sugar cookie

Nanny used to bring my brother and I special sugar cookies. Coming in individual, white containers that opened like clam shells, they were more frosting than cookie. Usually there was a smiling brown bear, balloons or flowers on top. The squish and crunch mingled together in our mouths and on our messy cheeks and chins. We were kids raised to appreciate a good cookie.

That day the frosting was smeared. Peaks of it stuck to the cellophane of the box lid.

"I'm sorry about your cookies." Nanny said to us. Her veiny arms were bruised, attached to hands offering the imperfect cookies.

I didn't understand "car accident". All I knew was that my cookie was ugly. 

Both Nanny and her car looked ok. I was unsure how to express that I was upset. That I was worried about Nanny and her bruises like everyone else. Instead I took the cookie and walked away.

summer soundtrack

I wish I could justify burning the gas to drive around in the country on a night like tonight. Today was... taxing - in multiple ways and the outdoors refreshes my soul. Beauty makes me feel more alive after another wasted day. The clouds are heaped high, sunlight is golden-pink and because of the gorgeous breeze you want the windows down all the way.

It reminds me of all the country drives we took in high school. Arms out the windows, heading toward campfires and boys and best friends. Always looking forward to the future. Naturally music played a big part. Here's my current summer soundtrack - I've got my eye on a few interesting roads, maybe I'll explore them this weekend.

Lorde - Buzzcut Season

Ed Sheeran - Kiss Me

The Beatles - In My Life

James Vincent McMorrow - Follow Me Down to the Old Oak Tree

Anberlin - The Feel Good Drag

Simon & Garfunkel - America

lusterless

Remember what we said? We imagined who we would be.

We'd laugh at opposition. Sneer at obstacles until they removed themselves from our paths.

Fairy tales were our reality.

But bright eyes grow dim with experience and seeing past disappointment is impossible for the myopic.

Shattered rosy lenses heaped and ready for melting.  Give them to the next generation.

RIP my creativity

I'm a media omnivore with the appetite of a well-known Tudor. I'll feast heartily on 500 page books and then enjoy a 90 minute romantic comedy starring Kate Hudson. Heavy and light - I'll ingest it all.

Radio. Podcasts. Magazines. Instagram. Blogs. Blu-ray. Music. Paperbacks. Records. Audio books. Paintings.

Consumption with no output.

Creativity is fostered when you're young and lucky enough to grow up in a family like mine who prized it. But what about in your mid-twenties? Maybe work has anchored your soul or life revolves around a new baby. Finding a way to be creative sounds like a another task, not a joy. It's easier to consume the creativity someone else has neatly packaged for us.

When did this happen to me?

I was watching Once Upon a Time the other day and I found myself marveling at the creativity of the show, (Even though it can feel cliche at times and the family drama-drama-drama has almost put me off of it...) I realized I was envious of their storytelling. I missed telling stories, making costumes - imagining something and bringing it to life. 

Did you know that Consumption was the commonly used name for tuberculous for most of its ancient history? Before antibiotics TB was a death sentence. 

I think I'm dying of consumption. I'm hoping that resurrecting my own creativity will bring me back to life.