.  I am an eternal optimist, so that makes me feel like I should be in Amity.  I like to think I’m kind of smart, so that makes me feel like I belong in Erudite.  When I was 18, I thought I was pretty bad-ass, so I might have chosen Dauntless.  I believe in the strength of truth, so maybe Candor.

But, I sort of feel like I’m trapped in Abnegation.  I spend most of my days living the life of a two-year-old.  The other days, I’m serving and teaching slightly older than two (but not necessarily mature-r) children.

I sat at dinner last night looking at, and listening to, amazingly smart professional women.  I know how I must look to them.  A mostly stay at home mom.  A teacher.  I am not oblivious to the fact that our society doesn’t respect the intelligence of teachers (if you can’t do, teach).  I also get the ideas about a woman who spends her days with kids.  I really do get it.

My life resolves around my kids.  My main goal for each day is to entertain kids, keep them clean, maybe even clean up the house a little bit.  I don’t spend the day expanding my brain, solving problems, creating things, even talking to adults.  Sometimes I don’t get out of sweatpants.  My vocabulary is very elementary.  I talk about poop.  I talk about poop a lot.

Anyway, abnegation.  Some days I feel like my self is melting away.  I can see myself blending into the lives of my children.  If my daughter asks me to do something, I often do it.  If my daughter has a two-year-old melt down, I am along for the ride.  If my baby needs to nurse, that’s what I do.  What would my dauntless 18-year-old self think of this?

I’m not sure what I’m trying to say here.

I know that I love how I am able to stay home with my kids.  I love that I am giving them a great gift by doing this important job for them.  I know that they will soon be grown up and gone, and I will look back on these days with shining rainbows and unicorns in my hindsight.

If you’re still reading, I’ll try to get to a point.  I feel like I am missing something by not being a professional adult who spends time with other adults.  I feel like I might be wasting some of my self by not being outside the home.  But I also feel like there is no greater job than the one I have now – and no better place for me to be using my talents.

Now that you’ve read this far, I will tell you that I don’t have the answers.  Just musings and questions.  Let me know if you have the answers.