five things

A quirky nod to KCRW's 'five things' blog. And to happiness, because that's the theme of these snaps.

1. Owl candle and owl pepper shaker on piano. Problem: Candle owl has graced our piano for 6 months or so. It's been a lonely time for him; he's the only owl in 39 F. Solution: Rach found an orange owl pepper shaker in her grandma's cupboard. Result: Owl Love.

French fry tray turned canvas. Artist: Alvin, 1st period. Intended function of tray: hold paint. Serendipitous function of tray: artfully convey the theme we're studying in class--keep looking for beauty.

Half-deflated balloon fish. Name: Schmeul. Creator: Winnie Fan-Joe, science teacher and balloon artist. Diagnosis #1: losing air quickly. Diagnosis #2: I love him.

Homemade earring hanger/artwork. Color: Robin's Egg Blue Cost: under $10.00. Origin: my desperate need of creative detox from pink slip season. Added bonus: I can actually find my jewelry now.

Elements Kitchen, Pasadena sky. Occasion: favorite New Yorker dropping by town. Consensus: pretty much heaven on a Saturday morning.

spring has sprung

The girls in my 3rd period are having a very good time. We are painting murals today—it’s one of the few days I indulge my artsy-fartsy side and convince myself that a week of art will teach universal theme in literature and art. I’m not sure how it’s going, standards-wise…but I know the girls in the back corner of the room are loving it, because their group has merged with the boys in the adjacent corner. The conversation is going something like this:

Girl--Hey! I know where you live!

Guy (shouting)--How do you know where I live?! Stalker. That’s so weird!!

Girl--We live on the same street….we have for years!

Guy--Oh, well, that’s cool I guess!!*

Shrieks of laughter emerge from the girls. The guys look a little leery. Then they begin to warm up to the idea. The idea that they, their faces, their snarky, rude remarks, can elicit these shrieks. They perk up, shoulders straightening. The two groups merge, and all productivity and semblance of painting ceases.

In a matter of minutes, the ringleader of the guys, the one who accused the girl of stalking, is waving a bottle of paint with abandon, cracking scintillating jokes and dribbling yellow all over my floor.

Guy--Yeah, didn’t she like me in, like, 3^rd grade? That’s what I heard!!!

Girl--She totally did!!!! It was so obvious.

Guy (grinning)--That’s so weird. Ew. Weird!!

More paint pours from the carton. My floor would make Jackson Pollock doubt his artistic sensibilities.

I bolt over, scold him for not listening to my well-thought out, meticulous paint station instructions, and then I make him clean up and sit down. The girls look on in adoration. What a rebel.

I could get upset, but let’s be honest. Heart-fluttering, punctuation-satiated 7th grade encounters such-as-these are the only ones cemented in my own memory. Casting furtive glances at trumpeters #3, 5 and 7 left a clear, indelible impression, but could I name a single march we played when I was in junior high band? Hardly. I don't think I can even play a scale anymore.

On a warm, breezy day spring afternoon like today, it’s especially hard to pretend I'm a grown-up, terribly concerned with literary themes, paint procedures and orderly classroom conduct.

*The excessive punctuation is not a lapse of judgement in my writing style. It is a fair representation of how junior highers speak. If you come visit me, you will believe me.

on beauty

walking home

it is the waving wishes

of the dandelions.

impertinent weeds hawking

fistfuls of weightless hope next to the boarded-up buildings.

it is the orange sun,

debutant black fingerbranches silhouetted

and the single orange stoplight

like a cut-out punched through the wrought iron

a perfect swatch-match, color-wise,

signal and sky.

it is the fact

that each of us is the nation of Israel

and we are led through rivers

and butchered calves and Sodom and

Manna (damn that chewy white stuff)

to break us and rebuild us into

a risen people

a city like transparent glass

and clear as crystal.

a soul as big as this valley

He is wooing you from the jaws of distress

to a spacious place free from restriction.

two ways.

hunker down

to write out, wring out

the truth, the mystery.

find the formula, words

to define God and all sadness.

wholly explain. ruminate.

or just watch

the hawk in the wind

above the canyon

(earth-still wings) drifting.

all knowing,

moving and unmoving,

aware of every angle

and arc of sky.