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A creative blog by Brian Leighton on The Whole 9

Art and After

After visiting several of the big art shows in NYC last week, my eyes were spinning for 3 days. Some inspiring, a lot of WTF, and seeing many old and new friends from the art and photography world. Most of all I was left thinking, where is the art world headed? Hundreds and hundreds of galleries exhibiting work in at least a dozen venues, and not a ton of red dots. I’m always left wondering where the galleries are headed and how they survive.

What better way to be brought back to my own reality than by capturing a pregnancy for posterity. No two pregnancies are the same (just ask my client who’s come during all three of hers), and the comfort of a woman in her curves is never as evident as when she’s got the gift of life inside her.

The seventh month is the prime time for maternity shoots, pre-face change due to water retention, and almost at the point of maximum belly expansion to make the curves really stand out of my “girl’s best friend” shadows which I use to hide the trouble spots . I’ve had the opportunity to shoot women the week before they gave birth (they didn’t plan ahead though couldn’t pass up capturing the baby inside), and though the face may have changed, the beauty did not fail to shine. It’s really never too late in a pregnancy to focus on those curves.

This week’s client was a knockout. Her husband commented on her sex appeal during the shoot, putting her even more at ease. She loved the pics and has scheduled a follow up post-pregnancy shoot, with baby in hand to add to what’s going to be a great art installation in the new nursery. I can’t wait to share something from round two, and here’s a taste of round one.

Maybe it’s time for to add a new “before and after” twist to the menu.

YourNudePhoto – maternity nude portait

YourNudePhoto – maternity nude portait

These are beautiful Brian…and as I can attest, having your photo shot is an amazing way to document the experience. I only wish that it had been you around to do the shooting! Much love…

Gorgeous piece Brian! The ‘S’ curve in your subject is stunning…and your eye captures it with all the grace mother nature has in mind.

Rest Hour

One of my favorite descriptions of the behavior of New Yorkers is “with an economy of words and actions.” It’s the behavior where someone productive is getting something done. I try to pack in as much as possible and have a hard time leaving a task until tomorrow. As a third grade teacher of mine once said, “if a task is once begun, never leave it til it’s done, be the labor great or small, do it well or not at all.”
I’ve mentioned before stopping and smelling the roses helps you to appreciate life’s little pleasures, and, that doing rather than thinking about doing eliminates many of the “what if’s” of life. The third element of this trifecta is taking a moment to breathe and clear your head for what’s up next.
Before what turned out to be an amazing studio visit today, I took an hour. A whole hour…just to think. Think about what I wanted to achieve with these new contacts, settling into my head and focusing (no pun intended).
They loved my work and have contracts on their way to me, and I have a great new venue for selling my art. I’m seriously considering bringing back the kindergarten rest hour. Any takers?

I zone out too before a studio visit. This gives me a chance to see where I am and where I want to go with it too. Thanks Brian for reminding me that some down time is most beneficial when it comes to creatives and their meeting of new people. And like you say take time to smell the roses. HUGs, J

Yes…nap time/meditation time/zone out time is a must! I do it all the time! and thank you for sharing that new venue link…for a while now I’ve been thinking about how working with an interior designer or someone related to that field would be a great way to get art out there, but had no idea how to do it. Now I see a way! :D

Phew…I’ve heard of something called meditation and it has crossed my mind that employing it might further increase the power I have to create and make things happen. I just don’t know where I’d find the time ;)

Music to my ears. Finish what I start. Boy where that would take me.
Afternoon nap time in my kindergarten was me sneaking crayons and breaking them and throwing them randomly, ok maybe purposefully, at the teacher…who was trying to nap too with her head on the table. I had a hard time napping. Meditation works better for me because of the focus and detachment.

By Design

Sometimes looking beneath the surface of things, generates a whole new perspective of what’s been sitting right in front of you the whole time.

After a meeting with my gallerist in Palm Beach last week, he reminded me that I am not just an aestheticist (it seems to be the appropriate word…if it were one) creating beautiful imagery, but a marketing businessman, constantly evolving with the nature of the economy and art business to be successful. Licensing imagery for posters, selling out takes of creative shoots to offices to fit into their lower budgets, utilizing the free marketing available in social networking sites to promote and sell work, and; most recently, branching out into interior design in an effort to be creative on a larger scale while utilizing my own artwork to enhance the furnishings I place into my designs.

For years I’ve pursued interior designers, architects, and art consultants to sell work; a networking strategy that has generated far more revenue than the traditional gallery route, in my experience. Recently, I was approached by a nude portrait client to design their space. An eye is an eye, and a creative is a creative. What started as a different kind of art project (I love when a new one is thrown my way pushing my limits) ended in an extremely happy client, a beautiful home and terrace, completed on time and within the budget, with my art photography hanging on the wall.

I’ve done four successful projects to date, sold art to 3 of the 4 clients, and have had a lot of fun being creative in a new way. I can’t help but mention I’ve learned a lot from, and been inspired by, the designers I’ve worked with to date. I continue to recommend them to the appropriate client (every one isn’t a match, I’ve learned it’s a lot like dating). My forte has always been adding the appropriate piece or pieces of art to enhance a design, and more recently, I’ve cut out the middle man once or twice to continue to build my art business in an innovative way.

Leap and the net will appear.

Brian…you are an incredible man and I’m proud to know you. Not many aestheticists are as creative, as steadfast and as generous in nature. I love the direction you’re going and the work you’re doing…and I’m glad that you too realize that the net always appears.

Don’t put off til tomorrow…

After receiving an email this morning from a recent nude commission that her husband, who gifted her with the shoot as part of her 40th birthday, died of a massive heart attack this week, I’m reminded once again to put on those new clothes, eat my favorite food, and don’t wait til tomorrow to tell someone I love them.

“I am even happier now that we came to you for the pictures. He made such a big deal out of my 40th birthday and made me feel so special. The pictures are something I can hold onto to remember an experience that we both loved.” Her words remind me how fortunate I am to be an intimate player in the lives of the people who walk through my door each week.

I’m currently working on an interior design project for a dear friend who turned 76 this year. She told me she wanted to smile again when walking into her apartment where nothing really has be done in 14 years to update it. She hired me for my eye and as I love any creative project, I jumped on board with a vision and plan of attack. Fresh paint went on the walls over the past few days and new beautiful furniture gets delivered this week building the catalyst for the smile. I’m reminded it’s never too late for a change.
Don’t put off til tomorrow what you can do today.

The Women

9 out of 10 of my clients are women; all shapes, colors, sizes and variations of beauty. After seeing my friend (and fellow whole 9er) Kimleigh’s performance of T-O-T-A-L-L-Y last night (go see it!), I’ve been the thinking about the women in my life and where they are in theirs. We all go through phases, and come out the other side of them as a new variation of ourselves, hopefully better.
Four little girls (ages 6-10) this past weekend, dealing with the dynamics of resolving conflicts when 3 gang up on 1 to convince her she is wrong, while the one stands her ground and feels she doesn’t need to belong to be comfortable with herself. A 12 year old testing the boundaries at every turn, seeing where the lies stick, and when she’ll be reigned in. The inevitable bitchiness of a teenage girl setting in. A friend turning 47, experiences her birthday with a ton of laughter, accompanied by hot flashes, making her feel…older. Though all everyday events in the lives of women, I can’t help but reflect on those who came through my studio and marked their moment in time. From the girl in her 30’s who had only seen her body as injection sites for her insulin shots from the time she was a child, to the pregnant woman who thought she would never be capable of conceiving (she returned for pregnancy #2 as well), to the plus size gal who finally felt beautiful after seeing what I saw when I looked at her through my lens. I’m fortunate to have marked these moments of transition, and to have witnessed each of my subjects come away with life lessons.

It’s helped me learn that we all, women and men, need to feel and process emotions to eventually become more of who we hope to be.
And don’t be afraid to mark the moment in time. You’re worth it, even as a work in progress.

ah, women! superior beings for sure. gives men something to aspire to.

Great post! Indeed, and for both men and women, I’d say that sometimes all we need is to know that we are each wonderful and unique in our own ways. That can definitely make us all feel a hell of a lot better about ourselves and lend that emotional well being to those around us. So, taking that into account, you sir are wonderful! Keep up the great work. :)

First Impressions

They say you never get a second chance to make a first impression. I was raised by the town beauty, who to this day “pulls herself together a little bit” before heading out. My 5 trips a week to the gym, complemented by wearing only t-shirts and jeans that showcase my hard work, make me a cog in the wheel of vanity. I, too, pull it together before going out the door.

I also pay a lot of attention to what’s inside. A never ending process of being non-judgmental and kind, I live what the town beauty (she still is) taught me by example and get along with most everyone (though a sense of entitlement doesn’t really work for me). I trust that I generally know my “customer” within 5 or 10 seconds of meeting them. It’s visceral and I’ve always trusted my gut, which hasn’t steered me wrong, in seeing people for who they are on the inside. Pretty can turn to ugly in a few seconds, though what’s inside usually is what it is from the get go. This may explain why the friends I have and cherish have been around for a long time.

My shoot this weekend was an incredibly smart woman, creative in her own right, able to play 4 instruments and juggling careers in law and film production. 800 things going on in one mind at one time was my first impression. Something I can definitely relate to, and the catalyst for me falling in like with her immediately. Cut from the same cloth of having the ability to channel all those thoughts, for a moment, to create something beautiful pouring out of our soul; again visceral. She felt it too, trusting me to do my thing from start to finish, creating beauty with her body, her tattoos, and the one or two props she brought along.

She tells me she’s coming back for round two with her instruments in tow.

Do you trust your first impressions?

Lovely as always Brian…and yes, I always trust my first instincts, and find that more often than being disappointed, I’m pleasantly surprised as I get to know people and discover even more to admire. Kind of like my relatedness to you :)

As always beautiful.

Wonderfully said. You have a great way with words.

Same Same But Different

The lovable Heidi Huber got me thinking about my work making a difference today. I know my nudes have the impact of helping someone see themselves beyond what’s in the mirror; a sense of beauty they may not have seen before, something deeper than the curves, dimples, and strength that brought them to me. They walk away with a blossomed confidence from when they arrived.

My ongoing fine art, coming from what I’m inspired by at the moment, resonates with viewers and brings great discussion and commentary propelling me forward. This feedback leaves an impact on me adding fuel to the passion that keeps me creating while inspiring others to look at things from a fresh perspective.

And finally, the calls I receive to make a difference in others work by offering up the creative direction they may need to bump up their projects to the next level, reinforces that I’m moving in the right direction. Making a difference is a nice reward, though I consider it a bonus to being fortunate enough to create, since without creating, I don’t truly really feel alive.

With a birthday quickly approaching, it seemed a perfect time to reflect on what impact I make on the world. I realize I leave it a little more beautiful, inside and out, and I’m smiling a little bigger now moving into another year.

This recent work, inspired by the water surrounding me at the time, are actually foliage of the Caribbean. The fluidity is what evolved when I stopped thinking and let my gut takeover. Getting lost in creating is the absolute best.

These are beautiful Brian…and what strikes me is that although the subject matter is completely different from your other work, there is a consistency in the grace with which it’s presented.

rminds me of georgia o’keefe. just lovely.

Very nice. Ever seen the work of Rod Dresser? I think you’d relate. Besides his spectacular, organic traditional stuff, check out his most recent digital images, especially where he’s working with fruit and plants.

I also feel that sometimes we don’t even realize the impact our work can have on the world, always pushing forward and challenging yourself can surely yield positive results.

I love the abstractions posted, beautiful use of color and line.

I’m Smelling the Roses

Aaah…Summer again. I wait for it all year. Delicious watermelon, sun-kissed skin after a day on the beach, and setting these 3 up for an amazing water fight will always mark the onset of Summer 2010.

These are too beautiful Brian. And water fights are the best. Looking forward to picking up some of that watermelon you mention. Yum…

I really like the play between your mastery with black and the white with amazing color. Allows us the soberness of clean imagery with poignant lines and crisp shadows juxtaposed against a glimpse color and into the vibrancy of our lives. Thanks for sharing.

Age Before Beauty?

How many times have you heard 50 is the new 40 (or even the new 30)? One of my shoots last week was a woman, 58 years young, who shocked me when she divulged that info before leaving my studio at the end of the session. She looked great; not in a plastic LA, or Upper East Side (for the east coasters) way, but in a real, I work out and try to keep it together kind of way.

What resonated most? Even with the confidence she had to do nudes, it was her husband’s love, support, and push, that got her here (he made the initial call), through the shoot (he watched with adoring eyes as I captured his queen for posterity), and beaming after seeing the contact sheets. He asked her “Who is that?” while looking at the small images under a magnifier with a smile from ear to ear and a glimmer in his eye. Love and confidence know no age.

I will add that she has three adult children and no plans of telling them. This secret between husband and wife will be just one more notch in the checklist of what keeps them young and in love.

Nice! I like this. Thanks for the post. I can honestly say that I am one of these women myself. People usually guess my age between 24-30, but never over 35. I’m actually 39, toned and trim after working off the excess weight I picked up after I hit 30, got divorced and lost my mom to cancer. I’ve re-emerged from my depression to find the beautiful, sexy young woman that was there underneath the whole time. I plan on being 40 and fabulous, wearing a bikini into my 60’s and being a totally wild cougar!

How about her opinion, Brian, and her satisfaction, her beaming pride, and her thoughts, being as how she was the one who posed for you – and in this situation he’s just the lucky husband! :)

Trimming the Fat

Have you seen “Hoarders” yet? It’s a TV show about people who save everything. Scary, to say the least, and after watching it I’m proud to call myself a “Spartan.” I get rid of just about everything. I follow the rule “If I don’t need it, use it, or love it, it goes.”

This minimalist approach spills over into my art, where simplicity and beauty are my two main goals no matter the subject. And in the newest phase of marketing my work, I realize I’ve trimmed the fat as well.

I remember when I would do mailings 3 or 4 times a year. New work required new promo pieces, then labels, stamps, and ultimately the line at the post office (not to mention the cost). I remember one intern who put the stamps OVER my phone number on the postcards (clearly hungover at work). It contributed to my need to be on top of every detail of the most tedious of tasks, the fat of the process.

With the evolution of technology, it’s become writing a captivating email, attaching the best new image, and hitting send to my list of collectors, clients and contacts. Streamlining even more over the past year, I created a fan page on Facebook, which in addition to my personal page, are the daily opportunities to reach out and touch, sharing the image shadowing my mind when I wake up that day. Accompanied by one line of description about the image; subject matter, how many are left in the edition, or promoting the designer who bought it for their client, lead to new opportunities for my work.

Over the weekend, a collector bought a piece they admired from a show several years ago after getting reacquainted with it in a posting on FB a few weeks ago (I had noted it was the last of the edition of 5). The fan page has brought sales of books and inquires about studio visits from those who don’t live nearby and want the opportunity to see work in person that they may have missed at past exhibitions. Best of all, it’s a regular reminder to them, with a click of the mouse, that I can mark a moment in people’s lives by making them the subject of art. Apparently we’re coming into nude season as indicated by the inquiries this past week, not to mention the weather. Stay tuned.

A streamlined approach to life, art, and now marketing. Less is more.

Thank you so much for sharing your insight of marketing your art. It was very interesting.

In our home decor business, when clients are starting a project, I frequently ask them about their personal style. Are they looking for something traditional, contemporary, transitional or eclectic? Are they a “Less is More” kind of person, or do they prefer a “More is Not Enough” sort of approach?

I totally get the “Less is More” idea, especially in our marketing. I have a mantra: KISS (Keep it Simple, Stupid). With the avalanche of information we are forced to sift through daily, the truth is that the public has less than two seconds to react to your message when it comes to advertising. But my brain is a beehive of activity and initially I like to include all of my ideas (even the silly ones) and then distilling them down to their most essential and relevant components.

In decorating there is also something to be said about the concept of layering: implementing variations of a theme and using our favorite objects in arrangements that are ever evolving. I like incorporating my relics from the past and my fabulous finds. I even include the discarded which I will frequently re-purpose into my garden or for a future art project. I have a big house for the present and I embrace my insane collections; and honestly, I’m not sure I trust people who don’t have “stuff.”

I believe in having a joy of living and using that in everything I do. I think both approaches can be valid depending on your personal decorating style and the circumstances of the moment. You can go both ways. La Vita e` Bella!


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Thursday, May 19, 2011

Part I:  Baby Moses
My big 20-week ultrasound was Monday morning, and we learned that Baby Moses is a BOY!  I realize the odds were roughly 50/50 that this baby would be male, but I was still shocked.  As in, I didn't know how to react, I asked the ultrasound tech to look again just to make sure, I still have trouble calling the baby "he."  I was just very convinced this one was a girl.  My intuition regarding pregnancy seems to be worthless.

Daniel and I can't decide yet what we want this little guy's name to be.  We looked at a list of Old Testament names online the other night, and it was just comical.  We were trying to find some fresh options in all seriousness, but we ended up in fits of laughter multiple times.  You know how sometimes you're in situations at church where you have to read some weird biblical name out loud, and someone makes a joke about how you should name your kid that?  It was like that, except we're actually trying to figure out what to name our kid.  We still have plenty of time to decide, but I am a psycho and want this baby to have a name yesterday.

Baby Moses, if you read this someday, please know that my thinking you were a girl and failing to have a name ready for you is no indication of how I feel about you.  I love you just as much as I loved your older brother when he was "in my tummy."

Part II:  Baby Ben
It's that time again -- time for a new round of Funny Stuff Ben Says and Does!

  • For a little while, Ben knew Daniel's and my first names.  But now when you ask him what Mommy or Daddy's name is, he answers, "Honey."
  •  He has a freakish memory.  We can read a book or sing a new song once or twice, and he can suddenly fill in the blanks if you ask him to.
  • While reading a favorite book about a visit from Nana, he showed extra interest in the page where Nana gives the little-girl protagonist a nightgown.  I usually call the nightgown "pajamas" to keep it somewhat relevant to my non-nightgown-wearing son, but I explained it a little further this time, and the following conversation ensued:
Micah: That's a nightgown.  Girls wear nightgowns.
Ben: Giwls wear nightgowns.
Micah: What do boys wear?
Ben: Boys wear... shirts.
He states both of these facts several more times, then out of nowhere...
Ben: Giwls wear... nuffins! (hysterical laughter)
I had no idea this sentiment was one boys spontaneously created before age two.  I am in big, big trouble.
  •  He's started calling things "cute."  Mommy is cute, Baby Moses is cute, a random baby at the library was cute, animals are cute, etc.  And he raises the pitch of his voice when he says it.
  • He thinks it's really funny to say that things smell like pepperoni (which sounds extra cute when you can't say the letter R).
  • We took him to Lowe's recently, and he is in love.  He talks about the "tool store" alllllll the time now.  The morning after the Lowe's trip, I loaded him in the car to go to Wal-Mart and told him we were going to the store.  He excitedly asked, "Tool store??  See jigsaws?  Miter saws?"
  • On that same special trip to Lowe's, we bought him a pink sprinkler - an item he dreamed up and has specifically requested for weeks.  Apparently our green sprinklers weren't cool enough for him.  I didn't even know pink sprinklers existed, so we pretty well had to get it when we saw one for under $3.  Maybe someday it will get warm enough to go outside and play with it.
  • Have I mentioned before that he is insanely opinionated?  And bossy?  He will tell you to sit on the floor, and then get upset because he actually wanted you to sit one foot to the left of where you sat.  He also tells us frequently, "No say that!"  I considered it a milestone tonight when he, without being told to ask nicely, said to me, "No say that, Mommy.  Pwease."
  • He sort of has an imaginary friend?  Her name is Goggy (which is all the more bizarre because I had an imaginary friend named Coggy when I was a kid).  Goggy started out as a nonsense word that Ben made up to amuse himself.  So we might ask, "Ben, what do you want for breakfast?"  And he would reply, "Goggy (hysterical laughter)!!"  Somehow over the course of a few weeks, Goggy has morphed into a person that he randomly talks about.
  • One of his new favorite play areas is a "cave" I made him on our loveseat.  The cave is really not that awesome, but crawling in/out and throwing items in/out of it entertains him for long stretches.  We're talking minutes at a time, people!  He also cleans his cave with an ear thermometer, which he calls a "dust-buster" (the handle part really does look like a dust-buster -- props to my clever boy on that one).

    Parenting at this stage is quite an adventure.  It's more and more fun all the time to see the sweet, cute, witty parts of his personality develop.  But I have to get more and more creative to manage the strong-willed, whiney, stinkery parts that are also developing.  I complain too often about those latter parts because they sometimes take up a lot of the day, but I honestly LOVE having a toddler.  He is a gift that I do not take for granted!

Sunday, May 15, 2011

One of the 30 Before 30 items I've been most excited about is paying a surprise visit to my parents.  I started realizing, though, that if I waited much longer, I would either have to fly by myself with two kids or pay for an extra plane ticket to make Daniel come with me.  So when some of my oldest, dearest friends tried to convince me to pop into central Arkansas at the end of April, I (very, very excitedly) agreed.

me, Rebecca, Whitney, Angela
These are my girls :)  We try to get together and go to a major-league baseball game at a different park every summer, but two of us didn't stagger our pregnancies very well this year.  So we settled for a minor-league game in Little Rock, followed by a little sleepover.  We also got to celebrate Whitney's daughter's first birthday and go to a baby shower for Rebecca (who is expecting baby Caroline at the end of June).  Have I mentioned that I love these girls?  Because I love these girls.  I'm beyond thrilled that I got to spend some time with them and celebrate fun things in their lives.

My girls knew I was coming, but they were just about the only ones.  But even with all my secrecy, I didn't quite get to surprise my parents.  I knew I would have to call my dad before I got there because I needed a ride from the airport from someone who had a car seat.  Then he had to spill the beans to my mom because she kept trying to make plans that interfered with our arrival.  So they both knew a few hours before Ben and I landed in Little Rock.
His hair was almost this curly the whole trip.  That Southern humidity is crazy.

I mentioned here that I was nervous about flying with Ben.  I wish I had wasted all those valuable minutes worrying about something else because he did soooo well.  I'm still in shock.  Everything about flying was the coolest thing he had ever seen.  The wings!  The machinery (he still talks about "machine-wee") inside the wings!  All the people!  With suitcases!  Different colored suitcases with handles!  The air conditioner things above our heads!  He was hilarious.  And never shed a single tear while we were flying (I gave him raisins or jelly beans during take-off and landing, just in case).

He was also pretty excited about seeing Nana, Granddad, and the rest of the familial crew.  So excited that he barely slept the entire trip.  We never managed to get him to bed on time, and he would wake up around 6am and talk, talk, talk to himself.  For at least 30 minutes, non-stop.  I guess he had to review all the fun things he had been doing?  Who knows.
A smooch from aunt Mindy (my big brother's wife)
We were there Wednesday night through Monday morning, and we squeezed in time with all my siblings, both sets of my grandparents, and a handful of aunts, uncles, and cousins.  I can't really remember the last time I went home when it wasn't a holiday, so it felt kind of nice to see everyone without having crazy holiday rushing-around.  I'm counting the trip as a success all around.  Thanks to all of you who made it possible and made it special!
Could they BE any cuter?  Cale and Jude (big brother's sons), Ben

PS - I did a terrible job of taking pictures (I was having too much fun to bother), so most of these were stolen from my mom.  She has more pictures and stories on her own blog here and here.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

He knows me so well.

Daniel took Ben to Target this week and let him pick out a Mother's Day gift for me.  According to Daniel's account, Ben understood that he was picking something for Mommy, and he was adamant in his choice.  All I can say is, that kid has my tastes pegged:

You can't tell here, but it has a purple leopard-print design on the other side.  It also has a companion cup with a more masculine dog and the message "King of My Castle."  After this home run, I think I'm going to let Ben do all our Christmas shopping this year :)

As excited as I am about that cup, I'm a teensy bit more excited that I've trained Ben to give me "special kisses" on command (excuse his pre-nap crankiness, please):

We are having gorgeous weather here this weekend, and I am maybe a little too excited to wear some of my favorite Spring clothes before I'm too spherical to fit into them.  And since I'm rather fond of the dress I wore this morning, I made Daniel take Baby Moses' first official belly picture.  Here he/she is at 19.5 weeks:

I am indescribably thankful for Ben and Baby Mo.  They are treasures, and I can hardly believe I get to be their mom.  I'm also more and more grateful all the time for my own mom.  It's fun to be at a stage of life where I still need her support/advice/wisdom/mothering, but I can also call her just to talk as friends.  I can't do my mom justice in a few sentences here, so I'll just sum it up with a big ol' I LOVE MY MOM!

This year on Mother's Day, I'm also doubling up my prayers for sweet friends who are remembering babies they've lost and for sweet friends who are waiting and hoping for children.  Love and BIG hugs to you!

Happy Mother's Day!

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

An update that uses actual words

  • This requires a post of its own (which I hereby vow to compose within the next week), but I crossed another item off my 30 Before 30 list!  Last Wednesday, Ben and I made a surprise visit to my parents in North Little Rock.  I think my parents were excited, but they kept commenting on how they wished Ben were a little bit cuter.  You can't please everyone, you know?
  • Ben is hilarious.  I don't even know where to begin talking about the funny things he says and does these days.  Some of my favorites:
    • He says he is "medium-sized" and that he is a "person" (not a baby, a girl, a monkey, etc.).
    • He routinely says "Oh my!/Oh goodness!/Oh my goodness!" at appropriate times.
    • He likes to attempt to juggle.
    • He loves girls of all ages (any female, including our 70-year-old cashier yesterday, is a girl to him) and points them out, sometimes creating awkward moments with strangers.
    • I think he tries to plant subliminal messages in our heads -- sometimes he'll lean into me or Daniel and whisper "ice cweam" (or something equally delicious) while making a hopeful, mischievous face.
    • He tells me to do things "differently" -- with the -ly at the end.
    • He randomly recites parts of books, even ones I didn't realized he liked.
  • The flip-side of all that cuteness:  he has started throwing impressive fits.  Usually about something very minor and illogical.  I haven't quite figured out the best way to handle him when these happen because he is usually a pretty logical kid, and I can reason with him to some degree.  Note:  I am NOT asking for your advice here -- I'm just being honest about what's going on in my household.  I'll gladly accept your commiseration or encouragement or prayers, but I'm not asking the Internet how to parent my child.  Yet ;)
  • As of today, I am 19 weeks pregnant with the child still known around here as Baby Moses.  I'm counting this as my halfway point because my doctor indicated that I'll probably deliver around 38 weeks (I don't think I've ever posted the story of Ben's delivery here, but he was kind of a booger, and after his extra-special surgical removal from my innards, I am not supposed to do the whole labor thing.  Like, at all.)
  • We'll find out on May 16 if Moses is a boy or girl.  It's weird how differently I think about this pregnancy.  With Ben, I could barely wait to find out.  And I'm still plenty excited this time, and it will be fun to have a real name for the baby and start to prepare a little better, but I guess I think more this time about the baby at the END of this pregnancy.  In some ways, having Ben around makes me marvel more at this new baby -- because I see concrete evidence that what starts as a little baby inside me turns into an awesome little person outside me.  In other ways, Ben's presence is so very tangible that Baby Moses almost doesn't seem real yet.  I'm really not explaining this well, so I'll just add one more disjointed statement:  On a pretty regular basis, Daniel and I laugh about something Ben has done and say, "Can you believe we get to have another one of these?"  We're pretty excited for September.
  • I guess my belly has started sticking out more because I catch Ben looking at it and talking about Moses more often.  He tells me what Moses likes (today it was purple trees).  And yesterday he threw a ball (a very soft one) at my belly and said, "Toss it to Moses!"  We've read a couple of little books about baby siblings/big brothers, and he likes the idea of a baby in our family.  However, he is definitely still clueless about what it will really be like (I'm not sure I can process what it will be like!).  I'm gearing myself up for a tough adjustment period, but I am so thankful for both of my babies and can't wait to introduce them to each other!
  • This never, ever happens anymore, but I actually have something new going on in my own life.  Whoa.  I'm starting to volunteer at our crisis pregnancy center in town.  I'm in the middle of a 21-hour volunteer training right now, and despite how intense that seems, I am loving it.  After every training session, I come home more excited about being involved there.  I'll probably be working with their Life Steps program, which provides ongoing support/education for women who have decide to keep and parent their babies.
  • Anyone who has read this post deserves a reward.  So... Mom, let me know when you've read this, since I'm quite sure you're the only person who will make it this far :)

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Bad Mothers

This topic contains 2 replies, has 3 voices, and was last updated by Profile photo of victoriadelatorie victoriadelatorie 2 years, 1 month ago.

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    Profile photo of Helen

    God, I have just read the news piece on here about the mother who stole her daughters ‘rape’ compensation! What a wicked cow she is, not only has her poor daughter been subjected to the most appalling crime at such a young age, she has now lost her money that was entrusted to her mother for safe keeping until she was of age.

    I hope that evil bitch gets what she deserves and her daughter has a happier life without her in it!

    Profile photo of Jones

    Bloody hell what is wrong with people! If any child says they have been attacked or worse still raped you would go mad and protect the child with your life. To then steal from her own daughter who’s poor life is totally wrecked now is beyond me! She is a bloody disgrace and should not be able to have or see her children again, not that this poor girl will want to see that thieving, scumbag again. I hope in time she can rebuild her life, i’m sure she will do a better job not having her in it!

    Some people really don’t deserve children do they!

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Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Go Ask Oscar

"So you don't believe in love, do you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like true love, between two people. Two separate entities. Two different floating masses of energy. Two poets. That everlasting kind of love that you couldn't get rid of if you wanted to. Love that is so strong it literally hurts your heart to think about existing without it. The pressure on your chest cavity is constant and consistent, and it is the weight of that person. Heavy in your heart, heavy in your head. It is the most confusing kind of love, it makes you believe even if you never thought you could. You're suddenly feeling things again, you're smiling at yourself. You feel beautiful and safe, even in the dark. You don't care about tomorrow any more, you are alive in the now, you are alive today. You wonder how this person could be real. How this person, standing there holding everything you are into place, could be. Carrying your life in their hands with delicacy you didn't know existed in this world. A love stronger than this explanation. Love so strong that it transcends human thought and language. It is the kind of love that you don't think you deserve, but you take it with the intentions to never, ever give it back."

", no I don't believe. Not really."

"I didn't think so."

"Really? Well how'd you know?"

"A while back, after Julian's birthday. Everyone left and we were sitting around your dining room table, finishing a bottle of wine and talking about literature. You told me you love Oscar Wilde. You told me you love his quotes on love and marriage. And that's when I knew you were broken in ways that I couldn't fix, and I knew I had to stop loving you because you would never be able to love me back. And finally, it all made sense to me. I knew that you weren't capable of loving me like I'd hoped you could, I just never realized all I had to do was go ask Oscar. "

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Door Knobs

This morning he asked me why I didn't  want to be loved. Why I didn't  want him to love me. And it's times like these that require grace and understanding, compassion and intimacy. It's times like these when I fail to deliver. The curtain goes up, spot light is on, but no one is standing in it. It is in that very moment where my inability to grasp on to the last bit of my humanity leaves me tongue twisted and terrified. I wish questions didn't require answers because I never seem to have a good response to the important ones. What I want to say is that I do want him to love me. I want him to love me with every ounce of his entire being. So that breathing gets harder when I'm not around. I want his heart to scorch his chest; third degree burns every time my eyelashes hit his cheeks. I want him to love me so much that he'd tear off his skin if I ever left him. The only problem is that I don't want to love him back. Not the same way. Not at all. The queen and her jester. The host and the parasite. The relationship: one gains everything and the other losses all. Love is a gamble. You're all in, the stakes are high. But I'm no lady luck and these odds aren't in our favor. I want to say all of the beautiful lies I can think of so that he never stops believing in love. Cause I know what it's like to not believe. Somewhere along these crooked lines I've stopped believing in anything at all. I want to say things to him that make him start building our future in his head. But I won't and I can't. I can't say anything at all. It's actions that matter. It's what you do that counts. So I throw back the sheets, lift myself from the bed. I grab my keys, my bag, turn the door knob and close the door behind me.

The Corner of Hollywood and Las Palmas

Last call, lights up. It’s Saturday to you, but for these people it could be Tuesday. The music’s stopped, now everything just rings. Colors blend, faces melt, and you burn your throat one last time. Set the glass down, look over at the bottle. Empty. When did that happen? What happens in this place must take place in a some different dimension. There’s no such thing as time here, but everything has a time limit. There is no distance between the people infesting this space. Endless length, endless width. No time? No space? No length or with? No dimension. So where did we all go? This isn't the place to go looking for answers, nor is it the place to ask these kinds of questions. Just go with it.
So if you haven’t defiled your lungs yet, if you haven’t littered your nasal passages or tortured your liver by now…well, it’s too late. Not here, the club owners got a business to run, not addictions to feed. At least I think. 2 a.m. when the place where the stars hang out becomes the place where the scars come out. You don’t know why you’re even still here. Night life always seemed a little bit more like night death to you. None of these people are real, they aren’t actually alive, that’s how they ended up here. Trying to get to born, maybe again, maybe for the first time. You don’t really give a fuck. Not about these people with their too long lashes and their too tall heels and their fake fucking facades and their reputations, whether they're building them or destroying them. Drastic. Plastic. Yea you’ve talked to them but there isn’t room for any real conversation cause the clubs always too packed. No one every actually says anything here. How could they, with their faces painted and their bodies plastered, and their minds drained.?
This is what you’d normally be thinking but tonight you’re too fucked up to be resilient. You just float off into the crowd. Stumble to the door. Fuck it’s far. Nearest lounge chair. Just need to sit. Your friends will find you so you just close your eyes for a second. From an arm’s length away, an unfamiliar voice, “Where you from?” You’re initial reaction is defensive; you think, "What the fuck do you care? " You say, “Studio City.” He is too. "What's your name?" You stop staring at the ground, jerk to the left, too fast cause now you can't see anything. Should not have had that much to drink. When your vision comes back you're not in the shadowy corners of what used to be a night club, but you're in a field. The greenest, green you've ever seen. And in seconds the field zooms out becoming two distant circles. His eyes. Holy shit. Maybe you're just that wasted but you've never seen anything so fucking green before in your life.
How long has it been quiet? How long have you been starring? Hopefully he just thinks you're drunk. You've never felt so insecure with those green lasers drilling right through you. You get out the bricks, start building that wall. "Why do you wanna know?" "Because I'd like to know and because you wanna tell me." He's right, absolutely, unquestionably right. You want him to know it and never forget it. And you have no fucking clue why. "Erin". He repeats it back to you and your ears melt. You play 20 questions for a little while longer and soon you're giggling, and laughing, he's funny, and you're flirty. You think, "What the fuck am I doing?" The gap between the two of you closes and you're touching and teasing.  You know its late but the night has just started all over for you.
Here comes the black suit and the bald head forcing you to leave. For the first time in your existence you don't want to leave the night club. This can't end here. Standing outside, the cold breeze reminds you where you are. The dark, dirty streets of Hollywood close in on you again. You know that whether you're in Hollywood or not, life's no fucking movie and you're short encounter with romance is over. Cut. That's a wrap. Go home. You're drunk, and sloppy, and stupid. There's a hand on your hand. His hand, and you actually hold it. You know you should pull away but you can't. So you're in his car, you're in his apartment with no clue how you got there, but you're so glad you are. No one in the world knows where you are, or how to save you, or if you need saving. but you're not scared, not at all. You've never been so excited, and comfortable, and captivated. There's real conversation, and interest. You're consumed by each other. Face to face. Sitting on the white sheets of his sky scraper of a bed. You're up so high and you're in his arms. And he could drop you, rather push you off the side. Body on Body. So you're not that kinda girl, but he’s not that kinda guy. So how did we end up here. Together in the dark. lights off, last call. Is this the drop? Is this the fall?

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Great American Poet

Driving in my dad's purple pick-up truck, I was always a little embarrassed by the color, but he never was. Circa 2005, my dad pops in a Bob Dylan's Greatest Hits album. Song by song, from "Times They Are-a Changing" to "Like a Rolling Stone" my dad's nostalgic, listening to this album to and describing the poetic genius and lyrical expertise of Bob Dylan's work in real time. And there he was 17 years young, but in his late 40's, telling his two best friends, disguised as his pre-teen daughters, which lines were his favorite and what he was doing the first time he heard his favorite tracks. I was 13, hungry for destruction, over-dosed on angst, and trying really hard to keep my "I don't give a fuck attitude" consistent. I didn’t want to listen, let alone understand. But at 13 you don't really know what anything means yet. But there was a line "when you got nothing, you got nothing to lose," and it came stampeding out of the stereo, merciless, drilling itself deep into my head, or maybe it was my heart, I'm not really sure. And like I said, I was 13, so I didn't really know what it meant then but I knew it meant something. It was my dad’s favorite lyric. He talked about it for what seemed like seconds and for what seemed like hours. Caught somewhere in between despise and absolute admiration for the voice of explanation, I could see through the haze of what the last 3 years had been. For the first time since the truth I could see this lesser-than-a-man with clarity again. I knew who he had been, was someone I would have really grown to like. Sight and sound in perfect alliance at this moment. What had 3 minutes earlier been “old people’s weird folk music” was a glimpse into the past as well as the present and the only bridge between the gap of daughter and father, shaky as it was, I was willing to cross. For the whole of the 60 minutes that the album lasted, that the motor turned, that the word "timeless" finally had a definition, I sat suspended above the rushing waters under the bridge and I wasn’t scared. The wind swayed the ropes at both ends of the viaduct and we smiled at each other from just off center, it was effortless. I couldn’t help wishing that the moment would last forever and that music wouldn’t be the only connection we’d ever have again, but we just aren’t as powerful as people. Eventually the hurt, and the memories, and the regret would sever the ties and the water would rise, first soaking our feet, then drenching our clothes and filling our lungs, and the hopes that everything would be alright would die in silence and any second now the music would stop. I’d hoped for one more song so I could finally say the unsaid, but I had to face it, I was no Dylan, no Great American Poet and no arrangement of words could suffice what had occurred and no strength of will would make that moment last forever. I knew it would end, the same way car rides end, the same way songs end, the same way albums end, the same way lives end. Even our smiles end at the corners of our mouths. I knew I couldn’t in front of him, but I wanted to cry. I wanted to run backwards in hopes that I’d make it to the past so we could fix what had already been done. I hear the click of the stereo starting the CD over. I hear my head click back to reality. I hear the click of the transmission back to park. We’re here, or should I say we’re back. I, in a million years, never would have thought that getting picked up from school that day would change my life forever. I had no idea that 7 years later I’d be 20 years old, living in L.A., studying music, sitting at my computer, fatherless, I'd stumble across some Dylan songs, unexpectedly. Remembering that moment that changed my life what feels like centuries ago. Remembering the most special moment I’ve ever shared with my dad and knowing it would remain the most special moment until my own ending. And even though I'm older now, and I understand poetry at greater lengths and I can analyze harmonic structure, and the form of what I’m listening to all I really hear is that voice again, describing the indescribable. And I sit on that swaying bridge and the water is moving rapidly below me. I am alone and I know it but I start telling him everything I’d wanted to say in that purple pickup truck a couple years ago, but this time I’m not scared and I know I’ve got nothing so I’ve got nothing to lose.


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Tuesday, October 28, 2014

For the Mamas

Do  not take in the big picture.

Forget the unloaded laundry that's been laying in the basket for days.

Look past your sleep deprived and swollen eyes in the mirror.

The dishes will be done tomorrow, disregard the sink.

Instead, gaze upon your sleeping child, your screaming child, your playing child.

Those cheeks will soon lose their cushion, those tiny hands their dimples.

So look beyond the mess, the fatigue, the stress. For but a moment.

Today you have the sweet moments with your children that you will long for when they are grown.

Do not forget that these are the halcyon days-

the days that you will dream about,
yearn for,
lose yourself in years from now.

They are here today.

Live today.

Embrace the perfection within the imperfection today.

Love yourself today.

Shine On, Dear Mamas(and Papas)! You are the brightest of lights to those little souls that you are ministering to everyday. May you be blessed in your giving.

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Friday, December 4, 2009

It's almost time

LOST returns in almost exactly two months, so I figured I'd brush up on my LOST knowledge by watching random (hopefully important) episodes from the previous five seasons.

Today: Pilot - Part 1

-Right off the bat, Jack is drunk. He does pretty well for himself, considering. Saves several lives.

-I am not convinced Jack fell from the plane. His location when he wakes up is a good distance from the beach, and he's in the middle of a bunch of trees.

-Locke helps Jack lift part of the plane off a dude. Interesting that the first time they meet, they're helping each other save a life. The relationship generally goes south from there.

-Jack saves Rose's life by giving her CPR. How ironic would it be for her to die minutes after being cured of her cancer thanks to the Island's healing properties?

-Kate is rubbing her wrists the very first time we see her. Big ol' clue.

-Kate seems more scared and vulnerable at this point (sewing up Jack) than any other time in the series.

-The first time we get a solo shot of Sawyer, he's smoking. Did he quit later? I don't remember him smoking at all. I guess being forced to go cold turkey over a few weeks thanks to no cigarettes would explain that.

-Kate says Jack doesn't seem afraid at all. Jack tells her the story of his first spinal surgery, where he messes it up and gives himself five seconds to be scared, then fixes the problem. I think maybe he's so calm because he's wasted. :)

-It's intriguing how tertiary Jack has become, considering he was the guy of the first couple seasons.

-Jack tells Kate "You're not running now," after she says she would probably run away if faced with the spinal surgery crisis Jack told her about. Impactful.

-Awww, Walt is little.

-Smokey is tearing around in the jungle 20 minutes in, even before the first commercial break. And we still don't know exactly what he is.

-There's a shot of everyone reacting to Smokey and the director manages to get only major characters in the shot, but made it look random. Nice.

-The very first flashback of the series is 21 minutes in, immediately after the first commercial break.

-Cindy, the flight attendant turned Other, gives Jack more booze on the flight.

-The pilot gets beaten to death (or whatever) by Smokey. Why? Far as I remember, Smokey doesn't kill anyone for a long time after the crash. Was the pilot judged and found so unrepentant he was irredeemable? Was he somehow a threat to the safety of the Island?

That's it. I'll get Pilot - Part 2 up sometime next week.


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Visual Blog of Jennafer Zalenski

Live Drawings

For those of you who are members, I'm beginning to host a live drawing event on Livestream about once a week.
I'll be doodling in Photoshop, chitchatting and rambling. Nothing too serious (as you can probably tell), just having some fun with it. This is not a class. Just something to pique your curiosity.

If you're interested, the link to the first is here:

Livestream Doodles

PS. Sorry about the audio. Will fix for next time.

Edit 01/01/2014: Link is down. Email me for more info on tha pertinents and such. Also, this is a digital-doodling event, so no, I don't need any models at this time. Just a chance to hang out and chat while I work.

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Sunday, January 4, 2009

Let's go fly a kite!

Today Mel and I woke up waaay past noon, I think, because I didn't check, but I'm pretty sure. And anyway we're both still in our pyjamas so I suppose you'd think we didn't do much anything today. But we did!

So this is the gang in our backyard. It was chilly out so I put on one of my sweaters. (Yolly gave me quite many!) We tried to fly a kite, that is what we did! We didn't really manage to, but that's okay.

Big Al held the kite up and Kim (that's her in the photograph, with Chloe, who's quite fine!) ran but I suppose she didn't quite run fast enough, because the kite didn't take off.

And Nick thought he was being all cool by having me a ride in his bicycle basket, and I was with my grubby hands in the air and halfway through a "WHEEEE" when dear old fatty HAD to flop over and into the air I went, and down into the dirt I went. But not for long because what's a frog to do other than pick himself up. Luckily Mel came to my rescue and she was yelling "GIMME BACK MY FROG". Meanwhile, Nick was trying to salvage his dignity.

Soon it got dark and we trooped back indoors, and Kim was saying to Mel Hey imagine if we hid Kodok in a field and left him there, and forgot all about him, imagine that! And I'd think Mel would have it in her heart to say No Way, but she said And we could come back with torches yelling Koooodooook where are you!

And all the while, I was rubbing my green head because of that fall into the dirt. And my hands were filthy (as usual, but more so). Hmpfh.

But I think that quite knocked some sense into me because I had a Revelation. And I decided it would be cool to get myself a blog. And that is what I did.

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Welcome to Mystic, Connecticut!

Ford’s Lobster

Ford’s Lobster

Opens March 1st!

Ford’s Lobster restaurant in quaint Noank (just outside of Mystic) serves up a lobster roll that is to die for. Though super popular for it’s waterfront location, the food matches the view.  They stay open in the off-season (except for February) with seating indoors. Menu goes beyond lobster…they’ve got chowder, salads, Sunday brunch, and an ever-changing special menu.

Ford’s Lobster Info

15 Riverview Avenue, Noank, CT

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25 March 2012

After COP17: Where now for civil society engagement in UNFCCC climate negotiations?

I recently contributed to a report, commissioned by Earthlife Africa Johannesburg , to reflect on civil society’s impact on the United Nations Climate Change Conference (COP17) in Durban, and to spark an internal reassessment of global civil society’s actions towards the UNFCC; for whatever we are doing, it is not working.

If there is a single message about the engagement with the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change that comes out of this report, it is that civil society should stop looking at the COP process as a “quick fix” for climate change. Instead, civil society needs return to the hard, expensive and time-consuming work of grassroots mobilisation to create real and substantial mass movements that have the sheer weight of numbers to force change. National governments need to go to a COP knowing that their populaces want a global deal on climate change and will not take kindly to them returning from a COP with only empty promises and a hollow text.

The full report can be downloaded from here.

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Archive for the ‘Iraq’ Category

A Search For Redemption

Sunday, March 8th, 2009

In last Friday’s Washington Post, I found Abu Ghraib MP Slain In Bid for Redemption to be a touching and sobering article.

Santos A. Cardona, an Army dog handler involved in the abuse of Iraqi prisoners at Abu Ghraib, was determined to continue fighting in America’s overseas battles to erase the stain of his assault conviction, his family members said.

Those closest to him said his passion for doing what he loved in the service of his country led him to try to return to Iraq in 2006, but the military brought him home after his planned deployment was publicized. Late last year, Cardona, 34, got his chance to rejoin the fight.

He traveled to Afghanistan as a government contractor, using a German shepherd to search for improvised explosive devices and weapons stockpiles. On Saturday, Cardona and his dog, Zomie, were killed when his military convoy hit a roadside bomb, according to Cardona’s employer and his family.

Cardona’s death was a violent end to a quest for redemption. His loved ones said he undertook one last year at war to earn money for his young daughter, show the military that he was good at his job, and dispel the cloud caused by photographs from Abu Ghraib that circled the globe.

Later, the article discusses Cardona’s role in Abu Graib and the subsequent trial

Cardona and his tan Belgian Malinois, Duco, were shown in photographs of detainee abuse that surfaced publicly in 2004. The most notable image showed Duco growling at a cowering, naked detainee.

Cardona argued he was ordered to have Duco intimidate high-value detainees at the behest of senior officers — claims supported by court testimony and military records — and jurors acquitted him of all but one assault charge. Cardona was ecstatic after receiving a verdict that spared him jail time and allowed him to stay in the Army.[emphasis added]

But staying in the Army did not mean the legacy of Abu Ghraib would disappear. After his blocked attempt to return to Iraq in 2006, he worked at the Army’s dog kennels at Fort Bragg, N.C. Demoted as part of his sentence and finding he was unable to sign up for the five more years it would have taken to earn a full military retirement pension, Cardona was honorably discharged on Sept. 29, 2007, according to Army records.

Though Cardona always believed he had done nothing wrong at Abu Ghraib, he carried a silent anger at those who ordered his actions but never were held to account, family members said.

Cardona’s daughter, Keelyn, is nine years old. Keelyn’s mother is Heather Ashby. The article describes Cardona’s early Army life

Easygoing, sometimes goofy, Cardona was dedicated to the life of a soldier. He joined the Army at age 17 in 1993 — needing his father’s signature to do so — and envisioned a military career. He met Ashby, also a military police soldier, while the two were stationed in Germany in the late 1990s, and Keelyn was born in 1999. It was then that Cardona fell in love with dog handling and was sent to Kosovo, Afghanistan and Iraq, where he used his dogs on patrols to sniff out bombs and provide security.

He so loved his working dogs that he adopted them after they were retired from service. Duco, now 12 years old, lives with Keelyn and Ashby in Florida.

I’m sure there are those that could never forgive Cardona his role in Abu Ghraib. But taking the article at face value, Cardona was totally committed to the Army and to his dogs. After being blocked by Army brass from continuing to ply his training, Cardona found a way, perhaps the only way, to use his training to serve his country and provide for his family, by searching for roadside bombs that have claimed so many lives.

Santos Cardona

Santos Cardona

The article Shock and Anger in Baghdad Greet the Abu Ghraib News tells of the anger expressed by Iraqis when the US attempted to reassign Cardona to Iraq after his conviction, apparently to train Iraq’s police

For many Iraqis, the punishment meted out to those found guilty of atrocities in the prison was too lenient; and Sgt. Cardona’s return only confirmed suspicions that the U.S. military never took the case seriously. A top Iraqi military commander, trained and appointed to his high position by the U.S., once told me that the Americans should have made an example of all those found guilty by “cutting of their heads and displaying them at the entrance of the Green Zone.” This, from a man who proudly labeled himself as a “friend of America.”

And this

Even America’s allies here bring up Abu Ghraib all the time, as proof of how little the U.S. understands Iraq. Last year, a European diplomat told [the author] the infamous Abu Ghraib photos—some of them featuring Sgt Cardona—”did more damage to U.S. credibility in Iraq than a Cruise missile smashing into a kindergarden.”

Let’s see.

  • cutting off heads and displaying them
  • photos that do more damage to U.S. credibility than cruise missiles hitting a kindergarden

And the U.S. has little understanding of Iraq? Do these quotes not tell us quite a bit of what we need to know?  And recently, there was a story from Saudi Arabia about a female that was detained because she was …. driving. And then a day or two later, there was a story about two men in Saudi Arabia that were detained because they sought the autograph of … a female author. I think that Iraq, and the Middle East in general, overestimates the difficulty that Westerners have in understanding their cultures. It doesn’t seem too complicated to me. But then acid helps make everything clearer.

A Shoe For Samira Jassim

Thursday, February 26th, 2009

For the past couple of years, the number of suicide bombings in Iraq that have been carried out by women has increased. In the Canberra Times, Woman Set Up Rapes To ‘Recruit” 80 Suicide Bombers tells the story of Samira Jassim. Covered also by the BBC in Iraq’s ‘female bomber recruiter’, Jassim was detained by Iraqi authorities in January. According to BBC

In an apparent video confession, the middle-aged woman described how she identified potential bombers, helped supply them with explosives and led them to their targets.

She also explained, in a separate interview with the Associated Press, how insurgents used rape as a tool, with the “shamed” women persuaded to redeem themselves through suicide attacks.

Insurgents use female bombers because they can hide explosives under their robes and are less likely to be searched by male guards at security checkpoints.

Both articles state that such claims are impossible to verify. However, according to the Canberra Times

…Jassim has given unusual first-hand descriptions of the possible workings behind last year’s spike in attacks by female bombers.

The United States should stop worrying whether having females in underwear interrogate prisoners is torture and, instead, redouble efforts to rid the world of flagitious scum. It’s too bad that Muntadhir al-Zaidi could not see the depth of responsibility that Iraqis have for their own country.

Provincial Elections in Iraq

Thursday, February 5th, 2009

It is still early, but the preliminary results from Iraq’s provincial elections bode well for Iraqi Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki. Iraq Election Results Point to a Big Win for Maliki begins

The Iraqi Prime Minister, Nouri al-Maliki, who seemed weak and isolated a year ago, appears to have won a sweeping victory in the Iraqi provincial elections that will strengthen his hold on central government. For the first time since the fall of Saddam Hussein, according to preliminary results, Iraqi voters chose secular and nationalist parties over their religious rivals.

Mr. Maliki’s Dawa party is predicted to emerge at the top of the poll in Baghdad and Basra, Iraq’s two largest cities, as well as in most of the overwhelmingly Shia south of Iraq. The largest Shia party, the Islamic Supreme Council of Iraq (ISCI), hitherto one of the main powerbrokers in the country, suffered heavy losses in all the provinces where it has been in charge for the past four years. “According to initial information, Maliki’s list has come first in Basra with 50 per cent of the vote. Ours took 20 per cent,” said Furat al-Sheraa, the head of ISCI in Basra.

The outcome of the election, which will probably be repeated in the parliamentary elections in December, marks a sea-change in Iraqi politics, with both the Shia and Sunni communities punishing the religious parties which flourished after the U.S. occupation in 2003. The results are a clear endorsement of Mr Maliki who has managed to displace the militia of the Shia cleric Muqtada al-Sadr, negotiated the withdrawal of 142,000 U.S. troops during the next three years and confronted the Kurds By stressing his nationalist credentials and success in improving security, Mr. Maliki has gained the allegiance of the majority Shia community.

The Election: Preliminary Results from the New York Time Baghdad Bureau states

The preliminary count shows Prime Minister Nuri Kamal al-Maliki’s State of Law Coalition getting the biggest vote in nine out of the 14 provinces contested, but nowhere does he manage an absolute majority. His highest tally is 38% in Baghdad, but in other areas he is on 11% to 20%, which means he will be dependent on other coalition partners, or could even be squeezed out by others forming alliances against him.

It is unclear exactly how many seats each of the leading parties will win – with between 26 and 57 up for grabs in each province, depending on its size. The full results will take more than three weeks, because of complex voting rules on how to allocate seats. Anbar could prove problematic, with some parties alleging voting irregularities.

and later, the article refers to

…Mr. Maliki’s current high personal standing as a leader with a good security record.

That’s refreshing. And it must be equally refreshing to Iraqis to actually have more than one name on a ballot. I wonder who Muntadhar al-Zaida voted for? Maybe he has put down the Ramazan Baydan Model 271 Brogues long enough to reflect on the significance.

Cohen Head

Tuesday, December 30th, 2008

Today’s Washington Post had an op-ed piece by the inestimable Richard Cohen tagged Reading Into Bush’s Book List. Cohen riffs off of a recent piece by Karl Rove in the Wall Street Journal. In the WSJ piece, Rove provides insight into Bush’s reading habits and describes the book-reading competition that the two have waged each year for the past three years. The competition is simple. The winner is the one that reads the greater number of books. Rove won the 2006 competition by a final score of 110 to 95. According to Rove

Bush’s 2006 reading list shows his literary tastes. The nonfiction ran from biographies of Abraham Lincoln, Andrew Carnegie, Mark Twain, Babe Ruth, King Leopold, William Jennings Bryan, Huey Long, LBJ and Genghis Khan to Andrew Roberts’s “A History of the English Speaking Peoples Since 1900,” James L. Swanson’s “Manhunt,” and Nathaniel Philbrick’s “Mayflower.” Besides eight Travis McGee novels by John D. MacDonald, Mr. Bush tackled Michael Crichton’s “Next,” Vince Flynn’s “Executive Power,” Stephen Hunter’s “Point of Impact,” and Albert Camus’s “The Stranger,” among others.

Fifty-eight of the books he read that year were nonfiction. Nearly half of his 2006 reading was history and biography, with another eight volumes on current events (mostly the Mideast) and six on sports.

In 2007, Rove prevailed 76 to 51. Again, according to Rove

His list was particularly wide-ranging that year, from history (“The Great Upheaval” and “Khrushchev’s Cold War”), biographical (Dean Acheson and Andrew Mellon), and current affairs (including “Rogue Regime” and “The Shia Revival”). He read one book meant for young adults, his daughter Jenna’s excellent “Ana’s Story.”

In 2008, as of the date of the article, Rove was ahead 64 to 40. According to Rove

His reading this year included a heavy dose of history — including David Halberstam’s “The Coldest Winter,” Rick Atkinson’s “Day of Battle,” Hugh Thomas’s “Spanish Civil War,” Stephen W. Sears’s “Gettysburg” and David King’s “Vienna 1814.” There’s also plenty of biography — including U.S. Grant’s “Personal Memoirs”; Jon Meacham’s “American Lion”; James M. McPherson’s “Tried by War: Abraham Lincoln as Commander in Chief” and Jacobo Timerman’s “Prisoner Without a Name, Cell Without a Number.”

Each year, the president also read the Bible from cover to cover, along with a daily devotional.

Cohen’s piece is a classic drive-by, meant for consumption by the simple-minded. Here is Cohen

Rove always won, but Bush had the ready excuse that he was, as he put it, busy being “Leader of the Free World.”

And here is Rove

At year’s end, I defeated the president, 110 books to 95. My trophy looks suspiciously like those given out at junior bowling finals. The president lamely insisted he’d lost because he’d been busy as Leader of the Free World.

Hmm. I detect a difference in tone.

Here is Cohen

…most of Bush’s books have been biographies and histories. Biographies are usually about great men who often did the unpopular thing and were later vindicated. As for histories, they are replete with cautionary tales.

You can see where Cohen is going with this reasoning, right? Here is Rove

Nearly half of his 2006 reading was history and biography, with another eight volumes on current events (mostly the Mideast) and six on sports…in 2007…[h]is list was particularly wide-ranging…from history…, biographical…, and current affairs….in 2008…[h]is reading…included a heavy dose of history.

You see, Cohen wants to imply that Bush has been reading about similarly flawed historical figures. But Cohen, whose intellectual honesty couldn’t stand up to a nematode, can’t bring himself to actually name names.

What Cohen does name is a bevy of books, the absence from Bush’s reading list which causes him no small amount of pique. These books include

Rajiv Chandrasekaran’s “Imperial Life in the Emerald City,” Tom Ricks’s “Fiasco,” George Packer’s “The Assassins’ Gate” or, on a related topic, Jane Mayer’s “The Dark Side” about “extraordinary rendition” and other riffs on the Constitution. Absent too is Barton Gellman’s “Angler,” about Dick Cheney, the waterboarder in chief.

[Nice dig there on Cheney, Mr. Cohen. Do you mind if I call you Dick?]

I’m sure the authors listed above are fair and balanced and have no particular axe to grind.

According to Cohen

The list Rove provides is long, but it is narrow. It lacks whole shelves of books on how and why the Iraq war was a mistake, one that metastasized into a debacle.

and this

They are not the reading of a widely read man, but instead the books of a man who seeks — and sees — vindication in every page. Bush has always been the captive of fixed ideas. His books just support that.

I find the use of the words “metastasized” and “debacle” particularly interesting. “Metastasized”, as in just about the worst news a seriously ill patient could hear. And “debacle”. Mr. Cohen wouldn’t recognize a debacle if it came up and bit him. A debacle, Dick, is what we would have had if Bush had listened to the small-minds and withdrew from Iraq back in 2007. Do you recall what the prognosis was for Iraq and the Middle East, for that matter, if the US had withdrawn to leave Iraq to a Civil War? Go back and do some reading. The small-minded were willing to throw the entire region into turmoil to score political points. Thank God that Bush was “captive of fixed ideas”, such as the fixed idea that we were going to get it right, that we were going to win. We have paid a very heavy price, no doubt. And speaking of captives of fixed ideas, Dick, is that anything like Obama’s refusal to admit that the surge worked?

You Can Call Him Dick

You Can Call Me Dick

First Shoes, Now Christmas

Monday, December 22nd, 2008

Putting spin on the incident occasioned by Muntadhar al-Zaida’s carelessness with his shoes, one might say that it is a sign of progress – of freedom of expression – that was completely missing in Sadam Hussein’s Iraq. Now comes word of Christmas celebration in Baghdad. According to the piece

Welcome to the first-ever public Christmas celebration in Baghdad, held Saturday and sponsored by the Iraqi Interior Ministry. Once thought to be infiltrated by death squads, the Ministry now is trying to root out sectarian violence — as well as improve its P.R. image.

But it is a little bit different celebration than we are used to here

The event takes place in a public park in eastern Baghdad, ringed with security checkpoints. Interior Ministry forces deployed on surrounding rooftops peer down at the scene: a Christmas tree decorated with ornaments and tinsel; a red-costumed Santa Claus waving to the crowd, an Iraqi flag draped over his shoulders; a red-and-black-uniformed military band playing stirring martial music, not Christmas carols.

An Interior Ministry spokesman says that sectarian and ethnic violence killed thousands of Iraqis. He stated further

Now that we have crossed that hurdle and destroyed the incubators of terrorism,and the security situation is good, we have to go back and strengthen community ties.

The story quotes Father Saad Sirop Hanna, a Chaldean Christian priest. Hanna was kidnapped by militants in 2006 and held for 28 days. According to Father Hanna

We are just attesting that things are changing in Baghdad, slowly, but we hope that this change actually is real. We will wait for the future to tell us the truth about this.

The people quoted in the story about this small, guarded celebration, appear to be pragmatic and cautious about the future. Here’s to hoping that our future policies continue to make possible these kinds of significant events during the maturation and mending of Iraq.

Christmas Candles

Christmas Candles

Christmas Banner

Christmas Banner

Iraqi Children Dressed As Santa

Iraqi Children Dressed As Santa

The Good, The Bad, and the Code Pink

Thursday, December 18th, 2008

In today’s Washington Post, there was an article about a bunch of anti-war pansies that decided to hurl their shoes at a big-headed effigy of Bush. The anti-war “activists” assembled yesterday on Pennsylvania Avenue. According to the article,

They assembled a pile of clogs, boots, flip-flops, slippers and pumps, and, in celebration of the journalist who threw his shoes at President Bush in a news conference Sunday in Iraq, they tossed the footwear at a man wearing a papier-mâché Bush mask and a prison uniform.

I think these sufferers of BDS were getting an early start on Festivus. Even the election of Barack Obama could not mask the crowd’s apoplexy

“Here’s my goodbye kiss, George!” shouted Medea Benjamin, coordinator of the Code Pink activist group, as she hurled a shoe, missing her target.

“See if you can dodge this, you draft dodger!” contributed veteran Jim Goodnow, launching a pair of boots toward the Bush character’s head.

What would public spectacle be without Code Pink and Medea Benjamin. I am surprised that Benjamin was able to free up time to come to Washington DC. She usually spends her time carrying the water of Hugo Chavez. She’s pink for a reason.  Jim Goodnow complains that Bush is a draft dodger. I guess that Jim worships at the altar of Dan Rather and the proportional font IBM Selectric Composer of the early 1970’s. Wake up Jim! The government is not after you, and you can remove your hat now.

Earth to Jim, Come In Jim

Earth to Jim, Come In Jim

And this later from Benjamin

“Take this one, George, on behalf of peace-loving Americans!” Benjamin shouted, missing the Bush character.

“Try again, little missy,” Bush taunted.

Benjamin missed again. “Sorry, bad aim,” she explained.

With each toss of a shoe, another accusation flew: “Torturing human beings! Aggressive war! One point two million dead! PTSD! Stem cell research!”

Aggressive war? I hope that every war we undertake is aggressive. What kind of moron complains about war being aggressive? Torturing human beings? Does this refer to waterboarding a couple of pieces of human debris such as  Khalid Sheikh Mohammed and Abu Zubaida? That’s not torture in my book. One point two million dead? This refers to the Opinion Research Business survey, in which about 1720 adults were surveyed. I have said many times that I think that pathological lying is a way of life in the Middle East, and I have a hard time believing anything that they say. On the flip side, there is the Iraq Body Count Project, which used the following sources to develop counts.

  • 8,913 Mortuaries
  • 4,846 Medics
  • 4,376 Iraqi officials
  • 3,794 Eyewitnesses
  • 3,588 Police
  • 2,780 Relatives
  • 2,423 US-Coalition
  • 1,976 Journalists
  • 732 NGOs
  • 596 Friends/Associates
  • 196 Other

I don’t know. It seems like the IBC maybe has a slightly more diverse and more authoritative base of data with which to work. The IBC suggests a number of between 83,000 and 91,000 total deaths so far. I’m not celebrating innocent casualties, but 91,000 is much better than the 1.2 million figure that Benjamin professes. To provide some additional insight into the insanity, the ORB survey suggests that approximately 120,000 people – 30,000 more than the total of the IBCP – died as a result of our air strikes alone. So much for the quality of our precision guided munitions.

Stem cell research? I thought this was put to rest long ago. Adult stem cells have been shown to generate embryonic-like stem cell lines using a single-cell biopsy technique.  Make no mistake, the stem cell research debate is a proxy for reproductive rights and the abortion debate. It is not really about advancing medicine per se. Private research was never banned. Bush was right on this one.

Something tells me that we are going to see more and more crackpots as we lead up to the Inauguration. It is pretty hard to see what these people are going to do once Obama gets in office. They say that they will stop at nothing short of a war crimes tribunal. I suspect that most of these twits are awfully close to a diagnosis of Dissocial Personality Disorder. A quick look at the ICD-10 of the World Health Organization fits these people like a glove. Interestingly, people with dissocial personality disorder are never treated by mental health professionals. Apparently they are considered untreatable, and no interventions have proven effective. Untreatable? Now that I believe.

Duck, Shoes

Monday, December 15th, 2008

BAGHDAD, Iraq, Dec. 15 – George W. Bush displayed quick reflexes for a man of his age as he ducked footwear chin music from Muntadhar al-Zaida. Zaida, a  journalist of a Cairo-based pro-Sunni TV station, is unhappy with the United States occupation. Sorry Muntadhar, no more mass murder for you.

Ball 1

Ball 1

The high and tight tossing of hightops, we are told, is absolutely, unequivocally the greatest insult that the Iraqi culture (and I use the term loosely) can bestow.  That, and being called a dog. Which happens at every hip hop concert, I am told. This explains why Bush nearly cracked up during the incident. I know it is not polite to smirk while being shown a balmoral brush back. No doubt, Bush will take some, uh, heat over this one. He should have had greater respect for Zaida’s plain-toed purpose pitch. But what was Zaida thinking? Bush loves baseball.

When Zaida climbed the ladder again, Iraqi Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki nearly committed fan interference as he reached for the blucher beanball. Had Bush been hit, he could have received treatment from a medical professional, such as Dr. Scholl.

Nearly Fan Interference

Nearly Fan Interference

Bush worked Zaida to a hitter friendly 2-0 count. But Zaida got the hook when he ran out of shoes, and was escorted from the mound.

When asked about his right shoe, Zaida had this to say in clear but accented English

It is a [expletive deleted] valuable thing. You don’t just throw it away for nothing.

When asked about his left shoe, Zaida had this to say

I’ve got this thing and its [expletive deleted] golden, and, uh, uh, I’m just not giving it up for [expletive deleted] nothing.

When asked about a possible pitching contract with the Daytona Cubs, the Chicago Cubs’ Advanced A minor league affiliate, Zaida had this to say

Hold up that [expletive] Cubs [expletive]. [Expletive] them.

Future In the Minors?

Future In the Minors?

When asked how his fellow Iraqis felt about his flame throwing, Zaida had this to say

They’re not willing to give me anything except appreciation. [expletive deleted] them.

Actually, that’s not true, of course. Zaida is being hailed as a hero across the Arab world. I’m sure that newborn boys in Iraq and elsewhere will be given the name Muntadhar. To Zaida and his adoring mob, I have something for you to to enter on your scorecard

[expletive deleted] you and the shoes you wore in


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Saturday, October 30, 2010

Happy Hallowon't

I seem to have gotten a head start on getting my "Scrooge" on this year. I have done NOTHING for Halloween ~ save a trip to Wal-Mart for candy yesterday.(True story: Mariah actually lost a tooth in a caramel apple a classmate's mom brought in yesterday. Sigh of relief that 1. it was a baby tooth and 2. it was already loose). Usually by now, I would have pumpkin patched, decorated, stitched together a costume or two, and be doing reconnaissance for trick-or-treating. Not this year, though. Zay went to his Literacy Parade Friday dressed like the first grader he is every day. I'm just not feelin' it. Maybe it's the pressure of this being our first Halloween in this house. Maybe it's because the kids are getting older. Maybe it's because I am in denial at how this year seems to be slipping away. In denial at how soon it will be Thanksgiving. And then Christmas. And then 2011.

Bah hallowbug.

In a last ditch effort at enthusiasm, I took the kids out to a local park/farm for some fresh, crisp air and sunshine. Not exactly a pumpkin patch--in fact I only saw two actual pumpkins there--but it was calm place to take in some autumn beauty.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Happy Birthday, Pop.

Today is my father's birthday. If he hadn't passed away 2 years ago, he would be turning 66 years-old.

Days like today, Father's Day, and the anniversary of his death give me pause. My siblings and I stop whatever we are doing and check on each other. Comfort each other. Encourage each other. And we laugh. Oh how we laugh. Our father provided us with some First Class, Grade A comical moments ~ with the most classic being at his very own expense.

Hey Pop, remember that time at Denny's when Jacoby got a hold of your glasses...?

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Baby Fever

Today I found out another friend of mine is expecting. Add her to the ever-growing (no pun intended) list of friends having babies next year. I share in their elation with every announcement. And then, inexplicably, I'm startled and ashamed by my own feelings of envy.

Let's face it: I'm 38 years-old. I have not one, not two, but THREE children. Not only that, but my youngest has special needs. I've been changing his diapers for 6 years--with no end in sight.

And yet, I am not immune to Baby Fever. It's not as though I want another child. My family is complete, as far as I know. It has to be a purely "pregnancy/baby" thing. Unlike some women, I loved being pregnant. Even dealing with polyhydramnios and hospitalization, I would do it all over again.

Oh the wonder of it all. The flutter of the first movements. The pregnancy glow. The attention that belly commands. That literal bond with the unborn baby. I'll never forget the first time I heard my babies cry. I was amazed at my seemingly innate ability to identify their cries in a crowd of wailing infants.

And I'll never forget the first time I held them. With Isaiah, it happened a day after he was born(he was whisked away in the delivery room and transferred to a different hospital. I could only touch his leg through one of the portals of the transport incubator).

I remember the NICU nurse undoing his wires and handing him to me. I remember holding him gently and kissing his face over and over again....whispering into his tiny ear how much I missed Mommy was here he was going to be all right.

Sometimes, I find myself holding him like that all over again--his (now) long legs dangling down near mine. It's in those moments that I can't help but kiss his face like I did on that day I first held him. All over his forehead. Both cheeks. On that recessed chin. On that special place on the bridge of his nose between his wide set eyes. He tolerates it for the most part. Smiles and leans into it---anticipating. But when he's had enough, he's gone like a shot. In search of mischief and adventure like most kids his age.

I guess that's why, at least in my case, Baby Fever is so strong. In those moments, I know why I was put on this Earth.

But if there is anything close to a remedy for Baby Fever, I'd put my money on a borrowed, colicky 3 week-old.

Or a sassy 10 year-old.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Falling for Fall

Today is gorgeous. Rewind 48 hours and you would have thought God had broken His promise and was going to, indeed, destroy the world with water again. The sun is shining now and there's just enough crispness in the air to know that autumn is here to stay. Although, I did have to turn on the A/C briefly last week. So to recap, fall is here ~ unless we get back up into the freakish 80+ degree range anytime soon.

Last weekend, we took advantage of the picture-perfect temps and took the kids down to National Harbor. It was less crowded than the summer months and therefore much more enjoyable. From the charming restaurants, to the picturesque pier jutting out into the Potomac, to the glorious grounds and gardens of the Gaylord Hotel ~ it was a treat for the senses.

This particular batch of pictures was taken prior to "The Event". And I don't mean that new T.V. show with Blair Underwood. My event involved my precious camera.

I handed it over to one of my daughters in order to get a picture of my standing on a rock. Sounds lame now, but trust me--it was going to be epic. What I failed to do was secure the strap around her neck. So when my skittish child was suddenly swarmed by yet-to-be-identified insects, my camera took a dive--lens first--straight to the concrete below it.

My shriek startled even me.

Nominate me for Mother-of-the-Year now because YES: I scooped up and cradled my Canon before even thinking to check my child for harm. My camera and I just celebrated our 1st anniversary together (J bought it for our wedding anniversary last year ~ our 15th anniversary just passed). We had it insured, but its demise never crossed my mind.

Upon further investigation (and a consult with both J's "camera guy" and a geek working at Best Buy), it was determined that the connection between the lens and body was compromised in the fall. One of the connectors on the lens is chipped. I get an error message after every single shot. I can't so much as review the images or take another picture without turning the camera off and back on. Not exactly ideal shooting conditions for a shutterbug like myself.

Soooo, it looks like Mama will be getting a new lens. I have been considering an upgraded lens for a while, but just not seriously. Until now.

Oh and you'd better believe I'll be trading in one of my kids for a really good tripod.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

About a Boy and a Ball

Watch out, Donovan McNabb.


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Friday, December 16, 2011

borrowing from my kid

My thoughts on the season have been muddled this week and it has been difficult to find time to put my sentiments into words. So, I thought I would borrow the words of someone quite close to me. The following is a poem written by my 12 year old son, Henry, which I am sharing with his permission. It is a poem for two people. There are lines that both readers recite together and then there are lines which the readers take turns speaking. It is titled, Christmas of Two Brothers by Henry Wojtasik. He was generous enough to allow me to illustrate it.

Have a great weekend everyone!


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Take A Minute Tuesday…

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Today as we take a break from our normal posts, I encourage you to be still for just a few minutes and take some time to meet with God.  God is all around us; we just have to take the time to experience Him.  Psalm 46:10 encourages us to, “Be still and know that I am God.”

You won’t be precious in God’s sight unless you believe what the Bible says is true instead of what the world says is true.  Until you do you’ll be a slave. ~ Chip Ingram

Thrifty T

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