Week Six

02.06.10 to 02.07.10

Evening

There was nothing Sabbath about today… or was there?

I remember formulating a plan around 7:15am, ironing an outfit, grabbing my jacket while pushing a vacuum through the living room on the way to the backdoor. I remember piling in the car dripping from the rain, backing out the driveway and stopping at the gas station, annoyed that a woman had not pulled forward at the pump. I remember grabbing bags and umbrellas, the sound of the elevator, the smell of the lobby, and running into a fellow MFA student waiting in line to order our omelets. I don’t remember much of the brunch conversation because it lasted all of 5 minutes. I do remember the pianists dispersing to practice rooms and spending 30 minutes trudging through the building looking for a spot near a plug for my laptop before taking Liam to his first jazz ensemble. I remember the clock striking 12noon and commanding my fingers to fly, only 30 minutes left to be creative! I remember Hannah and Taylor rounding the corner, Emma and I packing up our writing tools, Liam arriving, marching to the elevator, and driving to the 105. I remember heading south to take Emma home, then north to Cloe’s sweet 16, arriving precisely on time at 1:54.

I remember the delightful atmosphere was set with just the right shade of the pink and orange balloons, the faux vintage fabric (I have a stack waiting to be quilted) of the homemade garland of pennants, and a table inviting all to snack on comfortable finger food. I remember snippets of conversation. I remember letting “to do” piles slip somewhere faraway. I remember wishing sweet 16 happened more than once.

I remember Tracey approaching with her camera. I can still feel my face contorting.

I remember a snippet of a conversation with Sara, her asking, “Have you ever choked saying your own name?”

“Yes.”

I tend to be philosophical, true, but that struck me. Why is a there a kindred disconnect when it comes to embracing personal identity of women? Granted, there is a spectrum upon which this disconnect exists, still few will argue in a circle of women that it exists.

The conversation with Sara led me to, during my December Residency, make a pact to explore my “self” in my creative work. Surprisingly I’ve followed through and am discovering… well, much.

So, back to today, I didn’t run from Tracey’s camera, but I did flinch. I sketched and painted a self-portrait this week from a photograph I took of myself. The process of artistic introspection is surprisingly more comfortable than watching someone look at you through their lens.

Today Sabbath is a self-portrait.

Morning

It’s 9:30. I am enjoying writing while the household slumbers.

Taylor has a piano workshop today. I will work on my critical paper. Work. I want to, need to, go the gym. I think I’ll make a Crockpot before I leave so we can have a Sabbath meal. I know there is work tonight… and that makes it difficult to focus, makes the week seem endless already, is frankly, discouraging. But here I go…

*Went to the gym.

The front desk told me they needed to take a photo.

Grin and bear it…

Evening

Tbe best part of the day? The scent of green curry in the Crockpot when I opened the door at 5:05.