Contact Improv, Part I

I was sitting in the dentist's chair the other day, having my teeth cleaned for the first time in 5 years. (Note to Django: this is just the beginning of the subjects on which I will suggest you do as I say, not as I do.) I remembered, too late, that -- hearing about my reasons for avoiding the dentist -- my new dentist encouraged me to bring my iPod. She said it'd helped lots of other people block out some of the less comfortable sounds, if not smells and pain. I could hardly imagine even good music mitigating my discomfort, but I'm writing now to tell you that the combination of the bad radio and the ceiling tiles sent me off on an unanticipated mental journey -- and that worked a nice distraction.

It was the bad radio station that got me (silently) complaining toward the ceiling tiles. But it was the ceiling tiles that got me thinking. They weren't your usual acoustic tiles, with evenly spaced holes all over. They had multi-colored and unevenly dented spots, ones that looked like garden eels had peeked out in one direction or another and then thought better of it, leaving a little impression and stain as a proof of the visit. The garden eel impressions reminded me further of the leafy and weedy sea dragons I had just seen at the Academy of Sciences, which -- wow -- was powerful enough to transport me all the way back to my first few years in San Francisco.

Have you ever seen a leafy or weedy sea dragon?

I came to San Francisco in 1991, on the run from a broken heart. I think I had been here all of once prior to moving, so it's fair to say I had no idea what I was getting into. And it took me a couple years to love the place. I remember very clearly the first time I realized I actually did. I was on an airplane, about to land at SFO, and the whole of me began to happily hum: I'm home.

Back then, San Francisco was a much easier place to be broke and relatively aimless. It was just after the big earthquake and just before the dot.com boom. Rooms in shared houses rented for $250/month, and there were more people walking the street wearing their hearts where you could see them -- on their sleeves, waists, boots, hats, skin. I wasn't really one of them (yet.) But I was an admirer. (Still am.) Somewhere between my time in love with the polyamorists and the free jazz movement, I developed a serious crush on the contact improv dancers. I never really learned to do it myself, but the idea of it lives in me and bubbles to the surface all the time these days.

In the most literal terms, I contact improv dance with Django all the time, but it's the figuritive terms that compel me -- and keep me up at night. How can we stay in touch and fluid at the same time? How can I always be a dynamic home base?

Facebook 25

There's a chain letter going around Facebook, asking for you to post 25 random things about yourself and then tag 25 friends to do the same. I resisted the call a number of times, until I was inspired/shamed into it by reading my dear friend Zack's (a.k.a. Michael Kaminski's) brilliant list. So here's mine, for posterity.

1 I knew I should’ve responded to this tag back when it required only 5 random things, or even when it upped to 15. I’m hoping it gets all the way to 50 in the near future, so I can feel like 25 was a breeze.

2. I like pie. Or cheesecake. Not cake.

3. Superbowl weekend 2 years ago I finished 3^rd in my gender/age-group an 18-mile trail run in Death Valley. This Superbowl weekend I doubt I could’ve run around the block, unless it was necessitated by concern for the safety of a toddler. I miss exercising.

4. I try to make most of the gifts I give, especially at Xmas. This Xmas they were all made out of duct tape.

5. Inflating tires of any variety scares the pants off me. I would rather not have to do it. Ever.

6. My mom is in the Galapagos right now. She also sometimes builds computers from parts.

7. My dad, who is not married to my mom (in case you didn’t already know that) is the most noble man I know. He can also be counted on to have a horror story for any occasion. You like licorice? He knows someone who got liver poisoning from eating too much. Your kid likes to play at the steering wheel of your parked car? He knows someone whose kid got in solo one day, started up the car, reversed through the garage door, then shifted gears and drove into the kitchen. Wool socks? I don’t know, you’ll have to ask him. The good news is: even he seems to think it’s funny these days.

8. I had absolutely no concept of myself in 6^th grade until Paul Sheats posted our 6^th grade class photo on Facebook. Now I have an image of myself in 6^th grade that I cannot possibly forget. Hard as I keep trying. Yikes.

9. If you’re ever at a drinking party/establishment with my brother or sister & I and you say something about wanting a tequila sunrise, we will assume you want our immediate help beating a hasty retreat from the person you’re currently near.

10. I have never, to my knowledge, actively visualized a scene from a book I was reading and yet I’ve frequently felt surprised by who gets cast for certain roles in certain books-turned-movies. What gives?

11. I know – and love – a dozen or more lawyers.

12. I put my right hand over my heart and say (most) of the pledge of allegiance every day. I can’t bring myself to say “under God.” It bristles me.

13. I loved being pregnant. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. If you know anyone interested in helping me out on this count, please send them my way. Umm, immediately.

14. At every stage of my long-winded education, I’ve been blessed with teachers who moved and/or mentored me. Thank you Mr. McCutcheon, Mr. Adams, Ms. Polite, Professors Fujii, Grappard and Kohl. There are so many people I have learned from – and need to learn from still. I wish it were easier to name & find them.

15. I used to like pigeons. Now I don’t, really. I worry that this means I’ve lost a part of my humanity.

16. I do not understand the man who stands in the street outside his house on Market St. (an urban thoroughfare) in the mornings, sweeping leaves from the place where cars might park, at risk to his own life & limb from the traffic traveling 40 mph down the road. That’s some serious OCD.

17. At age 9, I wrote my own musical to go with the Styx release “The Grand Illusion.” I wish I still had the copy.

18. I used to think my dream job was being an acrobat in Cirque du Soleil. Now I think it’s reporting about the traffic for NPR.

19. I’m afraid of microwave ovens. I’ve certainly used my fair share of them, but I refuse (so far) to have one in my home.

20. As an elementary school teacher, I have laughed & laughed about parents who spell their kids names all funny. Then I had my own, and named him Django Rey.

21. Without ever even coming close to having a fiancé in my life, I have managed to plan at least 4 fantasy weddings for myself.

22. My mom’s father used to eat sandwiches with peanut butter and anything – ketchup, onion, meat, etc. I think I inherited a little some of that from him. My favorite is peanut butter and chive cream cheese.

23. Last week someone else set my car radio to the Smooth Jazz station. They play Sade a lot. I have been thinking about changing it. I haven’t yet. This makes me feel old. And soft.

24. I don’t like it that rice is too small to really chew – unless it’s stuck together for some reason. I avoid eating rice because of this. I like to chew my food.

25. I’ve been keeping a mostly-weekly blog for my son since he was born, but have been having a hard time keeping up lately. So I’m cutting & pasting all of this into the blog and calling it a post…Now you know 25 truly random things about your Mama, baby boy!

Just In Case

When I don't have any small worries on my mind -- like, where Django's other shoe went, or how to get the rabbits to stop eating his books and pilfering his snacks -- I find my thoughts wander to the big worries. Will he grow up to be a stalker? A soldier? Or, worse yet, a Republican?

I'm already armed to handle Django's potential substance abuse problems, depression, low self-esteem, unconscious sense of racial privelege/entitlement, lack of tact, and disrespect for authority, i.e., permanent teenagehood -- I mean, takes one to know one, and I know one (or more) very well.

But I'm really not sure what I will do if he ends up a homophobic meathead. My only idea, so far, is to keep taking lots and lots and lots of photos of him loving, loving, loving his friend Max. And to keep playing Michael Franti, because I think he said it best: "Cuz it ain't about who ya love, who ya love, who ya love. See it's all about do ya love, do ya love, do ya love?"

Kids Say (& Sign) the Darnedest Things

In this series of photos, it may look like Django is picking something out of his hand and then sticking it in his ear, but believe it or not, this is how he tells me he wants more juice. It always comes with sound effects, too: "Mo dooz."

I'd been thinking all Django's new signing and talking over the last month or so was getting pretty impressive, but when I finally sat and wrote it all down, it completely blew my mind. Here are the lists I made.

THINGS HE KNOWS & SAYS WITH TOTAL ACCURACY: eye, hi, knee, baby, bubble, mama, in, on, wow, whoa, yeah, home, meow, boom, earring,ow (as in hurt), "o" (as in the cereal that's o-shaped)

THINGS HE KNOWS, SAYS & ALSO SIGNS/GESTURES: hot, cheese, milk, done, down, go, bye teeth, toe, shoe, nose, hair, ear, eat, juice, yogurt, play, time, kick, bus, please, hop, more, swing, bath, grapes, straw, hat, cow, dog, duck, tree, ball, change, up, water, apple, cookie, berry, egg, noodle, bounce, dance, spoon, stomp, bad, fish, car/driving, rabbit, orange (as in the food)

THINGS HE KNOWS & TRIES TO SAY BUT DOESN'T SIGN: key, door, tongue, stroller, help, open, off, tv, towel, drop, banana, kitty, diaper, out, block, sock, book, dig, boat, dump, kiwi, avocado, bucket, money, Tedra, Max, Honey, Alfie, Sug

THINGS HE SIGNS/GESTURES/MAKES SOUNDS FOR BUT DOESN'T SAY: cook, frog, bird, monkey, vacuum, train, clean, heater, phone

I'm fully aware that I understand all these things he communicates because I spend most of my days trying really hard to figure out what he's saying when he says it, but I swear to you that you don't have to be fluent in Djanguage to understand that this kid knows what's what about a LOT of stuff.

Heaven help us all when he actually starts being able to repeat exactly what I say, because I know I did not stop cussing near soon enough!

Early Oedipal

There are plenty of activities at which I coach Django, heavily at times -- take the catch-practice video below, as a prime example. But I swear I never, ever, not even jokingly showed him how to put my undergarments over his head! That 'skill' must have simply come with his wiring. Now it's become his usual way of helping with the (yes, clean) laundry.

Right after 'helping' me this weekend, he crawled up onto the couch and instead of doing his usual bounce-dancing there he started rolling around making all these bedroom eyes at me. I couldn't help but pull out the camera.

I don't know much about Freud and his theories, but if he's right about the Oedipal complex -- and Django loves me as much as I think he does -- it's a darn good thing I'm a single mom.

Days of Water & Sand

I'd love to able to say I think the balmy mid-winter weather in S.F. is nothing but delightful. Trouble is, it disturbs me. My mind goes all Apocalyptic, flashing grim scenes of a plant & animal-free future in which all the surviving humans have ashen skin and have to wear special airtight suits to go outdoors. Of course, my mind also flashes weird skeleton pictures at me whenever I have dental x-rays taken, so it may simply be I have a mischievous mind.

Anyway, Django does not seem to have inherited my mental madness -- yet. He's thrilled by all the days at the beach, whether authentic beach or brilliantly crafted facsimile thereof. Sand and water, in case you've forgotten, are totally amazing. Not so easy to walk in, though.

Sleep Like a Baby?

Bleh!

I'm having one of those 'moments' that have been remarkably more common since I've become a mom -- and since I've edged my way to near 40, who knows which is to blame. It's the kind of moment where you find yourself attempting to start 4 sentences at once, none of which you're certain to finish. Anybody feel me here?

Leaning heavily on a natural segway as the way out of my problem tonight, I've decided to include some questions in each of my blog posts from here on out. I did it without thinking at the end of the last post, but later realized I like the idea. Clearly, I write this blog primarily for one person -- one who doesn't even usually hold a book right-side-up as yet -- but I try to imagine an audience of other readers, i.e., you. And I try not to bore you to death, while being sure to include enough saccharine detail for the boy to know he's truly adored.

Part of the reason I like the idea of asking questions of you -- the imagined other reader -- is that I turned the first year of this blog into a hardcover book as an Xmas present for Django this year, and realized that most of the official "comments" came from only one source: Unk Jon. Even though I'm sure this blog doesn't have anywhere near the following that the Dalai Mama or Stuff White People Like blogs enjoy (and deserve,) I feel pretty confident in assuming there's more than one reader. So, if you are not Unk Jon and you are reading this now, consider yourself called out. You are part of our extended family, whether we know it or not, and we would love to hear from you.

As for the other 3 sentences I wanted to start as I sat down to type tonight, I can now only remember one, and that is: where the hell did the expression 'sleep like a baby' come from anyway? I mean, sure, babies are GREAT sleepers when they have a mind to be, but the rest of the time, they suck -- and I mean that literally, as well as figuratively. In terms of an analogy, that's like saying "cooperative as a donkey." Doesn't make sense to me at all.

In other, unrelated notes, Django is so, so, so, so, so, so very happy Winter Break is over and he gets to spend most of his waking day with his friend Max (who he calls, Maaah) again. I think the almost-2 weeks with almost-only me as a playmate bored him to tears. At least Santa (and the cousins) brought him some new, exciting toys, like the rocking horse in the photo, and he had a chance to go out and feed the birds with his Nana. Whew.