Friday, May 23, 2008
Another discovery from the basement (see below). I wouldn't have so much fun playing every day for work, if it weren't for these people- my Pocca and Pop pop. Here in our first house on the coast of CT, we grew up with my grandparents living upstairs. There were good times and hard times in this old weathered house, but I wouldn't have traded away any of what came along with them; singing old Southern rounds which Pocca taught us to sing together, sipping Coca Cola through straws, and inventing "pass around stories", which Pop Pop excelled at. Our grandparents had as much fun playing pretend as we did. I've got the umbrella; my sister, Christa, has my dad's shoes on (and the BEST expression); sister, Anna, is in her little eggshell-blue hoodie. Lots and lots of love from this front porch in CT, having a "grand ol' time"<3
Friday, May 16, 2008
I've had a feeling I'd be doing this since I was about 5.
This was on the cover of my first "book". It was a book made in my free time, which we had tons of in first grade. I rallied my desk buddies to "publish" a picture book together. We fought over who would write it and who would "ileastratide" it. I had heard wild rumors of a machine in the teachers' coffee room that could PRINT. It was a magical publishing machine, and I implored the assistant to please make as many copies as possible of this story on her break, since this was a serious endeavor. She didn't seem excited by her ability to publish our book (make copies) and I honestly didn't understand why. What a bored grown up.
I remember getting them back feeling a little let down that they weren't bound with jackets, but I was still mighty satisfied with stapled packets. I have been on a literal mission since then. I found this last weekend, while visiting my family in CT, on a late night search for old forgotten treasures in the basement. Look at that crazy Ed up there! He must be furious about being sent to his room, he looks downright maniacal. Ok, off to make some "dener."
Monday, May 5, 2008
I am sitting in a place that serves as a daycare for stories. Loud children come in, watched by the nannie, not always paying good attention. But we care for the stories who wait here. Spoiled rotten stories, selfish stories, good natured stories and ugly fat stories too. Stories wait here, loudly, looking at us behind the desk in face-out attention. They are waiting to go home. Characters in shoes, on rooftops, in second grade, all asleep until fingers pull them from between their alphabetical siblings and slightly tear their jackets. Rung up, into the bag and home. And then it's flick flick flick stop motion color or black and white, whichever the little mind chooses for the film. And then one day it is done and the spine cracks back, pages fall, book shuts but never as flat and solidly square as before the adventure began. There is a sigh of relief from the book easing back from the child's use, and from the child leaving that world finished for a time. Sometimes the sigh is tinged with longing. For books and children are always teasing each other.