Category: Art & Literature


It’s all done! ❤

Tattoo accomplished! I feel complete, and at the same time…I suddenly have the desire to get a bunch more tattoos. I just saw a picture of a really cool crow tattoo and I was like “Oooooh…I could have a crow on my right arm.” It’s like that. I’ve heard many people say tattoos are like potato chips…you can’t stop at just one.

But for now I’ll enjoy my artichoke, and be glad that I finally got it done. And, as it turns out, I waited just long enough for it to be perfect timing. Everything that is happening in my life right now enhances that tattoo, gives it more meaning, provides a particular context, and makes it even more special than I thought it would be when I first had the idea to tattoo a flaming heartichoke on my arm many years ago.

That’s just how things go. We always think we know the best timing for certain things, and frequently discover that the universe (or whatever you want to call the infinite stage upon which our lives unfold) has other ideas – often better ideas – about how and when things will unfold. It’s why I’ve never put much stake in making plans and having goals. Instead, I try to pay attention to natural rhythms in my life and focus on a center based on how I feel about life. I mean, to be sure, I make plans and have goals, but I try. I try. I really try to remain open to all of those variables that tend to rearrange those plans and throw a monkeywrench into those goals.

“There is no way to suppress change […] there is only the choice between a way of living that allows constant, if gradual, alterations and a way of living that combines great control and cataclysmic upheavals. Those who panic and bind the trickster choose the latter path. It would be better to learn to play with him, better especially to develop styles (cultural, spiritual, artistic) that allow some commerce with accident, and some acceptance of the changes contingency will always engender. -Lewis Hyde (from Trickster Makes the World: How Disruptive Imagination Creates Culture.)

I have many things in my life that I am thankful for. One of which is an early exposure to Taoism, which has always allowed me to convince my frequently fraught mind that, really, none of this matters. And if I just sit still and wait patiently, a lot of times things just work themselves out. And when they don’t, I have more energy to devote to working them out because I did sit patiently the last time. And when they REALLY don’t, fuck it. In the end, it never mattered anyway.

Bird, age 12, mentioned today that he suddenly didn’t have any idea what life was all about. He said it as though he had known 5 minutes before and lost it. It was one of those moments where I thought maybe I was being called upon to Be Wise. I did my best. I looked to punk rock for the meaning of life, as I frequently do, and told him “Strive to survive, causing the least suffering possible.” I also reminded him that he’s 12, and it’s ok to just enjoy life and maybe not worry about what it means so much right now. But who am I fooling? This is the kid who, at age 2, would walk up to me and ask “Why am I alive inside this body, mom?”

My job as this child’s parent is to learn the lessons he is constantly teaching me, teach them back to him, and try to honor and welcome the trickster when our plans and goals are sidetracked or rerouted.

I’m in the process of writing a long post about my experience with the Occupy movement over the past 2 years. I started writing it on 9/17 – the anniversary of OWS. But it’s such a personal topic for me. I want to be careful that I don’t make my experiences sound as if they are universal experiences, which is what frustrates me most about what I read about the Occupy movement. So, it’s going to take some time. Perhaps I’ll have it done by 10/6, which is the anniversary of Occupy Austin.

I’m also immersed in a spree of overtime. Like ACTUAL overtime that I’m ACTUALLY PAID FOR! Time and a half, and everything. It occurred to me tonight that I haven’t been able to take advantage of overtime pay since before I had children. I’m really enjoying being paid for every fucking minute I work. I can handle a little temporary work/life imbalance for that. I’m also really enjoying my job. It’s gotten to the point where most of the situations I deal with are easy for me to handle, and I really love the fact that I get to talk to people all day in the spirit of helpingness. Plus I really love my team, who I only have to interact with in chat. We’re on a team of about 20 people who all work different schedules and are from different cities, and every person on our team has some sweet, endearing quality that I adore. Today I worked an entire full day of overtime and I actually really enjoyed myself pretty much all day. I’m missing my friends and activist activities, but all in good time.

from _Gregory_ by Marc Hempel

I’m pleased to say that both of the boys are settling into the school year nicely and seem to be doing really well. I feel like a broken record, but I’m so proud of those guys. It really has been a rough couple of years for them, and I hate that. I especially hate that decisions I have made have made their lives more difficult, because I want only for their lives to be peaceful and easy and uncomplicated. Ha!

But the awesome thing about those guys is that they really are totally brave and strong and resilient. And also really quite funny and fun to be around, even though they do both have their teenage moments that occasionally stretch on for days and even sometimes weeks. At this age, parenting requires a magnifying glass, to enlarge fragments of microcosms of moments into a bonding experience. I don’t want to give away too many of my secrets, but I have recently discovered the wonders of plopping down on my sofa and watching a dumb movie as a means of enticing my children to emerge from wherever they were hiding and clamor for conversation. And I’ll take that!

 

from _Gregory_ by Marc Hempel

Tattoo gets finished on Sunday. I’m already wanting another one. Several. Maybe even that little mouse, Wendell…or Herman Vermin. hahaha.

 

Mommy-Son time with The Tao of Bird today. We went out to breakfast at his FAVORITE RESTAURANT ON EARTH, Donut Taco Palace.

We ate donuts AND tacos, and enjoyed some tasty beverages.

Juice…or no juice?

I kept trying to get a picture of Bird, but he kept, as he called it, “Sean Penning” me.

I have embarrassingly few photos of my children. Both of them started to hate having their photo taken at a young age, and I gradually just trained myself to take pictures of food and trees and birds and stuff. I can’t say I blame them…I’m not terribly fond of being in photos, either. But I need good material to embarrass them in front of their dates wi…er, I mean, to send to relatives who have no clue what my children look like.

After breakfast, Bird and I went to the library to check out some books. Bird is really enjoying Lord of the Flies. He is just certain that’s the way it would really be if children were stranded on an island. I told him he needs to watch Lost…or Gilligan’s island…for slightly different points of view. He says he likes books that are grim and depressing and unsentimental. I tried to get him to read Native Son by Richard Wright, but he chose some sort of weird space cowboy mystery, instead. I think this is going to be an interesting reading year for him. He’s exploring new things. I chose some awesome books that I won’t be able to finish by the time they are due, and will probably end up buying, after paying my overdue fine at the library. Because that’s how I roll.

In the car on the way home, we listened to this episode of Radiolab.  What’s funny, is I remember listening to that episode of radiolab on a walk by myself one night. I was going to pick up Bird at a neighbor’s house while I was listening to it. I have no idea why I remember that, as the day was completely insignificant, unless you consider that radio show to be significant, which I suppose you can. It’s a pretty good episode.

Back home, I watched Heathers while Buddha the Grouch scoffed. As a 16-year old (actually, pretty much since he turned 5) he seems morally obligated to scoff at anything I like. In fact, he has actually told me that he’s not allowed to like anything I recommend to him. I keep telling him that’s going to bite him in the ass, especially when all of his friends start talking about how awesome, say, Raising Arizona is…and he’s either going to have to admit that it’s a great movie, or he’s going to forever be a closeted Coen Bros. fan. But I wonder if Heathers is really only funny in the context of all of the ’80s John Hughes-formula teen angst movies. I guess I’ll have to ask someone else’s kid. I hadn’t watched the movie since my 20’s, and I laughed out loud at some parts, but OH, THOSE SHOULDERPADS. hahaha. Of all of the eras of fashion, you have to admit…the 80’s were pretty fucking ridiculous.

The rest of the day was spent grocery shopping, driving to the other side of town and back, and avoiding being sucked into an endless “How It’s Made” marathon, because apparently that’s on Netflix now. I’m so toast if they ever start streaming House Hunters. As it is, Buddha the Grouch keeps trying to get me to watch “just this little bit” of How It’s Made, and I keep objecting vociferously.

So, you know, typical weekend of late. I’m glad I’ve taken the time to spend extra time with (or at least being available to) the kiddos lately. I’ve missed out on some important activities that I’d really like to be involved in, but I just don’t feel right not being here right now. Especially with the coming weeks and the work-hour craziness they will be bringing. Insane amounts of overtime – here I come! I’m telling people I’ll probably see them in October. Hopefully, I’ll still have time to write.

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This week has been kind of a whirlwind. I had really just begun to establish myself at work and not stress at all about whether or not I could do my job…and they threw us into training for something new. Which is awesome. It’s nice to learn new things…but I was just at that point where it seemed like I might maybe start establishing a good rhythm in my life & my schedule was thrown all out of whack, I’ve had to work extra hours, and now we’re being offered a bunch of overtime that I’d feel silly to not grab up while the grabbing is good. So, there’s that. A mix of bad and good things. Good things and their maybe not-so-great consequences, is what I’ll call it.

On my walk today, I had all sorts of ideas about what I might write about tonight. Apropos of the above, I thought a lot about how I have this love/hate relationship with chaos/order. I like making plans and schedules, but I rebel against them regularly. It’s possible I dislike commitment. It’s possible I am not fond of predictability. It’s possible that patterned behavior annoys me. OR…it could be an exercise. It COULD be that my rebellion against my inner organizer is just practice for when all of my plans go to shit and I work 12 hours of overtime in a week or something.

Maude (from Harold & Maude): Vice, Virtue. It’s best not to be too moral. You cheat yourself out of too much *life.* Aim above morality. If you apply that to life, then you’re bound to live life fully.

But mostly, I think I just figured out a long time ago that I will never ever get done all of the shit that needs getting done, and decided I might as well prioritize the fun shit as much as possible.

I also decided, after years and years (gosh, more than 20 years, really) of de-prioritizing my own desires, needs, and rituals out of fear of spending money on them, to get a tattoo I’ve been hoping to get for some time. Fuck the fact that I can’t afford it. I also can’t afford any of the other stuff I’m forced to afford, and I somehow get by. And how many packs of ex-boyfriends’ cigarettes, guitars, and whatever else have I paid for in my lifetime of waiting to get this damn tattoo? I could have gotten a zillion and a half tattoos by now!

Needless to say, I’m already planning the next tattoo.

 

(Not sure how that lyric plays out of context, so here’s the context.)

Today’s walk included several songs in a row that were fighting songs. As in, don’t stop fighting. As in “You Can’t Win ‘Em All, But You Gotta Win All of the Right Ones.” And, you know, in order to win the right ones…you gotta keep fighting. Maybe a better example would be:

Or my old standby pep talk song:

Anyway, you get the drift. I believe we have emerged, victorious. Yay!

(I knew we would, but it’s still nice to celebrate that we have.)

I’m celebrating by dying my hair and earnestly working on drawings for my zine. And FINALLY getting that tattoo that I’ve been wanting to get but have never been able to justify the expense of. Fuck it. It’s expensive. I can’t justify it. Well, I can, actually…it’s justified because it will be awesome, and it will remind me of my strength. And all of the strength it has taken to get here.

I’m slowly pulling things back together. I have another week of a weird work schedule, and after that I feel like I’ll be able to really participate in all of the things I enjoy participating in again. Slowly, and with priority. I’m already starting to read more…trying to take walks or dance every night. Really haven’t been seeing friends as much as I’d like, but I’m also feeling kind of introvertedy lately, so that hasn’t really bothered me. Working really hard to make sure we have at least SOME family time carved out so we don’t all lose touch with each other. These are the things I am prioritizing.

I’d like to keep participating in actions against ALEC and TPP, for sure…but probably not leading or organizing. What I’d really like to focus my energy on is housing justice. It was going to be what I focused on this year, but then I got laid off. And everything kind of got all weird. And then the state of Texas went to war over my uterus, and I kind of had to stand and fight that one. I’d like to get back to figuring out how I can be helpful in achieving truly affordable housing in Austin, and how we can ensure the protection of people who are being exploited or abused by apartment managers. That’s what I’d truly love to spend my activist energy on.

I don’t feel adequately educated to speak in any depth on Syria. I’m against all war, so I’m sort of working backwards from there. It would take a LOT of convincing to get me to support ANY war. Which makes it easy to oppose war, but is also kind of a cop-out. I still need to educate myself. I’m working on it. Slowly.

A somewhat maybe not-so-random mix for you tonight…

Things are good. Things are getting better. I’m practicing being patient. Always. I’m always practicing being patient.

But I have to give myself some credit this week. I feel like I did a pretty damn good job. I was supportive, honest, and firm. I listened, I validated, and I explained. I gave leeway when necessary, which can be so difficult…that line between nudging and coercing…that line between allowing for expression and asserting expectations…I’m not perfect, but I did alright. I’m proud of the boys through all of this. It can be so easy to get caught up in the personality traits of my children that are more challenging, and forget about all of the wonderful things about them. The fact is, if I could mold their personalities exactly they way I wanted them to be, that would pretty much go against everything I’ve ever tried to teach them. My hope for them is that they grow up and they aren’t total assholes. There’s a lot of room there for a variety of outcomes. ❤

I’m pretty sure they’ll do ok.

Today was…interesting.

The Tao of Bird started school yesterday. He’s been really anxious about it, but I have been doing my best to get him prepared. Slowly over the preceding weeks we’ve worked on desensitizing as much as we can, and I’ve tried to remain positive with him even though my fucking heart is breaking about this and I think it’s totally dumb. I’ve reassured him that he’ll be fine, that he’s prepared, that he’ll make friends…that there’s nothing to be afraid of, and that, regardless, just about everyone else there has the same fears.

My plan was to get to the school early Monday morning to get his schedule so I could at least make sure he knew how to get to all of his classes. Unfortunately, the registrar had other plans, and we spent all the time I had intended to spend further preparing him for a successful first day sitting in the office (yet again) because there was some question about our paperwork. Oh, the endless freaking paperwork you have to fill out to go to school these days – most of which seems to center on keeping certain students OUT of certain schools.

But we got it figured out, and we were directed down the (wrong) hallway to TOB’s first class, corrected ourselves, and I shooed him in the right direction before going home.

I spent the whole day expecting to get a call from the counselor…or someone. But, nothing. It seemed like this school thing might take. TOB came home in a somewhat upbeat mood, and managed to maintain that for several hours before breaking down in tears, telling me how stressful it was, telling me he couldn’t even eat lunch because the cafeteria stressed him out so bad. Telling me he wasn’t going to go to school anymore. And I gave him the pep talk. And I went over the routine for bedtime, breakfast time, school time, and after-school time.

And this morning when I tried to wake him up…he didn’t want to get up. Then he got up…but he didn’t want to get out of bed. Then he got out of bed, but he was ABSOLUTELY NOT GOING TO SCHOOL. And over the period of an hour, we inched closer and closer to the door…me alternating between attempting to encourage and trying not to scream at the top of my lungs. Closer to the door. Closer. Closer. Until I was able to get him out. Said goodbye. Locked up. Went to my office. Came out to check 5 minutes later, and he was gone. “Phew.” I thought.

On my break, I felt a twinge of sorrow when I exited my office and there was no TOB flinging himself at me from some corner of the house.

I went to the back door to let the cat in…

And there was TOB.

“What the…?” I opened the door. He said “Hi mom. I’m going to school tomorrow. I thought about it. I’m sorry. By the way, while I was out there the cats and I started a cult of Carl Sagan. Tiny Cat is a bad disciple, though.”

You know…sometimes you look at your children, and they seem so much BIGGER than they should be. Today I looked at TOB – who is pretty much as tall as me now. And I couldn’t get over how tiny he seems. I gotta say – I think he’s a tough kid. I think he’s a lot stronger than he should have to be at his age. Don’t get me wrong about that. But after all of the phone calls and conversations with counselors and emails to his father and tears and discussions and agreements…all I could think about was how very much I love that little guy. Like, with all my fucking heart. And I just don’t want anyone to fuck with him. I want him to be as HIM as he possibly can be. Silly, smart, brave, kind, strong, sensitive, sweet…HIM.

So, I’m trying to remain honest. I’m acknowledging that I’m not feeling great about all of this, but that it will be good for him to be settled into a routine. This whole year has been a huge disruption in the life of our family. In the lives of these children. They’ve been through the ringer. Being in school gives TOB a good neutral ground to stand on and cultivate his own identity independent of his overbearing mommy and his know-it-all big brother. He has a foundation of learning, and love of learning, that I know will persist. And he has some pretty significant obstacles he needs to overcome. I’m not averse to having a team of experts helping me support him in dealing with those obstacles.

I’m trying to focus on these things, but I will still visibly flinch when I read teacher handouts that contain misspelled words. And I will still audibly complain when I’m filling out YET ANOTHER FUCKING FORM, especially if said FUCKING FORM is on treated paper that’s impossible to actually write on.

Onward and upward. Tomorrow is another day. I’ve been assured it will be better. Cross your fingers for us, plz.

Lately I’ve been dancing. By myself. In my room. Because I don’t feel like being outside walking. And because it feels good to move. And to be alone. And have I mentioned I have pretty lights on my bed? Hehehe.

I’m writing the Lexicon of Lainie. I’ve always threatened to write a Lexicon of the Duro Landry family, but I never get around to it, so I’m writing the lexicon of Lainie. This is the idea for the zine. It’s evolving.

A sampling of the lexicon:

A – Artichoke

B – Birds

C – Chicago

D – You get the drift…

The lexicon for our family would include a lot of potty humor and all of the foibles of my awkward mothering moments with my boys. Like the time I burst out laughing the first time I saw a sign for “Fallas” and when the boys asked why, I responded with factual information about the meaning of the word “phallus,” which was totally scandalous of me, apparently. They will never let me forget that, among other things.  And the various words and phrases…like the way Monk once said “pickle” by sticking his tongue out at the end…or how Cole used to like to squeeze the fat on my arm…which he would frequently request to do by asking me “Can I pinch your arm have?”

Among other things. Hahaha. You know? I’m a pretty darn lucky mama.

 

I found this in an old journal…

And today I heard this:

and…yeah. Pretty much. Thank you for that validation.

In other news…I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo. Actually, I’ve been thinking about it for awhile, but I feel like all of this year’s transitions warrants a commemorative permanent engraving on my arm. So, I’m thinking artichoke. I have an idea for pomegranates on my back, but I’m not ready for that yet. So, artichoke.

I also think I want to do a zine. Full Color. I’m not sure if I want to do art cards or one big zine or a series, but the above is an example. It would be an alphabet of my favorite quotes, with drawings. A huge challenge for me, because I am not a great artist…but I think it would be fun to challenge myself to draw. And, since I love to alphabetize things…the idea of doing an alphabet is appealing. We’ll see. My last zine idea – an account of my last trip to Chicago – is still sitting there, being sad. With only a page or two done. This one seems easier somehow. Less personal. Less dramatic. Defined parameters with some creative wiggle room. I could maybe do a letter a month of subscription postcards, do a biannual zine with 6 or so letters, and put a book out with the whole alphabet after 2 years. Hehehe.

If I did that , would you subscribe?

Things are gearing up in Chicago. It’s going to be difficult to keep my eyes off of my feed and on my work tomorrow.

Right now, I’m freshly showered and staring at tiny lights in between words/thoughts.

Being a mama is so freaking difficult, you guys. My goal, as a parent, is to allow my children to have as much freedom as I feel like they are capable of handling responsibly, and to allow them as many choices as I can.

Sometimes, that makes things a lot more difficult. Sometimes…I’m not entirely sure I’ve made the right choices as a parent, so how can I expect my children to make the right choices as children?

I found this poem fragment in an old journal:

Usually my relationships die like Elvis

on the toilet.

This one

Kurt Cobained – offing itself

before it had a chance to become what it swore it never would be.

(I’m glad I still have heroes. I’m glad I still have dreams)