I just hate that I'm one of those women. I just hate it. It is the ulitmate in insulting cliche to end up this way. Yet, there is nothing I can do about it. The universe (yes, I blame you) has made it so that I am One of Those Women–you know: just over thirty, biological time bombs, half-ass career (I use the word "career" lightly), no equity, chronically single (I tell you, a decent-smelling bricklayer with a nice mom would do GREAT right about now), divorced (starter marriage nearly a decade under the belt), clinging to individual expression through handbags and shoes (attempts at such rendered null and void by sheer numbers of other women doing the same thing with a limited selection of said handbags and shoes–it's a supply and demand thing), wandering place to place, looking for that next 'cool' place that will make everything ok, still pissed at Daddy, etc., etc.
So, I'm this far head-up-my-own-ass when the Russian school children held hostage crisis breaks into utter chaos, bloodshed and horror.
And I'm a shit. A self-ish, self-centered, pathetic shit.
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Bjorn, a retired chief of police from Norway, currently working part-time for a publishing company specializing in true crime stories, has a brother whose son is attending university, studying music, in Lincoln, Nebraska, where my father attended college not too far from his own home town of Edgar, Nebraska. Bjorn's favorite true crime story of the evening involved a Danish airstewardess who was murdered and then dismembered in a wood chipper by her American husband, much the same as the victim in the movie Fargo from the Coen brothers, originally from Minnesota, my home state's northwesterly neighbor, and home of the camp where I first learned French. Bjorn's best friend's wife is an artist, a painter. Bjorn's friend looks just like my father, though my dad never sported quite that elegant a moustache. My father's side of the family is Danish (hence Mikkelsen and not Mickelson, which would make us Swedish, possibly German or just poor spellers). Bjorn, here on vacation every August for the past four years, works with a Danish man who has also brought his family on vacation here in Antibes this week. Bjorn and his wife spent a three week vacation in the States, visiting places such as Chicago, Los Angeles, and of course, Fargo, where they were greeted like family when every third person they met shared their last name. They also went to….Portland.
Did I mention Bjorn and his wife bought one of my paintings last night? -
The City of Roses, City of bridges, whatever you call it, Portland, beyond the outdoor beauty and organic produce, has a wacky side:
Admire chess sets and mannequins at the Maryhill Museum (or get a used mannequin of your own, or rent Mannequin, the greatest movie ever!). A writer's hotel. Everyone, even marauding Santas and paranormal investigators, needs an island getaway.
I'm loving this book, Fugitives and Refugees, A Walk in Portland, Oregon by Chuck Palahniuk. As well as a weekly dose of these Portland stories.
Thanks again to H for the suggestion. -
I was just thinking…(clearest warning of bad idea, second only to "Well, I was drinking…")
….do you remember when some types of sugar packets were printed with little educational ditties? From when I was a little girl having dinner with the family at the Captain's Steak Joint, I remember a series of packets with illustrations and definitions of the different types of boats, sailing vessels through the ages….are they still around?
It occurred to me that tampon wrappers could use the same treatment. Who wouldn't want to learn a little something new in the bathroom? Or maybe a one or two line message like fortune cookies? -
Voila! Here's Mike and Matt's complete online photo album of their visit to Paris and Antibes—some great shots, those boys are so damn cute. Has it been nearly a week since they left already? Miss 'em so. -
I've been trying to paint this week….emphasis on trying….Don't know what it is; summer lethargy or perhaps the stress of attempting to arrange this big move back to the States, but everything is turning out crap. I think my life is too disorganized and uncertain at the moment to allow my mind to make confidant decisions with a brush or pencil. It's hard to face a blank canvas when your entire LIFE is blank at the moment!
I did manage to get some creativity going in the house though, little Miss Grace joined me for a morning of painting—she loved it. She has a technique of mashing the brush with such force and concentration that she vibrates bodily. Admirable dedication to the work little girl! -
After two extra-crispy tarts, one tray of char-nuggets and a half-dozen close calls, we finally got a new kitchen timer. I don't think Mom was expecting me to shreak with excitement when she brought it home. But how could I not? She got the classic minitimer (currently made by Italora). It was designed by Richard Sapper (of Tizio fame), one of my all-time-favorite industrial/product designers, back in '71- or '74, depending on who you ask. How I love being in the kitchen with Richard! -
Today is the 60th anniversary of the liberation of Antibes. We caught the reinactment parade after Bert alerted it to us this rainy morning—"It will bring a tear to your eye." Spirit of history aside, I think he was referring to the vintage motorcycles. -
Seeing Mike and Matt off on the train this morning. -
The only image I have of every evening's routine—wine, wine and more wine. And those funny, funny boys.
