tea & oranges / 5:12 pm

Some photographs of illustrations from my old journal. I'm finished with it and it will probably sit on a shelf somewhere gathering dust (or perhaps not), so I wanted these pictures close at hand, just in case. 

1. dream memories

2. David Bowie impromptu

3. Beethoven haiku

4. "Motorcycle Legs" (a story I never finished)

5. Drawing inspired by Jack Kerouac quote from his "Windblown World" journal

6. Drawing of firefly (one of my favorite insects & childhood memories)

I'll try to sing it pure and easily / 11:03 am

the veins in my hands; the curl of my toes; the little chips in my front teeth; the bones of my wrist; the mole on my right cheekbone; the two moles on my left forearm; the one on my left big toe; my pale skin, my brown hair; longing for the forest (so many of I've never seen); wolves and their howling; my blue carpet and all of its different smells; wooden floors; coffee coffee coffee; tea before bedtime; libraries and stacks of books; being alone; observing strangers; being with family (this includes Adam's); being with Adam; taking walks; the last stretch of running; the earthy taste of beets; warm milk with vanilla; wearing over-sized t-shirts around the house; Native American stories and culture; breakfast; Mom's scrambled eggs; Dad's French toast; goat cheese; warm lighting; acting like an animal; painting; the smell of crayons; coffeehouses; Whale Mountain; art festivals; my (the) magnolia tree; music music music and its endless possibilities; a good cry; the bittersweet hurt of nostalgia; how I'll never reconcile with time; finding people's thoughts, underlinings, and circles in library or used books; good movies, especially in the theater; bare feet and worn shoes; sweaters; pretty dresses; John Lennon; recognizing; campfires and bonfires; my sweet Penny; singing the Pennydog song; Penny's paws; brick, wood, stone, earth; hugging; noticing how some people touch you when they talk and how some don't; eye contact; laughter; reminiscing; helping people; playing music for friends; reading about astrology; the quiet of the early morning and late night when I can hear myself think; collecting postcards, records, books; the smell of art erasers; the taste of play-do; reading aloud complete with character voices; a full moon; rubbing off rubber cement; when the sun breaks through the clouds; seeing the sun and shadows in-between a tree's leaves and branches; cut-off shorts; the smell of freshly cut grass; eating chocolate slowly, letting it melt in my mouth; the way it feels to ride a horse (but it's been so long) and the way I imagine it feels to ride a motorcycle on an open country road; the taste of chocolate milk reminding me of kindergarten; watching insects and spiders move, build, spin, eat; the good feeling I get when I let an insect or spider free outside instead of smashing it; teachers who understand you're a real person with valuable thoughts; sidewalk chalk; using jars for drinking glasses; objects with stories; clay, hand-painted, hand-molded coffee mugs; what do birds think about as they sit in the branches, on the wires?

time it was and what a time it was / 1:09 am

Every spring when summer approaches, I make several mental and written lists of things I would like to accomplish. And every summer, I get far less accomplished than I had planned. However, I can honestly cross one goal off of my list: reading. I have made two fruitful trips to the main library downtown (it's big and a dream-come-true!) and have left with such stacks of books that the librarians either look suspicious or highly amused. Some of them I really liked, even loved, and some were not what I was looking for. Today I finished one of the last books and it seems I left the best for last. Blue Highways by William Least-Heat Moon is a new favorite. The only problem with favorites is they end up costing me money... whenever I really love a book, I feel the need to possess it, to see it sitting on my shelf. A reminder of dreams, an escape, a real or imagined place. Books make me feel safe and so lost that I am found.

The 1st library trip:

Steppenwolf by Herman Hesse; What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami; Picnic, Lightning by Billy Collins; Landscape At the End of the Century by Stephen Dunne; Strike Sparks by Sharon Olds; The Book of Love & The Glance: Songs of Soul-Meeting by Rumi; Love by Toni Morrison; The Body Artist by Don DeLillo; Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson; Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf; The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz; Remembering Laughter by Wallace Stegner; Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris; Small Wonder: Essays by Barbara Kingsolver

The 2nd library trip:

Blue Highways by William Least-Heat Moon; The Thing About Life Is That One Day You'll Be Dead by David Shields; The Diving Bell and the Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby; High Tide in Tucson: Essays from Now or Never by Barbara Kingsolver; Loosestrife by Stephen Dunne; Nine Horses by Billy Collins; When You Are Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris; Book of Longing by Leonard Cohen; Moment to Moment by Rod McKuen; The Brain That Changes Itself by Norman Doidge; Migration by W.S. Merwin; The Mastery of Love by Don Miguel Ruiz

Other:

Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer

And now, thanks to goodreads.com, I have at least fifty books on my to-read list. It will never end, will it? Coming up: The Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver; Be Here Now by Ram Dass; The Essential Rumi; Still Life With Woodpecker by Tom Robbins; Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain by Oliver Sacks

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"book collecting is an obsession, an occupation, a disease, an addiction, a fascination, an absurdity, a fate. it is not a hobby. those who do it must do it." (Jeanette Winterson)

"outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. inside of a dog it's too dark to read." (Groucho Marx)


"I find television very educating. every time somebody turns on the set, I go into the other room and read a book." (Groucho Marx)

"so many books, so little time." (Frank Zappa)

"where is human nature so weak as in the bookstore?" (Henry Ward Beecher)

"I'm writing this book because we're all going to die." (Jack Kerouac)

And speaking of good Kerouac quotes: "I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. the woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling." (from The Dharma Bums--one of my favorites)

well, she was just seventeen / 1:26 pm

It's Chippy's 17th birthday! I can't believe how fast she's growing up. I'm so proud of her for so many reasons... her strength and intelligence, her talents and achievements (National Honor's Society, VP of student council, basketball star among others), her kindness, her beauty inside and out. Here is a birthday card I made for her special day:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROBIN!

john & yoko / 6:24 pm

Two of my favorite people (not including my family, Adam, the Torres', and a few close friends). Watch this... I don't need to say anything else. You'll understand.

WAR IS OVER! (If You Want It) from Yoko Ono on Vimeo.

dear shadow, alive and well / 5:25 pm

Not my own writing... just an excerpt from the Fleet Foxes album inlet written by Robin Pecknold. I can really relate to the feelings and thoughts expressed in it.

"Sometimes when driving, or riding the bus, or walking around in some park, I will try to get an image in my head of what the land around me would have looked like 400 years ago. The same hills, the same landscape, but in my mind, I'll cover it in nothing and wonder what it was like to be the first man to chance upon it. This is always useless to me. There is so much wonder in this world, but I always have trouble getting past our influence, our disasters and clumsy systems. And even in those places where there is some real beauty, like down at Golden Gardens, or on the Olympic Peninsula, or in my grandparents' cabin in Wenatchee when it's deep in snowdrifts, all I have to do is take one look at the skyline in the distance, or the cement path I'm walking on, or the white car parked in the gravel driveway to take me out of the tenuous illusion and put me back in reality.

We are constantly tethered to some safety line. There is always a lantern, or a map, or a screen, or a cell phone. These things guarantee that whatever experience we're having is just an attempt at connecting to something foreign and old, that it's not real, no matter how real it looks. We've sketched out a new world over the old, and they are in two separate universes; the old is lost despite the remnants of it we see everyday. If properly prepared, one could live entire decades indoors, in a world of their own creation.

Sometimes, I'll stay indoors for days at a time, talking to no one and doing nothing of value. Once I do go outside after a long stretch like that, it still feels fake, like some slide in front of my eyes. At a certain point, I'll have to tell myself, "This is actually real and I am actually here, that dog or building or mountain range in the distance is a real thing inhabiting the same space that I am." I think that must be a very modern sensation, that of having to convince oneself of reality. What a weird feeling.

A very smart and gifted friend of mine told me once that music is a kind of replacement for the natural world. That, before civilization or whatever, the world must have seemed a place of such immense wonder and confusion, so terrifying in a way, unthinkably massive and majestic. And that feeling of mystery and amazement is somehow hardwired into us. Once the world became commonplace, mapped, and conquered, that mystery left our common mind and we needed something to replace it with and then along came music. I think she's right, music is magic to me, transportative and full of wonder in a way that I have trouble getting from the natural world. All the human things that make the natural world so hard to connect with just aren't there with music.

I don't really know what I'm trying to say with this. It's not good to romanticize a time of great hardship. Hardship I've never known and am not conditioned to understand. I'm also not interested in a "back to nature" thing, as nature as it was is gone for the time being and it would take a very big leap of faith and common sense to ignore that. But, music to me is just as awe-bringing as the world maybe once was, and I just love it a lot."

- New York City, NY

January 2008

if today were not an endless highway... / 11:42 pm

The last few days have been great. I've accomplished quite a bit of reading, saw Adam, spent time with family, and celebrated my 21st year. But today has been strange and I felt sad for no apparent reason. The only explanation was the rain, but usually the rain doesn't bother me that much... it doesn't seem plausible that this is why I felt sad. The more I think about it, sad doesn't even feel like the correct word to describe my feelings. It was more of a distance--withdrawn, distant, remote. I felt (feel) disconnected. 

My day began with an extremely vivid and realistic dream. Usually, I have trouble remembering or grasping my dreams, but once in awhile they are so tangible that I feel as though they are part of my reality. This could be why I felt so lost and detached today. The past night's dream felt more real than my physical existence during the day. I woke up from the dream in a panic, almost terror... 

I was in my elementary school gymnasium/auditorium. It was dimly lit and slightly larger than it actually is. The floor was filled with people ranging from infants to adults on blankets and chairs who all seemed to be waiting for something--a performance of some sort?--in front of the stage. None of the people stood out to me as familiar. I vaguely remember two middle-aged men sitting on the stage who led people in meditative exercises. One man was masculine with somewhat short hair and a scruffy beard, while the other was clean-shaven with shoulder length hair and a very feminine voice. 

I was with my sister Robin and we were both our current ages (21 and 16). At some point, she suddenly became an infant and I was still 21. I was carrying her around in one of those car seats with the handles and I took her everywhere I went... to the gym's bathroom, in the bleachers, etc. I picked her up and held her, and eventually I carried her over to a blanket on the floor where we sat for awhile. Then I turned for a few seconds to get something out of my purse and when I turned back around Robin was gone! Not only was she gone, but her car seat was even missing. I flew into a panic and began retracing my steps, looking everywhere for her. I came across some other infants sleeping on a blanket nearby and quickly examined their faces to make sure none of them were Robin. At first, I thought maybe I had somehow left her sitting in her car seat somewhere, but after a few minutes I had the distinct feeling that she had been stolen, that someone had taken her away from me. This is when I woke up...

... four in the morning. I sat up in bed and, even though I knew it was all a dream, I was still terrified. For awhile I tried to sleep again so I could go back into the dream and find her. I felt like something bad would happen if I was unable to find her and make things right again. After awhile, I realized it was useless because I was wide awake yet exhausted and couldn't force myself back into the dream so I thought about what it could mean instead. 

The most significant part was being in charge of Robin as an infant and losing her. I've come up with two explanations for this: (1) I don't remember much of Robin's infancy for some reason. My earliest memories of us together are mostly of her at toddler age. Maybe I took on a motherly big sister role to make up for not remembering her infancy. However, I lost her which could reflect an underlying regret for not having recollections of our very first years together. (2) Robin went from her present age of 16 to infancy in my dream. Perhaps my mind reverted her back to a tiny baby because I thought she would be easier to hold on to and nurture this way. Adolescence is a more aloof age and I do currently have fears about not being closer to her, even though we see each other everyday and talk and laugh. I regret the times we still argue and I am scared of losing her, of some sort of distance (such as the passing time). Both analyses are probably accurate and I believe it is probably a mix of the two that best explain my dream.

As much as I like to remember my dreams, I hope I have a more peaceful sleep tonight. Last night's really wore me out and cast a somberness over my entire day, which was only enhanced by the gloomy weather. Now I hear the train in the distance, which means it is late and I should go to bed. Tomorrow will be better?

If tonight were not a crooked trail
If tomorrow weren't such a long time... -Bob Dylan

joy and sorrow too / 4:15 pm

More or less...

love love love / 6:06 pm

Below are scans of photographs from when I was a little girl. A couple are even from before I was born. Eventually I will put more old photos on my computer. They are some of my most prized possessions.

This is one of my very favorites. It is of me, Mom, and Dad at the Ohio State Fair. In the third picture from the top, we are doing a "baby-in-the-magazine" face. This originated after I mimicked a baby making that face in a magazine.

My Grandma Hackbarth and I at my Grandma and Grandpa Kraus' house. I'm wearing a princess crown and am overjoyed about something. 

Baby Robin, Mom, and I at the Columbus Zoo. Mom is so beautiful in this picture. Also, I wish my 101 Dalmatians pants still fit me.

Me and my Dad. As you can see, he is good at finding unique uses for his shirts. 

My Grandpa Kraus and I. Some of my oldest memories are of him (and sometimes my Grandma K. or Dad) taking me to a pond to fish or feed bread to the ducks and geese.

Grandma Kraus is letting me get in the driver's seat at age two?! And a big van nonetheless!

Grandma Hackbarth holding me on our old swinging bench.

Holding Baby Chippy (Robin) in the backyard. It's probably Easter judging by our matching dresses.

Teaching little Robin to rollerskate. Her kneepads cover her entire leg!

Grandpa and I looking for bugs by the garage. One of my favorite pastimes.

Mom and a little Eskimo in the snow.

This was taken awhile before I was even born and was taken in the same dorm room I had last year at Ohio University! It was a complete coincidence that my Dad and I got the same room. Here he is in Kitty-Spider mode.

Emma is a cat my parents had when I was little. She wasn't the friendliest cat but that's okay. I remember her pretty well. Unfortunately, we had to get rid of her because of my allergies. However, I'm not that allergic anymore and I fully intend on owning a cat someday.

My parents on their Graduation Day from Ohio University. It's hard to believe I'll be graduating from OU soon. What comes next?

Our beloved Kubba. His whole name was lengthened to Kubba Sonny Jim Freckles Sugarcup James Kraus over time. He was renowned for his "Heeney-Hiney-Hoe dance" and his ability to withstand two little girls who wanted to play dress-up with him. I am convinced he was one of the best, sweetest, and most charming dogs to ever grace this earth (yes, in addition to you Miss Penny!). I miss him very much, but he will never be forgotten. 

A Polaroid portrait of Mom, Dad, little Katydid, and a tiny Chip. 

An old photo of our house. It is one of my favorite places in the whole world.

it's times like these i feel so small / 2:45 pm

For it is mutual trust, even more than mutual interest that holds human associations together. - H.L. Mencken


Love is the capacity to take care, to protect, to nourish. If you are not capable of generating that kind of energy toward yourself- if you are not capable of taking care of yourself, of nourishing yourself, of protecting yourself- it is very difficult to take care of another person. In the Buddhist teaching, it's clear that to love oneself is the foundation of the love of other people. Love is a practice. Love is truly a practice. - Thich Nhat Hanh

Love wants us clean of resentment and those impulses that misguide our souls. - Rumi, "The Knots Untie"

We've got this gift of love, but love is like a precious plant. You can't just accept it and leave it in the cupboard or just think it's going to get on by itself. You've got to keep watering it. You've got to really look after it and nurture it. - John Lennon