Revisiting the tape box

1989 and 1990 was awesome to me music wise. My best friend and I were into The Stone Roses and Pussy Galore (Dial 'M' for Motherfucker was my fave). I was remembering all the new music I was finding at the time like Braniac and Opal (and then Mazzy Star). Claude was way into Pavement and introduced me to Morphine and Galaxie 500. Then there were the Pixies and the last of Camper Van Beethoven. This is what we listened too shopping for vintage 50's shirt dresses (found everywhere for $5 or less once upon a time in Austin) to wear with our leggings and Chinese Mary Jane's. It's what we listened to when we were at St Ed's and new to this town. Good years.

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Making Valentines























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My own personal mini earthquake in slow motion

Today was the day the house actually got leveled. I thought while that was being done I'd catch up on projects and try and keep busy. I didn't expect to find my shoulders up to my ears and my stomach in knots. What happened was so nerve wrecking it took a few hours to unwind when it was over.

House leveling is like root canal for the house, I think. The longer you put it off, the worse it will be. It's rough. I pictured several men under the house all working the jacks at the same time and seeing a few cracks appear and then it would be over in a few minutes. What actually happened took 2.5 hours. It was a slow and steady process of measuring a fraction of an inch here and there and signaling the men under the house to slowly lift.

Door frames looked crooked and slowly straightened out. The house moaned and groaned a bit. The floors moved but barely, it was a very strange sensation. Slow and tiny increments. The walls began to crack in pretty ways. The designs reminded me of Chinese watercolor drawings on rice paper. They just appeared and kept going. Some parts that had cracked fused together again. Then there was what sounded like a bullet piercing steel and the cat's water bowl popped from the floor and made a ringing sound. A joist had popped! UGH! Actually it turned out the joist had cracked but not broken. It would be sistered since the area it was now being supported with additional piers and beams. That was not supposed to happen and I was disappointed that this company was not what I had expected.

The walls and floors began to talk. They told the workmen that there had been water damage done to the kitchen floor and perhaps that is why plywood was put down and black and white tile over it. Nothing too bad because it could not be seen underneath or felt on top. The floor under the bathroom said it had also sustained some water damage at one point. The owner of the house at the time had that wood treated and varnished so it was stable.

The walls showed their strength and the house proved itself by working so well with the adjustments. I had to walk around with a pencil and mark and date the end of cracks. There will be settling over the next few months and we'll be living with cracks for awhile. Cracks are as close as you can get to getting walls to talk. Gavindo spoke of wood having memory. I thought about houses in the hood being gutted and how it always seemed sad to me even though it is a fresh start and you have this perfect, new, clean house when you are done. But those houses feel a bit weird to me, new inside and all the memory is wiped out. I like the idea of living in a place that has memory. Nothing historically significant happened there but then at the same time everything historically significant did. I just always find the passing of time and people something so interesting, (this is why Jimmy Corrigan appeals to me). People have moved in and out of the place since 1949.

*I realize that I would never want to live in a house that was made with slab foundation. Pier beam and wood frame seem the way to go. Easy to fix. Also, nothing made of brick. When it decides to crack...eesh

POLAROID RIP?



















I would never buy a Polaroid digital camera. Plenty of other companies do a much better job (Canon, Nikon). However, what I spent on one digital camera two years ago I spend yearly on Polaroid film and have for quie a few years.

There are plenty of others out there like me who are cursing the shit out of Polaroid and planning burials for their SX-70's and Land Cameras. OMG! I love my Land and the photos it takes. I love to peel the photos off the paper. Glad I didn't buy that Holgaroid (though I think some use Fuji) I had my eye on a few years ago. 

Polaroid turned on me. Once I am done purchasing all the 667 and 669 I can I won't be purchasing a newer Polaroid camera.
I guess I could see if the Fuji FP-100 and 3000 or whatever fits... If the do, I won't be stockpiling the 667 and 669, ciao, Polaroid what are you without the instant film for the SX-70?



Ewok













I met Ewok in 2003. She could be found sunning herself by the creekbed. I thought she was a feral cat but she belonged to the next door neighbors. They found her as a teenie kitten hanging out around their yard and decided to keep her. The neighbors had to move and they couldn't take Ewok with them so they left her behind. I found her a few weeks after they left under leaves in our backyard dehydrated and starving on Christmas Eve. I couldn't let her die there, perhaps she was trying to. I often wondered if I did the right thing by nursing her back to health. After a month in our care she was back to the same ole Ewok I had always known. She even had a suitor. Sal Mineo is what I named the jet black tom cat that sings and sings all night and visits Ewok. He keeps her company at night and in the afternoons. I have not seen him and I don't think I will anymore now that Ewok is gone. I will miss them both.

Ewok:Happy to have met you, honored you trusted us and loved you so very much. We'll miss you, Kittykittty.
1987-2008

7am:"From dust you are and unto dust you shall return."

and with that I'm awake. Sobering thought. I had to hear it over and over as everyone walked up to receive their ashes. Sets the day up for contemplation on mortality. Wine at 7am smarts the tummy.

There's a Plath and Sexton poetry reading at noon ...hmmmmm.

Waiting Rooms

It bugs when waiting rooms have only People, US and those other celebrity rags. What happened to the good stuff?
Vanity Fair
The New Yorker
Harper's

Aprons

I love that aprons are the thing du jour but who is wearing them? I wear them, I own several and always have room for more! I'd love to give some cute aprons I find away to friends but I don't seem to know anyone who is really wanting an apron, uses an apron or into aprons. I'd like to make some from vintage patterns to give away but once again...girlfriend wear an apron? Let me know!

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Lent

Ash Wednesday is already here on the 6th. What to give up for Lent. "It's gotta hurt or it doesn't count.", That's what I'd hear as a kid. I never did give up television or my favorite TV shows. It was always candy but I never had much around me anyway, it was easy. Sister Mary Edwards introduced the idea of sacrifices for Lent instead of giving up anything, offer up a sacrifice. We were only eight year olds. Sacrifices were, as I understood it as eight, not doing what you'd normally do in a situation but withstanding some degree of discomfort and offering it up.

My first sacrifice came after recess. A few of us had been having a water drinking contest at the water fountains outside. It was what you did when there was just nothing left to do. All the four squares were taken, tether ball poles in use, older kids playing basketball or doing cheers on the courts, the little kids got the swings and the monkey bars were just too crammed. There were two water fountains and you'd line up and drink all the water you could. A kid would time it and see who could go the longest. They'd also make sure you were drinking and not just faking it. Proof came in watching bellies get more distended. We'd all laugh at the sound of water in the belly. There was a lot of laughing, jumping up and down and spittakes. Between the laughing and full bellies, there came the fun?

This was not the thing to do if you had a huge lunch. A kid got sick once and the chain reaction sent several kids home for the afternoon. I was younger and just remember hearing about it,"Ewwwwwww everyone is throwing up at the water fountains, it's gross come see!", I knew better. Last thing I ever wanted was to throw up. It took me awhile to even use the outdoor water fountains. The summer put enough distance. I remember being pretty proud of myself because this wasn't the sort of game for delicate constititions and I was feeling fearless.

We all piled into the classroom and sat down to resume learning. Sister was pretty cool in that she wouldn't turn the lights on in the class for a good five minutes letting things settle down. I remember sitting down actually was very uncomfortable. I asked my friend if that was the same for her and it was. My friend raised her hand to be excused. Another school mate in the drinking game did too, I raised my hand along with my best friend Heather but Sister was starting to think this was some sort of plan for a small party in the girls room and sternly said we had to wait. She then announced that we should use or recess time for personal errands as well as play.

UGH! It felt bad. I looked at my best friend and we both cracked up at the faces the other was making. Giggling made it worse. I then said, "Sacrifice it". THis made her laugh even more and she ran out of the room. I was left red faced and holding in laughs and more. The damn schoolmates were not returning and Sister Mary Edwards had gone after my friend. I finally had to get up and when I arrived at the bathroom it was a mess. One girl had thrown up, and the three other stalls were in use and Sister Mary Edwards was castagating the girl while the receptionist nurse consoled her. She was telling everyone to hurry up. I felt sick, so sick from holding in several cupfulls of water and the mess that wasn't getting picked up fast enough.

At Sacred Heart they'd cover messes with sawdust looking powdery stuff then pick it up. That smell of sawdust to this day still makes me gag. I seriously kept thinking sacrifice. Finally I had my turn in the stall. I had managed to hold it on in, didn't get ill, pondered 40 Days Jesus spent in the desert and even prayed. Jesus had too little water, I had to much. I felt quite worthy and ready for Easter because I too had suffered in agonizing ways. That was that. Sacrifice, I did it. The rest of Lent that year was left feeling quite smug.

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