austin kleon's big move and the sweetness of perspective

Sadly I've been too busy to keep up as much as I like with Austin Kleon's blog and tumblelog but had a chance this weekend on the 7 hour drive to and back from Lubbock for that amazing UT/Texas Tech football game Friday night -- and came across this. What a lovely sentiment -- and so true..... Here's wishing them continued closeness and intriguing perspective along with larger pacing territory.


From austinkleon.com:


SKETCHBOOK

THE NEW HOUSE

Friday, October 31st, 2008

In the midst of the mortgage crisis, Meg and I went out and bought a house. We closed today, we move in this weekend. In the five years that we’ve known each other, we’ve never lived in anything bigger than a one-bedroom apartment. Now we both have offices, a washer/dryer, a two-car garage…it’s very surreal.

When you live with someone in a tiny apartment, you’re always in close proximity. You never see that person more than 10 or 20 feet away, because there isn’t 10 or 20 feet to gain between you. You get used to seeing them from a particular distance.

Meg and I often meet each other for lunch on campus. When I see her from far away, walking towards me, often she looks like a different person—she looks like a stranger, or someone I just met. It’s like a visual refresh. (I wonder if this visual element isn’t part of the hidden magic of what self-help couples books tell you to do: meet for dinner, but take separate cars…)

I’m reminded of this passage from Dylan Horrocks’ Hicksville:

Maps are of two kinds. Some seek to represent the location of things in space. That is the first kind - the geography of space. But others represent the location of things in time - or perhaps their progression through time. These maps tell stories, which is to say they are the geography of time. [...] But these days I have begun to feel that stories, too, are basically concerned with spatial relationships. The proximity of bodies. Time is simply what interferes with that, yes?

I wonder about this proximity of bodies. I wonder how we will grow in a bigger space, with an upstairs and downstairs. How our changing spatial relationships might alter our story…

Above is a sketch of the house, superimposed over a page from William Maxwell’s wonderful short novel, So Long, See You Tomorrow.

Contraception is essential

I've been pregnant exactly twice. I'm the mother of a 21 and 18 year old, both of whom I cherish! This couldn't have happened without safe, legal, relatively inexpensive contraception. Contraception is essential if you care about healthy families (and I don't just mean healthy babies...I mean a healthy, functioning, loving unit) and a woman's right not be a kind of indentured servant and victim. Why don't you join me? See the sample letter below.

Dear friend,

Subject: Contraception is abortion?

Hi,

I had to share something with you. Can you imagine living in a place where birth control is considered an "abortion" and health insurers won't cover it? Where even rape victims are denied emergency contraception?

It seems unbelievable, but the Bush Administration is quietly trying to redefine "abortion" to include birth control. The Houston Chronicle says this could wipe out dozens of state laws that protect women's reproductive freedom and protect rape victims. And this proposed "rule change" doesn't need congressional approval.

I just signed a message to Health and Human Services Secretary Mike Leavitt, whose department is considering this rule change, telling him: "Contraception is NOT abortion." Can you add your voice to this cause? Click here to sign the message:

Thanks!

ok, our wedding mixtape circa 1983

Everyone knows we got married in a movie theatre (Film Forum when it was on Watts Street to be exact - it's where we'd met working there the year before). We showed the second half of Buster Keaton's "Seven Chances." But the pre and ceremony soundtrack? Keep in mind John's parents were very religious...

Pre-wedding:

Never Grow Old - Aretha Franklin
Wholy Holy - Marvin Gaye
Precious Memories - Aretha
Climbing Higher - Aretha
Let's Get Married - Al Green

ceremony:

You're all I need to get by - Aretha
Forever Young - Bob Dylan
Family Affair - James Blood Ulmer

I really love that Blood Ulmer song!

The full-on reception mix is lost to us. We left it at the newly open (then) Capsouto Freres where we had the reception because they loved it so much. I'm sure along with R&B it included a wide range including punk and Sinatra.

25 Years!!!!

A glimpse of intimacy

Driving across 2222, by the HEB's red light, I see a threesome waiting for the bus. A round hispanic mom, her maybe 7 year old daughter, and a skinny guy. The kid punches the guy's middle, then hugs him, the mom does the same. I realize it's affectionate foreplay. I guess. I mean it looks like affectionate foreplay but the concept is so foreign to me I'm not sure. I guess I've seen it in movies and tv - that kind of punching and hitting as a kind of tease. In my own life, I can't imagine the instinct. Is it a class thing? Ethnic? Clearly one of the many varieties of human interplay.

In our own life, I'm surprised as well by a new little ritual. As I've written repeatedly, I stay up late. I've always stayed up late. John used to stay up with me, but now as he rises earlier and earlier, he doesn't. (And don't worry about our private life - there are still plenty of other hours of the day. I don't subscribe to that busy-married-with-children-give-up-your-sex-life cliche. In fact I was emailing with a writer/director about it recently, commenting on her recent script where I was happy to see at least one married couple still coupling but the others too glibly giving in to the lull, and not even lamenting. She was a bit defensive -

Re: sex. I think when you have two parents working demanding f/t jobs w/ two kids and you live in NYC it is actually very hard to navigate a sustained sex life. Or at least that's what I see and hear for the most part, and what I know from my own experience. But I commend you for keeping it going, throughout everything. That's a big deal, and rare, believe it!

She was, I'm happy to report, inspired to re-double her efforts after our back and forth. In fact she said,

Talking about it w/ you inspired me to focus more on making it a priority though... (and we just celebrated our 11 year wedding anniversary). Too easy to sweep it aside and yes, it is dangerous to the relationship. Choosing to keep one's life more porous and less driven in order to keep sex a priority in a marriage is kind of a fascinating subject... Maybe you should write about that!

But that's not what I meant to write about here.

Until recently, I would climb into bed trying not to disturb the sleeping guy. But then one day he surprised me with a request for a goodnight hug -- at whatever hour it was that I made it in. I was surprised but ok, why not, 25 years in, sure. A tiny thing. And surprised even more so by the response. Because every night, there is a distinct response. From deep in sleep it registers. Not pro forma but specific. And every night a bit different. A real connect. And of course I'm surprised by the sweetness it creates in me, when it had never even occurred to me in the first place.

The dating certainties

Last night John and I got a kick out of going to a book reading at Book People for Eric Schaeffer's new, "I can't believe I'm still single." As Eric explained to those gathered, "these are the people that made My Life's In Turnaround." Yes, in what feels like a long time ago. We've stayed close with Donny, not so with Eric. Keeping that mainly to watching his films and the occasional run in at sxsw. He's a controversial figure - for good reason.

Last night he totally cracked us up. His readings from the new book were hilarious.

Eric asked the crowd, "Who here has experience with Internet dating?" One person raised their hand, then another, eventually everyone but us. He continued, "Except of course those two who are the model, -- what together since high school like 35 years ago?!" Well not exactly - it was work, not high school, and 25 not 35 years but yeah, sure, in the ballpark. The audience had a lot of questions about dating, in addition to Eric's film, tv and acting career. He kept repeating how certain he was of what he was looking for, and how quickly he could figure that out. No drugs or alcohol, childbearing age and inclination, not too young. Later, while walking him to his car I reminded him, "It was not love at first sight for us. It really took awhile." Then John added an element I'd totally forgotten, "And the whole question of how ready someone is to have kids or not, you never know. When Janet and I first got together, even got married, it was very unclear whether she would ever have children. At that time, she really thought she might not."

True. But something I always forget in the repeated telling of the tale. I didn't want to have kids. I couldn't imagine it. I found the whole concept somewhat repulsive. It was only through the love with John that that door opened. And we walked through.

My last Back to School Night. Ever.

Tonight my last Back to School night ever. John chose not to come. "I ran into my best student ever on the street and asked him, do you think I should go to the Back to School Night for a senior?' And he said, no, he didn't." So I went without him. As Kevin Smith once said to me, -- actually, one of my very favorite things that Kevin has ever said to me, "Don't let him harsh your buzz."

For me it's a trip. Seeing where my son spends his days. Hearing and seeing the teachers, many of whom are babies themselves. Seeing how very into it they are. And happy about that. Meeting some of the parents of the kids who are his pals. Robert, one of the better parent friends from Lacrosse says, you have to meet the ___s" And I'm like, hi, whose your child? until I realize they're the parents of my son's new girlfriend, that I've only vaguely, kinda heard about. All I know is she's is adorable, hardworking, and has a big role in the football spectacle. We have a great time chatting. Earlier I sit next to the one kid in the room, one of the few kids whose quite at home in our house. A great kid. I'm feeling familiar, egging her on to take the floor, comfortable chatting. When she gets up to address the parents I ask the woman who's been next to her who she is? "I'm her mom." Ohhhhh. Of course. The kid hadn't introduced us and it hadn't occurred to me from their rapport or looks. And she hadn't mentioned it herself though she knows my son. Funny. Fun. I've been here long enough now to see some familiar faces even just passing in the hall. We smile and stammer phrases as we hoof it to the next ten minute period. I like moving through the throngs as we change periods. These Austin public school parents feel familiar. Look familiar. More my peer group aesthetically than the group I left behind. I feel a lot of gratitude. The teachers for the most part, love our guy. As they have since Kindergarten. He's a teacher's dream - smart, funny, eager to learn, conscientious, but a real kid, not a toady.

It's a wistful fall as it's delicious. The last one in High School. The AP English teacher who my son thinks I'll love, and who I do, says, "I wish it was as easy for them to get into college as it was for us -- but it's not! I'll do what I can to help them and you, through the process.

Anima Rising - so what!

From one of my favorite Joni Mitchell's songs, "Don't Interrupt the Sorrow." (unfair to excerpt, it's so great), -- "Anima rising - So what!" echoing in my head as I feel my own anger rising. Christine Northrup, in the very beginning of her introduction to "The Wisdom of Menopause" writes,

In the year or two before I actually started to skip periods, I began to experience an increasingly common feeling of irritability whenever my work was interrupted or I had to contend with a co-worker or employee who was not as committed to accomplishing the job as I was. Looking back, I recall that when I was in my thirties and my children were younger, their interruptions when I was in the middle of writing an article or talking on the phone were only mildly irritating to me. My love and concern for their welfare usually overrode any anger or frustration I might have felt.
But as I approached menopause, I found myself unable to tolerate distractions like my eighteen-year-old asking me, "When is dinner?" when she could clearly see I was busy."

It's not a work thing so much for me, but clearly a rising intolerance aimed at those closest. For years I've been on the receiving end of that. The outburst of anger. Odd now to be the instigator. Maybe I should know better. Maybe it's unavoidable. This morning John asks, "So what about summer travel? Where would you like to go all things being equal?" And I become furious. Because in my view, things are not all equal. We've still got a 17-year-old at home, how can we pretend we have the freedom? But then of course I know what comes next. He'll start calling others, make some plans, will take off (which he can because he doesn't have to worry about leaving the son alone), and I'll be pissed off. Not exactly pissed off that I can't go because leaving a 17-year-old unchaperoned (even a great one!) isn't a great idea, but pissed at the charade that I had a choice.

In another instance I lashed out at a friend who I thought wasn't telling me the truth. He probably perceived it as a white lie. But to me that's the dividing line between those closer and less close. With the close, you're more straight, the honesty is the essence. In my code, white lies are for acquaintances. Yes, I'm aware that some others might see that exactly the opposite. But not me. Not right now.

It's going to be a challenging phase.

"Anima rising
Uprising in me tonight
She's a vengeful little goddess
With an ancient crown to fight"

syncronicity

And how funny is this? John and my mother (back in NYC) both sent me the same exact card! Besides the perfect sentiment, the front is covered in glitter! Something I love.

24th wedding anniversary

It's our 24th wedding anniversary. 25 years together. Wow - I never could have imagined that reality earlier in my life. And what a great time it's been! I've been thinking about this for months, writing about it in different ways. Every year more appreciative, more full of wonder. How the bond becomes even more sacred. So today nothing long or fancy. Just a true exclamation of gratitude for the love and partnership I've been lucky enough to experience in this life.

Away from Her - Highly Recommended

Sarah Polley's directorial debut Away From Her , adapted by a short story by Alice Munro, is even better than I expected. Already predisposed to connect to this highly acclaimed feature about a long married couple when the wife (played by Julie Christie) slides into alzheimer's - I was knocked out. The film is beautiful, stunning, superb. Moving, complex, perfectly realized. A movie about love for grown ups. How wise - and how crazy that it should have been adapted and directed by a young actress. Bravo! Thank you!

From Marge Baumgarten's Austin Chronicle Review:

Do not be deterred by anyone callously describing Away From Her as an "Alzheimer's film starring that old Dr. Zhivago beauty" or some such. Away From Her, like its dominant image of the tracks in the snow made fresh, time and again, from cross-country skiing, is a phantom of a movie whose beautiful flakes fall into the deep crevices of memory long after the seasons change.

Texas Heat

When my pal Amy first went to Fiji with John, to lay the groundwork for our family moving here, I asked her how she handled the heat - particularly because she always wears jeans and boots. "I changed my underwear three times a day." Which really made me laugh and also impressed me. Well I now I think of Amy every damned Texas day as I imitate her ritual. It's essential. When John catches me, he's surprised. Our weather tolerances as different as our eating habits.

And ironically, weather - that goofy universal subject (though hardly goofy in terms of real life and death issues) is currently the most formidable force for us. It sounds like a ridiculous joke but frankly, his adoration of the heat, and my intolerance is our biggest obstacle.

And not directly related but reminding me of my favorite poem when small:

Fatty and Skinny went to bed
When Fatty rolled over, Skinny was dead.

Turning 50 on Monday

I'm turning 50 on Monday. And while I feel no need for a big to-do or life changing marker, I am finding myself mulling a bit. Well, mulling a lot. About what a great ride it's been. How much I love John, and the kids, and a wide swath of friends. It all so unlike what I'd imagined. Not that I imagined much...maybe that was part of it. Sure I had glamorous images, like the NYC literai party scenes in Capote, or like Norman Mailer, George Plimpton and their set in the great doc When We Were Kings, but not really for myself. I had yearnings but a torturous present. It was hard to see past that.

Mulling more too because of a trip back into the files. Needing to find some paperwork for my sister...neither one of us clear about some banking from 20-odd years ago that's now essential as her first just turned 21. I climb up the steep ladder in the garage loft, perch on my grandmother's old suitcase, and take a deep breath. Long typewritten letters from my father. Breathe again. I realize I've come to prefer the imagined sanitized version of him. The real guy too difficult. The reality painful. Not dwelling on my own writing in this dalliance down memory lane. Instead letters from some remaining friends. Letters from many now passed out of my life. From Alison and Jessica and always the ones I love from Karl - cranky, and smart, and loving from so many years ago. I'd forgotten there were so many. And it reminds me to reach out and prod him into writing again right now.

These long years John and I have traveled together. It feels like a moment but it's actually 25 years. I think at the time Karen C. gave me a note with a quote from Marilyn Monroe that said something like, "Twenty-five years, that's a quarter of a century... Makes a girl think." My 25th birthday my first with him. 25 years later, unimaginable then, impressive and exciting now. "Half-a-life" "Half-a-life" rattling over and over again in my head. A ridiculous film that John, Bingham and I used to laugh about endlessly when we worked on the opening in NYC - and I can't even think why. Because of the guy's thick french accent? Because he was only 35? So now close to 50, the details gone to me, only the pleasure of the memory, and the amusement of the phrase in my head. It's been a half a life with John. Half a life ago, I could never have imagined I'd be so happy now.

Joan Didion's magic

This is why I still love Joan Didion's writing today - as much as when I first discovered her @ 1972.

[excerpt from NYT article: The Year of Hoping for Stage Magic]

...... Early that October, when Scott Rudin asked if I would consider doing “The Year of Magical Thinking” as a play, I was negative, even vehemently so. I had devised a narrow track on which to get through the fall. The book, an account of the year that followed the death of my husband, was just published. I had promotion ahead, flights, 5 a.m. pickups, Starbucks cappuccino at the gate in lieu of breakfast, Boston, Dallas, Minneapolis, Washington, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Denver, Seattle, Chicago, Miami, Toronto, check in, check out, stay on track. I did not want to write a play. I had never wanted to write a play. I did not know how to write a play.

I repeated this.

I repeated it to Scott, and I repeated it to myself.

Yet at some point in the days that followed I was seized by the idea that the fact that I had never written and did not know how to write a play could be the point, the imperative, the very reason to write one. My husband had died, our only child had died, I was no longer exactly the person I had been.

Waiting for Daisy - Highly Recommended

I've been really lucky. I've been pregnant two times, intentionally, both times resulting in healthy babies who are now healthy teens. But all along the way I've met countless women with far less luck. Infertility. Miscarriages, suffered in silence, because well, while they might be wrenching to the would-be mom, they aren't really anything yet, are they? Infertility treatments. Adoption. Time and time again we say to others, "No big deal..." but everything surrounding pregnancy and motherhood is in fact a big deal. In fact, the biggest deal striking at the core of our existence. Even when we choose to forego that experience, as so many of my close friends have, or given in to the impossibility, - they’re all powerful acts, with profound consequences.

I just finished my good friend Peggy Orenstein's new book, Waiting for Daisy: A Tale of Two Continents, Three Religions, Five Infertility Doctors, an Oscar, an Atomic Bomb, a Romantic Night, and One Woman's Quest to Become a Mother. It’s a terrific read. Highly recommended.

The book would have spoken to me regardless, but it’s even richer because my friendship with Peggy is so precious to me. I met her, a then successful journalist working on her first book, because she'd married a Director we were involved with. I was very close with his producer, Lynn O’Donnell. Tragically, Lynn developed ovarian cancer right after her daughter was born. During those three years fighting the illness, I needed a knowledgeable but safe conduit. Peggy and I started emailing. And so we’ve continued for a decade, writing back and forth at great length. We've met face to face only a couple of times. In fact, for what would be the second time, Peggy walked into the kitchen where I was waiting, then walked back out again. Returning a few minutes later she laughed, “I thought you were someone else all this time….But that’s OK. It’s OK it’s you.”

Over the years I would whine about finding my place in the world, managing my career, if you could call it that, balancing my close partnership with my husband, and of course, the kids. Peggy was writing articles and books. And managing her own bout with cancer, career, miscarriages, adoption, misgivings, and birth. We would write directly, or I would catch up via her NYT Sunday magazine articles. I’ll never forget the Sunday morning John woke me by throwing the magazine on the bed, “Here’s what Peggy’s been up to.” “35 and Mortal: A Breast Cancer Diary” I checked my email archive and damn, there it was, the last email saved, dated the day before her surprising diagnosis. And so it continued over the decade. Funny stories, Lurching, painful movements forward, supportive dialogue. One day she said, “I’m going to write my memoir and my HD crashed. Did you bother to keep a copy of my emails? ”

And so now, here it is, Peggy's moving, rich study of her journey from ambivalence to motherhood. It's such a clear narrative for our time. There are twists and turns, a coming to terms with the hand you’re dealt. And though I knew the outcome, I was still on pins and needles, so deftly has she spun the story. And it's not just about procreation, on top of everything else, Peggy has created a glorious, very honest love story. I highly recommend it.

valentine postscript

Someone unknown left this as a comment on my Valentine's Day post - and it's so beautiful, and been sticking with me so deeply I thought I'd post it again here:

A poem for the drought.

To love a person is to learn the song
That is in their heart,
And to sing it to them
When they have forgotten.
- Anonymous

Happy Valentine's Day - 25 years

Realizing on this day, this kind of day where I once wanted to kill myself (not literally, but you know what I mean), that there is something special about celebrating Valentine's Day. We don't do much. I left a card this morning. I just got his after returning home from a movie - which I'd gone to alone. Threw a fresh batch of baked ziti in the oven, then left home before either of my guys returned home from school. One a professor, the other in 11th grade.

At the movies I sat between two couples my own age. On the left, married 25 years. On the right, more like 7. But they each snuggled and held hands. The couple on the right choosing that moment to exchange their cards, one store bought, the other, handmade. When you're single, and you hear about the drought of a long term marriage, you want to believe that it's true. But it's not, for the lucky few of us. I didn't get babe looks, a photographic memory, or stellar talent, but I got a Valentine, who 25 years later, still makes my heart beat faster.

Happy Valentine's Day

New Year's Eve

For years I hated New Year's Eve. I mean how could any experience compete with the hype. That perfect kiss at midnight? For years I went out searching. Invariably depressed and disappointed when the stars refused to align. High School was torture. College not better. My post-grad years miserable save for the one when I was waitressing and pouring drinks at a comedy club. That suited me, joking with my peers, popping open bottle after bottle of champagne bantering with the poor stiffs who'd paid for their evening's entertainment. I moved to NYC and joined the swarms huddled from the cold, trudging around looking for that perfect party. The depression heavier in those great looking crowds. One year wasn't too bad, spent snorting coke and staying up all night talking with my good friends, the then couple, Tom and Renee. The next year was abysmal. So in 1981 I stayed in. Friends kept calling, trying to drag me out. I couldn't possbily be serious...How could I really stay home on New Year's Eve? Wasn't I going to be way too depressed? I stuck to my guns. Drinking, eating cookies, watching TV, and listening to James Brown still a better alternative than the annual loneliness and embarrassment. I woke up Jan. 1, 1982 feeling refreshed and with no regrets. Six weeks later I went out on a first date with the man I'm still married to. Dec. 31, 1982, in my tiny tenement apartment, with a bottle or two of champagne, I toasted my great good fortune! I was home, on New Year's Eve with all I needed. Finally, that magic midnight.

Since then, once and awhile we've gone out for a low key something or other. Mostly we've stayed in. And that's been fine. Wonderful in fact.

Happy New Years!

Decoding the B.S.

Who am I kidding? In the last week I bought some new $50 earrings, spent hundreds of dollars on some new make-up, bought $12 refrigerator magnets and some $20 candles, am thinking about three new Eileen Fisher shirts, and bought a couple of new Cd's.

Yes I put up the xmas tree today but not without the annual fight with John about it. I do it alone because he couldn't care less. And he was the one raised by Christians. Our first xmas together I dragged home a tree by myself on NYC streets. In subsequent years I got my daughter to help - her eye great in picking out a good tree. Feeling all warm and holiday spirited earlier in the day I ask, "Want to help me get a tree?" "I have to go to Book People" comes the non sequiteur answer. "It's 4pm, they're open late." "Not on Sunday." "Um, yeah, every day except Thanksgiving." The hostility escalates. "Don't get it today." "Don't complain." "I'll come if I have to but I won't be happy and excited about it." "I'm not interested."

I head off alone. I run into several friends with their families at the Austin Optimists lot. Today clearly the day everyone has decided to buy their tree. The guy who ties it to my roof says, "You got someone to help you take it off when you get home? It's heavy!" "Sure" I say. But instead I do it myself. Take it off the car, drag it up the stairs, and center in the new larger stand. For years John's contribution was not in buying the tree but in taking ages centering it just so. Complaining and fussing all the while. Eventually I just threw it up without him. "The eye doesn't like perfection" Cecile used to say. I do it myself. It's a gorgeous tree. It looks great. I'm pissed. I'm communing with my dead Dad who used to trim our tree on xmas eve while listening to Sinatra. Telling me how to place the ornaments 'just so." Many years ago my kids used to help, but I was too territorial myself. I ended up buying them their own little one to decorate however they wanted. I like to trim mine the way I like to trim mine. This year I throw on Sinead O'Conner's "I do not want what I haven't got" which is one of my favorite records and I remember being the perfect tree trimming soundtrack last year.

Tradition.

No, don't elope

I was talking to a young friend recently about marriage. She said she'd probably elope. When, if, whenever. Usually I'm a total libertine. I couldn't care less if one marries or not, has kids or does not, enjoys whichever sexual gender. But this got me pissed off. "We'd have a big party a few weeks later," she said. "Not the same," I replied.

I didn't wear a traditional white dress and god knows I'm self conscious to the hilt, but I still swore my vows in front of 125 people we cared about, and who cared about us. Yes, it feels goofy as hell but it's also sacred to stand up in front of your family and crew. My sister eloped, married at a tiny ceremony with just my Dad and their best friend, and I'm still pissed off about that. It was painful not to be with them. Similarly, another close couple eloped @ 8 years ago - fine for them, but it still bothers me not to have been a part of it. Their marriage meant a lot to me. They renewed their vows more recently - in the form of a surprise birthday party at a somewhat exotic locale - but we couldn't make it. It just wasn't the same.

I'm surprised at my irritation but still feeling it strongly a couple of days later. Yes it makes sense to try to make your wedding as personal as possible. No you shouldn't just do it for your parents or let them run the show. Make it special. But include those you care the most about. In what I know could be construed as the pot calling the kettle black, I feel her desire is selfish. I care about this girl, I'm close to her guy. My wedding, no, not the best day of my life, but a sacred, sterling moment. I remember every single person that was there. I remain grateful to them for the few hours they chose to share with us as we formally tied our lives together.