Pain, it keeps peering its nasty little head into my body. The weekend. Sometimes it’s great. It doesn’t change my work load, seven days a week I’m up around 6am with work to do. My day ends at 8pm. I keep going, pushing through. I say fuck it a lot. You know, the dishes, laundry, shit all over the place. I just let it go sometimes. It’s hard on the weekends. Expectations and let downs. The worst times are when your partner is super tired from the work week. People who work a regular job, five long days consider Saturdays and Sundays real rest days. I can’t take a rest. I can when Ramona’s here, but she’s only here 3 days part time and the hours go by so fast. I know I’m lucky to have help at all. But I’m working in my studio or doing chores or going grocery shopping. I always have the responsibility of the house and Jack and Fiona and Billy and cooking dinner for my family. You can tell I don’t feel good today. It’s muggy, I want to do nothing for the rest of the day. That’s not an option. I’m drinking a White Ale. The babies are waking up from their nap. I got about an hour break. Alan went for a massage so I had bit of alone time. The babies light up my life. We took them to the park, they were so cute. I don’t think it makes any sense to bring your kid to the park and tell them not to get dirty. I heard a mom constantly telling her girls not to get in the yucky mud. It’s dumb trying to keep your kids clean at all. It’s a complete waste of energy. They are dirty. Just bring a change of clothes and some wipes. There’s a tip for you. Just let them get as messy as they want, then clean them off and change them. I don’t stay clean when I’m hiking or working in my studio. I get dirty. Sunday, still muggy. Alan made an Irish breakfast. He’s reading to Jack and Fiona now, “Where’s Spot?” and then “Polar Bear Polar Bear.” It’s hard to concentrate on writing. I could go into another room but that would seem anti-social, which is exactly how I feel. I’m also too tired and Lazy to relocate my lap top and coffee. I’m in a bad mood. I think that’s O.K. to write here? I just need a whole morning, day, and night to relax.
Month: March 2015
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I’m gonna be in my studio by 1:00. I need to go to tap plastic, the art store, and the grocery store. Bettina and Janie are coming over at 4. I’ll get the plexi glass first. “Hi I’d like a piece of 18×24 1/16” plexi.” His name tag says “In Training.” I need something off the rolls in the back too. I show him, he seems nervous and excited to be helping one of his first customers. He pulls out the plastic and I get 4 feet. He only charges me for one foot, I tell him he missed a couple of feet, he adds two more. I shouldn’t have said anything, but I still got one foot free. At the art store I get some more Lenox 100, Ingres, soft gel gloss, I get a feeling of excitement and possibilities, and fluid titanium white. Its hot today and my girlfriends are coming over so I put on a new little sun dress and pinned one side of my hair back. I feel sexy for a 43 year old housewife mom. I bring my items to the counter. I ask the staff “why is rives printmaking paper so expensive now?” The guy behind the counter say “This is why” and pulls up his sleeve and flexes his bicep muscle. I don’t get it, then he says “the French don’t like us.” Strange. Next stop Whole Foods. I try to hurry but get lost in choice. I want to get appetizers for my friends, fruit for the babies. I need to hurry, I need to get into my studio. I drop my box of strawberries putting my groceries on the belt. Shit, I just pick them up. The girl asks if I want new ones, I say no, I wash them anyhow. I get home, put the groceries away and make it to my studio by 1:30. I have 2 hours. I tear my paper, the Ingres feels really nice, it’s beautiful. I wet the paper, I think about when Joab and I made our collaborative glue and gold piece at Cal State Hayward. We would pour glue and powdered gold and silver I would get from Amsterdam Art. It turned into a huge monster of a sculpture. I start with watercolor, I pour out all the tubes and pick sepia. I take a paint brush, one of the last ones that’s not hard and ruined. I start to put marks on the paper, the paint stains beautifully, I am taken back to the series of watercolors I made right after my mom died. Figures start to emerge, I feel uncomfortable. I’m not ready to go back to figurative work yet. I work with line and a bamboo pen. I finally get the technique and can’t believe it took so many years. A nice light touch creates a nice line. I emerge into the creative process, adding paint, collage, layers. I’m afraid to look at the time. I’m scared it’s later than I want it to be. I get some I really like and another pile of rejects. I look at the time. It’s 3:30. Shit. I’m bummed, but excited to see my friends and drink some wine. I clean up, take one last look. What am I going to do with all these paintings? I have so many, I’m making some new ones I really like. I can’t get anything else framed. I have a shit load of great pieces framed. I need to line up a show. But what about the framing part? I’m leaving now, I’m leaving my studio and these thoughts for the night.
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“We’re going to the beach! We’re going to the beach! We’re going to the beach!” I sing to Jack and Fiona. I’m jumping up and down. They smile sitting in their high chairs eating waffles and strawberries. I am making stuff for our picnic, quesadillas, cutting up more strawberries, making a nice salad, 2 bottles of milk, and I’m bringing a beer. Billy is looking through the back door, dogs aren’t allowed on this trail, I feel really guilty. I want to check out this hike though. Sorry Billy. Sunscreen, hats, extra clothes, diapers, wipes, teething biscuits, water, beach blanket, shoes, I think we’re ready to go. We are listening to the Sirius reggae station, sun roof open, I’m feeling excited. I’m feeling the same excitement I felt before Jack and Fiona, when I would take my hikes and beach trips with Billy and Zappa. The drive is short, no traffic. We turn down Tennessee Valley road, I lower all the windows, turn off the radio. I’ve never drove down this road before, dogs aren’t allowed on these trails. The only time I was at Tennessee Beach was the time I took my mom and brother on a hike. We started at the Miwok trail by Fort Cronkite. Instead of just following the regular route I took them on an adventure, we scurried down a really steep hillside to get to the beach. Then we had to walk super far to get back. I think they wanted to kill me! My mom and I got really bad poison oak too. The parking lot for the Tennessee Valley trail head is by Miwok stables. I got the babies into the B.O.B. stroller, loaded as much as I could into the underneath storage and showed Jack and Fiona the horses. I say “Neigh” like I do when I read their stories. “That’s a horsey, a beautiful horsey.” I’m not sure they are making the connection. We start down the trail to the beach, it’s almost 2 miles. My friend who has one baby told me it was easy. Maybe with one but with the double B.O.B., 50 lbs of baby, my back pack, I think it’s challenging. It’s definitely a work out. It’s mostly downhill to the beach, there’s a nice breeze, the tree’s move, total peace. We say our hellos to people walking back up from the beach, a lady with a baby asks, “Are those twins?” I say “Yes” She says “I’m a twin, I really want twins. Do twins run in your family?” I say “My husband’s mom had two sets of twins.” We have this conversation a lot when we’re out and about. We get closer to the beach, the babies drink their bottles on the way. I smell the ocean, I am so happy. This is our first trip alone to the beach. All the years I was trying to get pregnant, each month when I was hoping, when there was still hope, I thought to myself I’m going to take my baby to the beach all the time. With twins it’s not possible, the stroller is impossible to roll on thick sand. I am fearing that this will be the case when we get to the beach but I have lots of ideas of how to make it work. I can take one baby at a time super-fast down to the beach, or we can walk back to a picnic spot, we’ve passed several nice ones along the way. But my heart is set on sitting in front of those waves, listening to them crash, sharing my love for the ocean with Jack and Fiona. We get to the sand, it’s not that bad, I employ my upper body strength and get us to a great spot on the beach. I lay out the blanket, sit Jack and Fiona down on the edge, put on their hats and take a picture. They pull off their hats, they put sand, which at this beach is rocks in their mouth. “Don’t take off your hat! Don’t put that in your mouth! What’s in your mouth? You can choke, that’s a big rock!!” Plan B is to slather sunscreen all over their heads, I try to get their faces covered as much as possible and keep putting their hats back on. It’s the best I can do. I think it will be O.K. We eat our picnic, I drink my beer, it’s really hot out. I worry a bit about sun stroke but again, I know it will be O.K. Jack runs so much on the beach, he comes back to the blanket and lays down. So precious. I change diapers, put the babies in short sleeve onesies and into their stroller. They are tired. I pack up and head out, looking back every few minutes at the coast. I turn the stroller around and tell Jack and Fiona to wave goodbye to the beautiful ocean. Ten minutes into the hike back the babies are asleep. There’s a sweet little picnic site near the parking lot I sit and eat my salad with my fingers because I forgot a fork. At first it feels weird but I start grabbing the lettuce, beets, cucumbers, and putting it in my mouth. I mix the dressing perfectly. It’s amazing. My hand is all dirty. First Jack wakes up, he watches me eating like him. I finish and pick him up. He smiles, we’re under a huge tree, green grass is all around us and Jack wants to explore again. Fiona wakes up next, There’s a black bird on the ground next to her. I pick Fiona up, put her on the ground to explore. I wish we could stay longer but I have no more food or bottles. “I’m gonna take you guys home now for chicken soup.” I say. What a great day we had.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 