tollipop

over the weekend

We went somewhere amazing, somewhere legendary, somewhere which echoed with the glittering, coloratura laughter of ghosts from the golden societies of yesteryear.  You know the ones--those halcyon, bygone eras wherein women called one other pet and adopted names like Slim, Bunny, and Babe, and men said haw haw old chap through clouds of mentholated smoke.

Magical!

It was the Hotel Del Coronado, darling, and while I wasn't exactly dripping in pearls and fur, I'm sure my entrance was every bit as grand as the Slims, Bunnys, and Babes of yore.  

At least, in my mind it was.

Of course, we made an appearance at the zoo.

Caroline was terribly thrilled, thanks to the map provided by a zookeeper at the entrance.  Oh, the map. The map which afforded her every opportunity to pause, scrutinize, and announce we had not yet seen the polar bear exhibit, nor the zebras, nor the fox on stilts, nor, once we were well beyond zooed out, the porcupines.  

I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying something jaded and world weary like: Believe me, Caroline--you've seen one porcupine, you've seen 'em all.

Can you imagine that?  Me, crushing a child's moment of wonder and joy?? 

Instead, my husband took Caroline on one last hurrah to the porcupine habitat while I stayed behind with Izzy and allowed her to get a henna tattoo.  

Possibly not my proudest parenting moment, but one's judgement after having spent three hours milling about beneath the hot sun in a crowded public place is sure to be at least slightly impaired.  

As for me, the best part of the zoo was the reptile room.  You can see this fellow was not at all impressed with my attempts to speak parseltongue, and yet I made such an effort to win him over!

This guy, not so much.  I did that thing where I shrugged, feigned confusion, and pretended I could only speak English--there was just nothing about him which made me want to establish common ground. 

But my very, very most favorite exhibit of all was this character: a rainbow scarab.  Isn't he a beauty?  He hardly held still long enough for me to capture his essence on film, which prompted me to go home and google the possibilty of acquiring one for a pet.  

It turns out you can buy an entire harem, dear reader.  Yes, a harem.  One guy and five ladies for approximately $42.00.

Is it just me, or does that sound like a total steal??

And all you have to do is feed them poop.  Easy.  That stuff is everywhere.  

At any rate, it was a quick trip.  Beyond the zoo we had time only to visit this mesmerizing store.  I love that my girls have inherited my love of paper.  Thick, creamy, buttery paper.  Why does it make me so happy?  I just want to touch it. I want to run it along my cheek.  Maybe it will whisper to me.  Maybe it will make me blush.  

If there is anything which seems infinitely filled with possibility, it is a sheet of velvety, soft paper.

And the ocean...

We watched the sun set and let the waves rush over our feet.  

I could lose all track of time doing that...looking out onto a horizon of water and fading shades of light. 

we interrupt this hiatus to bring a complaint from my little brother

Last night I received the following text from my brother:

Would you update your blog already.  By now we all know what you did over the weekend.

Franchement!  Isn't he a dear?  

But I was touched to think Tollipop mattered to him that much and since I'm missing him and am terribly excited he's coming to spend the Christmas holidays with us, I'll indulge his request...even though I'm totally supposed to be doing something else right now so please forgive me if this seems a bit hasty.  I'm just trying to let my brother know what I did during the week since apparently my weekend is no longer up to snuff.

1.  Macarons from a gentleman caller.  He says I'm his favorite brunette.  He acts like it's the biggest deal anytime I give him a hug.  Whenever I see him he says, "Where have you been all my life?"  I know it's his way of teasing but it touches me all the same.

2.  Late night crêpes for tired girls who come home from marathon music lessons.  I believe I've mentioned this tradition before.  

3.  The game of the century.  Did you hear about it?  Oh my goodness...this was epic.  Sophie's team beat their archrivals in a grueling, five game battle and handed them their first league loss in like, forever.  

It took Caroline a minute to warm up to the action...she actually brought four books in her bag.  

When I saw this, I said: Caroline, did you think we were going to the library?  

And she was all: I just like to be prepared.  

Once she got into the action, though, there was no better cheerleader. 

The entire evening made me want to do this.  And believe me, I did.  

I'm still doing it.  

The post game celebration was the biggest hugfest you could imagine. Everyone hugged everyone.  Who cares if we weren't on hugging terms before that moment?  We'd just watched our girls take out their archrivals like the gladiators of old...except no lions were involved.  

Just a bunch of tigers (nerdy inside joke).

4.  I've been doing a little drawing, a little painting.  Girl bandits.  Perhaps a giveaway soon...

5.  Arm warmers.  They did make me run faster, as I suspected.  Especially when I stretched out my arms and made airplane noises which, trust me, is an irresistible urge when you're wearing these things.  

 

6.  And Izzy.  Izzy is practicing up a storm these days.  She's getting ready for a competition wherein she must present 25 minutes of repertoire to a panel of judges.  This is the second time she's participated and believe me, a team of oxen could not keep up with the work required for this performance.

Don't be fooled by her sweet face and the fact she's playing a violin: Izzy is a bit of a gladiator, too.

I can't imagine where it comes from, darling.  I only like to run through the desert, pretending I can fly.

over the weekend

Caroline had a music competition.

 She played very well but did not come in first.  

I must say she wasn't especially cool with this turn of events.  I mean, she was gracious enough in the moment, but when we got back to the car she burst into tears and gestured like we were speaking Italian.  

What do I have to do to win this thing?!, she cried.  

Naked longing always sort of unsettles me.  I don't know why.  If I tried to explain, you'd have a Ph.D in psychology plus a raging headache by the time I finished.  I just find it hard to allow myself to want most things.  Partly it has to do with the way I was raised.  Partly it has to do with knowing the bitterness of disappointment. Partly it's just I'm an easygoing person who doesn't spend a lot of time registering naked longings.

My longings stay buttoned up.

So you should have seen me try to answer Caroline's question.  At first I assured her she played beautifully (then why didn't I win?!).  Next, I stressed the value of the journey over the destination (what are you talking about?!  what journey?!).  Painfully aware I was not prepped to handle this scenario, I scrambled all over the spectrum of consolation until finally she said, So let me get this straight.  If I want to win I'm going to have to practice longer and harder.  Is that it?

Yes, basically, I said, shoulders slumped.

Okay. Then that's what I'm going to do, she said.  

Note to self: go down to the track and put money on Caroline's next competition.

Dinner with family and friends.  Super yum.  Super full.  

I make these every Sunday morning for the choir which comes to rehearse at my house.  Can I persuade you to join us?

Although my artwork could never be described as portrait quality, I'm not kidding--if my friend had a twin it would be this little party girl.  Happy Birthday, dear Nisha.      

Sophie gave me this fantastic scarab.

He's even scarier up close.

Et toi, dear reader?  How was your weekend?

note to self: eat more phosphorus

Sophie emailed me the following essay at 12:11 a.m. this morning:

The city lay in silence, devoid of the sounds of traffic and airplanes and pedestrians going about their daily business. Already, it was becoming overrun with vines and weeds, taking advantage of the lack of trimming and manicuring. The sun lazily crossed over the sky, taking its time getting to the horizon. In a final display of showers of gold and lavender, the sun sank behind the distant mountain and the world darkened.

Somewhere, a shed door behind a dilapidated apartment complex creaked open. It swung wide, hinges squealing to a stop. For a second, nothing happened. Then there was a disturbance in the darkness beyond the door. A hulking form, no more than four feet tall, lumbered out of the inky depths, each step thudding softly in the quiet city. Painstakingly, the creature made its way to a main road. A curious, sibilant dragging sound accompanied each step. Each step seemed a tremendous labor, yet the figure persevered. At last, it heaved itself onto the open road, the rays of the moon throwing its features into sharp relief.

The city itself seemed to cringe away. Sores and open wounds covered the slimy, deathly pale skin that was stretched so tightly. The legs were disproportionately long and thin; the tendons in the feet clearly visible through the translucent skin, and the toes were long, curled, and misshapen. The creature crouched, shoulders hunched and drawn up.  The spinal cord protruded so far through the skin that the ridges of the vertebrae stuck out. The arm appendages trailed between the legs, jointed irregularly and hanging at odd angles. The chest cavity was sunken beyond belief, asymmetrical bone structure clearly visible.

Perhaps worst of all was the creature’s head. Patches of shiny scalp were visible through the random clumps of long, greasy hair. The eyes were a milky white, drawn back into the eye sockets and covered in a filmy web. The nose was flattened and scarred, visibly useless. The mouth gaped wide, any saliva dried up long ago. Any sign of a tongue or teeth had disappeared with the saliva. Each breath caused the creature’s entire body to heave violently.

Only a few months before, the city had been a bustling center of commerce. The news of phosphorus’s disappearance hadn’t seemed like a very big deal to the citizens…for a while. Then, people started realizing how many things were affected by this substance. Matches were now completely nonfunctional. Fertilizers were also useless without phosphorus. These two things alone made a major impact on the lives of the citizens.  Toothpaste was also less effective without the addition of phosphorus. Scientists looked more into phosphorus’s uses. A shock wave rippled through the world: Phosphorus was a major component in DNA, nervous tissues, bones, and our cells. Everyone asked the big question- what happens now? Within days, their question was answered.

Literally, the bodies of the entire world’s population began to deteriorate. People complained of feeling sick more and more often, which continued for a few weeks. Then, physical effects began to appear. Sloped backs, elongated limbs, jutting facial features… no one could understand what was going on. This continued for a few more weeks until exactly two months after the disappearance of phosphorus was logged. That was the day the human race devolved into something never seen before on the face of this earth.

The creature moaned as though the moonlight stung its skin. It shifted on its feet, trying to stand up and extend its legs. It struggled to no avail. Without warning, the creature threw back its emaciated head and screamed--a scratchy, raw abomination that echoed off the buildings, forever rebounding until at last, the sound faded away. 

I'm guessing her assignment was to describe what would happen to the world if there was no phosphorus...?

Not give me nightmares for the rest of my life.  

But here is why it made me happy:

Sophie leaves the house each morning by 5:30 a.m. in order to attend early morning seminary. After school she practices with her volleyball team until 4:30 p.m.  She usually has two evening games each week, a church youth activity, and the occasional student council meeting (which dropped sharply since the insanity known as homecoming has passed).  She's also a strong student who takes her schoolwork seriously.

She is quite a busy girl.

I often hear mums describe themselves as loving the newborn stage, loving the elementary school age, or enjoying motherhood more once their children got to be more mature.  I'm not really sure what stage I prefer...it seems I've enjoyed them all and felt my love grow and change as my girls grow and change.  

Nothing seems better than the stage we are in now.  Sophie is fascinating, independent, no longer as much a direct reflection of my influence but revealing more of her individual nature with each passing day.  This growth, in addition to her crazy schedule, sometimes makes me feel as if my little girl with the big brown eyes has, by necessity, left me in the dust.  Or like a toy plane, she once circled me in tight rotations but is now soaring high overhead in wide, vanishing arcs.      

And though I wouldn't have it any other way, the thought is also a pang to my heart.

But the fact she took the time to send me her essay when she must have been so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open, the fact she knew how I would delight in its creepy, visceral descriptions and perfect arrangement of words, the fact I had to look up the definition of sibilant...those facts are like a balm to my heart.  

No matter how far or high that girl goes, we are connected in ways that will always make us feel close.

a little excuse

The other day Izzy had an upset stomach and had to stay home from school, so I wrote a note to excuse her absence.  

I think it made her feel better already.

A word about drawing: I usually begin with a quick pencil sketch but have the hardest time stopping before I've erased and coaxed the lines until they feel just right.  This is one of my favorite parts of drawing, just as it is one of my favorite parts of writing...revision. 

What a lovely concept.  

In fact, I often hope no one reads these posts until at least 24 hours after they're published, as I almost always come back and rearrange a few words.  I find it very satisfying, this process, like being the curator at a tiny, fantastic museum.

With writing it seems a total pleasure; with drawing it sometimes seems a bit controlling.

So I was oddly proud of myself for completing this note in less than three minutes and handing it to Izzy without a single fix.  It kind of made my fingers itch, but I'm still proud.  

I'd better stop thinking about it or I will be more itchy than proud.

On the way home from school this morning I found these two pinecones. Something I love about pinecones: it's as if each one has a distinct personality. You know?  Like, you can totally imagine what kind of person these pinecones would be.

Sometimes I'm like the pinecone on the left, but for me it takes effort.  My natural inclination is to be more like the one in the middle.  I'm not saying which is better.  I'm just saying you can sense certain things about pinecones in a single glance.  Or is it people?  

I often get confused as to what I'm really talking about.

One final thing.  When I reached home, this pamphlet was waiting on my doorstep.  

I'm assuming it's some kind of warning but my first reaction was: awesome! Where can I get one??

:::::::::::::::

p.s.  One more final thing.  Last night I was at Sophie's volleyball game, sitting with a friend who happens to read this blog.  She made a comment to the effect it amazed her how I could find interesting stuff to say about things which don't obviously seem worth mentioning.  

I think that is one of the loveliest compliments I've ever received. 

what is your superpower fantasy?

Dear reader, the other day I stopped by a Korean market--a massive, Ikea-like structure selling everything from tiny dried shrimp to cell phone paraphernalia, from fresh, gaping fish to frozen, digestive drinks.  

I came in search of a rice cooker.  

Why, then, did I suddenly find myself fingering the sweets?  Am I really so predictable?  When I say I'm on hiatus, does that mean I will only blog more often?  When I say I need a rice cooker, does that translate to "you can find me in the candy section"?

Rice cookers, as it so happens, are now being offered in designs resembling adorable, compact robots, at prices which make you wonder if they'd also perform light housekeeping tasks and offer the occasional massage.  

But what I was really thinking about, as I perused everything I wasn't there to buy, was one of my secretly desired superpowers: the ability to speak a foreign language better than any native speaker of that tongue.

You know?  Because it drives me batty when I go to check out and the cashier switches to English without even giving me the benefit of the doubt.  How does she know I can't whip out some rapid fire Korean?  Why does she assume I can only say kimchi?  And Gangnam style?  

It's maddening!

Imagine if I let loose a streak of Korean, more legit and authentic than her Korean--imagine the look on her face!  

I am constantly losing myself in this fantasy, by the way.  Last week I walked past a group of French tourists and imagined them asking me for directions to a restaurant.  For the next several minutes I pictured myself explaining where they could find good sushi, modestly excusing my grasp of their language as they stared at me, tears streaming down their cheeks, begging me to return home with them and become France's next poet laureate.  

What is your superpower fantasy, dear reader?  What amazing ability do you wish you possessed?  

Oh, and it can't be the power to turn traffic lights from red to green because you're late picking up the carpool from spending too long perusing candy at a Korean market...curiously, that one is already taken.  

is anyone in charge around here?

Caroline's record for consecutive bumps with the volleyball: 84

Generally I prefer her to practice outside, darling.  But I'm not the sort of glittering socialite who cares a ton, one way or the other.  I'm more intrigued she locked onto the sport in the first place.  Six months ago she groaned at the thought of entering a gym (and when she did, she came armed with a stack of Nancy Drews). Now she insists on attending all Sophie's games and follows the action like an entrenched bookie.  

But she also adores her cello.  And baking, reading, writing, drawing, plus all things French.  

Basically that girl is setting herself up for a very interesting life.  

I went for a run this morning.  You know, the desert really is glorious.  Maybe it's cool and distant, maybe it's deep and unfathomable, but the desert is also humming with an energy which makes me bound around in it like a sloppy puppy with enough adoration for the two of us.

The cairns continue to come and go.  Some of the best ones are suddenly missing.  Some are still there. The ancient Norseman, if he really exists, must struggle between his poet's soul and his natural inclination to plunder the coastline.

You can't tell me there isn't at least a little magic out in the middle of nowhere.

When I reach this place along the trail, I always think the figure off to the right is an owl sitting on a cactus stump.  

It's actually just a cactus stump.  

But each time I pass by, for at least three seconds, the owl seems a very real possibility.

over the weekend

I went for a run and I went to Trader Joes...

Which may explain why I often have a hard time verifying my exact location.

Caroline brought the outdoors indoors, a penchant I love seeing in my girls. 

In the earlier days it seemed there was no end to the collections of rocks and leaves I'd find everywhere in the house, but now this habit has settled into a more thoughtful pursuit.

The other day she discovered a tattered butterfly wing and brought it home like it was hidden treasure.  

We placed it in an enamel box painted a particular shade of blue and now we can peruse it anytime we want with our new magnifying glass.

I love how the glass makes curious things seem...curiouser.

Oh, and may I mention I've recently received no less than two emails from readers mentioning they found a dead bug and thought about sending it my way.

It would be hard to express how happy that made me. 

A friend left these tree ripened pears and apples on my kitchen counter the other day.  Such a thoughtful, knowing gesture...it would be hard to express how happy that made me, too.

Sophie had a volleyball game.  She played very well but best of all, when it was over she let Caroline join her on the court for a peppering session.  If I could bottle the joy emanating from my youngest in that moment, the energy crisis would be solved and everyone could drive monster trucks to their hearts' delight.

We had a family photo session which got a bit silly and let me assure you, silliness is a key ingredient to enjoying such an experience.

  
So is adoring your photographer and better yet, having your girls adore her. 

My brother and my nephew came over for dinner...they are bachelors for the weekend and jumped at the chance for a hot meal.  We jumped at the chance to have more boys in the house. 

Izzy had a grueling, two hour rehearsal with her accompanist for an upcoming music competition.  It's amazing to me how hard she works and yet how buoyant her spirits are by the end of the session.

Usually.

Either way, she never misses a chance to be gentle with her teacher's many pets.  

When we returned, Caroline was making my brother sit through this.  I do believe there was a football game he was hoping to watch, but what is football compared to a medley of your niece's favorite hits from the Baroque period?

Hard to say.  

I doubt he had much choice in the matter, anyway.

:::::::::::::::::::

Dear reader, between my unintentional allusion to Anthropologie being closed when it's really open, and my intentional announcement of a hiatus when I haven't really taken one, you are probably wondering what crazy hijinks I am capable of these days.  

The answer is always: pretty crazy.

But I assure you I was being serious when I said I'd be taking a break from Tollipop.  It's just that in resurrecting my story project last week, I suddenly remembered why I haven't written about a zillion books by now: because writing a story requires a little concentration.  And by a little, I mean a ton.  It just seems my life is a series of interruptions--people needing me with or without notice and anyone being able to make demands on my time.  Which is nice, mind you, but not exactly conducive to dreaming up great works of art.   

But...that must be the case for everyone else who writes or makes any beautiful thing.  Right?  There are no special monasteries out there where you are allowed to take a laptop and no one can talk to you for like, seven months.  

Are there?

At any rate, I feel as if I'm talking my head off right now.  I don't know if I'm on hiatus or what.  I know I need to write.  I know I want to write that story.  And I know life is busy.  So...I'll be juggling those balls like an untrained circus performer and the likelihood is I'll probably visit here quite often, as I usually do.   

everyone, remain calm: anthropologie is not going out of business...i repeat, *not* going out of business

Dear reader, a comment from yesterday's post brought to my attention the Orson Wellesian-type panic I may have inadvertently caused with my reference to Anthropologie closing its doors.  If, as a result of what I said, you smashed open your child's piggy bank and took out a second mortgage on your home in order to buy up the last frivolities of that emporium, I do apologize.  

Darling, I assure you, it was all hypothetical!  I was only trying to make a point! Don't ask me now to recall exactly what the point was, given we are talking about something which happened yesterday and my brain has a memory span of three minutes, but I'm sure it was profound to the extent of being unfathomable.

At any rate, please allow me to put your fears to rest: Anthropologie is still in the business of selling dreams at a stiff price.

How do I know?  Because today was a break from school and the girls and I took a little field trip just to make sure.   

Oh, Anthropolgie.  How did our relationship get to be so complicated?!

It's just that there's something rather deflating about seeing the incarnation of one's imagination being offered at prices which could stun a charging elephant. It's like being told: Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, but it's going to cost you an arm, a leg, and a kidney to experience the magic.  

Still, it was fun to bring the girls and admire things together.  Sophie, my little papercutter, was drawn to this mesmerizing chandelier.  

Caroline browsed the books on Paris.

She also made this brilliant discovery, something I've wanted for ages: a tiny magnifying glass which happened to be on sale!  

There was no need to give it a second thought.  We left the store congratulating ourselves like we'd invented the magnifying glass, not merely purchased one.  

It's just that we have so many things in need of perusal, you see.

So many tiny, curious things.  

And that's not all.  I had a gift card burning a hole in my pocket and what did I spend it on?  None other than a pair of reading glasses.

Reading glasses?!  

Dear reader, I don't know what possessed me!  Since I was a child, reading glasses have held a certain fascination.  They make me think of people I love: music teachers, librarians, and little old ladies sipping tea wearing glasses on golden chains around their necks.  It always seemed reading glasses were the precursor to something lovely--reading, of course, but also knitting, stitching, and the many other beautiful details of life.

So...when I saw Anthropologie offered reading glasses, I somehow got fixated upon the notion of having a pair for myself.  Does that seem a little odd? Especially since I now have a raging headache from wearing them?  

I mean, who's to say when I'll actually need them, darling...but won't I be grand when the day comes?!  

what kind of bird are you?

Autumn in the desert is like everything else in the desert: sparse, subtle, spare.

Still, there is a way to love it and here's my secret: be cool.

Just be cool, dear reader.  What's the big deal?  

Just, like, wear skinny jeans and an ironic tshirt...but not on purpose.  Don't let your face register emotion under any circumstances, even during a bear attack. When you see a friend, nod imperceptibly.  Perceptible nods are so eager.  So uncool.  If someone bursts into the room, screaming: Anthropologie is going out of business and everything's on sale!, don't break a sweat.  Don't show how much you want it.  

That would be uncool.

Once you have this down, you and the desert are going to get along just fine.

No one will even know you're friends.

If you'd like things to be more obvious, if you want things to be more rich, exuberant, excessive, abundant, and vivid...you know where you can go to get it.

But don't expect it to be any more breathtaking than this.

This is autumn in the desert, dear reader.  

Did you see it?  Did you nod imperceptibly?

Of course, I don't nod imperceptibly.  No way.  I could never be that cool!  

Darling, when I said be cool, I wasn't talking about me.  I was talking about you!  You do it.  You wear the skinny jeans.  I'm past hope.  If someone bursts into the room, screaming: Anthropologie is going out of business and everything's on sale!, I will register emotion.  

I will break a sweat.   

There's nothing subtle about me and the desert, dear reader.  Not even close.  I bound around in it like a freshman with a crush on the most popular boy at school.  Is it painful to witness the adoration written all over my face while he hangs out with his friends, never once looking in my direction?

Who's to say?  Who's to question the balance of such things? 

All I know is someone has to do it.  Someone has to be cool.   

Otherwise, what would happen to all the ironic tshirts no one wears on purpose??