mary tyler dragon tattoo

It's tricky to say why I haven't been able to write anything lately. Mainly it's laziness...there have been many, many minutes of watching the Mary Tyler Moore show on my ipad instead of updating this thing. Sidenote: MTM's hair gets so bad in season six. 1975, feathered, no cute false eyelashes, nude lipstick, and she moves out of the coveted, cathedral ceiling studio apartment into a horrible, horrible high rise. Rhoda left in season four....abruptly. Then, of course, I started watching Rhoda, the spin-off. She lives in a coveted, low ceiling, but bright Manhattan apartment with sweet 1970's oil paintings covering the walls. Double sidenote: I can't quite pull off the Rhoda head scarf without looking like a cancer patient. And I try...over and over again.

There was also the half-reading of the dragon tattoo girl series. The first book was read aloud with Dave this summer when we were in California. Sidenote: try reading this book aloud...ahem, Swedish street names...Dave made me say things again and again just to laugh at me. I had just read East of Eden and needed something a little lighter. Little did I know that dragon tattoo was so pissed and raped. Not light reading....and everyone is called the same name and everyone drinks tons of coffee and everyone eats open-faced sandwiches and everyone is so earnest and seductive. The second book was annoying, but I still had to read the third one, which started at the same time as getting back to New York, jury duty for two weeks, two special ed classes per week and the start of school, which, of course, means lots of things.

I am not a good reader during the school year. I read the weekend nytimes, I read articles online, I read my lesson plan crap, I read fb status updates, but I can't seem to get sucked into a book. So I read that damn book for, like, three months. Everytime I picked it up, I thought, god. This stupid book - what is happening? Who is this guy again? What happened before? Oh yeah, that's a good cop. Wait...no that's a bad cop, spy...Sapo spy. Wait...what? So during a particularly nocturnal moment, I finally finished the third book. WHERE IS HER SISTER!?

So, I guess the point is that I have loads of free time on my hands, but most of it is at midnight, reading books I don't really like or watching ancient tv shows under the covers while Dave is snoring.

couched

Dave and I just got a new couch. A grown-up couch with a pull out bed! Our old couch is 105" long....which is really long, and it doesn't fit out of the door. In order to get the darn thing out, I needed to completely dismantle it. Sad because we can't give the couch away. It was a good couch.

Because cats have a weird reaction to new furniture and change, my friend suggested I plug in a pheromone diffuser to keep the cats mellow. I don't know if it actually works, but the cats seem calm. I think I need a diffuser for Dave, though.

my life is like a bento box

When I first moved to New York, I knew that I would need to get rid of a lot of stuff. Before I left Chicago, I stored a bunch of things in my mom's basement - in the hopes that someday I would be able to live with those things again, in the same city, same house, apartment...whatever. I gave things away, threw things away, brought things to Brooklyn and did it all over again. In fact, I am constantly throwing things away, putting them out on the curb for other people, or piling up bags for goodwill. We have four closets, which sounds like a lot, I guess. But it isn't.

One is for my clothes. My winter and summer clothes are rotated in and out of huge plastic tubs that cover the floor of my closet. During inbetween times - cold-ish - I need to remove my ironing board, box of bags and purses, and roller skates in order to get to my warm coats, all at the bottom.

Another closet is for Dave's clothes, which naturally take up way more room than a normal-size person's clothes. His shoes are the length of my femur.

Another one is a linen/tax papers/dave's ice skates/yoga mat closet, mostly linens...extra towels, blankets for guests, sheets. I need one of those vacuum-able plastic bags that squishes everything down to a flat pancake. Then I can slide it under the bed instead! But wait...all of Dave's weird, dusty duffel bags are under the bed. I think he also has a low, plastic tub on wheels that holds a bunch of sweaters that he never wears because he is never cold.

Finally, the last closet - a hodgepodge of cookbooks, bicycle pumps, toolboxes, cans of paint, x-mas ornaments. Basically anything that a normal person would keep in, say, a GARAGE or a BASEMENT or an ATTIC, we need to keep in one closet. One closet.

Daily life in a small New York apartment with no extra storage means a lot of shifting things around, standing on chairs to reach things above the kitchen cabinets, storing clothes inside suitcases and pans inside the stove, stacking folding chairs on top of the giant bureau. Even leaving in the morning takes extra planning and clever packing. Going to the ymca? Change of clothes, shower supplies, lunch for school, wallet, umbrella, coffee in thermos, water bottle...all arranged neatly in a backpack that is easy to lug many blocks to the subway and back.

Which brings me to my lunch. I love bento boxes. My lunch is usually never leftover soup or pasta. Most of the time, I fit a lunch and snacks into a tiny space....like a puzzle. Hardboiled eggs, celery and hummus, yogurt, babybels, crackers, napkin, spoon. No space goes unused. Like my apartment.

arts and crap

Last weekend I made truly horrible wool-felt slippers that don't fit. And some curtains and a mediocre loaf of bread. Not too long before that I created a pattern and sewed a half-way decent, yet ill-fitting denim dress. It has been years since I have attempted knitting (scarves only) and I totally forgot how to crochet. I have tried decoupage, book binding, scrapbooking before it was scrapbooking, ceramics, painting with gouache, acrylics, and watercolors, etching and wood printing, and making miniatures. In college I made a donut-shaped beanbag chair and filled it with packing peanuts. Post college I made a complete set of wooden kitchen utensils. Each time I tried a new craft, I would buy the tools and supplies, slave over a sloppy plan for hours or days or weeks and produce a humdrum.....something.

What is the purpose? Do I need to feel more connected to fabric? Do I need to feel as though I can do it if I tried, but not actually master it? What is it about the creation process? Meditative, focused, and kinda fun?

I teach children and most of my day entails some sort of craft-making adventure. New bulletin board. Making cards for mother's day. Designing a mini-park out of grass seeds and rocks. They derive so much excitement from glitter and collage materials. A mixed bag of buttons...popsicle sticks...these are like GOLD. After a little glue blob here and a scrap of paper there, the kids are content and proud. I guess that's the key. Give the crafts away and it's more fun to make them.

Does anyone need maroon, size 8 1/2 wool-felt slippers?