Ooooh. . . Really, really, really want one of these prints from Old Try. There are different prints for different Southern states (Mississippi and Arkansas‘ are best, but I have no connection there), and then some that are just generally Southern.
I want this:
Or this:
But most of all, this:
I want it bad.
Via Garden & Gun, which is awesome, if a little hoity toity sometimes.
Todd and the kids and I had a great dinner last night. They are getting to the age where they are actually fun to converse with. We were fixing plates and the Radiohead song “Creep” came on, and Todd and I were singing along at the top of our voices, and playing air guitar on that bangy guitar part (you know the one), while Rollie yelled for us to stop, and Tiller rolled her eyes. And then Todd proceeded to tell the kids a story of star-crossed lovers back in the olden days. (You know, the mid-90s.)
There once was a boy living in Atlanta, who liked Radiohead. There once was a girl, also living in Atlanta, who – get this – also liked Radiohead. Now, this was before Radiohead was a household name, right after OK Computer came out, but before anyone except diehard The Bends fans had heard the album yet, before folks considered it the Dark Side of the Moon of the 90s. And so this boy and girl, who both lived in Atlanta, and who both liked Radiohead, both bought tickets to see Radiohead at The Masquerade.
And they both went to the show. And the girl was with her boyfriend, who was not the boy. And she stood watching the show with her left shoulder leaning against the sound booth. And the boy watched the show from the front of the sound booth. And they were mere feet apart from one another. And the show rocked their worlds.
And then three days later, she moved to Denver with her boyfriend.
But the story wasn’t over.
Because sometime later, the girl sat drinking beer in a kitchen in Boulder, Colorado, and she saw a picture on the fridge that reminded her of a girl she used to know. And a couple years later, the girl who liked Radiohead met that girl she used to know in a bar, and the girl she used to know introduced her to the boy who also liked Radiohead.
And now the girl who likes Radiohead and the boy who likes Radiohead sit in their kitchen with their two children, who really don’t give a shit about Radiohead, and they play the game horse face. Horse face consists of one person making a funny face and the other person having to match that funny face. And the girl who likes Radiohead makes a face, and it is so funny to her that she laughs until tears run down her face, her stomach hurts, and she almost pees her pants.
And the Boy who liked Radiohead and the Girl who liked Radiohead are happy together.
So, damn. That last post was a real downer. Sorry about that. I am pretty good at the ostrich thing, though. I do lots of fun stuff, and I am lucky to have a healthy family, and I still have both parents, and my husband is the best one in the whole wide world ever (for me.) So, here are some things I’m thankful for . . . Think of it as one whole post about shit I’m thankful for, rather than an annoying “I’m Thankful” facebook post every damn day of November. See how good I am to you? So thoughtful . . . .
My friends Shannon and Matt had a baby and we finally visited him.
Tills and DannyBoy
We have beer on Main Street now.
I got to spend an afternoon with my sister and our kids. Sadly, that almost never happens anymore.
Tills broke her arm, but I still got to go to NYC with Todd.
I had breakfast that i bought at Union Square Greenmarket. I ate it on a bench and watched schoolchildren.
I drank coffee and rode the Staten Island Ferry just for the view. I didn't care that it was cloudy and was repaid with some sunny patches.
I ate a pear in Trinity Church Cemetery, where my 5G grandfather was buried in 1786. Or at least records say he is. His grave is lost to time now. I thought about that while I ate my pear.
Todd and I had dinner with my friend Harris and his girlfriend Anne. I am still always surprised that Harris wears button-downs to work. In my mind, he is always wearing a navy blue hoodie.
And then we all went to a bar and played shuffleboard.
We stayed at the Gramercy Park Hotel. Tres fancy.
Posting these so that Harris can see what the rooms were like (he was curious):
The room had three, count'em three, windows. And a beautiful rug. And original hardwoods.
And here's the bed. Nice linens, velvety headboard, good lighting.
Pretty sure the bathroom was bigger than most NYC apartments. However, for the cost, i think they could have worked in a tub. (My only problem with the room.)
Even the closet was fancy.
And here is a view of the sitting area from the front door. We had a SETTEE, y'all!
The rooms also come with access to the park. It is a private park that you have to have a key to get into. That’s pretty cool. And snobby and elitist. . . but cool.
So, the next day it was cold and pouring down rain. I made plans to meet Anne at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It was so god-awful crowded, and wet and damp, but we had a lovely afternoon. I forgot to each lunch I was enjoying myself so much. We mostly wandered, took in the current exhibitions. (Romare Bearden was one Anne really wanted to see and I thought it was great, and was also surprised I had not heard of him in my Harlem Renaissance class in college).
Anne and I both checked out my favorite part – Arms and Armor. I think when she suggested it to me, she must have realized how much I would love it. She probably didn’t realize that I would take so long that she would get hungry and have to leave me there. (Sorry, Anne!) I could have spent all day there looking at the amazing things people have killed other people with over the years! They even had a helm that was (probably erroneously) said to have been worn by Joan of Arc – I have had a preoccupation with Joan since i first read about her as a child. (I also have a weird interest in Marie Curie, Belle Star, Annie Oakley, and Bonnie Parker, among others. I know. I am a freak.)
Joan of Arc Helm
There was an interesting Stieglitz exhibition, about him and his artists (O’Keefe, Matisse, etc.) While I enjoyed it, i was way more interested in this tiny little exhibit of his early art photography collection. I could have looked at it all day.
And best of all, I found some new (to me) artists to adore: Like Francis Bacon; Like a painting entitled, “End of the Hunt” by Dale Nichols (Anne, that is the one that you loved!);
The photo doesn't do it justice. The light is so amazing in it in person.
Or these two huge pieces by Stephen Hannock. You totally can’t see it online, but he put all this writing and mixed media collage stuff in these two works. I almost wanted to cry it was so cool. Oooh, actually, if you go to this link then click on the photo, then zoom in, you can see the writing. Awesome.
Like this one by Paul Cadmus.
His Seven Deadly Sins were awesome! This is Lust.
Looks like a really cool graphic novel, right? He made it in 1945. Mind-blowing.
When i left the museum, I was starving, and it was raining cats and dogs, and todd wanted me to meet him for a beer at some place near his conference in Times Square, and i was all like, “Ugh, Times Square.” But the bar was actually pretty awesome, with cheap beer, and seemingly no tourists other than myself. It was warm and the barmaid was kind of bitchy, which I can respect, and I sat next to a guy who makes full-length concert DVDs for a ton of bands, some of whom i thought were crappy. But he also worked with Chrissy Hinde, and so I was all interested in hearing about that, because I heart The Pretenders.
Then we left and had to make it back to the hotel to change for drinks with work people, and it was raining and i felt kind of sorry for all the working sad sack new yorkers just trying to get home, but there is something very romantic about a rainy evening with my husband, and taking cover in Grand Central Station to get away from the rain, and just watching the people.
Blurry, rainy evening at Grand Central Station.
And then i put on my nice stuff, and we went to The Standard Hotel for drinks, and damn, they have a really nice view from their rooftop bar, which, i kid you not, is called The Boom Boom Room. Sometimes I think New York comes up with stupid shit like that just to make me laugh at them. The bathrooms in the bar were rooms with no lights and no window coverings, where you could look out over the skyline while you are taking a shit. Ridiculous, but fun. I was luckily warned first, or I would have thought I was trippin’ in some crazy house of mirrors.
I had my jeans down around my ankles and I was peeing while I took this.
A lovely trip. I’ll end here for now, as I have gone on and on, and will never click publish at this rate. It shall be a two parter.
Todd and I both have iPhones. Before that, we both had plain old-fashioned cell phones. When we moved from our house in East Atlanta to our current home, we didn’t even bother plugging in a phone. We have a land line, but we just don’t use it. I have forgotten what it was like to have one.
Well, a few weeks ago, my phone was acting up, and I was working on a project with someone, and we needed to talk, so he asked me for my home phone number. I didn’t even know the number. I vaguely remembered putting it into my phone contacts when we moved in. So, i gave that number to the friend, and then told him to wait about ten minutes while I went to look for a phone.
To plug into a wall.
I had to go find a phone that is ten times the size of my cel phone, and which plugs into a wall jack. And it wasn’t even a cordless phone. It has a cord, tying the talker to within 5-10 feet of the wall jack while on the phone.
Weird. We had our conference call. I sat at the kitchen table while I did, rather than walking around, doing laundry, unloading the dishwasher, walking outside to let the dog out.
I remember the hours on end that my friends, boyfriends, myself spent talking on the phone. I would lie on my bed, or on the floor near the phone jack. I would sit on the desk in my parents’ kitchen, talking on the phone. “Do you like her? Well, she likes you. I think you should ask her to go with you.” Ad nauseum.
I never talked on the phone outside. Or in the car. Or on the bus. Or in the grocery store. Or in the coffee shop.
Oh wait. We didn’t have those either.
Todd and I don’t answer each others’ phones. The kids know not to answer our phones. They have never had the opportunity to yell, “I got it!” or for me to yell, “Answer the phone!” or hear me yell upstairs, the mouthpiece cupped to my breast to muffle the sound of my voice as I raise it over the sound of his stereo (ha!) blaring, “Rollie! Phone!”
So, that was a few weeks ago, and I haven’t used the house phone since. I left it on the wall, though, because it made me laugh. And then I forgot about it.
Until ten minutes ago, when we all heard a ringing. A strange, archaic ringing. The kids ran to the stairs to yell down, “something’s making a noise, Mama!” There might have been a tinge of panic in their little voices.
I said “Where is it coming from?” Because I didn’t recognize it, either.
“From that thing on the wall!” Rollie yelled. “What do i do?”
I laughed as I realized it was the phone on the kitchen wall.
“You answer it!”
Silence.
Rollie: “How?”
Me: “You pick it up and say hello!”
After all of this, of course, he did not make it to the phone in time. Oh well, if they call back, we’ll be ready this time. Armed with the knowledge of outdated phones and their etiquette.
Cool stuff in the sky this week: A full lunar eclipse tonight, the full moon, and the winter solstice tomorrow.
I’ll go ahead and say it. Nerd Central.
Lots of fun this weekend, so hoping to post about it soon, but have a million things to do today, so who knows if that will happen. All you really need to know is that Todd wore a Santa suit.
Tiller and I went to the lake on Friday, while Todd stayed home with Rollie for Sat. soccer. We got there late, so we went to Bojo’s for a late dinner. On the way home, driving back across the lake’s twin bridges, I heard her whispering,
“You stars are so small. You must be very, very far away.”
I love the little things that I hear her say when we remove big brother from the situation. He is so . . .older child (i can say that; I am one.) He talks over her, directs her, tells her what to do. She listens, apes, mimics, follows directions, does as she is told. Only when she is on her own, does her true and very own thought process become evident.
I am always amazed at her and the things she says and comes up with when I get a chance to listen to just her. Tiller sees the world in a very funny and colorful way. The filter that Tiller sees the world through is like no one else’s. It gives her a unique view on things. Take this exchange from Saturday morning . . . .
Tiller and I decided to hit up Waffle House, so that we didn’t have to do dishes and could get out and do our yardwork faster when we got back to the lakehouse. We walked into the Waffle House. It was full for a winter day at the lake. Full of hunters. In fact, the only people not dressed in camo or a Waffle House uniform were Tiller and I. I noticed that she pulled up for a second when we came in the door. I saw her take in the scene as we were walking to our table. When we got there, we took off our coats. I helped her with hers first, and then started to take mine off. As I did, arms trapped in my coatsleeves, I was alarmed as Tiller raised her finger to point at the two hunters closest to us, a man and woman.
As all parents know, it is never good when their kid raises a finger to point at a stranger in a restaurant. Not only is it, in the immortal words of Southern mamas everywhere, “not nice to point, dear,” but you never know what is going to come out of a kid’s mouth when they point something out. The only thing you can bank on is that there will be a lull in conversation and that it’s going to be said loud as hell.
It is usually something completely embarrassing, such as these gems i have experienced firsthand:
“Why doesn’t he have a leg?”
“Why are her eyes like that?”
“That person is really, really big, Mama.”
“That is the oldest person I have ever seen!”
Saturday morning, as I struggled to get my arms out of my coat, and at the same time hiss at Tiller, quietly enough where no one else in the room would hear, but firmly enough that she would know I meant business, “It’s not polite to point, baby,” she dropped her finger, and then gave me the dismayed look that she is famous for. She accompanies this look with two hands out to the side like the Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil statue. Her hands bounce up and down slightly as she says at full volume,
“What are those people? Cavemen??”
That’s my Tiller for ya. That’s my Tills.
Found this interesting photo of my grandmother Smith’s Uncle, Arthur St. Charles Dunstan, in the Auburn archives.
He was a student at Auburn, when it was Alabama Polytechnic Institute (API), later became a professor of Engineering there, and then head of the Engineering department. There was a building there named after him, Dunstan Hall, for many years, but I believe they may have renamed it.
His brother, my great-grandfather, was John Harris Rowe Dunstan. He also attended Auburn. Arthur, and their mother, Medora Louis Hall Dunstan, are buried in Pine Hill Cemetery in Auburn. It still blows my mind that the after party for my wedding was walking distance from the cemetery where my dear Grandma’s own Grandmother, whose Civil War stories of Fredericksburg were handed down in the family, is buried, and I never knew it until years later. From Fredericksburg my line went, through Lee and Chatham county NC, to St. Tammany Parish, LA, and Chattanooga, TN to my parents having me in Atlanta, and me meeting a boy from Auburn, and ending up in that cemetery where my Grandmother’s grandmother is buried.
Think I might go visit old Medora in a couple weeks. See how she’s doing.
I know. I tweeted about it the other day. But this is video! Would love to see this live. Seriously the worst I’ve had a song stuck in my head since, like, The National, last week.
via PasteMagazine. Thanks, Paste!
Despite the fact that I started my period, and I am swamped with projects and work and volunteering for school, this is a good day.
I can’t think of anything better when I have cramps than having a hot bath, then curling up in bed with a much-anticipated book.
On his cheek. We had Brown Cow. Then, Rollie said his tooth was wiggly and he wanted me to pull it. We pretend to go get the pliers and pull his tooth. We threaten to tie a string around his tooth, tie the other to the doorknob, and then slam the door shut.
Then we do the delicate dance, the one that parents and children have done for thousands of years – Indeed, I am sure that some Kid in a cave had the same exact experience a millennia ago.
“Okay, Mom. Pull it.”
“You want me to pull it? Are you sure?”
“Yes. Just pull it.”
“Okay, tell me if it hurts, okay? Come over here into the light where I can see it.”
I wiggle the tooth with two fingers. I am scared to pull hard.
“Mom! I can do it. Stop! I don’t want you to pull it.”
“Okay, it’s bleeding a little, so take this paper towel. I don’t want you bleeding on my couch, you hear me?”
“I KNOW, Mama!”
I start unloading the dishwasher. Rollie comes back in.
“Mama, I think it is really loose. It is ready to come out. It is coming out now. Mama, pull it.”
“Okay, give me that paper towel.”
Todd and Uncle Wade come into the kitchen to watch with interest. We all stand under the light of the Kitchen. I fold over the paper towel and grip Rollie’s tooth between my two fingers, covered in paper towel to cut down on slippage. I tilt his head back so i can see his mouth in the light.
I wiggle the tooth, back and forth, front to back.
Rollie screams and bats my hands away.
He goes back into the den to watch Harry Potter. Todd and Wade follow him. I continue to do dishes.
I hear Todd say, “ugh.” Rollie comes back in. He just bares his teeth to me, then says, “See?” His tooth is bent forward perpendicular to his gums.
Ewww.
Then I think, that bitch is ready to come out.
I grab the paper towel again. I wiggle front and back. I wiggle side to side. Todd and Wade come in and are looking over my shoulder, and they are cringing as I wiggle, and grab again, and I ask Rollie if I’m hurting.
Nothing.
I think for a minute.
I twist the tooth.
A crack.
A small bloody tooth between my two fingers, white and red in the bright light of the kitchen. I lay it in my other palm, so small. My baby’s tooth – much different than the two that came home from school in plastic bags. My baby’s tooth.
“I lost my tooth! My tooth. Tiller! My tooth came out! The Tooth Fairy’s coming tonight!”
Truth be told? I have an iron stomach, and blood doesn’t bother me. But that little crack of my baby boy’s tooth coming out of the socket? I felt that one in my bones.
Sure, he lost two bottom baby teeth already. He lost them both at school, though. Not here in my kitchen. So, this is kinda a first.
And my baby? Now he really looks like a little boy, with a gap-toothed smile and the inability to say his esses without sounding like Voldemort when he gets all snaky.