Of Cole and Apples and Blue Masking Tape

I've been shooting and posting a lot because it's March in New England and I don't know what else to do. There are days this week that we should have left the house--but we didn't. It is not surprising then that going-on-five-year-old Cole has taken to wrapping apples in blue masking tape. Here is a transcription of our conversation.

Cole, why did you wrap the apples in tape?

So I wouldn't eat them.

Apparently he had eaten one earlier. After the conversation was over he peeled the tape off of an apple, stuck the tape to his head and took a bite of apple. Then he said, "I was only joking."

There has got to be a place in this world for Cole and blue tape and apples. Suggestions anyone? Anything except the circus. I'm afraid he'd go and that he'd love it and that I'd never see him again. This would make me sadder than the cold winds of March ever could.

The Official Flashing Diamond Barbie Post

Flashing Diamond Barbie has been living with us for two weeks and this is the first I've seen of her. Did I happen to mention that her ring flashes? It flashes when its underside is pushed--lights-on-top-of-an-ambulance like flashing. Without the siren sound.

Knowing next to nothing about Barbie I decided to Google her. 122 sites wanted to sell me 443 Barbie dolls. My search did, however, turn up diamond girl's official title: Mattel Barbie Bride Doll with Twinkling ring, and more or less, an official description:

"It's the day of Barbie's dream wedding, and you're invited! Help Barbie prepare for her special day with her beautiful and romantic wedding gown and veil. Sheer fabric with a sparkly floral motif adorns her white satin dress...and she has a sheer veil with a pink tiara, too. In one hand she holds her bridal bouquet of pink flowers, and on the other hand -- surprise! -- she wears a pink "diamond" ring that lights up and twinkles! Ages 3 and over. Doll cannot stand alone. Requires three button cell batteries (included)."

Let it be known that I am a parent who is desperately trying to unpack some of the baggage of my childhood so that my kids might not have to carry much of it around with them. For example, Jesus can be just a person--right? And also a Playmobil toy who interacts with pink unicorns in fairy gardens. To my children he does not have to be man of miracles and thorny crowns and crucifixion and resurrection and crying on Sunday. I'm kicking myself for not figuring this out five Christmases ago, though I'll admit to winging it a little when it comes to this parenting gig which is why I'm now going to say a prayer. Dear god please let my children turn out o.k. Thank you. Amen.

And then there's Barbie. Barbie may be just a doll, not the freakshow, cleavage-showing, thin-waisted, big-breasted, anorexic-creating toy of some of my undergraduate women's studies courses. She can live in my house and drive Monster trucks for a living and go naked all day for all I care. We've owned one Barbie until now. And she's lived a relatively peaceful life in a toy basket.

Then along comes flasher girl who might be neat if her ring transformed into a light saber or some other useful thing. I'm a girl who often likes a good gimmick--like shoes with zippered pockets. But a flashing diamond ring? I realize that competition from Bratz is stiff but Mattel, have you lost your mind?

Here's the part where I could rail against the wedding industry establishment. And diamonds. And South Africa. And Mattel. And cheesy wedding gowns that cost too much to be worn once. And froo froo la la.

Here's also the part where I could welcome Wedding Barbie to the house, maybe even throw her a party because right now she's not worth the trouble of doing otherwise. And also because she was given to Aidan by a real, live person who will teach her more about how to be a badass woman--in every way--than a stupid doll will teach her how to be a dumbass.

Here are the before and after glow pictures. For more flashy, glowy fun click here.

Where do babies go?

Taken in October

Second Coming

He's risen
I want to say
next morning
Easter
to a boy
talks like he's
lived
a hundred times
yet
door slams
and I break,
a second.

Coming,
I say.
Broken or not.
I'm coming.

Note to Ed Sanders

Dear Ed,

I don't usually write notes like this I don't usually Ed but I'm writing one now about VF and you and how he said you weren't sweet and I say yes in that moment and later avoid going down over balcony and it ending badly as that Shakespeare play with a balcony and I don't usually think that people are sweet mostly they're assholes until I hear that poem and recognize your hair forgotten at a panel where people disagreed mainly G didn't make much of it that I know how can someone be sweet with a publication called Fuck You is maybe what he thought I think or he's cranky or something or other things yes other things like feeling small or not in agreement to make an argument to make an argument or drama or any of that bullshit I say you might not be sweet I'm not saying you are but in a moment you were something sweet floating back to me in the back of the church or hall I forget where I was when I heard you say what you did if you want to answer this do please though I may not send it for lack of stamp the stamps changing value and lifetime stamps that the PO put out to invest money they make from people who buy forever stamps in bulk is what he told me are not pretty that's it Ed I think that's all I meant I don't expect answers Ed sometimes I do to go on. To go on and on.

Thanks for listening Ed.

Sincerely,

Jane

While I should have been paying bills

What ever happened to multitasking?

Piles

A's rainy day project.

To Be Clear

I like Frida Kahlo's work. To look at it is to see through the eyes of a woman who spent a lot of time in pain after a near fatal bus accident at age 18, time alone waiting for Diego Rivera to finish his day, time thinking. She was an outspoken woman, lover of men and women and tequila and cigarettes, painter of revealing self-portraits as she saw herself in the mirror attached to the ceiling of her four-poster bed. Yet Diego, muralist for the people, would receive more attention for his art while they were alive.

Frida would leave Mexico, to return. She and Diego would live together. And separately. They would divorce and remarry. After her death she would become an icon with Madonna taking her on and buying her paintings. Julie Taymor would make a movie about the "love story" between the pair. People would watch and admire. There would be parts missing, like the part where the two go from being Trotskyists to Stalinists, how Frida's former lover and Diego's estranged friend Leon Trotsky was assassinated on Stalin's orders blocks from La Casa Azul. There would be people who would wonder how Frida and Diego could have supported Stalin. There would be people who would choose not to be bothered by this fact, it easier this way.

Some people might argue that heroes do not or should not exist. And they might be right. Frida is not my hero. She was a woman who loved and painted and sorrowed. I appreciate her for this.

Bigger

This Museum Kicks Ass

The Museo Frida Kahlo located in a suburb of Mexico City is one of the best places that I've been in my 37 almost 38 years of life. I hope that readers who want to know more about Frida and Diego will get there some day.

In fact, when (not if) I win the lottery I will pay your way. This because I want for you to see it. And this because I love you. Yes you.