7 Things Sunday

One. Everybody, this is Evan. He is the most adorable wee Scottish lad I have ever met. I mentioned to his auntie that I missed hearing him come into the coffee shop saying, “Tay Tay!”…and then she sent me this. Be still my heart. Waaaahhhhhhh. I want to go back.

 

Two. This week was ArtForceIowa’s Holiday Hustle (I’m so good at naming things, you guys). The youths performed Christmas tunes, gave our visitors tours of the space, sold cards and shirts they designed and made, and exhibited paintings. Several sold their first paintings ever and were so proud! It was adorable. Cookies and hot chocolate were consumed. Snowmen were drawn. Holiday cheer all around.

When I got home my sweet, elderly housemate Norm asked me, “Do you feel like you can be yourself at work?” I love this guy. Who asks that? I laughed and said, “I do! It doesn’t feel like a typical workplace. I get to work with people I consider friends and everyone is very encouraging of being yourself.” And then my heart kind of exploded at the sound of my own words. ArtForce has been such a good family to come home to. I am one lucky lady.

Three. BUT my time at ArtForce is wrapping up. Well, at least my paid time. In January I will be very unemployed, which feels simultaneously like a world of possibility and world of unfortunate impossibilty. But perhaps there are friends out there sprinkled across the US of A who think “Hey, Taylor should come stay with me/us while she looks for a job in this new, exciting place.” Or perhaps not. But you never know unless you ask. So, if you’re such a friend, call me/beep me sometime. I can compensate for hopsitality with a variety of domestic and creative endeavors.

I’ve also been contemplating just working any job that will give me loads of overtime for the next 6 months and saving up to spend the summer back in Edinburgh where I can work the festival, travel, attend my MA graduation, and hang out with the people I miss so soooo much.

#dreamingandscheming

Four. I’m excited for this:

http://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/wireStory/mike-birbiglia-man-show-winter-35560500

If you’ve never watched Mike Birbiglia: My Girlfriend’s Boyfriend on Netflix, I recommend it. At least until you get to the part about The Scrambler. Trust me.

Five. Yesterday I was enjoying a cup of coffee, like I do every morning. I’d probably drank half of it when I got this really bad side pain. I excused myself to the bathroom and suddenly felt my face burning. I caught myself in the mirror and BOOM. It looked (and felt) like I had suddenly developed severe sunburn all over my face. Then it spread. My neck, arms, and legs broke out into hives. The backs of my knees were swelling up. I was itchy and hot everywhere. My dad ran to the store for Benadryl. Bless him. And all was fine. But apparently we had started on a new bag of coffee that I had never had before.

So, please do not ever offer me Hills Bros. coffee. I am just thankful I didn’t randomly develop a caffeine or coffee allergy in general. That would make my life so sad and tired. But out of curiosity, does anyone know what could have caused this? I drink coffee…all kinds of coffee…alllll the time. I’ve never had this happen before.

Six. Awhile back my grandmother went through a break-up…so-to-speak. There was a man I called her “companion”. That was the most accurate description I could think of. Calling him her boyfriend felt weird. But they had been doing life together for as long as I can remember. When they stopped, I remember driving in the car with my grandma and she told me, “The other day I was sitting in Jester Park and I saw this deer. Just beautiful. We used to always go and watch the animals there together. I just wanted to pick up the phone and call him but I knew I shouldn’t do that. It’s just hard to change those habits.”

And as she said this, I felt something in my brain move. As if I could feel my own perspective widening. Here was this 70-something year old woman. My grandmother. She was describing her own feelings and life situation. And at the time, they were exactly the same as mine.We were going through the same thing. All of the sudden the 50 year age difference didn’t make any difference at all.

I have also found myself in pretty transparent conversations recently with middle aged women I adore. I feel like I have a lot of moms, which is great. They bring me a lot of joy. And honesty. They’ve opened up about grief, marriage, changes that happen with having adult children, hopes, faith, crises…the whole shebang.

And then when I stay at the Catholic Worker House, two of my house mates are guys in their 60s. And they’ve become dear friends who I admire deeply. Their life stories are already so incredible and they’re still living them. My boss is in his 30s and has an elderly lady friend that he regularly meets up with for oysters and champagne. He says they’ll sit and talk for hours every time. How fabulous is that!?

I don’t know…it’s all just got me thinking about how rare inter-generational living is in America compared to other places. It’s kind of a shame. You learn so much from people of all ages and you can develop wonderful friendships, too. Ones that give you wisdom and preparation for the roads ahead of you. All I know is that my life has felt much richer lately because I find myself spending quality time with people outside my own age range.

Seven. There’s a fascinating exhibition at the Des Moines Art Center. Go check it out and/or read about it here:

http://www.desmoinesartcenter.org/exhibitions/laurel-nakadate

Love,

Taylor

7 Things Sunday

7 Things Sunday : Winter Break

One. Nothing beats the feeling of stepping off a train and sneak-hug-attacking one of your dearest friends who you haven’t seen in five years (and then proceeding to do a laugh/cry/squeal-thing and hold the embrace for a few more minutes). I COULD NOT BELIEVE IT. I kept wanting to pinch her and make sure she was real and not behind a screen. By day we strolled though art galleries, cathedrals, and Christmas markets. By night we feasted on delicious French food too beautiful to eat, played games, and stayed up giggling in bed until 2 or 3 in the morning. I tried caviar (hated) and escargots (loved). I drank some of the best wine and champagne I’ve ever had in my life. I impressed everyone with my very best French accent singing Christmas hymns at mass in a tiny village church. Everyone made me feel like one of the fam. I didn’t want the week to end. It is one I’ll treasure forever. I left feeling like the luckiest little lady in the world. And I miss this one already…

Two. I spent one tiny day walking the streets of Paris. One day to experience Paris feels like a joke, but I would’ve taken even an hour if its all I had. Paris is stunning even when it is freezing, windy, and everything is a pale shade of grey. Until I was surrounded by (sometimes overly) affectionate couples standing in lines, eating at cafes, and snuggling on the streets…I had forgotten about Paris’ reputation for being, you know, the city of love. This made being a lone ranger feel a little strange. There’s nothing particularly brave or novel about solo travel. Tons of people do it. But there is something just slightly transformative about the experience. I’ll try not to get all Eat, Pray, Love here…but you have to make all your own choices, which is sometimes harder than it sounds. You have to make snap judgements about people and places. You have to be brave enough to walk when you don’t know where you’re going. You have to learn how to be your greatest resource. You have to believe no one is actually staring at you when you’re eating lunch by yourself or taking photos of a knitted toy cat in front of the Musee d’Orsay. At one point during the day, I was sitting in Sainte-Chappelle, enamoured by stained glass so beautiful it could make a grown man cry. I was thinking about my stained-glass-making grandpa and how much he would geek out in this place. I suddenly felt a sense of selfishness come over me to not be sharing this whole day with anyone…which isn’t good or bad. It just is. Paris was an experience entirely my own. I was the only personal witness to my thoughts, feelings and reactions. It felt great and it felt sad. C’est la vie.

Three. I saw ‘The Theory of Everything’, ‘Birdman’, and ‘Into the Woods’ over break. I liked them in that order. T Swift’s song ‘Out of the Woods’ kept running through my head during ‘Into the Woods’. Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods yet? Are we out of the woods? That’s pretty much how I felt about it.

Four. My friend Ali and I attempted to go hiking around Loch Lomond this week, but then there was rain, snow, and 100 mph winds. Trains were cancelled. The sea was raging. It was a mess. Instead we visited the Robert Burns Museum and walked around the town of Alloway, ate ice cream sundaes the size of our faces, kitchen danced to The Prince of Egypt soundtrack, and watched a lot of movies in bed. We had a real John and Yoko thing going. Ali had the privilege of seeing ‘It Takes Two’ for the first time. It’s a big deal.

Five. I finally (maybe) have a part time job working at a coffee roaster/cafe in the seaside town of North Berwick at a place called Steampunk. I have trial shifts Monday and Tuesday this week! Now I can be like the cool kids and flood your Insta feed with urban, industrial, coffee-related photos…ha.

Six. I’ve been on a Salt-N-Pepa kick lately and might be in the process of memorising all the lyrics to Whatta Man for no reason other than it may come in handy for karaoke one day.

Seven. School starts back up on Wednesday and I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to juggle a part time job, a (TBD) course placement, classes, and homework considering last semester I thought I was going to die solely from the school part. I guess my time management skills are about to get fierce.

Love,

Taylor

Juvie Jamz

I have a severe case of job whiplash (a general life whiplash, to be honest). It isn’t a bad thing. It just is what it is. I took a job at a non-profit arts organization that offers art and workforce readiness programming for at-risk/court-involved youth. So, I basically went from spending all day with the sweetest baby girls to juvenile delinquents. I went from nursery rhymes and pre-school pick up to court rooms and gangster rap. It’s been a weird transition. But hey… I’m excited to have a job in my field! I love what the organization does and am excited about the summer programming possibilities/opportunities. I believe so passionately in the transformative power of art and am driven to see these kids achieve their best in ways that are dignified and fulfilling. I’m honored to be a support, an advocate, a cheerleader.

Granted, I’m only two weeks into this job, so maybe I’m over analyzing all of this…but here’s what’s going on in my head and heart:

I’m just a nice, fairly quiet, middle-class, small town, white girl. I don’t know what its like to grow up in foster care or be initiated into a gang when you’re 6. I don’t know what its like to see your brother get shot or to shoot someone else’s brother. I don’t know what its like to live in fear of getting jumped. I don’t know what its like to have parents addicted to drugs. I don’t know what its like to runaway from home. I don’t know what its like to get arrested. I don’t know what its like to hold so much anger and hate in my body. I don’t know what its like to always be in trouble. I don’t know what its like to have a .1 GPA. I don’t know what its like to experience racism. I don’t know what its like to be really poor.

And I feel guilty for all of that. For the sake of bonding, relating, understanding, being influential, etc…I wish I shared in the experiences. It’s strange to be in an environment where being myself feels hard and awkward. It baffles me how insecure teenagers can make me feel about myself haha isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?

“You just don’t get it.” Truth. I don’t. I can’t. But I want to. Is that enough? Or are the all the words from my lips going to be discredited? Will my be attempts at being genuinely interested and invested roll off your shoulders?

“That’s impossible.” I believe that there are ways out of tough situations but maybe that’s because I’ve been afforded options and opportunities my whole life. I believe you can overcome addiction, but maybe that’s because I’ve never had one. I believe you can stop cycles of violence, but maybe that’s because I’ve read a lot about achieving peace.

“I can’t change it.” I think part of every egocentric high-schooler is the inability to see or imagine beyond what is right in front of them. I know I’ve been there before. That said, it has been amazing to me to see how much power the past seems to hold for them. The belief that your past not only influences, but dictates your future. The belief that the past is a much stronger force than the present. Obviously there is a lot about our pasts we didn’t have control of: where we were born, who are parents were, our social and economic status, how we were raised, what we saw and what was done to us as children, etc. There are uncontrollable factors that set us up on involuntary trajectories. Yet, I just have such a hard time believing that the past robs us of change, if we want it badly enough. I might not “get” where they’ve been or what they’ve done, but I want them to look where they’re going. And I feel like I need to expect things from them. You know, bigger, better, brighter things. I don’t know the cost/benefit analysis of something like leaving a gang. I don’t know how difficult it is to jump through systems. Everything is easier said than done, I know. Maybe change or doing the “right” thing means taking a beating or lots of beatings, or losing family, or moving away from everything you know.

Cue: City High ‘What Would You Do’

*sigh*

I’m constantly picking apart every interaction and they probably couldn’t care less. C’est la vie.

In summary: I don’t know anyyythiiinnngggg. But whatever, tough kids…

I’m just going to be there. To help you apply for jobs. To ask you about how you’re going to achieve your goals. To tell judges that you’re involved in something good. To draw next to you. To listen to your free-styles. To read your poems. To be proud of you. I’m going to love you to pieces (but honestly, I will probably never love dirty south rappers or your Nicki Minaj art collages).

Deal.

Without further ado…here is a piece written by one of the students during a free-writing activity we led at the detention center last week. Juvie Jamz might make a semi-regular blog appearance:

“I come from drugs

Where every nigga’ round me gettin’ mugged

Where people catchin’ feelings trynna get snug

When girls in your ear listen to your convos like they planted a bug

Where to the West, them white girls got their Columbias and Uggs

Where sleepin’ under the bridge is better than sleepin’ in the mud

Little girls go from tots to thoughts and every nigga you see endin’ up on the Block”

-Anonymous

Love,

Taylor