The home stretch

It's the time of year when people start counting days. Thirty-two teaching days. Fifty-one Singapore days. Two public holidays. My Gus is counting fingers to ensure that he's ready when that fourth birthday rolls around. (352 days)

As the end of year approaches and the tidying up begins, our school is taking pictures of teachers for READ posters. My former poster was immortalized by clever L, who toted me on holiday (I wish I could have seen customs' faces when opening her suitcase), to evening bookclubs, and all the way to Starbucks for a post-run latte:

Flat Becky had herself a time. While those Flat Becky pics rank pretty high in the super-nice-things-friends-have-done-for-me files, I detested that poster of me looking wistful and all Manifest Destiny about poetry. This year, I held up a beloved coloring book and got to design my own background. I altered a former doodle from Gus's first birthday:

My sister was kind enough to point out that the title says "Read", and I'm a literature teacher holding a wordless coloring book. 

Ha ha ha.

Never you mind. That happy Coloring Book Becky is gleefully counting down days until she and Flat Becky converge in Ithaca for two nights with their L: 66. We've many missed lattes and long run-talks to make up for.

And at the same time, I'm dreading the June day until I have to say "see you later" to true rocks in my Singapore life---dear G and K. I scribble at night things that make me think on them, and they are piecing together into a wee goodbye gift:

Thankfully, they remain on the same continent and reliant on Nespresso pods. I have volunteered to be their mule, and there will be rendezvous.

I can't wait to get it on the calendar!

Why we continue the conversation

I get giddy when design, digital connections, science, and art intersect. Add NPR to that mix, and I'm a sloppy fool. So, when Radiolab ran a story that led to this blog post that led to this art, I had to share it with all my students and all my teaching buddies and annoy over 70 people.

But the connections are REAL and the world is SMALL and art and writing matters. I want those folks to see that. Case in point: The husband and I spent our two years in Prague packing this book around to pubs and also reading the author's occasional writings on blogs and in the English language newspapers. On Goodreads.com recently, P posted a review. And last week the author wrote to P, thanked him for the review, and sent an advance copy of his next book for P to look over. Wowsers!

Lastly, to keep the conversations going and link lives, a gaggle of colleagues and I are ending our year with an eight week sketchbook swap. So proud of these brave sketchers.

Buck up you big baby!

This week I juiced for five days, wallowed in caffeine withdrawal-misery, and fantasized about the life of full time writers and artists. I watched this video by writer/illustrator Oliver Jeffers (Totally delightful. Take the three minutes. And buy the moose book.). I worried about North Korea. I sighed a whole bunch. 

In those self-pitying moments of discontent I often find myself quickly and fiercely humbled. And I was. I read The Artist in the Office, and these quotes said, "Grow up, you big-dumb-time-wasting baby."

"For six months, ignore the engine of worry and get to work...do what you can for fifteen minutes." (Summer Pierre)

"Procrastination is not downtime. Procrastination takes a lot of energy and leads to guilt and critical self talk." (Summer Pierre)

"Fantasizing about pursuing our art full-time, we fail to pursue it part-time----or at all." (Julia Cameron)

"If you can't do your art--even a little--in the life you have now, with the person you are right this second, YOU MAY NEVER DO IT." (Summer Pierre)

I also managed to squeeze into those five days of self-centeredness some seriously mis-guided motherhood decisions. New mothers out there, take note: TAKE THE DAY OFF TO GO TO YOUR SON'S SCHOOL BIRTHDAY PARTY. YOU'LL WANT TO SMOTHER YOURSELF LOOKING AT THE PHOTOS OF YOU NOT BEING THERE.

All that stinkin' thinkin' put aside, I feel better. I'm now using my fifteen minutes, and they've led to some finished products. Here's a sneak peek at a commissioned piece:

I like the stained-glassy look that came out of this.

I also decorated some cupcakes for a pretty fabulous little dude. I hope they softened the sting of those bonehead moves I made earlier this week. New mothers, also take note: BY THREE THEY KNOW WHAT DAY THEIR BIRTHDAY IS. YOU CAN'T PRETEND THEIR BIRTHDAY IS SATURDAY OR THEY WILL THINK YOU FORGOT IT. SUCK IT UP AND CELEBRATE ON TWO DAYS.

It's humble-cupcakes and fifteen minutes a day. And I think that will turn out a lot better than five days of pathetic wallowing on a liquid diet.

Tiny times

After re-submitting (emphasis on the RE) Aetna reimbursements took three hours of my life, I did two little things that were a lot more satisfying:

1. I read this book. It's Anne LaMott meets Anthony Bourdain (pre-fatherhood) meets Mary Karr's Lit. I can't decide if I'd recommend it or not, but it did make me want to visit St. George's Anglican church. I'm binging on memoir, starting this at the same time as this (the latter is about their friendship and has inspired me to write about my own Sherie V. Her sordid past doesn't include AA, but it does include a bad relationship with Pepsi and many a sketchy afternoon talking officers out of speeding tickets).

2. I scanned this doodle:

Tiny times around here.

Tonight

One son early to bed + one husband over at the neighbor's + one This American Life = One card colored.

Customized Birthday Love

The oxygen is working! I'm a-doodling!

There are many good birthdays this week: Sweet M from Praha, BC's grand 5-0, talented JB of Bergamot Orange, and spunky LD (who we will sorely miss next year).

I want to color this card up differently for all of those fab folks and send it with a personalized name in the blank in the middle.

I'm thinking on custom cards this week. If I were to post my nine-doored cards on Etsy and tailor the images and writing inside to the purchaser, would anyone scoop 'em up? And would it be worth my time? We wonder.

 

When in Rome...one delivers zucchini bread

There's this burn barrel about eight feet from my patio where all of my neighbors burn their Joss paper money from time to time. Oranges and incense crowd around it. It's really interesting and beautiful, and I really don't mind it except when they set that thing alight while my son is busily chalking it up six inches from the roaring flames. Okay, I mind it a lot, as it also leaves a layer of ash on my furniture and stinks up my yard and makes relaxing outside with your wine-filled-with-floaters a little challenging. But, When In Rome. Which is why I should not grouse that I've been the recipient of three condo complaints in three days. One was just from a screaming auntie telling Gus to quit having fun at 1:00 in the afternoon. He was standing in the grass. The other was a nervous security guard having to quiet down my patio for the second time. He backed off when he saw it was just four adults chatting normally at a normal evening hour. But today we got the big, "Three strikes and yer out" lecture when Oscar's chalk art was finally formally reprimanded. We've been told to spread the word, folks. Chalk art---verboten!

So little Banksy and I are having to take our work to shadier places. And honestly, on an island where you can't chew gum, I can actually wrap my brain around the horror of our actions a little bit. A little bit. 

As someone who has spent a lot of her life worrying about how much time she takes in the ATM, or thinking that the car that's honking is absolutely honking at her because she is doing something tragically inconvenient, or going out of her way to never ever cut in line or be late for a meeting or not be fully prepared for any number of documents you might have to present at passport control, I am struggling a wee bit to discern if I've morphed into the ugly American. We do collect a lot of snails. There is a patch of grass that may not grow back due to some digging. Sometimes, sometimes we turn up a song called "Alabama Chicken" very loudly and sing the chorus with gusto. 

All of this coincides with a hilarious English-as-another-language moment with my students. I have these "choices" cards where I read some inane statement and the kids have to make a quick decision. It's supposed to be based on brain research and warm us up for some serious thinkin'. "Would you rather eat a raw egg or a slice of raw bacon?" kind of things. "Would you rather give up your birthday forever or give up your siblings?" They love it. The last one was, "Would you rather be chased by a charging bull or a roaring lion?" And one sweet student, wonderful dear student, got this disgusted look on his face and said, "That's ridiculous. Why would anyone be chased by either of those things?" I tried to cajole him into guessing. I mean, come on, I know it isn't going to happen but neither is the loss of your birthday (unless you chalk art on the mean streets of this condo!). He stared at me, brow furrowed, and finally said, "A roaring lime?" He thought I'd asked if he'd rather be chased by a bowl or a lime. Yes. Yes, that IS a stupid question.

I've been trying to think of how to pose my neighborly dilemma in the "choices" jar later this week. "Would you rather be neighbors with the family that waves and smiles and doesn't make a peep from 9:00pm until 7:00am but that sometimes draws repetitive patterns of squid and octopus on the walking paths and may have been responsible for the snails that crawled in your kitchen window because we lined them up under there when you had them all open and they move far faster than one might expect--OR--would you rather not?

Hm. I guess that is a stupid question too. When in Rome. When in Rome one bakes something really good as an apology. Gus and I have some serious baking to do!

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We also have some baking to do for an upcoming birthday bash. Gus is six weeks from age three, and so I've reserved the poolside for cupcake eating and unorganized preschool mayhem. We ignored his birthday for two years, and he's catching on. Goodie bags, here we come!

PS. Today's video: Killer Snails.