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Archive for the ‘Photography’ Category

The Quarry and the Death of a Rock Star

Wednesday, September 16th, 2009

For the life of me, I cannot figure out how The Georgia Guidestones were built in 1980, just 40 miles from Athens, and I have never been there, much less heard of them. I want to go as soon as possible. Totally cool story!

Georgia’s granite is kind of interesting to me, too. I would love to see what Stone Mountain looked a thousand years ago, without the development around it, a dome of stone surrounded by forest. And then there’s the quarries. I have always found something very creepy about them. But one in particular, outside of Athens, was a destination for us as college kids. I can’t even remember now how you got there, but I know it was east of Athens, probably towards Elberton.

We would go out there when it was warm weather. You drove back on a wooded, deserted dirt or gravel road. I guess we were trespassing, but there was never anyone out there other than kids. There were actually at least two quarries (the pits themselves). There might have been more, but I don’t remember them. One was smaller, and had a sloped side to it at the time. We would lie in the sun, smoke and drink, and swim in the quarry. The water was cool and very clear in this pit, and the sides were not very far from the water. Everything about this smaller pool seemed blue and white and very bright.

The second one was VERY DEEP. The walls rose from the water, probably something like at least 50 feet. Maybe more? A hundred? The walls were a sheer drop, straight down. There were rickety old iron stairs or ladder running from the top down to the water. People would run off the edge and jump into the quarry. I never did it, as I am a big old wuss and very scared of heights. My friend and roommate Honey did it and my heart was in my throat the whole time. I thought she was one badass girl for doing it. I still think that she’s a badass.

There was also a huge crane there. I remember talking to a boy at a party one night in Athens. The next week, I heard that he had jumped from that crane to his death. I cannot remember his name.

The crane and the larger quarry, they seemed dark and foreboding. Awesome and ancient, even though they were man-made. I wonder if they look any different now – Seems that if they still use the quarry, it’s landscape would change between 1992 (or whenever it was we were out there) and today. Or maybe it looks as if no one has touched it. My God. 17 years.

This picture, found on Flickr, was taken in 2000. But the scene looks pretty much the same. I assume this is the same quarry.

Another photo to give you a feel of what it looked like, here.

One other reason i will never forget the quarry. I went there the day Kurt Cobain died. I was walking home from school. I am guessing it was March or April. I know it was spring. And i know it was still cool out, because I was wearing a coat. I was walking with Chris Bilheimer down the street in Athens, and we met a girl named Felicia. I don’t remember her last name. She worked with me at The Grill, and had a brother and sister. All three of them were nauseatingly beautiful people. She told us that Curt Cobain was dead. I remember being pretty stunned at first, but also thinking later that people got pretty upset over someone who wasn’t that great. Not that I didn’t love Nirvana, but come on. I never thought he was a complete God or anything.

I walked on home to my house off Pulaski. My roommate Scott was there, with Dave and Karen. I told them the news. We got in Karen’s jeep and drove out to the quarry. Someone took pictures, but it wasn’t me. Scott or Dave, if you read this and have the pictures, twould be AWESOME to see.

How is that for a cliched 90s story? And a totally disjointed blog post. Take this away from it: I want to go to these Guidestones. I want to go back in time and spend a day at the quarry with Ryan and Dave and Honey, Duke and Madison, or Scott and Dave and Karen. I still wouldn’t jump.

If you’re reading this and lived in Athens, did you go to the quarry? What do you remember about it? And where is it, exactly?

Game Day, or “How I Became That Mother.”

Tuesday, September 15th, 2009

My little man is getting so big. He learned to ride a bike without training wheels, he has loose teeth ready to fall out, and Sunday, he had his first baseball game. I have turned into a Soccer mom, chauffeuring kids to school, and bus stop, and baseball practice, soccer practice, and ballet. I have somehow become a person who attends a kids’ baseball game, a soccer game, and a soccer clinic every weekend in the fall. I have an actual magnetic soccer ball on my minivan. I have a minivan! I know where to buy ballet shoes, for fuck’s sake! I don’t even know who I am anymore.

I always said, “Oh, I’ll never be one of those parents who [insert crossed-that-line-already variable here].” I am one of those parents. Soccer ball. Minivan. Little girl who wears dresses, owns Barbies. Too much tv. Chicken McNugget. Name a line that I drew in the sand; I have since crossed it. Oh, except Bratz. NEVER IN MY HOUSE. EVER.

The funny thing, though? You realize that parents don’t do these things because they want them, necessarily. (Although I am sure some do.) They often do it because they realize it is what the kids want. My kids like to play baseball and soccer and do ballet. It is good for them to run around. They like Barbie and Hot Wheels. Tiller likes dresses and bows. Rollie got excited about putting the magnetic soccer ball his coach gave him onto the van. I couldn’t say no to that! I countered it with a Mac sticker.

And in participating in all that (and I have never been a joiner – I do not tend to like to be part of a group), i have found that it is not so bad. It is kind of fun to watch your kid on a baseball field, having fun. You remember what it was like to stand in left field or right field, bored out of your mind, dancing in the wet grass, or kicking some dirt at third base. Watching your daughter meet other kids during the game and run around and climb trees, or play in the creek behind the field, or swing from the bleachers, you remember that once upon a time, you were that kid keeping yourself occupied while a sibling was on the field. You check out the goods at the Concession stand. You remember that after the game, whether you win or lose, you get pizza or ice cream.

Best Month EVER!

Wednesday, September 2nd, 2009

If you read Dogwood Girl very often, you know my summer has sucked ass, pretty much from the end of May (Dad had heart surgery), into June (Pop went downhill fast and was in hospice), into a fucking awful July (Pop died), and then in August, I had a little cancer scare, which I haven’t talked about, but will now. Suspicious moles: Itchy and multiple colors. Fast-growing. Had them biopsied, and thankfully they were benign. Turning a new leaf, perhaps, on the luck front? I think so.

First i read that my fave series of forever is releasing the next book on Sept. 22nd. Then i found out that a good friend is expecting (Shhhh . . . it’s a secret!). Another friend had her baby boy Monday night. (Welcome, Miles!) And then this morning, I happened to come across a blog post from the author of the Gentleman Bastards series and he posted a REALLY LONG prologue excerpt to his next book!

And then there’s the fact that the kids are both in school from 9-12 three days a week. That is just enough of a break to keep me from selling them on the black market. And lots of time to play Bejeweled Blitz with my copilot sitting next to me.

quint

I am in heaven. And feeling DAMN lucky.

Missed the game, but hit the Galaxy

Sunday, August 30th, 2009

On Rollie’s actual birthday, we were supposed to take him to the Braves game, but it was pouring and we decided maybe we should bag it and just take him to dinner. Anywhere he chose. He chose Galaxy Diner. And he wanted a banana split, dang it.

Braves clobbered the Padres and we missed it. But we had fun anyway.

Creepy or Cute?

Friday, August 28th, 2009
Matilda at Pop's funeral. By Mark Thomas.

Matilda at Pop's funeral. By Mark Thomas.

What do you think? Creepy or cute?

Six Years of You

Thursday, August 27th, 2009

9:00 a.m. Six years ago today, i was pretty much being ripped apart by a bowling ball. A bowling ball that was not numbed by any amount of drugs for a couple hours. Rollie, you were that bowling ball. And you were worth every second of the worst pain of my entire life.

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By the time you came out, my pain was being managed and I was tired and so very happy to see you. I still grieve for those hours that you were not in my arms, but they had to make sure you were okay, and you being okay was most important. Six years going by makes it clear that all of those details and all of the guilt I poured over myself at the time was for nothing. You turned out perfectly and completely and totally YOU. And you are wonderful.

Alvin, Simon, Theodore, Rollie

I really feel like this was the year that you became a true boy, no longer a baby, or a toddler, or a preschooler. You started Kindergarten this year! You rode the bus for the first time! I was so terrified, sending my baby boy off with some person i have never met before. And that night, when i kissed you goodnight, you whispered “I want to ride the bus forever. I never want you to pick me up at school again!” You loved the bus. You still do.

Happy Rollie

You have learned so many wonderful things this year. You already learned to read way back when you were four, but now you are reading longer and longer books. Sometimes the words that you read amaze me. You sound them out just perfectly, and even use them in the correct context sometimes. I will never forget the night that I walked into your room and you were reading the Tales of Beedle the Bard. At five! I wasn’t sure whether to worry that it was too graphic for you, or swell with pride that you could read a real short story book, with few pictures! You are like a sponge with the reading and you retain so much. It amazes me. At school, you are ahead of the game – They are teaching letters, letter sounds, colors, shapes, and the like, and you can already read. I worry that you won’t be challenged enough, but when I see that you are still sensitive, and still on the same emotional level with the other kids in your class, I know we made the right decision. Plus, so far, you are not struggling with your homework very much, and that is a relief to me.

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Yes, you have homework. We never had homework when I was in kindergarten, but a lot seems to have changed for parents and kids since then. I hope that your Daddy and I are making good decisions for you, but sometimes it is scary for us. We want so badly to give you all of the tools you need to be a happy and well-adjusted kid. You also started taking French this year, and you have an hour of it a day. i am hoping that you and I can have some secret French conversations around the dinner table. You are already coming home every day with new French vocabulary words. There are still things to learn, though: You still can’t tie your shoes and you get very frustrated when we try to teach you. And your dad and I have been pretty bad about helping you learn to ride a bike. We need to get on that.

Boy at Waverly

You have really turned into an active, energetic little boy. You learned to swim a little last year, but this year, I can sit out of the water and watch you, and you do just great. You put your head down in the water and you can jump off the side and swim back by yourself and swim the entire length of the pool! You dive for rockets, and you were so fun to watch at the pool this year, because you played with the other kids so well. This was also the first year that I could put a lifejacket on you and let you swim in the lake while I sat on the dock. You and Tiller swam for hours in the lake last time I was there. It was a joy to watch you swimming and playing the same exact games that Aunt Lisa and I used to play right there, too. You took your first ride with me on the Jetski this year – I think you were a little freaked out by it, but I am sure you will grow out of that soon and be scaring me with your fearlessness. I know I was terrified riding around on that thing with such precious cargo, but I want you to learn to have fun, and be cautious, but not fearful. I try to teach you that by example, but sometimes Mamas get scared, too.
Rowdy Rollie Rodeo
You played soccer last Fall and this spring and loved it. You are pretty good and we call you “The Cheetah” because you are so fast. Your team was called “The Dream Team Tigers” which we have really gotten a lot of laughs about. This year, you are playing soccer and t-ball (Go, RiverCats!) and I am really enjoying you learn to catch and throw and learn the rules of the game. Just last night, you made your first base hit and you played pitcher and got an out at first. I was beaming. The best part of all, though, is sitting in the bleachers in that moment when light and dark are just about even, then the lights on the field flutter on, and you and your team-mates are running around the bases, playing pickle and laughing (giggling, really) and I just see the joy on your face, and the fact that you are happy, and comfortable with who you are.
Boy Loves Tractor
I know that won’t last forever – that kids are mean, and you have to watch movies about bullying at school for a reason. I know that there will cliques and hurt feelings, mean things said, and unrequited crushes. I just hope that you will have a foundation given to you by your Dad and me that leaves you with a sense that you are a wonderful person, and that you have self-worth. I hope that you always have the strength to know who you are, to be your own person, and to do the right thing, even under difficult circumstances.

Rollie with Flower

10:00 a.m. I was still at Northside waiting for you to join us. The room was unlit and I was hurting, but it was getting better. Daddy and Aunt Lisa were there. The rest is a blur of visiting grandparents and MASH re-runs, until you came out and changed my world forever, at about 5:30, I think.
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At about 5:30 today, we should be getting ready to head down to Turner Field. Your birthday party is Saturday morning at the pool, but we have kind of started a tradition of taking you to a Braves game on your birthday. Last year, Daddy and I surprised you with it, but this year, all four of us are going. Even Tiller. We haven’t told you yet, but I can’t wait to see your face when we do. It will be Tiller’s first baseball game, and I’m sure she will love it, but you will be the star tonight. I can’t wait to see you eating peanuts and hot dogs, and yeah, we might even get you a coke. It is your birthday, after all.

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I love you, little buddy. More than you will ever know, at least until you maybe have a child of your own. And then you will ache with it, and swell with it, and wrestle with it. I hope that I am there for you when the time comes, because I am so proud of you and I know how proud I will be then.

Love,
Your Mama
Rollie

Are you an aunt, uncle or Grandma or Papaw, who can’t get enough of baby pictures of Rollie? Here’s a set of some of my favorites.

For Jason B.

Sunday, August 23rd, 2009

For Jason, who thinks Rollie and I look so much alike at Rollie’s age. . . check out my mother, at about the same age. In very p.c. Indian headdress, with old Aunt Zelma, and her dog, Peg. Evidently, Zelma used to fart and blame it on Peg all the time. Mom will have to confirm, but I believe this photo was taken at the duplex on either Seminole Dr. or Mason Dr., Chattanooga, Hamilton Co., TN.

1954vazelma

Can’t seem to find the picture of me in my Birmingham PeeWees baseball uniform, but Rollie and I look a LOT alike in that one.

Coming up on Dogwood Girl: “Before” photos of our basement; “Before” photos of my gray roots.

Don’t Mess With My Tutu

Friday, August 21st, 2009

Things here in Dogwood Girl world have been a little wild lately. This whole year has been a roller coaster, but the commencement of school has really amped up our schedules. Oddly, though, in the midst of all of the rushing around to practices and stores to find shoes and helmets and gloves and bats and tutus, there have been these wonderful moments where I am struck by deja vu. I have been here before. I have felt this joy. Parenting is funny like that: You reach a milestone in your child’s life, and it brings you back instantly to that time in your own childhood.

Tiller started ballet last Thursday. She takes it at the rec center here in town. The minute I walked in there, I was rushed back to the old rec center at Wills Park in Alpharetta, the one next to the awesome wooden playground thingie – the ultradangerous one, with a bridge that went over a creek and lots of holes high up on the structure for little kids to fall out of. We never did. We also never injured ourselves on that fast merry-go-round; we just went faster and faster, squealing our guts out. Pretty sure those are gone now, replaced by some safer, more plastic, less wood and metal playground, with sustainable mulch or some such crap underneath it. I used to take baton twirling there at the rec center. I think it was maybe only one room, with some public restrooms. As soon as I walked in the dance room, i was brought back. Tutus and tights and little black patent leather tap shoes with ribbon laces. Pale pink ballet slippers.

I had been told that Tiller should ‘wear something comfortable” that first day. She had on shorts and a t-shirt. All of the other little girls wore tutus and had their hair in ponytails or buns. Most of them had their own shoes.

Ballerina Parent Fail.

Tiller didn’t even notice, though. She doesn’t realize yet that her mother is a Bull in a China Shop who never took more than one year of Dance. I was hideous. To this day, my photos from that one year of ballet and tap, taken in a studio that I believe was in the upstairs over the Indian Trading Post toy store in downtown Alpharetta, right across from Milton High school, are still the most-commented-on of all of my childhood pictures. (They do not, however, compare to the still-much-discussed naked run around the parking lot photo from a college game of truth or dare gone awry.) People think they are hysterical. So, before someone leaks them, I will share them here on Dogwood Girl, for all the world to see.

This is me on the left end of this group. I want to say the girl next to me is Heather Flack. Not sure who the other sad girls are. . . . It appears that the red monstrosities are what you wear for tap. I can still feel the material these little numbers were made of . . . .

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Okay, this next one is me in. . . I don’t know what this getup is. I think this was the ballet number. Because nothing says graceful ballet like a CountryBumpkinVaudevilleShowgirl costume. Who comes up with these? Nice lipstick, huh?

1978_dancerecital_anne

This is the one that people really dig. . . Look at that poof in my hair. Yes, that is mom’s attempt at giving me a Dorothy Hamill, but I have curly hair, and it never did work. See that polka dot trim? It itched like a motherfucker. Red lipstick on a five-year-old is classy.

1978ca_me 001

Now, this post is about how parenting reminds one of their own childhood. And one time that I was really struck by this was when I took the kids to Tucker Day last year. Tucker Day is for all the world just like I remember the Alpharetta Parade being. Tractors, and farmers, and bands, and groups like baseball teams and dancers. Yes, I believe that my dance troupe was in the parade, and I seem to remember wearing the above red and polka dot-trimmed outfit, while this next picture was being taken of my sister and my cousins, who lived right across the street from me back then. (Yes, I told you I was Southern. Southerners live across the street from their cousins, people!) Mom evidently parked the red Caprice Classic station wagon, with wood on the side, in the filling station parking lot near the Food Lion. (Food Giant? I get those confused.) The one on Hwy 9. She propped Graham, Adam, and Lisa up on the hood, and gave them a couple of bottles of Coke. Please note Lisa’s lionhead. (See also: The Lionhead Files.)

1978_AlpharettaParade_GrahamLisaAdam

This next one is prompted by Rollie playing t-ball. This is my softball team. Before that, I played t-ball with a bunch of boys, and one other girl, Ashley Marvin. Now, I don’t remember exactly why i played t’ball with a bunch of boys. But this next picture is from a softball team I played on. We had an after season party at Ashley’s house. Ashley had an awesome old renovated house near Crabapple, and a pool. Also, please note our totally trippy 70’s-style Fulton Co. Parks and Rec shirts.

1978_Softballawardsparty_ashleymarvinshouse

This final one is just one of my fave pics ever. It is of the spectators at one of my b-ball games. I guess it was when I played on the boys’ team, because my cousin’s mom is there. I LOVE this picture. The folks are sitting on the bleachers at Wills Park. I guess it is cold. Maybe my dad took the picture? My mom is standing to the left, in the plaid pants, smoking a cigarette. The blonde next to her is my cousin’s mom, Connie. That is Adam in her lap – I love that he is twirling his hair, like he always did at that age!.  To my Mom’s left is my sister, Lisa, sitting next to my Uncle Harry, a.,k. a Gran, my grandma Smith’s brother. His wife, Virginia, or Bubba as we called her, is sitting the next row back. You can almost make out her reddish hair. Would love to know who some of the other folks are.

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Now we have the metal bleachers, but there is still that same feel at practices. I am looking forward to enjoying some of those after-game ice creams, and to watching my Tiller keep herself occupied around the field while Rollie plays this season.

For Anyone Who Birthed Dash

Thursday, August 6th, 2009

So, today, Dogwood Girl is going to be all about Dash. Dash is my nephew. He is really cute.

I put together a gallery of shots from this morning. He has a monkey on his pjs, holding a banana. You cannot resist the cuteness. I got up with him at 6:45, but as you can see, I am not his favorite. He and Todd have a little love affair going. I do not like it when i am holding him and todd walks in the room and Dash’s face lights up and he puts his arms out to Todd. Yes, I am that petty.

And yes, I realize that this is baby picture overkill. If you did not squeeze this baby out of your own vagina, you don’t have to look at every one of them.


A Tale of Two Sweets

Sunday, July 12th, 2009

We took the kids for ice cream this afternoon. Oddly, Rollie wanted a Sprite instead. Todd and I decided we’d all share a bigass rice krispie treat, too.

Tiller went for the ice cream (birthday cake) and a handful of rice krispie treat, too. Sometimes it was hard for her to decide which to bite from. . . .

I am feeling ungrateful and babyish today. I love my kids. They are fun. But I miss the trips with leisurely walks, and less argument, less potty emergencies. I miss strolling around, stopping for a coffee or a beer. I miss perusing bookstores for an hour at a time, and window shopping, and not having to have a destination or a time schedule.

I know I will have it again someday. I just mourn it sometimes. And it is hard to stay dissatisfied when they look this happy.