Miles wants this cake. I saw the instructions and went, “Dude, I am not an artist.”
“But you’re a baker,” he countered, “you can bake anything.”
I have a new writing desk.
It is wicker and white and has two drawers and is nestled between two of the (hyooge!) windows in my (hyooge!) bedroom at my (new! hyooge!) house. I will paint it and put a glass top on it when I get back from vacation.
She’s crafty, and she’s just my type.
And though it wasn’t technically a dumpster dive, as alleys behind garages don’t count as dumpsters, it was still someone else’s castoff. I’m still getting okay with hoisting it into my car yesterday afternoon in broad daylight. At least the last item which made its way to my house via trash scavenging was appropriated under cover of darkness.
Huh, the wall in front of me looks kinda bare.
My friend Sasha gave me her copy of Diane di Prima’s Memoirs of a Beatnik for my birthday. I think she bought it at a secondhand store during her freshman year in college. There are marks in the margins, which I completely adore, even though they’re not Sasha’s. She’s a relatively new friend who’s recently learned about my little writing projects and it touched me that she came up with, really, the perfect gift for me.
I’m sort of in love with di Prima, having read her poetry since I was very young. I’m not much for memoirs (now called blogs, by the way), as such, with exceptions being made for Katharine Hepburn and Boutros Boutros-Ghali, because duh, they didn’t have blogs and they actually had something interesting to say. And yes, a lifelong love affair with Spencer Tracy is interesting.
But seriously, stuff like A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers can kiss my ass. (ooh, snap.) Whatever; the kids seem to like it. Of course I like di Prima because she writes amazingly lyrical and lovely things (do your beat poet research), is smart and real and her attitudes about sex and love in this work have a very familiar ring.
It’s a goddamn hypberbolic plane, crocheted by a mathematician.
I know! I got all quivery.
An hour ago I was trying to stay asleep despite the pokey feet and elbows of two children in my bed. I felt Miles’ hand on my shoulder.
“Momma! Hey, Momma! Guess what?”
I hummed a response.
“We learned about a famous artist. . .what’s his name. . .oh! You know that picture you have on your computer with the man with four arms and four legs and curly hair that’s long like mine?”
My eyes opened and I turned to look at him.
“You mean Vitruvian Man by Leonardo Da Vinci?”
“Yeah, yeah! Da Vinci!”
“Cool, baby. What’d you learn about Da Vinci?”
“We watched a video about him in art class. He invented things! Like the helicopter! And, well, everyone knows he drew that guy with all the arms and stuff, but he also painted some girl named Lisa. I forget her real name.”