Bennett Ryan
{Originally published on Weddings by Heather}
It would be impossible for me to describe the emotion that I witnessed today with Jason, Kelly and their families. They entered the hospital with a terminal diagnosis for their son and the anxiety and emotion leading up to his delivery was difficult to process. But I can tell you this, in no uncertain terms, I witnessed a miracle when I heard Bennett cry as he was born. He was able to breath on his own. A MIRACLE. This is Kelly getting her first good look at her new baby.
To capture these first, precious moments of Bennett’s life for Jason and Kelly is an absolute honor and I cannot thank them enough for allowing me to share in this very special, very private moment.
I’d Like to Know… Ann Hamilton.
{Originally published at Aesthetic Outburst}
I start teaching Book Design again next week and have been searching for interesting images to show my students. Libby recently posted these typographic tree columns by why not associates. They’re being made in collaboration with Gordon Young at Crawley Library (UK) and reminded me of the floors at The Seattle Public Library designed by Ann Hamilton.
Chic
{Originally published on Foment, Bee Lavender’s Journal}
For the most part I ignore my own dreary medical drama. There isn’t enough time in life to accommodate all the good stuff: adventure, travel, friends, love, lunacy.
This does not mean that I am exempt from fear and grief. I just save it up until the crisis has passed.
Riding the bus back to the city centre after my appointment, I could feel my heart racing, see my hands shaking.
Since I didn’t have my bicycle I could not literally ride away on a wave of anxiety, so I did the next best thing - talked to a friend who mocked me into a reasonably calm state.
Then I went searching for gifts for new babies, sweet boys, sick relatives.
At the toy store I queued up clutching a Playmobil figure without paying too much attention to my surroundings.
Apparently I had accidentally dropped in on a fashion conversation because the woman at the counter gestured and said Now this lady is chic.
I stared about in amazement since you would never normally see such a creature in this town but she was pointing at me.
Huh? What? I’m no lady (fill in your own vaudeville joke here) and my tattered sartorial state does not equate with ‘chic’ even on a good day.
I was not having a good day.
Though I have a special leftover childhood reserve of anxiety over what to wear to visit the doctor, this has in the last few years mainly translated to concepts like wear clean clothes that cover the tattoo.
We Women Who Write Poetry Are
{Originally published in Ordinary Art}
“Taking us by and large, we’re a queer lot
We women who write poetry. And when you think
How few of us there’ve been, it’s queerer still.
I wonder what it is that makes us do it.
Singles us out to scribble down, man-wise,
The fragments of ourselves.”
Amy Lowell
And so I’ve learned, across phone lines with background static, and small children sucking on their mother’s breast, while we jiggle laundry and lovers, balance belief with lack of self-esteem, that we are a queer lot, we women who aspire to the poetic word.
We sit in our pajamas silently penning Pulitzers while the world races by outside our doorstep, unaware. How many of you, how much of me, has been steeped in loneliness? Fear that it isn’t enough, could not possibly matter to anyone but ourselves.
And then there is a voice on the other end of the line, bringing with it the recognition that we are more than the echo in a silent room of fingers tapping impatient keys. We are more than longing. We are more than ache.
She Who Shall Not Be Named
{Originally published by Susannah at Petunia Face.}
When I was born my name was Amanda. But my brother was already Andy and my parents didn’t want people to call us Andy and Mandy so the birth certificate was changed, and I was no longer Amanda.
I wonder what my life would have been like had my parents kept the name. I think my eyes would have been bigger, softer. I would have looked good in blue.
Later on I told people my name was Heidi. I wore my hair in braids and pretended the very slight hill leading up to our house on Scenic Avenue was an alp in Germany. My cat Dumb Darrell Chicken Liver Whip Whap Sick Sack was a goat. After that I was Penny from The Rescuers, then Jo from The Facts of Life which was about the time I tried speaking with a Brooklyn accent even though I had never even been. Later it was Samantha, again from Brooklyn, this time from Who’s the Boss. She had sharp eyeteeth and bitchin’ big bangs. Meanwhile I had a space in between my front teeth and frizz.
I no longer go by different names. I am Susannah and I don’t look good in blue. But at times I am a mommy, other times a mother. I am an employee, a friend, a daughter, a wife, a sister, the anonymous person in line behind you at the supermarket. I am the bitch who cut you off on the freeway. I am one name but a thousand different people when earlier, when I was young, I was many different names but one single me. Even when I spoke in an accent that was not my own. I was me no matter the name.
Man, How Fragile Art Thou Ego
{Originally published on Suburban Oblivion.}
What is it about the male ego? What is this inner drive they possess that makes them not just a normal person, but a sweat-soaked, testosterone-driven, strong as an ox, and hung like a bull, god-in-their-own-mind? And why do they turn into sniveling babies if anyone so much as hints they are anything less? And why are they so damn scared of skin care products??
I was in Target tonight when I happened to catch a glance at a new skin care line for men. I wouldn’t have even realized it was there had the words “Anti-Pale Skin Moisturizer” not jumped out at me. Anti-pale skin?? I’ve seen anti-redness creams, but never anti-pale stuff. Wtf? So I read further- “Provides gradual, natural looking color.” It took me a second to realize what I was actually looking at was sunless tanning lotion for men! Seems we have to be very careful with the wording, because I guess the male ego just could not handle using something with the words ‘tanning lotion’ in it? So now its not sunless tanning lotion, its anti-pale skin moisturizer. Riiiiiight. Anyone else find this funny? Just a little? Actually if you want a real good laugh, the directions further explain that you will see “maximum anti-pale, anti-pasty benefit within a week of twice-daily usage”. Gosh forbid ya just tell the guys they will start to see a little color on their face within a week. I checked my bottle of sunless tanning lotion, btw, and nowhere do the words “anti-pasty benefit” show up.
Naturally I had to check out this product line, and the madness continues. Men do not use things that make their skin fresh it seems, they use “Power Clean Anti-Dullness Face Wash”. (Sounds like something my husband would clean his car with.) Feeling dry? Try the “Hydrapower Invigorating Moisturizer”, or if you have combination skin, how about the “Oil Controller Anti-Oiliness Moisturizer”. And we must have our “Power Buff Anti-Ruffness Exfoliator”.
Is it just me or does all this stuff sound more like something you’d find in a garage than a medicine cabinet?
The Belly Project
{Originally published on The Belly Project.}
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59 years old, 1 pregnancy (baby given up for adoption 40 years ago)
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