tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87626266687767111002024-01-22T01:41:13.468-06:00(she always loved) larking.a life of words.courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.comBlogger438125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-5503663401669918212018-04-14T10:24:00.002-05:002018-04-14T10:24:53.385-05:00Did I Miss Anything? / an updateHi there, friends -<br />
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It's been a while. I've outgrown this particular space and I'm working on transitioning to something new. I'll be leaving this site intact so old post links still work, but I'll transfer some of the pieces of my writing here to a different format in the coming months (current target date: July).<br />
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In the meantime, I'm working on writing daily, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BhHkjaXlPvt/?taken-by=courtney.hmc" target="_blank">my major goal for 2018</a>. I started the year with 100 days of early morning freewriting and now I'm switching to writing and revising specific shorter pieces for another 100 days. I've got a larger project in my back pocket, but I'll share more on that later when I'm ready.<br />
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I'm a bit absent from social media these days, so if you're interested in staying in touch, I'm starting a scrappy little newsletter based on an old habit from my teaching days. I used to have a "What Did I Miss?" binder in the corner of my room, in reference to <a href="https://www.loc.gov/poetry/180/013.html" target="_blank">this poem</a>, where students could find everything they might have missed out on due to an absence. I'm imagining my newsletter as a sample page from that binder with a Poem of the Day (POD), Word of the Week (WOW), journal prompt for a "do now" (warm up work for students to complete as they transition to my classroom space that day), extra credit links to articles, essays, and literature I've found interesting lately (I know better than to call them "assigned readings" nowadays), and a note from me about what I've been up to. I hope you'll join me. Here's <a href="http://tinyletter.com/courtneyhmc" target="_blank">the link</a>, if you're interested. And thanks.<br />
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<br />courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-34047854030811299952017-08-22T22:30:00.000-05:002017-08-22T22:43:07.391-05:00DeSoto to DeSolarBack in late 2015 I started working my way through a collection of "the greatest" essays written by Americans and was fascinated by Annie Dillard's account of her experience witnessing the solar eclipse of 1979 that passed through the Pacific Northwest. A cursory online search told me the next eclipse in the US would take place in August of 2017. Jason was skeptical at first about the magnitude of the event (which surprised me, because he and I share a great love for all things nerdy like this) but once he read more about it and we discovered the "path of totality" would be in easy striking distance for us, we both agreed on taking the kids and making it into a family trip of a lifetime.<br />
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We marked the date in red on the calendar but did no further planning, figuring we'd probably end up in Carbondale due to proximity and the size of the festival planned around the event, but I was also leaning towards trying to stay near St. Louis because of my own family ties there. Our procrastination on deciding where, exactly, along the path to go paid off; Carbondale hotels were mostly booked by late spring and we seemed destined to end up in Missouri. When my grandma died this summer, it felt even more meaningful to travel back to her home state to witness a once-in-a-lifetime event, and we chose DeSoto, a town very near the center line of the eclipse's path with around 2 minutes and 40 seconds of totality, but also the location of my dad's first home and a community where my grandfather served as a minister, as the perfect destination.<br />
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We pulled in to DeSoto around 7:15 on the morning of the eclipse, wearing our homemade shirts (of course), and eager to find the perfect parking spot near the library and downtown so we would have easy access to all of the events the sleepy little town of around 6000 had to offer. We were joined by visitors from across the country - California to Florida to Maryland - and even from as far away as India, Spain, China, and South Africa. From pinhole projectors and glow-in-the-dark bracelet stations at the library to giant cups of shaved ice while standing under a small misting tent to our warm handshake and welcome from the friendly local gun shop and travel agency owner, DeSoto was filled with the perfect ways to celebrate the solar eclipse. We couldn't have picked a better spot.<br />
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Even my "good" camera is amateurish, so I won't bore you with the poor photos I took of the eclipse itself. Instead, here are the moments I captured throughout the day of our family's adventures. We're already planning for 2024.<br />
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<br />courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-24441173332341024172017-06-06T21:44:00.000-05:002017-06-06T22:31:13.905-05:00bucket listKid at the playground today: Are you a photographer or something?<br />
Me, while snapping my 67th photo: I'm trying to learn how to be one.<br />
Kid: Oh. Well, I know all about how to take pictures. I'm in third grade.<br />
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Sometimes 36 feels very ancient, you guys.<br />
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The first official day of summer vacation was...good? I've been looking forward to it for so long that it was inevitably a letdown, but also practically perfect in every way, as Mary Poppins might say. We finalized our summer bucket list last weekend and today decided to go for "try a park you've never been to." We almost never visit the playgrounds attached to schools in town, but we spent a happy hour pretty much all by ourselves today enjoying the perfect combination of shady and sunny, plus new to us while still old school (but not overly rundown). Monkey bars are a current fave, and this place has every combination of climbing jungle gym challenges you can dream up.<br />
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Fall was my favorite season for years, but I'm breaking up with it for the sheer romance of long, lazy summer days. Winter in our town can be such a desolate time. We chose to live here - another post on that topic has been brewing for a while - so I hate to complain, but there's so little to do. It's hard to not overdo it once summer rolls around. Some of our bucket list will mean buying tickets or paying admission fees or even a hotel stay here and there, but mostly we're sticking to the joys of cheap and free where we can get it, and if this afternoon is any indication, it doesn't take much to make for a summer filled with amazing memories. We're trying to pace ourselves here at the start of the race, but can you blame us for sprinting out of sheer exhiliration?<br />
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I'm (over)sharing our adventures on Instagram under the hashtag #HannaMcSummer - and I'm sure there will be plenty more posts here, too. Thanks for tagging along.<br />
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<br />courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-49276864816740148632017-06-03T21:22:00.003-05:002017-06-03T21:22:30.816-05:00I think I'll be six now forever and everA six year old lives at our house these days. We think, just like in <a href="https://allpoetry.com/poem/8518963-The-End-by-A.A.-Milne" target="_blank">A. A. Milne's poem</a>, that she is as clever as clever.<br />
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I've never finished either of the girls' baby books. I will - probably this summer - and they are certainly important to me, but I've been feeling a call to document this age in a way that I haven't felt at earlier stages. I don't know if it's because I'm just not a baby person or because I'm finally in a mental place where these sorts of tasks don't send me into the fetal position, but six feels like a magical time to document and savor.<br />
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Just before Lorelei turned six, <a href="http://shealwayslovedlarking.blogspot.com/2016/02/on-sharing-comparing-and-unplugging.html" target="_blank">my favorite podcast</a> suggested a daily haiku project as a happiness boost, the idea being to use it as a centering and reflective exercise or meditation. I seized on the idea as the basis for a year-long love letter and time capsule. I've been jotting down a "haiku" about Lorelei every day (I use that word quite loosely, as I'm following the syllabic structure but absolutely nothing else that fits with the nature of a true haiku) and I'm committing to at least one <a href="http://shealwayslovedlarking.blogspot.com/2017/05/lessons-in-storytelling.html" target="_blank">non-iPhone portrait</a> of her each week. At the end of the year, I'll collect it all as a book for her to keep - a little window into her year of being six, so she might hang onto this feeling forever and ever, after all.<br />
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A few days after Lorelei's birthday, a card came in the mail with A. A. Milne's poem inside and a note from my aunt reminding me of <a href="http://shealwayslovedlarking.blogspot.com/2013/01/my-gram.html" target="_blank">my Gram's</a> tradition of sharing that poem on every grandchild's sixth birthday - which made me all the more sure that this was the right project to take on. Below are the daily haikus I've collected so far. Hope to share more with you throughout this year.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">5/24 Thrilled to finally</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">"receive your birthday card" - such</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">simple joys at six</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">5/25 Rolling down the block</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">in new fuchsia rollerskates </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Proud and determined </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">5/26 Little scientist</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">investigate as colors</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">change before your eyes</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">5/27 Pool birthday party</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Swimming even during cake</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Lifeguard for your friends </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">5/28 Manatee rider</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Up and down you glide along</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Brief carousel flight </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">5/29 Too cold for Hopkins</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">but you insist on sprinkler</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">playtime anyway </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">5/30 Hard to go to school</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">when Grandma is visiting</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Countdown to summer </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">5/31 Field trip day at last</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Strong arms and determined face</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Inch by inch you pull</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">6/1 Cried at lunch again</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Haven't done that since the fall</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Endings are hard, too </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">6/2 Track and Field today</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Full of stories, flushed, happy</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Traditions begin</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">6/3 Big pool slide, first time</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Your courage is contagious</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">and your joy is too </span></div>
courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-2100859572695129082017-05-23T16:55:00.002-05:002017-05-23T17:17:05.537-05:00lessons in storytelling<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I've been working on a shift in perspective lately, thanks to a recent blog post from <a href="https://www.instagram.com/etst/" target="_blank">Kelle Hampton</a>. It was actually about taking better photos for Instagram - something I can always work on, so I clicked through to read - and it gave me a creative boost I'd been craving for a while not just with my daily snaps but also with a hitch in my writing.<br />
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Kelle started <a href="http://kellehampton.com/2017/05/8-tips-to-taking-better-instagram-photos.html" target="_blank">her post</a> by reminding readers that photography is like yoga (or any daily practice) - when it's a habit, you get better. When you forget to do it every day, you stop being able to stretch yourself as far as you want to. These dark winter months, in both sunlight and spirit, have kept me away from photography practice after a year of daily workouts in New Orleans, and I've been in a funk about our cookie cutter subdivision, my girls' predilection for cotton candy pink shirts emblazoned with words, and the gray-gray-gray world from November through April. She's certainly at an advantage in beautiful Naples, FL - but northern Illinois has some merits. Sometimes.<br />
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But my "aha!" moment really came when reading her tips. Because as good as they were for reminding me about what makes a good photo, a little bell started ringing in my head that these were lessons in what makes a good <i>story</i>, too.<br />
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<b>Find the light. Change your perspective. Play with shadows. Get away from centering on your subject. Use negative space. Crop it.</b><br />
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Well, <b>duh</b>.<br />
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I've been in such a writing funk lately. The stories in my head just don't match what's coming out when I sit down to type, and the material feels staid. I find myself deleting drafts and thinking that I've already read it, done better, somewhere else. I'm realizing that I need to start making a daily practice out of looking at things differently and thinking about new ways of telling what feels like "same old same old" material. I'll be working on seeking out the light and playing with shadow rather than focusing on the dark. And careful editing will be a major focus: getting to the heart of the thing without the extra noise surrounding it.<br />
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A friend of mine with a photography background asked me about lighting in some of my shots over the weekend, and I immediately focused on the frustrations I've had with my old iPhone 5S and my ISO struggles with my Canon Rebel. But you know what? I need to work with what I've got - and stretch my skills behind the lens and in front of the keyboard a little farther each time I try it.<br />
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<br />courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-8248893511309043572017-05-18T13:00:00.000-05:002017-05-18T13:07:34.478-05:00unfinished business.A year ago today, I posted a picture of myself posing with my assembled quilt top, ready for the next stage of actual quilting. How far have I gotten with that project in a year? Well, I finally bought the backing fabric two weeks ago. And...that's it.<br />
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I have a pathological problem with starting projects and then never finishing them. I buy fabric and patterns that sit in a pile in my craft room. I have a dozen blog posts with the expository paragraphs typed out and nothing else. A journal of story ideas from my 100 days of working towards writing a children's book but very little else. A craft room and a basement halfway organized, halfway covered in boxes and junk. A million plans and good intentions and so little to show for them. I guess that's where the saying comes from - I know I'm not alone, but that offers little solace.<br />
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I remember reading that the creator of the show New Girl was really great at writing about starting relationships but terrible about figuring out how to keep characters in them once the newness wears off, so he writes sudden breakups into his shows to end things before it gets to the tricky part. I think that's pretty true in the realm of pop culture generally: the beginning of something is always sexy and exciting, and we have little interest in what happens once the newness wears off.<br />
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There's something so gratifying, though, about bringing something fully to fruition, which is why I can't figure out getting past my stumbling block when it comes to all this unfinished business. I need a way out and through the plateau of the sticky, yucky middle part in between that sexy beginning and the glory of the finish line. I need to find a way to embrace the Tuesday and Wednesday of my project and stop falling victim to the siren song of Monday fresh starts or I'm never going to get to the weekend.<br />
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To those of you working on 100 day projects right now - you're at the halfway point. If you've made it this far, bravo! I'm still hammering away at my "15 minutes of creativity" a day. So far, so good. Next time, though, I'm going to make myself pick one small, specific project and see it through to the end in the hopes it gives me some momentum for the other 17 things I have yet to finish.<br />
<br />courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-48674088193677675082017-03-07T12:35:00.000-06:002017-03-07T14:35:59.207-06:00what I read: January, February 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAlu4dahqglOjxqJuXFli7wj9Q3FKABEi5O4djH45DZdXfZC_vU7alVlIE0uOgZ1YFRPQ4BJx_bdH_L2qhKV5RRGmrJul2NEY9LoeQxX7nL9qtABlL_dZyQDKJqc1F6e1RT2CNJgdf4eiz/s1600/IMG_6092+%2528Edited%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAlu4dahqglOjxqJuXFli7wj9Q3FKABEi5O4djH45DZdXfZC_vU7alVlIE0uOgZ1YFRPQ4BJx_bdH_L2qhKV5RRGmrJul2NEY9LoeQxX7nL9qtABlL_dZyQDKJqc1F6e1RT2CNJgdf4eiz/s640/IMG_6092+%2528Edited%2529.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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In the spirit of sharing what I read <a href="http://shealwayslovedlarking.blogspot.com/2017/03/larking-book-club-revisited.html" target="_blank">re: yesterday's post</a>, here's a list of what I read over the first two months of 2017, with a quick note about each one. Have you read any of these? Tell me what you thought in a comment here or an email (larkingshop at gmail)!<br />
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<b>Middle-Grade or YA Novels</b><br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Escape-Lemoncellos-Library-Chris-Grabenstein/dp/0307931471/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488909807&sr=8-1&keywords=escape+from+mr+lemoncello%27s+library" target="_blank">Escape from Mr. Lemoncello's Library</a> by Chris Grabenstein [literature-based caper]<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Echo-Pam-Munoz-Ryan/dp/0439874025/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488909832&sr=8-1&keywords=echo+pam+munoz+ryan" target="_blank">Echo</a> by Pam Munoz Ryan [historical fiction, magical realism, racial injustice, the power of art/music]<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Stella-Starlight-Sharon-M-Draper/dp/1442494980/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488909864&sr=8-1&keywords=stella+by+starlight" target="_blank">Stella by Starlight</a> by Sharon M. Draper [historical fiction, racial injustice, coming of age]<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Hour-Bees-Lindsay-Eagar/dp/0763679224/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488909887&sr=8-1&keywords=hour+of+the+bees" target="_blank">Hour of the Bees</a> by Lindsay Eagar [magical realism, family drama, coming of age]<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Because-Winn-Dixie-Kate-DiCamillo/dp/0763680869/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488910412&sr=8-1&keywords=because+of+winn+dixie" target="_blank">Because of Winn-Dixie</a> by Kate DiCamillo [coming of age, family drama]<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Wolves-Willoughby-Chase-Chronicles-Paperback/dp/0440496039/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488910436&sr=8-1&keywords=the+wolves+of+willoughby+chase" target="_blank">The Wolves of Willoughby Chase</a> by Joan Aiken [suspense/thriller/adventure]<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Westing-Game-Puffin-Modern-Classics/dp/014240120X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488910478&sr=8-1&keywords=the+westing+game" target="_blank">The Westing Game</a> by Ellen Rankin [mystery]<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Carneys-House-Party-Winonas-Pony/dp/0062003291/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488910502&sr=8-1&keywords=carney%27s+house+party" target="_blank">Carney's House Party</a> by Maud Hart Lovelace [friendship, romance]<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Tale-Despereaux-Being-Princess-Thread/dp/0763680893/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488910539&sr=8-1&keywords=the+tale+of+despereaux" target="_blank">The Tale of Despereaux</a> by Kate DiCamillo [fantasy, adventure]<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Wildwood-Chronicles-Book-I/dp/0062024701/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488910560&sr=8-1&keywords=wildwood" target="_blank">Wildwood</a> by Colin Meloy [fantasy, adventure]<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Hired-Girl-Laura-Amy-Schlitz/dp/076367818X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488910584&sr=8-1&keywords=the+hired+girl" target="_blank">The Hired Girl</a> by Laura Amy Schlitz [coming of age, family drama, bigotry/racism]<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Secrets-Eastcliff-Sea-Easterling-Throckmorton/dp/1442498404/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488910610&sr=8-1&keywords=the+secrets+of+eastcliff+by+the+sea" target="_blank">The Secrets of Eastcliff-by-the-Sea</a> by Eileen Beha [adventure, family drama]<br />
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<b>Mysteries</b><br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Penguin-Book-Victorian-Women-Crime/dp/014310621X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488911424&sr=8-1&keywords=victorian+women+in+crime" target="_blank">The Penguin Book of Victorian Women in Crime</a> edited by Michael Sims [collected short stories and chapters from Victorian women writers or published works about women detectives]<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Bellweather-Rhapsody-Kate-Racculia/dp/054448391X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488911462&sr=8-1&keywords=bellwether+rhapsody" target="_blank">Bellwether Rhapsody</a> by Kate Racculia [The Shining meets Special Topics In Calamity Physics with a dash of Alice in Wonderland]<br />
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<b>Nonfiction Books about Writing</b><br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/What-Lynda-Barry/dp/1897299354/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488911506&sr=8-1&keywords=what+it+is" target="_blank">What It Is</a> by Lynda Barry [graphic novel about overcoming writing fears and Barry's own creative path]<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Bolts-Guide-Writing-Picture-Books-ebook/dp/B00FSOUF9Y/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488911535&sr=8-1&keywords=the+nuts+and+bolts+guide+to+writing+picture+books" target="_blank">The Nuts and Bolts Guide to Writing Picture Books</a> by Linda Ashman [e-book only]<br />
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<b>Adult Fiction</b><br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Today-Will-Different-Maria-Semple/dp/0316403431/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488911568&sr=8-1&keywords=today+will+be+different" target="_blank">Today Will Be Different</a> by Maria Semple [in the same vein as <a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Whered-You-Go-Bernadette-Novel/dp/0316204269/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1488911568&sr=8-2&keywords=today+will+be+different" target="_blank">Where'd You Go, Bernadette</a>]<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Austenland-Novel-Shannon-Hale/dp/1596912863/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1488911615&sr=8-3&keywords=austenland" target="_blank">Austenland</a> by Shannon Hale [three weeks at a fantasy camp for Jane Austen connisseurs]<br />
<br />courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-1353347050831221892017-03-06T13:39:00.001-06:002017-03-06T13:39:36.956-06:00larking book club, revisited.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've mentioned before that I'm in a book club I adore, modeled roughly on the one that appears in <a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Guernsey-Literary-Potato-Peel-Society/dp/0385341008/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488829046&sr=1-1&keywords=the+literary+and+potato+peel+pie+society" target="_blank">The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society</a>, in which we all read whatever we personally choose and then we share at our meeting (over hard cider and french fries), sometimes trading books amongst ourselves. We all have very different reading preferences, but a few books (often typical "book club picks") have made it around most or all of the members: <a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Night-Circus-Erin-Morgenstern/dp/0307744434/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488828810&sr=1-1&keywords=the+night+circus" target="_blank">The Night Circus</a>, <a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Whered-You-Go-Bernadette-Novel/dp/0316204269/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488828832&sr=1-1&keywords=where%27d+you+go+bernadette" target="_blank">Where'd You Go Bernadette</a>, <a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Golem-Jinni-Novel-P-S/dp/0062110845/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488828861&sr=1-1&keywords=the+golem+and+the+jinni" target="_blank">The Golem and the Jinni</a>, <a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Wild-Found-Pacific-Crest-Trail/dp/0307476073/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488828890&sr=1-1&keywords=wild" target="_blank">Wild</a>, <a href="https://smile.amazon.com/How-Lucky-Kristyn-Kusek-Lewis/dp/1455502030/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488828911&sr=1-2&keywords=how+lucky+you+are" target="_blank">How Lucky You Are</a>, <a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Gone-Girl-Gillian-Flynn/dp/0307588378/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488828934&sr=1-1&keywords=gone+girl" target="_blank">Gone Girl</a> (NB: this is <i>not</i> an endorsement of the books on this list - they were just read by multiple members, sometimes loved and sometimes despised).<br />
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I like the freedom of reading what I choose and not being stuck with a book I dislike, but I do miss the chance to actually discuss with fellow readers. I've made a commitment to pick up books instead of scrolling social media this year, and as a result I'm making significant headway on the large list of titles I've been meaning to read. I thought it might be fun to share my reading list at the beginning of each month and, if you're interested, you can jump in and read along! No pressure to read them all, of course, but if a title sounds good, I'd love your literary company.<br />
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I'm not sure yet what my format will be for sharing my thoughts on the books - email newsletter, blog post, FB live video, something else - <b>so if you have any ideas, I'd love to hear them</b>. And if you're local and want to come to our monthly book club or meet me for coffee or a drink to discuss, that'd be awesome too.<br />
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Here's the lineup for March (I've already finished the first book and am 40 pages from finishing the second so you can find them at the local library if needed!):<br />
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<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Rules-Civility-Novel-Amor-Towles/dp/0143121162/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488828408&sr=8-1&keywords=rules+of+civility" target="_blank">Rules of Civility</a> by Amor Towles<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Crossing-Safety-Modern-Library-Classics/dp/037575931X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488828455&sr=8-1&keywords=crossing+to+safety" target="_blank">Crossing to Safety</a> by Wallace Stegner<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Study-Charlotte-Holmes-Novel/dp/0062398911/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488828482&sr=8-1&keywords=a+study+in+charlotte" target="_blank">A Study In Charlotte</a> by Brittany Cavallaro<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Age-Innocence-Edith-Wharton/dp/1508475571/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488828516&sr=8-1&keywords=the+age+of+innocence" target="_blank">The Age of Innocence</a> by Edith Wharton<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Getaway-Car-Practical-Memoir-Writing-ebook/dp/B00LI9GS58/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488828572&sr=8-1&keywords=the+getaway+car" target="_blank">The Getaway Car</a> by Ann Patchett<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Six-Crows-Leigh-Bardugo/dp/1627792120/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488828632&sr=8-1&keywords=six+of+crows" target="_blank">Six of Crows</a> by Leigh Bardugo<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Fate-Mercy-Alban-Wendy-Webb/dp/1401341934/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488828660&sr=8-1&keywords=the+fate+of+mercy+alban" target="_blank">The Fate of Mercy Alban</a> by Wendy Webb<br />
and if time (otherwise, the start of my April list)<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Empire-Falls-Richard-Russo/dp/0375726403/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488828687&sr=8-1&keywords=empire+falls" target="_blank">Empire Falls</a> by Richard Russo<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Ocean-End-Lane-Novel/dp/0062459368/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488828727&sr=8-1&keywords=the+ocean+at+the+end+of+the+lane" target="_blank">The Ocean at the End of the Lane</a> by Neil Gaiman<br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Emma-Penguin-Classics-Jane-Austen/dp/0141439580/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1488828777&sr=1-1&keywords=emma" target="_blank">Emma</a> by Jane Austen<br />
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(ps - these are not affiliate links, just helpful ones, but I did use my smile account on Amazon to search for them)<br />
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Hope some of you might be joining me in reading one or two of the titles on this list! If you have some books ideas to share for the rest of my year, I'd love to hear your thoughts on what else I should be reading - and you can always <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/8447763-courtney" target="_blank">find me on Goodreads</a>, too.courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-47518485203836597162016-11-15T12:33:00.000-06:002016-11-15T12:42:52.780-06:00that's how the light gets in.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A day or two after Jesse Ventura was elected governor of the great state of Minnesota, I found myself on the college campus that would become my second home. Along with completing an interview, a violin lesson, and an overnight stay, I sat in on a class that I'd end up taking for real just two years later: Major American Writers with Mark Dintenfass. That day happened to be a discussion of several poems by Robert Frost, and I sat quietly in the back and listened while they picked apart the staccato opening line of "Directive" and the ABAABCBCB structure of "Fire and Ice." But the conversation around "Mending Wall" is what mattered to me most.<br />
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Dintenfass lamented that "good fences make good neighbors" is an oft-quoted Frost line but also often taken completely out of context, especially ironic because the poem itself is about the danger of such "truth" telling. "He will not go behind his father's saying," the narrator points out about his blustering neighbor, "And he likes having thought of it so well / He says again, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'" Robert Frost, in 1914 when "Mending Wall" was published, could not have anticipated viral memes of words ripped from their setting, devoid of meaning. Or maybe he could. If even Socrates is on record as saying "the unexamined life is not worth living," humans have been blithely walking through life with their eyes closed for millennia.<br />
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Instead of closing either our eyes or those holes in the wall, let's leave the cracks wide open and heed the call for <a href="http://www.lawrence.edu/library/archives/lawrence_history/traditions" target="_blank">"Light, More Light."</a> Today is the annual giving day at my alma mater, and I'm eager (as I am each year) to contribute what I can to a place that contributed to my growth in such meaningful ways. Lawrence, for me, was a place to practice listening, to practice questioning, to practice living in a community with people different than myself who were also trying to learn how to listen and question and live in community, too. And, like Frost's narrator, there's enough mischief in me that I hope I can put a notion in your head, too, that listening and questioning is at the root of everything that matters (for more of my thoughts on that, <a href="http://shealwayslovedlarking.blogspot.com/2016/11/the-only-answer-i-have-do-more-than.html" target="_blank">click here</a>).<br />
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Here's the poem - it's in the public domain, so I'm free to share it here:<br />
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<b>Mending Wall (from <i>North of Boston</i>, 1914)</b><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Something</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> there is that doesn't love a wall,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">And spills the upper boulders in the sun;</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">The work of hunters is another thing:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I have come after them and made repair</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Where they have left not one stone on a stone,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">No one has seen them made or heard them made,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">But at spring mending-time we find them there.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">And on a day we meet to walk the line</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">And set the wall between us once again.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">We keep the wall between us as we go.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">To each the boulders that have fallen to each.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">And some are loaves and some so nearly balls</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">We have to use a spell to make them balance:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">"Stay where you are until our backs are turned!"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">We wear our fingers rough with handling them.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Oh, just another kind of out-door game,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">One on a side. It comes to little more:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">There where it is we do not need the wall:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">He is all pine and I am apple orchard.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">My apple trees will never get across</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">He only says, "Good fences make good neighbours."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">If I could put a notion in his head:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">"</span><i style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Why</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> do they make good neighbours? Isn't it</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Before I built a wall I'd ask to know</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">What I was walling in or walling out,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">And to whom I was like to give offence.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Something there is that doesn't love a wall,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">That wants it down." I could say "Elves" to him,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">He said it for himself. I see him there</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">He moves in darkness as it seems to me,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Not of woods only and the shade of trees.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">He will not go behind his father's saying,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">And he likes having thought of it so well</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">He says again, "Good fences make good neighbours."</span><br />
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And for a little change of pace, here's me reading it.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="480" mozallowfullscreen="" src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/191677288" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="640"></iframe>
<a href="https://vimeo.com/191677288">Mending Wall - Robert Frost</a> from <a href="https://vimeo.com/user59137753">Courtney Hanna-McNamara</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.<br />
<br />courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-46188190590944816692016-11-13T13:42:00.000-06:002016-11-13T13:47:47.406-06:00the only answer I have: do more than just show up.I'm writing again. Not much - just little bits - but I'm writing. None of it is finished yet, but I'm getting my sea legs again after a summer off and a life full of moving and mothering and <a href="http://larking.etsy.com/" target="_blank">making</a>. I'll share some soon.<br />
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I've been thinking a lot about what we do when the path ahead is difficult, uncharted, or frightening to us, and I keep coming back to something I had the opportunity to share when I was asked to give a commencement address at the school where I taught in Colorado. I struggled for weeks, months really, to decide what I wanted to share with my beloved students who had put their faith in me to say something meaningful to them as they went off into the Big World. I tend to be someone who wants a ready-to-use map to everywhere (the more landmarks and road signs included, the better), but I hope I did right by them by pointing them in the way of asking the right questions instead of getting some Cliff's Notes version of an easy answer.<br />
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If you want to read the speech in its entirety, you can click <a href="http://shealwayslovedlarking.blogspot.com/p/graduation-speech.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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<br />courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-75247871667195879262016-11-10T10:13:00.000-06:002016-11-10T10:13:20.617-06:00a prayer in my pocketI've written about religion and spirituality on my blog a few times, but I often avoid talking about it: it's polarizing and off-putting to some, and it induces eyerolls in others. I tend to be of the mindset that it's best to show, not tell, when it comes to my beliefs. But being a progressive Christian is who I am and it defines my entire worldview, so yesterday I decided I'm tired of not being real. When I was in elementary school, I was the kind of kid who organized a protest and marched to the principal's office demanding that gender discriminatory policies in the lunchroom (yes, really) be changed. I'm just getting back to my loudmouth roots, I guess.<br />
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A few weeks ago, one of the ministers at my church used a pastoral prayer that was like a beam of light coming straight for me. I asked her for a copy, and I've been carrying it around with me ever since. It's adapted from several prayers written by the poet, theologian, and social justice crusader Theodore Loder, and it encapsulates everything I love about my church: activism, radical hospitality, unbounded love for God's creation.<br />
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So here it is, the prayer in my pocket and in my heart today and all days. Maybe it will stir something in you, too. The word "kindom," by the way, isn't an error - it's a beautiful reworking of the idea of a kingdom to mean a community of brothers and sisters united as one. As my oldest daughter says, "God is in the face of everyone I see, right, Mom?" Yes, God is.<br />
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<br />courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-26951688885466499512016-09-13T14:02:00.003-05:002016-09-13T14:28:55.025-05:00Cinderella, Batgirl, and The Case of the Missing Shoe<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">On Saturday, Lorelei and Phoebe attended a birthday party for two sweet sisters we know. Cinderella also came to the party - as you can see, Phoebe was a little starstruck. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">After Cinderella left in her pumpkin coach, Lorelei suddenly noticed that one of her shoes was missing. They conducted a thorough search of the house, upstairs and down, and the front yard, but it was fruitless. Jason finally decided to just take the girls home and figured we'd get the shoe back later once it was discovered at the bottom of a toy bin or under some piece of furniture. On his way home, he started wondering if, when Cinderella left, her very voluminous skirts had somehow swept the shoe up and to another location - or that it was lodged somewhere in the folds of crinoline.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Once our two princesses were settled in for naptime, Jason and I drew on our vast knowledge of many, many, many hours of detective television shows and examined the photographs he had taken at the party. By zooming in on the background of various shots, we noticed that a photo of Cinderella reading to the party guests at 11:08 showed Lorelei's two shoes in the background, while a posed picture with her at 11:23 only showed one:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Jason recalled that the 15 minutes in question included an activity where Cinderella enlisted the help of the guests to help her retrieve her lost glass slipper. It seemed to be the most likely period when Lorelei's shoe could have gotten lost in the shuffle, and the timeline fit perfectly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">After naptime, we took the girls downtown to the newly reopened library and, as luck would have it, the library had invited a few other princesses to make the celebration extra festive, so it was pretty much Phoebe's best day ever. Even Batgirl was there, reading to a group of kids and posing for pictures. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I suddenly had an idea - maybe the world of princesses and superheroes was small enough that Batgirl would be able to tell us how to get in touch with Cinderella. I pulled Batgirl aside with the always-useful opening line "Hey, I've got a crazy question to ask you." She looked over her shoulders, then asked me to meet her in her makeshift Batgirl office so our confidential conversation would not be overheard by any bad guys. Once there, I described our case and showed her the photo evidence we had of the missing shoe. "I heard Cinderella was here at the library this morning," I said. "Do you know her?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Batgirl looked incredulous. "That was me!" she announced. "I guess this Batgirl helmet really does disguise my identity!" Batgirl promised Lorelei that she'd relay the message to "her friend Cinderella" and, as she handed me her superhero business card, that she'd do her best to look for her shoe.</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">That night, I received an email with one photo attached.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Today, the shoe found its way home with a special little note tucked inside for our real-life Cinderella, who will be much more careful next time about where she leaves her shoes, at least when attending balls at other people's houses. And I've got an idea for a pretty funny kids' book!</span></div>
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courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-5987375389976352322016-05-06T20:43:00.001-05:002016-05-06T21:26:51.192-05:00but you're the one for me.After a down-and-dirty sandpie making session this afternoon, I plopped both girls into the bathtub to get squeaky clean before dinner. We were all in a silly mood, so I turned off the lights and tossed some glow sticks in the tub with them, then got out the giant bubble wand to blow at them while they scrubbed. The girls giggled together and Lorelei announced, "This is so fun. I think you're the only mom in the world who would let their kids have such a fun bath time."<br />
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I'm sure other moms living on our street have given their kids similar baths, so I'm not under any false impressions about my status as Mother of the Year. But it got me thinking about how my Facebook feed will be flooded this weekend with pictures of adult children with their mothers and captions about how each one, in turn, is the Best Mom in the World. My Instagram feed will also be filled with cellphone snaps of hilariously-answered questionnaires filled out by earnest little preschoolers and kindergartners about the wonderful qualities of their own Best Moms in the World. These pictures, too, will all be captioned in the same way - that they are precious and special and uniquely wonderful snapshots of a mother-child relationship that feels precious, special, and uniquely wonderful, too. For some people, this induces endless eyerolling. For me? I'll be trying to stay offline this weekend to be more focused on my family, but otherwise I would happily "like" and double tap every single one of those posts.<br />
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After Phoebe's birth, my aunt sent us a copy of an out-of-print book of poems by Clyde and Wendy Watson called <b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Catch-Me-Kiss-Say-Again/dp/0399209484" target="_blank">Catch Me And Kiss Me And Say It Again</a></b>. It has many charming rhymes but our favorite, and the reason (I'm sure) that it was sent, is this one:<br />
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<i>Phoebe in a rosebush</i><br />
<i>Phoebe in a tree</i><br />
<i>There's many a Phoebe in the world</i><br />
<i>But you're the one for me.</i><br />
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Naming Phoebe was particularly challenging for us and, though it was a name I loved, there were some initial hurdles to it for me, most notably that I had both a former student and a former colleague with the same name. I worried that I'd always associate the name with those two women first, since I knew them first. In those early days, this poem was a well-timed reminder that this new Phoebe was, of course, My Phoebe, and that has made all the difference.<br />
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But now that My Phoebe is also the first Phoebe I think of and those particular fears have lessened, this poem has become a good reminder about the trouble we always encounter with our perception of the world: our own heavily-filtered lens. There are some things in life that are True and Immutable - this I know. There are others where it really is left to the eye of the beholder. Our children are the same, mostly, as children everywhere. They love deeply and want to please us. They stick out their tongues when they are trying very hard to learn something new. They want desperately to have authority over their daily experiences. They mix up words as they struggle to make adult language their own. They are talented and beautiful and clever in our eyes, and believing this about them <a href="https://twitter.com/teachtrainlove/status/601912683735154688" target="_blank">helps them to become all of those things</a>, too. There are many children in the world, but these two precious souls belong to me. And my love for them and delight in their firsts and funny moments make me hope even more so that every child has someone to cherish them in the same way.<br />
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I can't be the best mom in the world, since that title is already held by my own mother, but I'm okay with being seen through the big, beautiful eyes of my very special children, too, and knowing that I'm the one for them. Happy Mother's Day, all.<br />
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<br />courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-40530327979496421372016-04-29T12:55:00.000-05:002016-04-29T13:20:29.032-05:00"This is supposed to be fun." | Jazz Fest 2016In general, Jason and I are a good balance for each other - we have opposite personalities in so many ways, and so the combination tends to fall somewhere in the middle. But we can both be pretty tightly wound in certain situations, especially when it comes to Big Events Where Something Might Go Wrong. Our kids, since they're not able to fully process and understand emotional turbulence, act out accordingly: Lorelei gets very worried and neurotic at the first sign of us snapping at each other, and Phoebe looks for all the ways she can get everyone's attention by being as naughty as possible.<br />
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We had been planning for months to go to the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival on "local Thursday" to see some great Louisiana music as well as Lorelei's favorite singer, Elvis Costello. As the date crept closer, the logistics of parking and port-a-potties, not to mention the threat of thunderstorms, made our plans seem impossible. We seriously debated not going, a tense conversation which made Lorelei weepy. Was it worth all this effort to spend a few hours covered in mud with whiny kids and the not-insignificant risk of food poisoning?<br />
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On Thursday morning, I went to Target to buy cheap Elvis Costello glasses for the girls and we devised a family mantra: "This is supposed to be fun." Whatever happened, we were in it together, and the whole point was to do something as a family. Come what may, we'd have great stories to tell later.<br />
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We'll have enough stories to last us for a long, long time.courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-50862267151874446522016-04-11T13:34:00.000-05:002016-04-11T14:36:22.688-05:00how to support your friend the creative entrepreneur without buying her whole inventory<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If you're like me, you have a lot of friends and acquaintances and Facebook contacts who have jobs that involve a fair amount of hustling: bloggers, coaches, home-based consultants for everything from essential oils to personalized tote bags to nail art. Now that we don't all have jobs with simple titles like "banker" and "store clerk" and "accountant," it's hard to know exactly what you're supposed to do when Ramona, that nice woman down the block, invites you to her Norwex party, especially when you are on a budget.<br />
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I can't speak firsthand about a lot of these types of businesses, as I don't have one. I do, however, own <a href="http://larking.etsy.com/" target="_blank">an Etsy shop</a>, and often creative entrepreneurs and artists get lumped in with many of these other types of employment because there is that similar "hustle" as part of their job description. And, at least in my personal experience, this is the absolute worst part of the job. I would love to never post a single picture of my shop anywhere on my personal Facebook account, because I always cringe when I think that anyone will feel pressured to make a purchase as a result, but finding free ways to advertise is a part of the gig.<br />
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A while ago, Lynn over at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/wanderlynnblog" target="_blank">Wanderlynn</a> posted <a href="https://wanderlynn.wordpress.com/2014/02/11/support-your-friend-who-blogs/" target="_blank">a brilliant list</a> of ways to support your friend who blogs, and I wanted to expand on her ideas to write about ways to support your friend with a creative business. My first tip might surprise you: <b><u>don't buy things from her shop</u></b>.<br />
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Okay, I'm exaggerating a little bit. If your friend has a painting or pair of earrings or handmade doll that you just adore, she would absolutely love for you to make a purchase! But, in general, creative entrepreneurs aren't looking to sell to friends. What they really want is to expand their market to reach beyond their personal Facebook feed so that they can wholesale their items in a cute little shop somewhere across the country or at least be sending packages that go farther than the next town over. A sustainable creative business is one that reaches a large audience, so there are ways for you to be a champion of your friend's endeavors without feeling pressured to spend your own money. Here are a few:<br />
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1. <b>Ask her for business cards</b>. Finding an individual shop on Etsy can be like finding a needle in a haystack. Word of mouth and personal recommendation is key in today's artisan marketplace, so if you're in conversation with someone who mentions they need a gift for their hard-to-buy-for mother-in-law or are looking for a specific item, hand over a card and help to make a new connection.<br />
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2.<b> Post about her on social media</b>. Again, word of mouth and personal recommendations these days are just as good as currency. Share a picture of an item you really love on your Facebook page during the holiday rush. Tweet a link to her shop and slap on a related hashtag. Pin a beautiful picture she posted to Pinterest. If you're wearing an item she made or it's visible behind you in a picture you post to Instagram, tag her in it so your followers can find where it came from.<br />
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3. <b>Follow her - and follow up</b>. With the various algorithms Facebook, Instagram, and other social media sites have going in order to generate ad revenue for themselves, small mom-and-pop shops can struggle to be seen in feeds. A follow from you - and occasional likes and comments on the posts and photos she shares - can help bump her shop forward in that algorithm so others can see it, too.<br />
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4. <b>Be visible</b>. Own a gorgeous handbag made by a creative friend? Make a point to wear and use it in a visible way. My cousin used to wear a necklace I made for her as she worked the cash register at a small bath and body shop and I made at least half a dozen sales from people who asked her about it (she had a stack of my business cards to hand out, too!). Consider wearing a stunning scarf made by a friend to an event where you know it will be seen by people who would be interested in buying similar items. You could even ask to borrow one to give her some exposure, sort of like celebrities do with fabulous diamond necklaces at the Oscars.<br />
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5. <b>Be on the lookout</b>. On a trip, and find a little shop far from home that seems to fit your friend's aesthetic? Grab the shop's business card, snap a photo or two on your phone, and bring it back for her as a place where she might want to follow up. At a garage sale and notice a box full of the same kind of buttons she uses in her mixed media pieces? Snag it for her. Hear about an upcoming charity auction that would be her perfect target market? Send her the info. It can be lonely and hard working long hours in your studio, and it's nice to hear from friends that they were thinking of you, even if you don't end up pursuing the leads they tell you about.<br />
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Creative entrepreneurship is not for the faint-of-heart: it requires a lot of vulnerability about sharing your work and your talent in a way that a more typical job might not. Having the support of friends is pretty crucial for making it through the inevitable low periods, and takes away the guilt of feeling that they think you expect them to keep your shop financially solvent. If you're a creative entrepreneur and have other suggestions for this list, I'd love to hear about them in the comments!<br />
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<b>(All of the photos in this post are items that I think are beautiful and can be found in the Etsy shops tagged here; please click through to find out more!: 1. <a href="http://abeautifulparty.etsy.com/" target="_blank">A Beautiful Party</a>, 2. <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/238660457/hello-sunshine-yellow-dress-for-girls" target="_blank">Wild Things Dresses</a>, 3. <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/130107583/rose-posy-necklace" target="_blank">Layla Amber</a>, 4. <a href="http://robayre.etsy.com/" target="_blank">Robayre</a>, 5. <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/254144295/textbook-necklace-vintage-remixed-lucite" target="_blank">Urban Legend</a> 6. <a href="http://larking.etsy.com/" target="_blank">larking</a> [I'm closed for business until September but feel free to contact me if you have a special request!])</b>courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-17415156801878959042016-03-20T13:07:00.001-05:002016-03-20T13:07:56.786-05:00ordinary portraits.I posted recently on Instagram about wanting to learn the ropes of Lightroom and actually edit and publish the thousands (!) of pictures I have languishing on SD cards. So far, I haven't taken any steps in that direction because I've been working on so many other projects. But I'm still clicking away, working on ordinary portraits of the girls in their daily life and trying hard to pull out my real camera and not just the iPhone. Here's a few of life here these days (straight out of the camera, because that's all I can do!):<br />
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<br />courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-91014305188746904262016-03-11T20:43:00.000-06:002016-03-11T21:15:35.572-06:00ghost ships.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When Phoebe turned 18 months old - the age Lorelei was when I got pregnant again - I had a vivid dream that we were pregnant with a third child. Another sweet baby girl, named Maeve. For a week or so, I thought a lot about that maybe-baby, dreaming of what it would be like to have her in our hearts and arms and home. And then I said goodbye.<br />
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I've said it lots of times, here and out loud to anyone who wants to listen, but I am not a baby person. I am not overcome with longing when I see little hands and feet peeking out of blankets in a stroller and I almost never ask to hold anyone's newborn (except as an offer of assistance so they can eat, or nap, or just be off duty for five whole minutes). I loved both our daughters intensely when they were babies, but I don't yearn for those early, sleepless moments. Jason and I felt confident and happy with our choice to have two, and only two, children. I boxed up and shipped off my maternity clothes within days of giving birth for the second, and last, time. The older they get, the more I enjoy being a mom to two girls.<br />
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And yet I clung, even for a brief time, to the idea of a third baby. Maybe it would be different this time, a little voice said in the back of my head. Maybe you'd love it - and what if you missed that chance? I've been watching with interest as <a href="http://instagram.com/elisejoy" target="_blank">Elise Cripe</a> (of <a href="http://elisejoy.com/" target="_blank">Elise Joy</a> fame) has embraced the baby stage so wholeheartedly with her second daughter - after a very difficult birth and postpartum period the first time around - and I feel in awe, and a little jealous, of how much she loves it. I wanted to love it, too, and I just couldn't.<br />
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Reading Joanna Goddard's <a href="http://cupofjo.com/2015/09/how-many-children-to-have/" target="_blank">recent(ish) post</a>, however, made bells go off in my head (it helps, too, that she <a href="http://cupofjo.com/2014/11/how-many-children-do-you-hope-to-have/" target="_blank">has struggled just as much</a>, if not more so, during the baby phase with both of her children, even though she desperately loves being a mother). There's an allure to thinking of yourself in the group of "young mothers" as opposed to "done having kids": one feels youthful, the other as if a page has been turned and there's no going back to the previous chapter. And her other explanation for the romantic notion of another baby - the desire to stop time with your already-existing children - rings true for me, too: I found myself teary-eyed last week after browsing back through my board of <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/courtneylarking/stuff-to-make/" target="_blank">"to-make" projects</a> (ha ha) on Pinterest and discovering several patterns for sweet rompers I never got around to sewing for either girl.<br />
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I mentioned those rompers - with slightly teary eyes again - to Jason on a very rare date night last week, and he responded, "I guess I don't feel that way because I don't really make projects." Womp womp. But then he went on to say that he has been feeling similarly. For him, it's been a realization that, over the past 13-15 years, he's made all of the significant choices he can probably ever hope to make in his life: which career to pursue, whom to marry, where to live, whether or not to have a family, when that family is complete. And though there is comfort and ease in having those choices made, there's also a poignancy in knowing that, barring great misfortune or tragedy or major life upheaval, from here, the path is an increasingly narrow one.<br />
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In her role as advice columnist for <a href="http://therumpus.net/" target="_blank">The Rumpus</a>, Cheryl Strayed (aka Dear Sugar) wrote a beautiful response to a man questioning whether he should become a father in a column titled "<a href="http://therumpus.net/2011/04/dear-sugar-the-rumpus-advice-column-71-the-ghost-ship-that-didnt-carry-us/" target="_blank">The Ghost Ship That Doesn't Carry Us</a>." It's a wonderful read, but here's a nice summary of it from Cheryl Strayed herself, later, on her podcast also titled <a href="http://www.wbur.org/2014/12/10/dear-sugar-episode-one" target="_blank">Dear Sugar</a>: "One of the beautiful things about life is loving the things that you've had to let go...It's about waving to this ship that you're not aboard, and acknowledging that there's beauty on it, and you're not there for it, but because you're not there for it, you're there for another kind of beauty."<br />
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I've been waving at a lot of ghost ships lately: one where I have a third baby girl named Maeve and love her intensely, one where I have no children at all but a magnificent career doing Meaningful and Important Things, even one where I have only one child and life is a little slower, and little less chaotic, a little simpler. But I've also sewed three skirts for the girls in the past two days and just downloaded another pattern to try, because I'd better sail this ship before I'm waving at it, too.courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-25041241207391074412016-02-25T23:22:00.000-06:002016-02-26T09:49:46.723-06:00on sharing, comparing, and unplugging.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've been wanting to quit social media for some time now. To borrow phrasing from <a href="http://gretchenrubin.com/" target="_blank">Gretchen Rubin</a>, who I grudgingly admit is rapidly becoming a weird sort of guru for me, I'm an abstainer, not a moderator: I don't do well trying to cut something out of my life <i>mostly</i>. If the cookies are in the house, I'm going to eat them all, so it's better just not to buy them in the first place (and I'm really good about not buying them, actually) rather than trying to eat, <a href="http://i.imgur.com/xOvmK30.jpg" target="_blank">a la Frog and Toad</a>, <i>just one</i>. I spend far too much of my day on Facebook and Instagram, and I really want to stop altogether to make time for what I actually love doing: reading, writing, working on my drawing and sewing projects, watching British TV mysteries and playing board games with Jason, catching up with friends in person over coffee or at book club or during craft nights.<br />
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It's that last category, though, that keeps me checking my phone for updates at all hours of the day: the isolation of living here this year. As I've written about before, it's not that I'm desperately lonely - the solitude this year has given me the head space to work on a lot of things on a personal level - but the extrovert in me craves company, and I don't want to leave behind the few threads of connection I have even in the online sense and become completely untethered for the next several months until we move home. And I'm grateful for the real life connections that social media can foster, like the amazingly kind (and brave!) woman who recognized Jason at a local coffeeshop, approached him brandishing a photo from my Instagram feed, and then invited me to a Mardi Gras cookie-decorating party, the first social event I've attended since last September.<br />
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But I think I've become more attuned and hypersensitive to the negatives of social media because of my own disgust in my reliance on it, and it's been feeling more and more like an unreality. To again reference Gretchen Rubin, scrolling through posts lately has made me feel like I'm in a "bad trance," as she puts it: "[it] often hits when I'm exhausted...I'm overindulging in something I don't even enjoy...[and when I stop] I find myself sitting with my mouth open, regretting the time I've wasted." I never have that feeling after spending 30 minutes reading a novel or playing rocketship to the moon with my daughters, but I do feel that way whenever I put down my phone or close my laptop - that I've just spent 30 minutes of time doing absolutely nothing for no real reason other than boredom and the perceived need to distract myself. "What is your 'why'?" is a phrase that gets bandied about a fair amount these days, and though it's usually meant as a way to determine what gets you out of bed in the mornings and working towards a higher cause, I think it's a good question to keep in mind in general when it comes to your online presence: why are you sharing, responding, liking, comparing, worrying, scrolling? And if you don't like your answers, what are you going to do about it?<br />
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So many blog posts have been written about the "false selves" we project online that I don't really want to bother entering that debate - it's already been done, and far more eloquently than I could ever hope to lay claim to - but I have been reflecting lately on the pressure that it puts on us all in a way that previous generations didn't have to consider. "Keeping up with the Joneses" has been a phenomenon for quite some time, of course - my mother-in-law tells a hilarious story about another woman she knew years ago who used to brag to other mothers about [cover your ears, Puritans] the size of her newborn baby boy's penis, of all things, so we can all be glad there's no evidence of that on Facebook. But it's hard enough to feel that comparative pressure and jealousy, whether it's about your home or your job or your children's accomplishments, without being bombarded by pictures of your neighbor's beautiful homes, shared newspaper articles about a former colleague's job accolades, and 152 likes on the video of your high school nemesis's soccer superstar son scoring the winning goal at Olympic Training Camp for Toddlers.<br />
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I've been really focused on the children-family-parenting part of the equation because, well, duh, but the universe has really been, to use my mom's phrase, sending me messages like golf ball-sized hail dropping from the sky to make sure I do not miss them. My heart has been aching for some friends and acquaintances in particular because I can see, from what they share and how they respond online, how much they are hurting - even if they're not aware of it - by comparing themselves to other parents and feeling that they come up short in some way. Our children, even if we know they shouldn't, feel like extensions of ourselves, and it can be gutwrenching painful sometimes to harbor jealousy and fear on behalf of these little people (who, by the way, often aren't jealous or afraid themselves). I was listening to an old episode of <a href="http://www.onbeing.org/program/brene-brown-on-vulnerability/4928" target="_blank">On Being</a> a while ago and I heard <a href="http://brenebrown.com/" target="_blank">Brene Brown</a>* say these words:<i> "It's really hard, and you can't have it both ways. [...] When it's really great and supported and successful, I want it to be about me. And when it sucks, I want it to be about the work."</i> She was talking about tying your identity to your work, whatever that might mean. And if parenting is your work in any profound way, I think this resonates: when your children "succeed" in whatever sense that might be, you want it to be <i>because of you</i>. And when they "fail," you want it to be because of factors <i>other than you</i>. But it doesn't work that way. And because it's hard to be vulnerable, it can be hard to see your photo next to that other one in your feed and not take it personally.<br />
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For me, having two daughters with different talents and abilities and temperaments has helped me come to terms with this pretty easily - I know that it's silly to agonize over who walked first or talked first or who likes books more or who is more careful about paint color choices or using her silverware or wondering about space travel. But it can still be tough, on a low day, to see the amazing things that other people's children can do. Or, for that matter, to see the amazing things my friends and colleagues are doing while I'm wiping butts and picking up My Little Ponies. But I share pictures and stories of my children and my life with the people I love and care about because I want to be connected to them, so that must certainly be why other people are sharing, too. And focusing on that part - the love and the caring and the connection - makes it much easier to see those pictures and accolades and to be genuinely happy and interested and proud on their behalf.<br />
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If you don't know <a href="http://dallasclayton.com/" target="_blank">Dallas Clayton</a>, you really should. His <a href="https://www.instagram.com/dallasclayton/" target="_blank">Instagram feed</a> is one of the reasons I'm glad I'm on social media. He posted this image almost a year ago, and I still think about it all the time.<br />
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It's hard to think of a better mindset than that one, so it's one I'm always working towards.<br />
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There's a woman I've come to know, to some extent, online who for a long time was cultivating a large following by posting ethereal pictures of her children engaged in imaginative play in beautiful, natural settings with equally dreamy captions: "forever a nymph at heart," "sometimes prayer looks like play," "nothing gold can stay" (thanks to Robert Frost for that one). Nowadays, she posts the same ethereal pictures but with captions that convey the "harsh truths" of how difficult attachment parenting can be, a technique that seems to be winning over a new influx of followers amazed by her honesty. Both seem, to me, equally disingenuous: a carefully constructed online persona designed to attract followers eager to join in her pursuit of this soul-wrenchingly beautiful and painful journey of parenting in which one must give oneself, fully and completely, to another life.<br />
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And parenting is that, of course - but it is also not that. It is also not the carefully curated photos of other popular bloggers and instagrammers with their big white teeth and their children clad in the chicest of clothing with nary a stain in sight (all of my photos of Phoebe lately seem to contain evidence that I never wipe her face after she eats due to her perpetual five o'clock shadow of crumbs). But it is also not the post after post of complaints about lackadaisical husbands and kids who whine all day without stopping and how terrible motherhood is, either. And I guess, as I'm realizing more and more how much personal branding is a part of deciding what to share online - and trying to figure out what image I want to cultivate and how my personal life and the lives of my family members can best serve the purpose of "my brand" is feeling exhausting.<br />
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So because of and in spite of all that, I remain online. And I share the above photo with you, of me in a bizarre Ma Ingalls outfit, constructed by my oldest daughter, with my smudgy mascara in my dirty bathroom mirror in our apartment with terrible lighting and gray-painted walls. And I also share these images of my girls turning our windows into stained glass masterpieces which I took because I'm trying to teach myself to use my real camera to capture sunlight on their faces in a beautiful way. They're not perfect, but I'm learning.<br />
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And I share this quote from another podcast that resonated with me recently, again from Brene Brown: <i>The only options are owning [our stories] or orphaning them, and I believe our self-worth lives inside the story, our story. And so we can walk into that story and own it, or we can stand outside of our truth, outside of our narrative, and we can hustle, and pretend and perfect and perform for our worthiness. So I do believe in owning the story. Having said that, I do believe we share our stories with the people who have earned the right to hear them, and the only stories I share with the public, in my writing or in my speaking, are stories I have really processed...here's the litmus test for me: I have really processed those stories, and my healing is not contingent upon your opinion of those stories. [...] I don't think it's in service of the reader, and I don't think it's in service of my own heart. (Brene Brown in Elizabeth Gilbert's <a href="http://www.elizabethgilbert.com/magic-lessons/" target="_blank">Magic Lessons</a> ep. 12)</i><br />
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And I share this largely unedited blog post, with the only answer to "why" being that I'd love to hear back from you. It's quiet here when I'm not pretending to be the Big Bad Wolf or reading Little House in the Big Woods to two pillow-fort building, tutu-wearing nymphs at heart.<br />
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[Postscript: this week, two other people spoke on this topic and, of course, did a much better job than I at getting to the heart of the matter. <a href="http://boldlivingtoday.com/" target="_blank">Kanesha Baynard</a>'s videos (<a href="https://www.facebook.com/KaneshaBaynardCoaching/videos/1022419597806187/" target="_blank">1</a> and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/KaneshaBaynardCoaching/videos/1022992381082242/" target="_blank">2</a>) and - you guessed it - Gretchen Rubin's <a href="http://gretchenrubin.com/happiness_project/2016/02/parenting-happier-podcast-53/" target="_blank">podcast </a>(which references <a href="http://shealwayslovedlarking.blogspot.com/2012/01/operating-instructions-by-anne-lamott.html" target="_blank">Anne Lamott</a>, so even more reason!) are all worth a watch or listen if you're interested in thinking more about the topic of comparison and jealousy.]<br />
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*I spent a ridiculously long time trying to add an accent to the second "e" in the name Brene and then just gave up. If you want to school me in Blogger or coding as to how to fix this, feel free!courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-893579502108217052016-01-14T12:16:00.001-06:002016-01-14T12:30:29.773-06:00homeward bound.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Halfway. Our adventure in the Big Easy is closer and closer to being over, and even though these last five and a half months have felt plenty long, it's suddenly as if the universe is conspiring to make our final five and a half as busy as possible. I'll miss these red brick walls outside our door and the little home we've made here, but I'm trying not to dwell on the <i>missing </i>and spend time in the <i>living</i>, instead.<br />
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It's funny, feeling a bit stuck in suspended animation: I have so many ideas bumping around in my head these days about what I'd like to do next with my writing and my shop and my life, in general, but I can't really get started on any of them from here. I picked "focus" as my 2016 word of the year for good reason. It's nice to be forced to live today for today, even if it sometimes makes me feel itchy to turn the page. My to-do list for life here is long enough.<br />
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I've also been a bit stuck about writing here lately: I have several half-written posts and I'm struggling with their imperfections but also with the knowledge that anything I post on my blog, no matter how many few readers there might be, is unlikely to be accepted anywhere else because it's "already published." For now, they're stuck in suspended animation, too - but I'm hoping to figure out a solution soon. This little writing home of mine needs some focus and care.courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-63182217272086062582015-12-02T20:59:00.002-06:002015-12-03T12:13:10.095-06:00a Big Easy hope.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Pictures from home lately have made my social media feeds a beautiful winter fairyland. I love this part of winter - technically, almost-winter, but no one in the upper Midwest judges seasons by the date on the calendar - when the snow is crystalline and pure. Come late January, as the white has turned to sludgy gray and everything is iced and barren and forlorn, winter feels endless and unforgiving. But in December there is still hope in the air and wonder at the magic of it all.<br />
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We wondered what Christmas would be like in Louisiana. "I bet people don't get as into it here," Jason kept saying, almost hopefully, his Jewish uneasiness with all things Santa bobbing up above the surface. It's easy to see why Germany and Scandinavia have the richest of holiday traditions, both Christian and pagan, that so many of our Christmas memories are wrapped in. The need for the light-in-the-darkness metaphor doesn't feel so urgent when it's warm enough to take a dip in the apartment complex swimming pool.<br />
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But though the need may not be as urgent, the checkout lines at Target prove Christmas is big business here. It just looks a little different than what we're used to. In typical New Orleans fashion, the brighter and kitschier the better when it comes to holiday decorations. Subtly twinkling lights reflecting off snowy trees aren't a possibility even if subtlety were a welcome trait, so instead lawns are filled to overflowing with inflatable tidings of good cheer.<br />
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I started the month of November overflowing with good cheer, too - happiness about making <a href="http://mamalode.com/story/detail/sharing-the-spotlight" target="_blank">real progress on my writing goals</a>, excitement about the upcoming holidays and spending my favorite time of year in a new city. And then sadness crept into the corners of everything: ugliness and violence on college campuses, terror in Paris, continued horrors in the Middle East, mass shootings here in New Orleans and around the country. Another cancer diagnosis and looming weeks of surgery, radiation, and recovery for my mom. Overwhelming feelings of dread that kept me up at night and zapped away all the drive I had to spend the month being thankful and motivated. My momentum and energy deflated like those sad Santas you see facedown in the grass, waiting for someone to come and make their bowlful-of-jelly bellies jolly again.<br />
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But time marches on, and December, the month and the meaning, has been looming large on the calendar for quite some time despite my own feelings on the subject of making merry. Everyone here seems to agree that the only way to properly ring in the season is at <a href="http://neworleanscitypark.com/celebration-in-the-oaks" target="_blank">Celebration in the Oaks</a>, which is City Park's massive light display. It opened the night after Thanksgiving, and car loads of locals were lined up on City Park Avenue by dusk. We had just dropped our houseguests off at the airport after a week of turkey and football and all-American revelry, and we decided to peek into the festivities from across the pond.<br />
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It was pinch-me-I'm-dreaming balmy and as soon as they were out of the car the girls took off running into the warm air, eager to shed the weight of "be on your best behavior" they'd been shouldering all week. Jason and I ran along behind, laughing at their squeals of joy every time they spotted a new display through the veils of Spanish moss: flamingos and swans standing guard over the pond, trumpets and trombones dangling from branches, a pirate ship headed straight for a mermaid sitting next to a treasure chest of gold, a pelican with mouth wide open to catch a jumping, flashing fish. You know, all the typical Yuletide emblems, sparkling with brilliance amongst the fully-leaved, blooming trees, just like the Christmases of my Minnesota childhood. "Let's hide under these pine trees!" the girls kept shouting, no matter how many times I reminded them that they are palms.<br />
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There were just two displays that we could actually get to from our side of things. One was a giant wire Santa and his sleigh, a garish beacon beckoning the season and simultaneously bidding farewell to the line of traffic <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/172062" target="_blank">slouching towards Bethlehem</a>, or at least towards Canal Street. The other was a stand of trees with Chinese paper lanterns and strings of lights to look like jellyfish. We darted in and out of the trees and across the field towards Santa, yelling and laughing and panting for breath. A line from <i><a href="http://www.readbreatherelax.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/infinite.png" target="_blank">The Perks of Being a Wallflower</a></i> kept echoing in my head: "and in that moment, I could swear we were infinite." My grinchy heart was big and light for the first time in weeks. It was like the sticky, firefly-lit nights of summer when the world is vibrantly alive and everything feels possible and you can no longer remember how it felt to believe - truly believe, in the depths of your February despair - that it would be cold and dark and colorless forever.<br />
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When we piled into the car, still laughing, to head home, I wanted to cling to that sweet-smelling summer night feeling, so I popped in the mix CD I had made for our car trip when we moved down here in late July. "Is this 'Dog Days Are Over'?" Lorelei asked from the back, and the girls sang along at the top of their lungs, the lyrics miraculously bubbling up in their brains after months without hearing them. "Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father," they sang as we drove past the brightly lit tree lot on Pontchartrain Boulevard, already overrun with customers. "The dog days are over, the dog days are done. Can't you hear the horses? Because <i>here they come</i>!"<br />
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Happiness does hit you, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iWOyfLBYtuU" target="_blank">in the words of Florence and the Machine</a>, like a bullet in the back sometimes, especially when you've turned your back on the idea in the first place. Anne Lamott, one of my writing idols, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AnneLamott/posts/250930178369966" target="_blank">said it much better</a> than I ever could: <i>"This is the time of year when in every wisdom tradition and religion, we ask ourselves, Will the Light really come again this year? Will there REALLY be Spring? Left to my own devices, I think, Probably not, or 50-50; but faith tells me that no matter how sick and in trouble the trees look, things will be okay, that we are all connected, that if we light a few candles, scatter some seeds, plant some bulbs, try to help as we can, stick close to each other as we prepare for the end of despair, that there will be enough light, buds on the trees, hope. And hope always catches us by surprise."</i> I'm still struggling in that winter darkness to get to that 50-50, to believe that the dog days are over and Spring will come at last to our sick, troubled world. But nights under jellyfish lights swaying in trees that have never lost their leaves in the first place, in this town of endless hopefulness even amidst terrible grief, make me feel connected once again to that which is infinite, and for that I am thankful.<br />
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<br />courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-54764660895065914172015-11-13T13:09:00.001-06:002015-11-13T13:18:51.849-06:00short hair, do care.<b>"It's undeniably daring to have short hair: a simultaneous refusal to be 'pretty' and a provocation for others to see you as so." - Alice Gregory in her New York Times article <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2015/10/16/t-magazine/pixie-cut-style-implications.html?smid=fb-share&_r=1" target="_blank">"The Implications of Very Short Hair"</a></b><br />
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I've never had great hair. It's been adequate, and sometimes better than adequate, at various times over the years. But more often than not, it's just been average: straight and resistant to attempts to curl it, thin (though not, save some postpartum breakage, thinning) and fine, ever-darkening dishwater blonde once I lost the butter color of my early childhood. I used to joke that I befriended women who had the hair I always dreamed of having - thick, dark brown, and wavy or curly - and a quick look at pictures of me with girlfriends in college or my bridesmaids confirms the truth behind the humor.<br />
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My father used to braid it every morning, before elementary school, in elaborate configurations based on what he learned for those long-ago Boy Scout macrame badges, but once I was in charge of styling it I stuck with simple, tried-and-true methods: a ponytail or <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/120823202473025553/" target="_blank">pulled-through ponytail</a>, a side barrette, a messy bun. I don't know if it was having a hippie for a mom or my lack of patience or my hair's lackluster qualities, but I never learned much more than the basics.<br />
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I had a stacked a-line bob for most of my twenties which suited me then, but otherwise I've had dozens of styles over the years and never really felt I found a haircut that suited my sensibilities. Over the past few years, I felt increasingly that my hair and my clothes were a mismatch - from the neck down, I looked totally pulled together, but from the neck up I was a mess. I even stopped wearing some of my favorite skirts and dresses because they seemed so incongruous with my sad little ponytails and stringy Kurt Cobain locks (which I managed to sport even with squeaky clean tresses).<br />
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I first pinned a picture of <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/120823202472604814/" target="_blank">Ginnifer Godwin's enviable pixie cut</a> over 4 years ago, according to Pinterest's handy-dandy dating system. Over the next three years, I had pinned almost a dozen other pixie styles and then created a secret pixie board to stop overwhelming followers, taken screenshots of dozens of pictures from Instagram, and talked to my hairstylist about the idea of going super short more than a few times.<br />
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Contrary to what Alice Gregory stated in <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2015/10/16/t-magazine/pixie-cut-style-implications.html?smid=fb-share&_r=1" target="_blank">her recent NYTimes piece</a>, the reason I wanted to go ultra-short was that I wanted to reclaim feeling "pretty." The style I pictured was "1950s Paris," though I don't know exactly where I came up with that label; <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/120823202481464669/" target="_blank">Jean Seberg in "Breathless</a>" and <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/120823202479813072/" target="_blank">Michelle Williams' beautiful short cut</a> were the closest to what I had in mind. I wanted to look classic, sleek, and - yes - feminine. I didn't know what the cut would look like on me, and I was terrified it would backfire, but my motivation for the cut was the opposite of "daring" and "provocative" - it stemmed from a desire to feel like a woman, not a tired, style-less mom.<br />
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I'll admit that I had one mental hurdle to overcome before I took the plunge and chopped my hair: I got my ears pierced (well, re-pierced, decades after a terrible Claire's experience). In retrospect, I don't think it was something I needed to do at all - but it felt a bit like a security blanket to soften the blow of such a significant change. Dangly earrings weren't exactly a ponytail replacement, but they felt safer than baring it all.<br />
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I've tweaked the cut a bit over the past 9 months - but this is a style that's here to stay for quite a while. I am excited to get dressed in the morning again and I make time for makeup and accessories in a way that I hadn't in a long time. Is it compensation for wanting to balance out the androgyny? Maybe - but I think it's more that I'm honing in on a more specific, complete style now that I am not dragged down by my mediocre hair. And since I've never been catcalled on the street or hit on in a bar in my life no matter what length my hair was, I haven't noticed much of a change post-chop - except that I'm holding my head a lot higher these days.<br />
<br />courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-46687745242111430502015-11-12T08:06:00.000-06:002015-11-12T08:14:58.155-06:00sharing the spotlight (mamalode)I'm so thrilled to share with you that an essay of mine is featured over on <a href="http://mamalode.com/" target="_blank">Mamalode</a> today! It's appropriate timing, too: this week, Phoebe is exactly the age Lorelei was when she became a big sister, and my essay is all about becoming a family of four and worrying about raising two girls. Hope you'll <a href="http://mamalode.com/story/detail/sharing-the-spotlight" target="_blank">click over and give it a read</a>!<br />
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<br />courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-6586535642910796022015-10-30T15:57:00.002-05:002015-10-30T15:57:21.676-05:00nola-ctober: a mostly pictures postBack home in Illinois, pumpkins are big business, and we were sad to miss <a href="http://www.sycamorepumpkinfestival.com/" target="_blank">Pumpkin Fest</a> this year. But this town loves everything spooky, scary - and we've been soaking up all that boo-tiful Big Easy has to offer. (I'll update this post over the weekend if the weather holds and we have any good pics from Halloween - but as for now, New Orleans has declared 10/30 the official trick-or-treating day due to rain in the forecast...)<br />
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Oh - and don't be fooled: the pictures of the girls in coats were taken at 8 in the morning. It's still 80+ here most days.<br />
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<br />courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-86552057944457598772015-10-17T10:55:00.001-05:002015-10-30T21:11:52.046-05:00up in the air I go flying againLast week, we headed to City Park on an afternoon New Orleanians call autumn but which would easily have been, to borrow a phrase from Raffi, a hot, hot day in July back in DeKalb. I don't like the playground in the afternoon. I love park mornings, when the air is still cool and dewy and we often have no one to play with but ourselves, or just a few other parents with stroller and preschooler in tow. Park mornings are slow, relaxed, gentle. In the afternoon, kids are everywhere, adultless, with their bikes and backpacks strewn across the grass, their uniforms untucked, their pent-up energy from the school day bubbling out everywhere. They throw fistfuls of pebbles onto the bottom of the slide as their friends race down. They push chubby-legged new walkers aside in their eagerness to claim the best swing for themselves. The few moms and occasional dads there are tired from a day spent saying <i>no </i>and are tacitly saying <i>yes </i>to the <u>Lord of the Flies</u> savagery from behind their iPhone shields. Afternoons at the park are uncivilized. I don't cope well unless there's a posted placard of at least 10 very specific rules to follow. And I'm not just talking about the playground.<br />
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My girls, naturally, love afternoons at the park. I had finally caved under the sheer weight of the whining. I could tell as soon as we arrived that getting a turn on the swings, their favorite, was going to be a challenge - they were filled already, with kids standing around waiting for a turn - so I tried to steer them towards the rest of the equipment. <i>Fiiiiiiiiine</i>, they said, eyes glued to the promised land just over my shoulder. And then they were running, four pink rubber shoes flying over the sandy earth, pell mell tumble bumble, till they came to the green poles and two coveted open spots.<br />
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Somewhere in the last six months, Lorelei learned to pump on the swings. I'm not sure if it was a skill born of necessity, since I'm inevitably distracted by Phoebe's penchant for climbing something just outside her ability and my comfort zone, or born of determination to be a Big Kid as soon as possible, but besides a quick boost up at parks where the woodchips have been scooped away by ungainly puppy paws hidden inside scuffed, light-up sneaks, she's suddenly, surprisingly, self-sufficient.<br />
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She's not, however, ready for complete independence. "Look at me, Mom!" she calls, in the time-honored playground tradition of every kid who came before her and every kid after, her feet stretching as hard as they can towards the branches above. "Look at me!" as she lifts off the seat at the apex of her arc, laughing as she slams back down into the saddle on her journey backwards. "Look at me, Mom! Look!"<br />
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I don't recall playing favorites with playground equipment as a kid. I was never the monkey that my brother was - my mom loves to tell of looking out a bedroom window to discover him, at two and a half, perched on top of our backyard swingset - though I loved to be a pirate princess scampering up the ship's rope ladder, bravely facing the fiery danger of the precarious metal slide baking in the summer sun, and hiding in the secret nooks of the wooden castle away from the wicked stepmother or the evil witch. But I did love the swings. Our park's were self-contained within a metal dome, bars curving overhead, so that the best and bravest swingers, if their legs were long enough and their might strong enough, could just barely touch the center with a satisfying <i>ping</i>. The swings were where you could make real all the best childhood make-believe. The swings were where you could fly.<br />
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Middle schoolers, mouths filled with pubescent attempts at profanity, might drape themselves on the tops of tornado slides or dangle apathetically from monkey bars to prove their coolness, but swinging is never babyish. Parents, arms weary from hoisting toddlers up and down the fireman's pole and hair staticky from rubbing through the covered plastic tubes, breathe a sigh of relief when they can steal a moment or two on an open swing, chains creaking in complaint. Contrary to the overused adage, I learned that you can, in fact, forget how to ride a bike. But your legs and arms always remember that magic formula of pumping and pulling to climb ever higher and higher.<br />
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Back in my days of regular flights on the swings, I was pretty sure I was going to be a writer when I grew up. Either that or an Egyptologist. But probably both. Somewhere between fourth grade and the fiction writing course I was forced to take in college for my teaching certification, I realized I just didn't have what it took to write anything worth reading. "I'm just better at being critical of other people's stuff," I'd answer when anyone asked if I did any writing of my own. When my high school AP composition teacher told me how surprised she was to learn I was left-handed, I knew just what she meant. No one would mistake me for being a creative spirit. I'm a feet-on-the-ground kind of a girl.<br />
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My parents signed me up for a creative writing workshop one year where we wrote and published our own books from start to finish, complete with a book signing party at the end. The story I wrote a rudimentary mash-up of <u>Betsy and Tacy</u> and <u>Meet Samantha</u>, my major literary influences at the time. I remember someone - was it the workshop coordinator or some overzealous parent visiting my "Meet The Author!" table? - pointed out how ludicrous it was to have my derivative little main character, a proper Victorian, looking out her window at a sundial to get to school on time. I was mortified. That same hot-cheeked, tight-chested feeling came rushing back the day I had to share my short story in my college creative writing class. A deafening chorus of voices rang out, in unison, to declare how much my pitiful attempt at originality reminded them of a much-anthologized story I must have read but somehow forgot about. Since then, I've taught and graded countless creative writing assignments, sponsored a fiction writing club, and coached a handful of students (and one teacher) through a month-long challenge to write a draft of a novel. As for me? I have a few journal pages here and there, but I could never quite find that magic formula again.<br />
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That afternoon, I watched Lorelei, pumping her feet, pulling the chains, hair whooshing back, as I pushed Phoebe. She seemed so confident as she flew, higher and higher, toes pointed hard at the low-hanging branches. "Hi Mommy!" she called. One hand came off the chain, briefly, to wave at us. Then back on again, gripping hard. Phoebe and I waved from below. <i><a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/171919" target="_blank">Up in the air I go flying again</a></i>, I heard in my head. <i>Up in the air and down</i>.<br />
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The gang of slouching, surly teens had gathered slowly enough that it escaped my notice at first. Then they were everywhere: raucous, swaggering. I had moved Phoebe over to a swing nearer Lorelei, but their insistent glares made me feel 34 going on 9. "Let's go back to the baby swing and give someone else a chance," I said loudly. One of the girls, sass painted in broad strokes on her face, stood with a hand on her hip. "Are those <i>both </i>yours?" she said pointedly, gesturing at Lorelei. "Yes," I said, clutching Phoebe, my cheeks surprisingly hot. "They're mine."<br />
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Lorelei pumped harder and waved again. She looked as if she might really touch the tree this time. <i>Ping</i>. When did she get to be so brave? And when did I cease to be? I pushed Phoebe in silence, watching them as they watched her, keeping up with biggest of the boys who had muscled their way onto the open swings ahead of their friends. <i>Two more minutes</i>, I told myself. <i>Two minutes, and I'll make her get off</i>. Was it my job to police the playground? Would anyone else have made room for my girl, had she been standing there? Was I unnecessarily inflating this into some sort of park morality play when, really, it was nothing at all?<br />
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I glanced over at two moms, not watching from a bench, and turned again to Phoebe. I felt a warmth next to my hip. "Mom, I'm done now," Lorelei said, looking up with magic in her eyes. "That was fun. Did you see me flying?" She gave her sister's swing a happy little push.<br />
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courtney - larking.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08226125721814127732noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8762626668776711100.post-39621393564299695292015-10-02T20:39:00.000-05:002015-10-03T08:19:58.206-05:00this is two.A couple of moms I know have been gushing about their toddler daughters lately and how much they love this stage of having a two-year-old. For me, it's an adventure, to put it mildly. Turns out that two was a glorious age for Lorelei - I remember once telling someone that Jason and I couldn't help but laugh whenever she threw a tantrum because they were just so funny to witness. My sincerest apologies to that parent, and to any of the rest of you rolling your eyes at that. I deserve it, and more.<br />
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Phoebe hasn't had her two-year check-up yet, because we've been waiting on record transfers from home and other red tape, but she's big in all the ways that matter: she towers over other children her age and she has the personality to match. She is the girl of a thousand faces that I haven't even begun to capture on film, try as I might. She talks a mile a minute, runs like lightning, kisses you as if you're going on a long and perilous sea voyage, and works a crowd like she's the funniest stand-up comic you've ever paid good money to see. She asks to wear a dress almost every day and then spins around the room, breathlessly announcing, "this is so, so bootiful." She is fiercely determined to do everything by herself, no matter how long it takes and how many exasperated sighs she gets in response. She goes from zero to a hundred in two seconds flat and her horror movie screaming skills are unparalleled. She has sparkling blue eyes that are usually hidden behind sunglasses, a gap between her two front teeth, and the best dimples you've ever seen. Her favorite letters are W and Q, she could hear you read <u>The Gruffalo</u> at least twenty times more than you think you need to read it, and she likes to hide in the closet whenever you want to leave the house. She could eat her weight in chocolate ice cream, can drink anyone under the table (water, that is), and loves her sister more than I thought anybody could love anybody. She is brave and goofy and smart and affectionate and stubborn and we are so lucky to have her, at this stage and any stage.<br />
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