Day 2

I love Portland summers. How many times can I say it? Our old, cold house is perfect in hot weather; the basement is refreshing rather than dank; the skies are blue, the gardens are exploding, and most of all I don’t have to work all summer. Whoo-hoo! No more teachers, no more books … no more committee meetings, no 3 am grading sessions, no wacked-out students (there have been more than usual this year, for some reason), no 60-hour workweeks, no sleep deprivation. Time to do what I want to do. Which includes:

  • Sewing! I’ve taken the pledge: no purchase of clothing if I can make it. Chonies, yes, I’ll buy, but pretty much everything else (for me and for Echo) must be handmade.
  • 2-D Art! I need to set up a webpage for the fiber-collage project – I need to get more installations happening, and mostly, I need to finish up the 2 series that are, ahem, “under construction.”
  • Ceramics! I finally have what I have wanted almost all my life. A studio. Well, the makings of one, anyway: space, a sink, a wheel I love and a decent cone 10 Skutt electric kiln (and forgive me if all that’s gibberish to you). All’s I need is to start work. I think I owe, oh three happily married couples wedding gifts. (The shame!)
  • Catching up! with friends, family, loved ones from all over. And, yeah, that’s where this blog project comes in.

I have always been a self-chronicling kind o’ gal. I’ve got a box of journals going back to the ’80s, baby, telling the sad truth about all my incarnations – the 12-year old, feather-haired, rainbow-shirt wearing Bingo … the 22-year-old, shaven-pierced-n-tatted physics major Bing … all the way through the 28-year-old, ex-expat, grad-student Binga. But the last, what, decade has seen an end to that. I’ve been working like a loon, working like I always swore I never would; I’ve had major upheaval on the homefront, have settled in P-town, and have birthed the tot who’s the center of our lives. Not only have I stopped keeping track of my life for myself, but I’ve fallen out of touch with so many people I love so much. It’s not just distance; it’s the time it takes.

And here’s where the blog comes in.

Partly, I want to keep track of what I’m creating. Partly, I want to record the texture of our lives – for us, for Echo. And partly, I want to create a space where anyone who wants to see what my life is like now, can.

I figure, if nothing else, L. will read this. And if she’s the only one who ever does, it will all be worth it!


3 thoughts on “Day 2

  1. Actually, you were 29 when you became ex-(ex-pat) and a grad-student…or I’m doing the math wrong…or Mrs. Gloria Ann was *really* lying on your birth certificate.

    Great pix …ahhhh, dat Echo: *chee*!

    Praises to the world for finally giving you a summer free: ya deserve it, kid!

  2. How great to finally hear from you. I am so glad to hear you now have some free time to get back in touch with your creative side. (I think that is the real “force” in life. I have had some good creativity myself – doing some weaving, which I love, some writing – also fun (I’ll send you a sample) – and some painting (mixed results, but fun nevertheless. I meet with 2 friends once a week and after painting an hour, we break for lunch and a bottle of wine, then continue for another hour or two. It is lots of fun and we give each other ideas and feedback and lots of encouragement.

  3. Ya know, the funny thing is, though I was the physics major, Alex has always been better at math than me, so if he says 29 , I believe it. And Rachel, I bet the bottle of wine helps with the ol’ creative juices … heh! Thanks for forwarding me your writing, too! I’ll email you soon …

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s