Lists make me happy

I agree with my inner voice that says that I have fallen behind on the job of journaling - of documenting my days. I guess all I can do to quiet the voice is to recap the happenings of late.

I moved and am settling in quite nicely to the new place. Love the big windows and my little office and my kitchen just large enough for pop-tarts and a tabby cat who swears that he would give his right paw for a pop-tart.

I went to the Frist and saw my photos there. It was very exciting for me and the part I enjoyed the most was when the stars (or heavens?) aligned and I sat with my comrades quietly perched on a bench watching an unimpressed nun stare at my photo of the Boston nun with the eye patch. I also liked seeing people come by from time to time and smile as they looked at my photos. It is so nice to know that someone smiled because of something that came out of my weird little head.

Last weekend, I went to the Starving Artist Awards. I was nominated for three categories which included poetry, graphic design and photography. Glory, glory hallelujah.....I won the photography category! I had been standing in the crowd half-hoping I wouldn't win because I have this pretty strong fear of public speaking but when my name was called out, I started screaming and jumping up and down. I was so happy and honored to have won. I even made a speech - a speech with actual words! I got to meet lots of really nice people who gave me such kind compliments. It was such a fun night. Such a fun and encouraging night. Everyone was so nice to me! (except for some girls who heckled me later down on Broadway - but I think that Karma will whoop up on them one day for me so we'll let that go....)

I won for one of my "despondent housewife" shots which to the humor of some and the chagrin of others, are my favorite ones. Someone told me that they aren't my strongest but for some reason they really get my juices flowing. I want to see those babies hanging on a wall somewhere one day.

I think that may be my new goal for 2004 (previously held by the desire to play upright bass at Robert's).

Besides that, I have the following on deck:

- some new projects that I am excited about

- that stack of new music and reading material to get around to

- a down South wedding to attend with my best manners on display and my camera and notebook always at the ready

- a few hefty decisions to make

- some friends to say goodbye to

- a phone call to make to BellSouth which might eat up most of my adult life

- a new job to find before I pull a Norma Rae

- still, an audio crush on Steve Earle to kick

Oh, and I still plan for this year to be the best I've ever been a part of.

That's it for now. Keep your cards and letters coming. It's nice to know you are out there (and perhaps that I'm not just talking to myself like I've been known to do.)

Peace, ya'll.

Snapshots

Snapshots:

I was walking out of a store today and saw a child with no front teeth riding a mechanical horse. She was really going for it. A grin as wide as the horizon and shadowed gaps where her teeth had been. The horse played "Happy Trails" in a calliope fashion that I am sure Roy Rogers would never approve of. The melody was too fast and the horse was too slow and jerked methodically as the child raised one arm above her head and lassoed the air, holding tightly to the hard plastic saddle.

Click.

I saw Roy Rogers and Dale Evans on TV the other day. They were on a show on a cable Christian network that was taped well before their deaths. Dale looked as pretty as a peach and proudly asked Roy to sing a song. He sang with the clarity of a crisp November sky along with a recorded, over-produced soundtrack. His eyes seemed to be fixed on an imaginary horizon. She smiled at him with pride. She reached over and squeezed his hand when he was done and they prayed together and thanked God for longevity of life and love.

Click.

I was in a Mexican restaurant once with my friend Sam and we were seated in a booth at the back. The restaurant was mostly empty and the TV played an old black and white western movie in Spanish. We became entranced by it - trying to figure out what they were saying - what the plot was. One of the waiters came up and noticing our confusion, leaned against the booth and began to give us the play-by-play in a broken English usually reserved for lunch special recitations:

"The man...he is in love with the woman. The woman...she is in love with the man. The horse...the spotted one...he is in love with the other horse and she loves him too. They want to marry.."

"The man and woman?", I asked.

"The horses. They are in love. They wish to marry", he replied.

We then sat and watched the movie draw to a conclusion with all of them riding off into the sunset together. A cowboy and his cowgirl. A spotted horse and a white mare. The waiter grinned and said that he had seen the movie many times. "It is a very famous movie." he said as he walked away to clear a table.

Click.

So, here's to cowboys and their happy endings; to twenty five cent joy rides and horses who can marry without even living in Massachusetts.

What a wonderful world it is when you are looking at it just the right way. I only wish I had slipped that kid another quarter to prolong it all.

But I should never think of Spring......

"I get along without you very well,
Of course I do,
Except perhaps in Spring,
But I should never think of Spring,
For that would surely break my heart in two."

- Jane Brown Thompson

Garrett Kress died.

Garrett Kress died.

Garrett isn't someone who I had thought about every day or even often but when my brother told me that he just died of cancer, I felt like something had been lost. Something huge and important.

I hadn't seen Garrett since high school. 1986.

Up until that time, I didn't even know that such an interesting creature could exist. I have to admit that I led a substantially sheltered existence there in my small town corner of the South. I was like every other girl in my town. I would get the usual crushes on the guy with the coolest Trans-Am or the loudest car stereo. I swear...Aldo Nova and AC/DC attracted girls like bees to nectar in my town. We liked the jocks and the boys with the gun racks. Testosterone.

Then I saw him.

Garrett was a short kid. A year older but a few good inches shorter than me. But, what he lacked in height, he made up for in hair. A mohawk . A jet-black mohawk. The first I had ever seen. It was glorious. I was spellbound. He had this hair and these clothes - these punk boy, ' I don't give a shit ' clothes and ears full of tarnished studs. He smoked cigarettes with a soft long draw that never seemed to last long enough. It seemed so deliberate and so in your face. His music was rebellious and anarchist and foreign. I was done for.

He had transferred in from up North and quite noticeably wasn't too happy about it. I couldn't blame him though. My school wasn't even remotely fertile ground for smart kids. For free thinkers. For those who were ' different '. We had our rebel flags and useless pep rallies and agriculture and automotive classes. You had to fit into certain clicks or there was no hope for happiness. It was on the fringes of those clicks where I usually slipped undetected beneath the radar for the majority of my junior high and high school years.

Garrett and my brother were in computer science class together and soon became great friends. Before long, they were hanging out together at my house . They'd play D&D or stay in my brother's room where I'd listen with my heart pounding through closed door hoping to hear just the tiniest bit of his inflection.

I remember spending hour upon hour talking to my best friend and fawning over him. I was upset because I wasn't cool enough for him. I knew that there was nothing I could do about it.....I was too afraid ....but yet, I fawned on. He was splendid. He was splendid and so unlike any other boy I had ever seen.

Once, he watched Purple Rain with me and I thought I was going to lose my mind, the reflection of the TV falling across his pale face caught with quick glances when he wasn't looking. Another time, he asked if he could borrow some of my earrings and I watched with unbridled excitement as he slipped a dangling silver cross through the hole in his ear. Time stood still.

But, still I never was cool enough for him. Not that I asked him or even told him that I worshipped him.

I just pretty much figured that he never knew I existed. And, I am sure he didn't really. I was still transparent. Even when I wanted so much to be seen.

The kids at my school were mean to him and he couldn't go anywhere without being picked on for being different. I hated them for it. I had always hated them because I didn't fit in to their clicks but I hated them more now because I had ever wanted to. I felt embarrassed and ashamed for ever even entertaining the idea.

Before long, he moved away. Back up North. That was the last I ever heard of Garrett but buried deep inside of me there was this kindred fascination for the kids who were forced to stay in the fringes because we weren't like everyone else. Kids like Garrett who were head-strong and knew better than to cave and join the ranks. Kids like me who were too afraid to choose either way.

When, I looked at my old year book, I found a photo of Garrett. It wasn't hard to find him there.

I didn't find my photo anywhere.

Here's to Garrett. He will be remembered.