Faces of Fiesta

Film lives on....

an open letter to the media

Dear Media,

You are out of control.

Not Yours Truly,

An annoyed high school teacher (former and future) in Gloucester

Summer

How I Spent My Summer Vacation by Jane C. (title provided by Joe)

1. Watching Ernie the cat.
2. Watching Ernie the cat rub his body along the windows.
3. Watching Ernie the cat roll on his back.
4. Watching Thea watch Ernie the cat.
5. Listening to Thea say, "I see Ernie. I see Ernie. I see Ernie," an indefinite number of times.
6. Realizing that Ernie the cat has provided seconds and minutes and hours of free child care and that I should probably offer the cat owners some sort of compensation.
7. Singing.
8. Singing with Cole.
9. Singing "Surf Wax America" with Cole.
10. Finding "Surf Wax America" on youtube.
11. Dancing and singing in the mud/computer room to songs that we like that have been uploaded to youtube--the best semi free entertainment that ever there was.

PS Budweezer is a Weezer tribute band.

Preschool Graduation Wore Them Out

Breaking

I've been watching it for days now. In socks. Pitching cigarettes off of the porch. The sun is out but it doesn't matter. The pain is the same.

The routine is the same. Out in the afternoon, drink, stumble, pass out, smoke, sleep it off. All quietly. She leaves in the morning. She always comes back.

It is mostly the same. But today I think that I see him sobbing. And my heart breaks for him.

Wilco and Alpacas and My Mother

Today is Mother's Day. Or Mothers Day. Or Mothers' Day--depending on what kind of a punctuation person you are. So as not to offend punctuation-sensitive readers I will use all three within and throughout this post.

It is Mothers Day. But I am not going to write about mothers or being a mother or my mother or mother earth. Instead I will write about Wilco and Alpacas. If you do not want to read about Wilco or Alpacas, I advise that you click on something such as "next blog" or maybe scroll to the top of the window and click on something to go somewhere that isn't talking about Wilco and Alpacas.

I like Wilco. All five of us went to see them last summer outdoors at The Shelburne Museum near Burlington, Vermont. We then went on to camp at a campground near Lake Champlain where it was possible to hear the tent next to us coughing...but not at all possible to hear the refusing-to-nurse baby screams that exited from our tent. There are sound proof devices for this kind of thing. If you are interested, please Google sound proofing devices for screaming babies in tents and proceed to the nearest website.

The Shelburne Museum is a really beautiful place to see a concert...and it almost wouldn't matter who is playing. Go when the moon is full and the air is warm and it's summer. You probably won't be disappointed. But don't ask me for your money back if you are. I cannot be held responsible for the purchases made as a result of reading this Wilco and Alpaca-laced blog entry.

This is to say that we will again be attending a Wilco summer concert...this time in August at Tanglewood. It is possible to buy two adult lawn tickets for $26 each and to show up with three kids in tow and they'll be let in for free. This is what I would call a cheap date. We'll even be able to sit on the lawn. And we're bringing our pop-up circus tent in case it rains. If you haven't been scared off yet, here is the link to find tickets.

The other thing that I wanted to talk about was my new found love for Alpacas. I always knew that they were cute. But I never knew that they were this cute.



Yes, I've been able to overlook the moss growing into their fur and the green in their teeth which means that it is true love and that the Alpacas and I were meant to be. Don't tell Joe and Renee, but I couldn't help myself and bought a non-breeding male this weekend called "John Wayne". He is going to be living in our back yard.

But before there is worry, again, pictures. How cute are they with their fuzzy-bear features and their long-as-life eyelashes?





I love Alpacas. And Wilco. And maybe even my mother. Yes, definitely my mother.

Happy Mother's, Mothers', Mothers Day to all of you.

Of Roses and Thorns

From 1988

The music rocked. The kids were out. And I danced.

Today I'm sore from shaking parts that aren't used to shaking.

Song of the day is this:

Is it you?

Never mind.

My Letter

On Tuesday a very nice and helpful man named Keating called to find out whether or not he could be of any service. "Yes!" I said. "You could be of a lot of service. I've been trying for 12 years now to have my name removed from lists such as the one that you've used to call me today. How do I do it?"

An awkward conversation with nervous chuckling, 15 minutes and a home address later I had my answer.

Today I composed the following:

Dear Bishop Keating (I feel like I should call you Brother Keating because this is how people do it),

I was born Jane (no middle name) Sxxxxxt in Salt Lake City, Utah on August 2, 1970.

My parents had me baptized at the capable-of-understanding-right-from-wrong age of 8. The baptism took place at the Stake Center on 13th South in the Foothills--as far as I can remember.

I have not been a practicing LDS (formerly Mormon) person for at least 20 years (probably longer).

I hereby declare my desire to be removed from any and all lists kept by the LDS church. If possible I'd also like my name removed from baptism for the dead records. I was too young and impressionable to know what I was doing when I performed these baptisms. The whole thing scared me. And still does.

Thank you for your willingness to help me with this matter. You are the first person in 12 years to take this request seriously.

Sincerely, Jane

Spring

I'm posting this while I think about things to write about the FLDS difficulties, the Miley Cyrus non scandal and the Mormon bishop who called me yesterday.

Spring is here, isn't it?

Change

Driving in Lee's car to pick up the kids and This American Life is on, a young boy talking about how his dad changed and how he sometimes acts more like a kid than an adult. I'm holding on to his words--what's he going to say next because I want to know more about why people change and why they don't and when adults act like kids and when kids act like adults. I listen a few more mintues and I start thinking about Gloucester figure Jon Sarkin because the boy on the radio is describing what it is like to live with someone who has had a stroke. In the next minute I hear Jon's voice talking about the kind of relationship he and his wife used to have--before the stroke. "Closer than most couples," he says.

I listen to every word. About the birthday party and the balloons and the cake and misunderstanding when Jon's lazy and when he isn't. I listen to his wife describe how he talks with his siblings and parents and how there is a piece of the "old Jon" that comes through, how tired he is afterward.

I can't stop listening. And then it's over. Just like that and Ira Glass's voice says that he's recently checked in with the Sarkins and that Curtis is in college and that the girls are teenagers. The program originally aired in 2000. "The family is still together," Glass says.

Later at home I find the program on the computer and listen to it in its entirety. There's an introduction that references the book Nobody's Family is Going to Change by Louise Fitzhugh of Harriet the Spy fame and I start thinking about my Utah family and people and change. I want to have more patience with my family, as 12-year-old Curtis suggests during the program, but then there isn't anything wrong with their brains, mostly. That I know of.

Perhaps it's the "that I know of" piece of it that makes me want to try with them. It's easy to write them off, or be angry or impatient with them. It's much more difficult to find a way in--to say these are my people and I am going to make sense of them the best that I can, despite failures and frustrations. Though it's unlikely that any of us will change much, it's possible for us to have something rather than nothing--this something devoid of hoping that things can change, even a little. Because if I don't expect things to change--at all--and then they do--well I don't have a word for this. Or maybe this should be my definition of hope.

To listen to the program click here.

Sarah and Joey are Dead

I didn't learn. The unmasked masking tape taper has struck again. This time in the upstairs bathroom--in a mix of funny and sad because this morning I had to flush Sarah and Joey, goldfish bought yesterday, down the toilet. The tape on the toilet seat says better than I could that this is where Cole's beloved pets are buried. Use with caution.

It also says: scene of the crime. This is where my mother flushed and eulogized and waved goodbye as the water swirled. And then she hurried us off to school.

I'm feeling bad about the whole thing for lots of reasons. We were not successful pet owners even for 24 hours. My children and husband are sad about it. And I never had a chance to sing, "Joey I'm not angry anymore" to a fish.

The Apple and the Tree

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.