And the livin' is easy

This is my first time participating in a sweet sweet Blog Swap through 20 Something Bloggers and I'm super stoked to have the fabulous Cat Lynch share her thoughts on the loveliness of this back-to-school time period. 


I've gotta admit I'm missing the days of buying notebooks, text books, and organizing myself for school time... perhaps I should just follow her example and buy organizational tools anyway. 


So, without further ado, the lovely Cat...

Last week, I stopped in Walgreens to buy cat litter, shoe inserts and tampons. What started as just another Tuesday turned magical when I turned down the center aisle and was met with row after row of Promise and Possibility.

I’m talking, of course, about Back-to-School supplies. 

Composition books with unbroken spines, pristine pink pearl erasers, row after row of pencils, pens, highlighters in all the colors in all the double rainbows – And trapper keepers! Oh god the trapper keepers... Quick, someone hand me a Lisa Frank steno pad, I need to fan myself.

Ours is a love that will last the ages

School supplies = School’s coming. And I love school. I have always loved school.

Cry ‘geek’ if you wish, but I love learning. I love book-smell, new pencil smell, waxed floor smell. Most of all (after milk time, anyway, MILK TIME FTW!) I loved the reassurance of a schedule - neat blocks of time, set up like new chalk. Some were easier than others, some definitely more interesting than others, but each one was always where it should be, like a September locker- all color coded binders next to color-coded folders, each one straight and contained, it’s own ordered microcosm in the larger realm of peace that is academia.

An April locker, like an April brain, is an entirely different story. Nearly three quarters of a year spent in confinement and all faculties have begun to rebel. By April, I still love learning and books, but have remembered I also hate math. And busy-work, And unreasonable rules governing everything, right down to my own bodily functions and the timing thereof. Notebooks have become doodle books (Or rather, doodle book as all others have been lost to the infinite chaos that is the endless locker bottom). And worst of all, those beautifully clear containers of time have become downright inadequate. Some feel way to big and empty and rattley, filled with only the barest minimum of tasks to do while others crack from the strain of trying to fit so much thought into such a small space. The system has failed- School at this point has gone from Oz himself, to a great big sweaty behemoth, just lying in the middle of the yellow-brick road, making socially awkward non sequiturs in too loud a voice, and dropping used Kleenex like he owns the fucking place.

It was at this point each year that summer started to call to me as a chance to get away from school and finally do all the things that had become more interesting/important. In middle school this meant finally reading all those books I couldn’t manage to hide under my desk during math class and staying up late drawing Harry Potter fan art. In high school this meant finishing college apps in one fell swoop, writing what I would later learn was awful poetry, and still more drawing – This time of my own mythical creations. Even in college,which, for the record, knocked the SOCKS off of all other school,) - even in college where a good 90% of my classes were directly related to the love of my life (art.,) I still started every summer thinking “Thank goodness, now I can finally try this drawing” or “try those watercolor experiments” or “finally read all those books I couldn’t manage to hide under my desk during math.”

Just as with school (and nearly everything else in the history of my ever), the outcomes were vastly different from my expectations, and almost always for the better. I might not have written the next fantasy best-seller, but I did almost get thrown out of Walmart for playing hide-and-go seek tag.) Most importantly, every summer I managed to soak up enough sun tea, vitamin D and self-directed creative endeavors to push ‘reset’ on my brain. Where four months earlier the sight of even one modest pencil cap eraser would be enough to sent me into fits, I would once again feel beckoned by the supply aisle. 

This is only my second summer as a Grown Up (read: not in any sort of school system), and really my first without school at either end of Summer, and it’s been weird. Probably the strangest part about it is knowing that it’s infinite. There is no school start date by which I have to have all my projects done. I can keep making and making and reading (around work, of course). This lack of boundries, which would’ve terrified poor little crazy 10 yr old Cat, is still a bit daunting, but mostly just Fun. 

(Still, though, on a bad day I’d sell my kidney for a trapper keeper…)

Cat Lynch is an multidisciplinary artist living in Columbus, Ohio, where she divides time between making things, reading things, crushin on Kevin Sorbo and working as an Art Facillitator/Habilitation Coordinator at Open Door Art Studio. If you enjoy art, adventure, social awkwardness and/or the Midwest, check out her blog at http://sheepgomoo.wordpress.com

I Heart Logan a.k.a The Lil’ Lad Who’s Won Me Over

 

I am not a cat person. I detest the little suckers. They don’t acknowledge your presence. They crawl all over you when you sleep. Their litter smells horrible. And of course, they have a tendency to lightly layer any remnant of clothing with their fur.

I used to love cats… oh yes I did.

I had one named Poopsie, another named Tigger, a grey one named White Socks, one named Snow White and multiple adopted barn kittens that I loved, ecstatically observed, and played with in my young childhood. I don’t know where the turning point came. It may have arrived with my contraction of ringworm from little Hazel. It may have come with being traumatized after several of our adopted kittens got pneumonia and died. It may have sunk into me after being scratched one too many times. I honestly can’t place my finger on it, but I can say that I have fallen fervently into the “dog person” category for over decade.

Here’s the funny part.

I am in love.

I am absolutely, without a doubt, uncontrollably smitten with a fluffy little baby kitten. His name’s Logan and he is ADORABLE!

I can’t even remember ever seeing such a cute little creature. I just look at his little grayish-greenish-bluish eyes on his little grey fuzzball face and I get giddy and squealy. The little boy makes noises like the tickle-me-Cincinattii-zoo penguin. He gets his little noggin stuck in shoes. He’s fascinated by bottle caps and pieces of flannel. How can I not be enamored, fascinated, possessed into doing ridiculous things? I mean, I’ve been crawling on my hands and knees, talking in a baby voice, giggling uncontrollably, and watching him for hours without getting bored.

I love Logan. I’ve said it. I’ve converted into a kitty lover and now my family consists of three lovely lovelies: Geoffrey, me, and our little love child Logan. 

My loves Geoff and Logan

Building My World

Sixteen.

I have lived in at least this many houses. This doesn’t count the summer my family lived in cabins and hotels, nor does it include the babyhood homes of my parents’ college days. Is it any wonder that I’m addicted to change and feel my nerves fraying after three years time with the desperate plea raising from my gut to leave, to be in a new place.

Yesterday I moved out the last of my gar-bage from my living room room in Hartford. That was probably the part I hated most about being an AmeriCorps member, that I lacked the money to live in an actual bedroom with a real bed and furniture for nearly two years. Not that I always minded. Through my nomadic childhood/collegehood, I grew quite accustomed to sleeping on couches, leaning against car windows, under the billowing sheets of my constructed forts, in tents in the Colorado wild, etc. etc. It was simply the principle of not being able to choose where I slept that frustrated me. The fact that in my poverty I couldn’t even afford to hire a moving van to move all my crap. Instead, I spent an entire day exactly one year ago moving all of my items by hand from one Hartford apartment to another.

Now, I’m in a brand new place, living with my incredible boyfriend in a gorgeous neighborhood in New Haven. We have a real bed, art on the walls, furniture, and an awe-inspiring view of East Rock from our 5^thfloor apartment.

I feel like I’m actually becoming an adult.

I’ve graduated from college, I have to pay bills and taxes, I’m almost done being an Americorps member, I have friends who are getting married and family members who are having babies… and though at times I feel like I’m treading through mud, I can choose to mold my sphere of this beautiful world into whatever I deem fit.

I want to create a home with my boyfriend. I want to buy canvases and paint pictures to hang on our walls, pictures that only we may believe to be “masterpieces”.

I want to get a kitten with him (of course I’m more of a puppy lover, but I’d rather us wait to get our Finnish Lapphund until we move out West) and give it loving space to play.

I want to begin training to be a doula and midwife. I know that some of my family members are struggling a bit with this one right now, but bringing life into the world is commendable. It’s something that is always needed in this country and abroad and incorporates women’s and children’s issues, international issues, nutrition, and holistic health. My boyfriend and I eventually want to open up a center that will incorporate yoga, reiki, nutrition, meditation, natural haircoloring and tattoos, and midwivery. This would be one component of my contribution.

I want to go back to school and study the way cooperatives use folk art. When I traveled to Haiti in May, I was able to visit a couple of artisan groups and this has encouraged me to pursue this track.

I want to get back into my writing and crafting. This is often a sliver of myself that I’ve let fall by the wayside, but it’s something that’s integral to my being and that I need to devote more time to.

It’s a new month, a new time to begin, a new location, and it is time… time to continue pursuing my passions, time to add beauty to my world, and time to welcome in the person I am becoming.

I... Won’t Be Home for Christmas

The Santa Fe Plaza at Christmas Time

This year, I’m not going home for Christmas. 

I’m missing the decorating of the Christmas tree; the curling up on a couch with my sibs sipping Mexican Hot Chocolate and cracking jokes; going to people’s houses, local restaurants, and community organizations for Las Posadas; having snowball fights, creating snowmen, and making snow angels; going to my favorite family's house for our yearly gift exchange and dinner; breaking open a piñata with mis primos; caroling on Canyon Road on Christmas Eve surrounded by lively folks, luminaries, and farolitos; and of course, eating copious amounts of food while playing games like King Elephant with my cousins for days on end.

Sigh.

This year, I’m staying in the East and I’ve got to admit, I imagined being overwhelmed by extreme agony and sadness at not being able to go home for Christmas. I mean, Christmas is my favorite Holiday and I can easily give three reasons why (though I promise there are at least 100 more):

1)    I remind my siblings of Buddy the Elf.

2)    When I was little, I used to want to grow up and be one of Santa’s Little Helpers. I'm being completely serious here by the way. 

3)    Then of course there’s the glorious incident of when my siblings found out that I didn’t believe in Santa Clause. Jajaja. The winter break of my first year in college, my family and I went to eat dinner at Hunan’s Chinese Restaurant in Santa Fe. While eating our sesame chicken and beef with broccoli, the question of how old we were when we stopped believing in Santa Clause arose. Looking up hesitantly and noticing my 12-year-old sister is not shocked by this revelation, I announce that I knew for sure when I was 9 and got a letter returned from Santa Clause. As I’m saying this, my 12-year-old sister looks at me completely flabbergasted and says she found a few years ago. I’m a little surprised at this point and say “Really? I’ve been pretending he’s real for you since Chicago?” She responds with something along the lines of: “Camila, Marissa and I knew, we just didn’t want to disappoint you. Antonio and I have been pretending ever sense then because we thought you still believed in him. We just thought… “we gotta keep the Holiday Spirit alive for Camila!’” Aw, what love.

Anyhow, this Christmas I’m going to be venturing to Poughkeepsie, New York to spend some time with my aunt, cousin, and pseudo nephew. I’m uber ecstatic because I get to be with my family, spend time with people who appreciate the spirit of Christmas, be a Holiday surprise for my pseudo nephew, and eat delicious food. Yippee!

Until then, I’m going to be reminiscing about Christmas, the Holiday Season, and and all the things that make me completely ecstatic in life because I'm in love with this time of year. 

Wee Bit Wednesdays- No Shit I'm Superstitious

{one} have you ever seen a ghost?

I don’t think so. I saw visions of people when I was little but I wouldn’t call them ghosts. (That sounds really sketchy, but I promise you, it’s not).

{two} when was the last time you dressed up for Halloween?

Two years ago. My house had a Day of the Dead themed party and I was La Malinche/Melinali… and I’m sure no one knows who that is.

{three} what’s your favorite candy?

Ha! I had to answer this question yesterday. If we’re going generic, Twix. If we’re going fancy, I love Baci, especially since it comes with quotes.

{four} did you have a favorite costume growing up?

Dressing up in a baller costume, regardless of the time of year is always awesome. One year I dressed up as an elf and delivered presents to all of my friends during Christmastime.

{five} did you carve pumpkins this year?

No, but I made oatmeal cookies while I watched my friend carve the Cheshire Cat into her pumpkin.

{six} what’s your favorite scary movie?

I’m more of a “scary” show sort of person. I like the X-files. The movie that mortified me most though was “Fire in the Sky.” A true story on alien terrified me when I was little, especially since the area between Santa Fe and my ranch was known for UFO sightings.   

{seven} haunted houses or corn mazes?

Either one.

{eight} are you superstitious?

Hell yes. I can’t stress it enough. I’m superstitious to the extreme.

{nine} have you ever owned a black cat?

Uh. Yes, there was Poopsie and I’m sure there were other black kittens that my family had before they died of pneumonia.

{ten} what are you plans for this coming Halloween?

This Saturday, I’ve got a cupcake and horror movie night planned with some friends. I’m keeping it low-key.