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Granny Dates

mood: mild | drinking: h2o


There will be a big update coming soon, but for now I have only a few tidbits to offer. Tantalizing tidbits…

Up first, the good news that came this week: Our latest cinépoem, “Homogeneous” has been accepted into the Sacramento International Film Festival. It will be showing on the big screen on Monday, April 19th at 7pm. You can check it out live at the 24th Street Theater, 2491 24th Street in Sacramento.

And in other cinépoem news, my video partner Michelle and I are hard at work on the next release, an ambitious 8-part cinépoem titled, “The Tyranny of the Mirror.” We’ve recorded all the vocals and have shot 3 of the 8 vignettes so far. We’ll probably continue shooting throughout the next few months–our longest shoot ever, by far. But it takes some time to put this stuff together. It will be well worth the wait, I promise.

If you’re wondering what “Granny Dates” has to do with any of this, well, it doesn’t.

Granny Dates are outings that LeeLoo enjoys with her best fur pal Reilly, who is also an elderly lady of 12 years. The two old bags like to get together at the beach, act all excited about seeing each other for about 3 seconds and then proceed to completely ignore each other for an hour.

That’s how LeeLoo shows her love, I guess. She’s due for another big Granny Date tomorrow, and who knows if the world will survive all that excitement.

Meanwhile, I’ll be sitting over here on the couch watching the last of the Olympics. Oh yeah, and writing that “big update” I promised you.

-Lo, back to work.

Double Digits

mood: celebrating | drinking: water, for now


Exactly ten years ago today, there was a giant blizzard in Chicago that dumped several feet of snow on the city and outlying suburbs. The white stuff fell all day, delaying flights, wreaking havoc on the roads, and turning the whole landscape into a soft white dream.

And at 7pm that night, as the snow continued to drift and fall, Boy and I stood in a candlelit chapel and solemnly said our vows.

Ten years. Sometimes I feel like it’s impossible that so much time could have passed already. But then I think about how many lifetimes we’ve lived in the past decade, and it’s hard to believe that it’s only been ten years.

We’re celebrating tonight with a fancy dinner at a schmancy restaurant overlooking the ocean. And then, in a couple of months, we’ll celebrate more properly with a trip to Prague.

But for today, I’m going to remember the girl I used to be, the girl who stood there in white and pledged her heart forever to a boy. Seriously… look at our engagement picture up there. We were such babies! (Still a gorgeous picture, thanks Patti!)

We’ve done a lot of changing over the past decade, and a lot of growing up. I feel lucky every single day that we’ve changed in the same direction, that we continue to want the same things, to strive for the same goals, to dream complimentary dreams. It’s no small feat, I know.

And we’re going to need all our shared history, all our commitment, all our love, for the next ten years, and the next ten after that. Life never stops changing, stops moving, stops upending your best-laid plans. I couldn’t imagine, on my wedding day, what 2010 would look like, anymore than I can imagine 2020 today.

But we’ve taken it one day at a time, and discovered that’s a good way to live.

I always used to hear couples talk about how they loved each other more and more as the years went by. Standing there in front of all our friends and family who braved the snow (and thanks, again, all of you, for doing that, even if it meant crashing your car in the parking lot to do so *cough*Graeme*cough*), standing up there on that snowy Friday night, I thought I was full of love. But I’ve learned that there’s always room for more, and it’s true… I love Boy so much more now than I did when I put a ring on his finger. He’s become more than my husband. He’s my family.

And it’s not just feelings and hope anymore. We’ve worked on this thing. And that’s why, I think, it’s working.

Apparently anniversaries make you babble… I’m not sure any of this will make any sense to anyone but me. But I wanted to put something down in words, on this day. I wanted to say, “I love this man, and I don’t regret a thing.”

I think the girl who was me all those years ago would be overjoyed to see how well it’s all turning out.

-Lo, ready for ten more.

Excessive petals, excessive seed

mood: stuck | drinking: lemonade


I’m borrowing a poem from Elizabeth Bradfield today, just for you…

Nonnative Invasive

Lupine, gentian, chocolate lily. We’ve been
naming, been exclaiming, been looking up
in our guidebooks the alpine flowers.
look at these! Amy says, pointing
to bright dandelion at trail edge, heads

like airplane aisle lights. How pretty! Don’t you
want to pick bunches and bunches and bring them
home? A swell of roadside by my house
yellows with them now, excessive petals
turning to excessive seed. Curbside,

I’m glad they are not lawn. But they’ll invade
this meadow, push out with brash cheer
forget-me-not and wooly lousewort. I want
to reconcile them, but I can’t. I hiked up
to see anemones and saxifrage, to get away

from landscaping and what landscaping
weeds out. I think of how they arrived, seeds
embedded in boot-dirt, stuck to our socks and the fur
of our dogs.
Praise their tenacity, says Amy.
But she’s just arguing a point. None of us

is glad they’ve hitched a ride up here.
None of us knows how to accept
the way love changes what it’s drawn to
—smudging self across what’s seen—
when what thrilled us first was difference.

-Lo, pondering the inevitability of smudges.

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

mood: amazed | drink: lemonade


Last weekend, for only the second time in my life, I held a garage sale. (One of the many perks of living in California is that you can do that in January.)

By all accounts (including my count of the dollar bill stack) it was a rip-roaring success. The stash of nuggets Boy and I have been hoarding for our next big vacation just got a bit fatter.

It’s amazing, really, what people will buy. Bright blue synthetic clip-in hair pieces? Check. Box full of random bits and bobs having to do with curtain hanging? Check. Your dog’s old food bowl stand? Check. A lab coat with the nametag “Dr. Seemore Bush, Gynecologist”? Check.

(The latter item was purchased for 50 cents by two very serious older gentlemen. The garage sale got very quiet during that transaction while everyone standing about averted eyes and tried very hard not to laugh. There was much speculation later about the old guys terrorizing the nursing home that night with their new purchase.)

Then there was the 50-ish dude with Elvis sunglasses and purple sideburns who bought, among other things, my Tomb Raider action figure (still in original packaging) and a pair of purple fairy wings (to match his sideburns?).

Over the years I’ve been given many, many, many a blankbook/journal/writing tablet. So many, in fact, that I would be hard pressed to ever fill them all up. So I sorted through them all, kept a few favorites, and piled the rest into a garage sale box.

Unbeknownst to me, in one orange-suede covered blankbook there was one page with a half-finished poem on it. A tremulous older woman brought it to me and said, “What should I do about this?” I took the book from her and gently ripped the page out, then handed it back to her. “There,” I said, “Good as new.”

“Oh dear, oh dear,” she muttered. “I want to give this to my granddaughter, but now I don’t think I can if there’s a page missing!”

I rolled my eyes and tried not to say, “LADY, IT’S ONLY 50 CENTS.”

Fortunately my sister, who is much better equipped with people skills, stepped in and took over for me. (Paranoid hippie lady did NOT, however, purchase said journal.)

All-in-all though, it was a fabulous day. Boy and I got rid of so much unnecessary baggage, and other people were more than happy to hand over their quarters and pocket lint for it all. The one-man’s-trash principle was in full effect.

We also got to meet quite a few of our new neighbors, some of whom were understandably confused about our “Moving Sale” sign. “Are you moving out already?” they wanted to know. So we explained that this was a moving-IN sale.

My favorite new neighbor was a Einstein-haired old guy (what was with all the old guys hanging out on Saturday, anyway?) who spent at least 45 minutes going through every single book we had for sale (about 6 boxes worth). Eventually he bought two books for two dollars, and then as he was driving away in his Toyota, he stopped and yelled out the window, “Did you guys buy the place?” “Yeah!” I shouted back.

“Well, welcome to the neighborhood. It’s not always this nice,” he said, gesturing to the sunny blue sky, “so don’t get used to it.” Then he zoomed off, white hair flying.

Old guys are the best. Especially the Russian guy who came back twice and dropped about $50 total. On his second trip, he held up a dish drainer and said, “How much for this?” “25 cents,” I said.

“Ok. How much this?” he pointed to a wine rack. “You can have that for a dollar.” I said.

“You make good deals,” he said. “How much are you?”

I shot back, “Oh, trust me, you couldn’t afford it.”

“Hah. I bet you are right,” he said.

Flirtatious old geezer.

The moral of the story is this: Garage sales rock. You should always get my sister to organize your sale for you. And be sure to invite lots of friends to come over and hang out on the sidewalk, just to sit there and see what happens.

-Lo, flush with spare change.