Ashley's Charmed Chalk

I love the street that I have called my home for the last five years. From being the setting for some of my favorite sunsets to my frequent hawk visitors to Carwash's whistling, my life on this south Grant Park street has been charmed.

For the last couple months the lovely young lady that lives next door to me has been using my sidewalk as canvas for her chalk murals and messages. I absolutely beam each time I pull into my driveway and see that there is new rainbow dust sprawling the expanse of my house and rush out of my car to get a closer look at her latest art.

Ashley's accuracy in message choices is uncanny. Returning to Atlanta after a trip to Chicago I was greeted with "Home Sweet Home". After a particularly rough day at the Capitol her chalk encouraged me to "don't worry, be happy". The last night of the legislative session my sidewalk was emblazoned with "SARA YOU ROCK" in block letters. And sometimes it'll just be loopy swirls around hearts and skulls. Yesterday's message was lovely, and complete with details like the earth, a banana peel and her entire family's hand-prints- her mother told me she insisted they all make their mark:



I can be an absolute cynic and occasionally indulge in intellectual snobbery but my god, there is something about a message from a 5th grader that The World Is In Our Hands that completely melts my dark little heart. When I got home today I noticed that Ashley added another part to the message right in front of my front door:



I am so glad to be neighbors. Thank you Ashley, for being such a dependable and delightful sidewalk cheerleader.

(As an aside I just have to note my deep joy and wonder that after months of blog silence, both my lovely sister and I publish new pieces within a day of each other)

Four Years Into a Dream

In honor of my fourth anniversary in my very first dream home, here's a love letter I wrote in September 2005 right after moving in.

I'm in Love

I'm in love -- madly, passionately, deliriously –- with my new home. I’m dancing in my walk-in closet. I stare adoringly at my bathtub. I flirt with the walls and tease them with paint color samples. I sit in the center of each room, most of which are not at all set up yet, and blow smoke rings towards the ceiling. I open and close my liquor cabinet just to look, not to make a drink. I get choked up pulling up on the parking pad to notice her newly pressure-washed shingles. The dishwasher leaks, the washing machine breaks, and I just shake my head- she can still do no wrong. I sleep deeply each night and wake up to notice that birds have built a home right above my head.

In 2009 I've still got the love, but it has been colored by the realities of the challenges in making a relationship work. I roll my eyes as I think that this will be the third year in a row that I've had to repair my roof because Blossom the Possum moved in. And how having to replace three major appliances this year meant that doing the back splash in my kitchen gets put off till next year's tax return check.

But my god, do I love my Atlanta Sky Blue bedroom walls- they still make me feel like I am floating when I lie in my high bed. And my craft room has been the birthing place of more pieces than I ever dared to hope to create. Art actually fills my home of four years- my own and others as I've grown less and less intimidated to decorate the walls that are permanently mine. And hawks regularly visit. And as I watched robins pull worms from my freshly rained upon front lawn this morning, I heard in my head, All the World is Green.

In Like a Lion

1:43 am: Standstill traffic and pouring rain on Peachtree Street in Downtown Atlanta.


2:15 pm: Snow falls in large clumps from the sky covering already blooming bulbs.


3:30 pm: Snow builds and sticks as the sun starts to shine.


6:32 pm: Spectacular sunset after snowfall.

The Visitor Returns

My friend and neighbor Doug sent on these amazing pictures he took of a redtail hawk on the roof of my car. I see hawks in the trees around my house all the time but had no idea that they would come so close.



I love this shot that Doug got of the visitor taking off. I'm so grateful he stopped, documented this beauty and shared it with me.



It reminds me of a similar breathtaking burst into flight I witnessed on my one-year anniversary in my home that I wrote about then.

The Visitor
September 16, 2006

A hawk landed on the fence in my back yard. I was crouched over in the craft room spraying acrylic on felt bluebirds and I saw her land out of the corner of my eye. I didn't have my glasses on because I had just gotten out of the shower but I ran quickly quietly to grab them and peered out the back door. There she was, perched calmly on the fence, surveying the area. I could make out each dark stripe on her white breast; the yellow of her talons was far brighter than I would have guessed. I started to cry a little, moved that she would stop here for a minute, thinking how many years it had been since a large bird had been so near me. This first year on my house has been more about cardinals: their cheeky calls, their mating, their bold confidence building a nest outside my bedroom window, despite the cat nearby. The bird today was strong, solitary, majestic. She hung out for moment, taking everything in, then ducked down, stretched her wings, and took off in flight. Her tail was bright red; when I went to check out the spot where she had just been, I found a single black and white feather.

Cans of Mango

One night in a fit of insomnia I got up and decided to reorganize the kitchen. I was moving the cans over to where the unused cabinet was, and was scrubbing out cabinets. I noticed two cans of mango were stacked on top of each other, the bottom one bulging and pushing the cabinet shelf down. After unsuccessfully trying to dislodge the two cans, I wrapped a towel around the cans, put a jump rope around them, stood around the corner, and pulled. The cans dislodged and the bulging can hit the fridge and exploded.

It hit the ceiling. It hit the walls. It hit the cabinets. It hit the ceiling fan. It hit the kitchen floor and part of the dining room floor. It hit the cat and my slippered feet. It hit every single food item from the cabinets out on the counters. Everything smelled like rotten mango.

I cleaned with bleach. I was frantic due to thoughts of botulism. Every urban legend I'd ever heard about food poisoning was filling my mind. Several hours later I'm fine, the cat is fine, we are all fine.

I learned that yes, a bacteria caused the can to bulge, but that botulism needs an environment less acidic than mango. I wish everyone's concerns could be on the level of mine. How lucky I am. How spoiled. How blessed.

A Charming Little Tree

Yesterday, I bought my first ever living Christmas tree. Ela and I had a lovely time decorating it last night and I am already in love with it:

In years past I would get a Poinsettia and decorate it for my home in Atlanta. Because I spend Christmas in Chicago every year it made sense not to have a tree. The tree at my parent's house is beautiful and filled with ornaments bearing their own stories and memories of our family. I was surprised that in my first tree in my home ever, that my little stories came by simply and that they were stories unique to my life in Atlanta.

In addition to several beautiful big and little birds that I have used on my poinsettia in the past, I have a portrait of my home that Ela painted the year I moved in here, a blue star garland from Mica, a cat from Tiffani sitting next to the tree and it all sits on a kuffiyeh from Mohammad.

Even though I've been struggling with a migraine all day, my charming little tree makes me smile each time my eyes drift its way.

Carwash Whistled Jingle Bells

There's a homeless man who has lived on my street for many more years than I have. He goes by the name Carwash. He rides his bicycle up and down the street and gets by doing odd jobs for my neighbors and I plus the help of the nearby church. Sometimes in the very early morning he whistles eerie but beautiful symphonies as he cycles. His song has come to feel like the soundtrack of Mead Street in my head.

I wake up around 5am every day. Usually its because of my cat Eek standing on my chest meowing loudly for me to let him outside (a horrible, horrible habit that I cannot seem to break him of), or my chronic light sleeping and insomnia that doesn't allow for more than 3 consecutive hours asleep. This morning though, I woke up to Christmas songs in my head.

Listening closer, I realized I actually could hear music. It was pure, impeccably in-tune whistling. It was Jingle Bells, and it was of course, Carwash. After completing Jingle Bells, he didn't miss a beat going into Silver Bells. Then it was Joy to the World. I laid in bed and drifted back to sleep to his singular perfect notes floating through the air.

One night, as my friend and I were pulling out of my street to go to dinner, I saw Carwash sitting in his usual plastic chair on the sidewalk in front of my neighbor's house. To my surprise, he had a barbecue going in front of him. He was hanging out and cooking sausages! He was alone and clearly enjoying himself. My friend and I laughed hard; this sort of scene is exactly why I love Atlanta so.

When I got home later that night I chatted with him for a minute. He commented on the beautiful night sky and the stars we rarely get to see through our thick city smog. I couldn't help but think of Oscar Wilde writing:

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.

When I asked Carwash how he was doing and how his night was, he simply replied, "Blessed."

This morning when I was leaving for work I saw Carwash on his bike which he has decorated with a sprig of holly (possibly from the bush in my front yard) across the handlebars. When I asked him how he was doing this December morning, he replied again, "Blessed."

My First Day of Summer Vacation at my Home in Atlanta

1. I woke up at 11:40 am. It was so good to sleep, particularly since I was up till 6am with bad allergies. I laid in bed and started reading Imagining Arab Womanhood, by my friend Amira Jarmakani. Then I read the Joy and Sorrow chapter from The Prophet.

2. I do a bunch of things in my house that I've been wanting to do but never found the time: rearranging my living room to make it more intimate, hanging the lovely Palestinian print Mohammad gave me for my birthday last year, pruning my massive book collection of some of its weight. It is amazing to me how easy I find accumulating books and how hard it is to let go of their words.



3. While going through the books, I found several pressed plants from years before - some magnolia leaves from Oakland Cemetery, Blue Orchids from Tangelia's wedding, a large leaf of Lambs Ear from Ireland.



4. I listen to Israel Kamakawiwo'ole's album Ka'ano'i twice and Beirut's Lon Gisland EP at least seven times.

5. I have a 20 minute debate with my 11 year old neighbor on the lessons and merits of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. versus Frederick Douglass.

6. I go shopping at Trader Joe's - something I never do - to buy snacks to make me feel like even my eating is on vacation. I buy some of my favorite things including baby roses, smoked salmon, blue potato chips, beets, olive tapenade, and havarti cheese.



7. I have a lovely dinner at Six Feet Under with Mohammad. We laugh a lot and he uses the word "kudzu" when he really means "kudos". After a hundred tries now spanning months, I finally am able to say in arabic "once upon a place in an ancient time" I eat fried catfish, corn and spinach.



8. We watched The Simpsons while drinking root beer floats and listening to the thunderstorm.

The Sky Fell Down

I came home this evening to find the grandmother tree in my front yard had lost many of her limbs. I'm so grateful that she landed on the ground, not on the house or a car. Even though there have been quite a few storms and very windy days, this tree cracked early on a still, quiet morning.

Tomatoes, Cheese, Love from Afar

I'm sitting on my bed eating breakfast, thinking of my favorite friend. I'm working at home because I have a lot of writing to do and have a hard time focusing at my office.

But the important part is that I'm eating a mix of feta cheese, tomatoes, olive oil, and mint that he makes for me for breakfast. One of the many delicious wonderful magical things he has brought into my life. I scoop the mixture up with fresh-baked wheat pita bread that he brought me the other day from the Arabic bakery in the suburbs.

And when I think of him, my darling friend, going through a very real personal hell right now, my heart swells and my eyes start flowing and I try to send love far far east to the home in which he just landed and is likely arriving and being greeted by his loved ones, minus one very important loved one.

And I want to do something to help to make it better to take the pain away but there are no more plush toys or shampoo or strollers left to buy, no hands or shoulders to squeeze, no bodies to spoon into.

You are far away surrounded by loved ones who can do these things for you now and you will return that love.

Total Lunar Eclipse

10:38 pm, Grant Park. The next Total Lunar Eclipse will not happen until 2010.

Wummer

The little girl whose family lives next door to me been riding her bicycle in circles all weekend. Ashley clearly loves every moment of the 60 degree Atlanta weather. Just as evident is her frustration with her parents' rule that she can only ride as far away as one house on either side of theirs. This means she and I have a whole lot of interaction every time I leave the house because all of a sudden I'm the most exciting thing within her 50 feet of playground.

The hilarious thing is that she calls me a different name every time she sees me; I've been called Cindy, Nancy, Lisa, today it was Sally. This is despite the fact that we have lived side-by-side for two and a half years and I tell her my name every time she calls me the wrong one. She also can't tell the difference between me and and several of my girlfriends, all of whom when they pull up at my house get similarly excitedly greeted by one of the many names on the list. All dark curly-haired girls look the same I guess.

When I got back from the grocery store earlier Ashley showed me a couple "tricks" that she had learned on her bicycle. Basically she would take her feet off the pedals and glide for a few feet. The second trick was the same but she bent her knees a little more.

I asked her if she was happy that it was warm enough to play outside and not have to wear a jacket. She nodded vigorously and said "It doesn't feel like summer. It doesn't feel like winter. It feels wummer though so I call it Wummer."

Wummer it is.

Meantime in Madison, Wisconsin, my poor sister perseveres while inches pile upon inches of snow. She details it in her wonderful blog post, Snow is Moveable. Be sure to check out the amazing pictures of her car covered in feet of snow, and the spot cleared on her windshield so that parking enforcement could write her a ticket.

Liveass Possum Chasin'

I was settling in for bed to try to get a good night’s sleep in preparation for what I’m sure will be a long day at the Capitol, when I hear my roomie Anne’s voice from the living room.

“Sara! There’s a po-[something something very high pitched squealing] in the living room!!!” Huh? There’s police in the living room? I headed out towards her to see what was going on.

I saw I immediately: a liveass possum scurrying about in my living room. Holy God.

I’ve always seen possums in my yard; I’ve even given them cute names, like Blossom the Possum and her son, Awesome the Possum. This liveass, cat-sized, ghost-faced possum in my living room, however- not awesome.

After a couple minutes of squealing and carrying on – in which time the possum got itself nestled all snug-like up against the wall under a table – we started strategizing.

We considered the cat, then he waltzed in the house and right past the possum without batting an eyelash. We deemed him fired for failing to protect us from the beast and must now be locked in the craft room as a pre-emptive measure. I then called and text messaged the boy, aka the many-home-owner-landlord-type to see what suggestions he would have. No answer from him- he too is fired. This situation was clearly being left up to us girls.

Now I’ve had birds in the house that I’ve had to chase out, and the cat has brought in tiny garter snakes in that I yanked from his teeth and tossed out the door—but this was a whole different universe.

We started by opening the front door, the side door, and the back door. We decided to hurl a couple paperbacks (The Best Democracy Money Can Buy and Caramelo) underneath the table to try to startle him out. Nothing. It appeared…dead. Oh yeah. Possums play dead. Hmm. Perhaps we should shove it out towards the open front door with something with a long handle.

Armed with a broom and a mop respectively, Anne and I screamed a bit more and proceeded to try to push the possum out. Of course we should have known it wouldn’t be that easy when it instead ran further into the house and hid behind a couch. Pardon my language but fucking HELL. You would be cursing too if you had a liveass possum sliding around on your hardwoods.

So then we decided to create a barrier-wall out of the furniture to try to guide it out the front door. We again persuaded it to move with the broom- out the door it did not go. It ran further back into the house and straight into my bedroom and under my bed. Oh it is ON.

I am SO not having any liveass possum sharing pillow talk tonight. Oh HELL no.

That’s when she came out, emerged from my soul, my chest: Possum Warrior Princess. Armed only with a broom and a tenacity to purge her lair of all things giant and rodent-like, I ran, chasing that little bastard from one corner to another back and forth in my room until it ran out the door. My heart was pounding and I felt the wheezing coming on- Warrior Princesses sometimes have asthma afflictions, unfortunately.

After emerging from my room, the possum nestled itself back behind the couch. Now Anne and I were wise to its tactics so we had a better idea of strategy: I would push it out from the couch and based on our now wealth of possum-behavioral-experience, we knew that it would likely run toward the back of the house where Anne would guide it out the door with the mop.

What really happened is that I pushed the possum from out of the couch, it ran towards Anne who screamed. So I screamed. And then we both screamed and started running after it shaking our weapons in the air. And we chased that little fucker straight out of the back door!

High fives, hugs and giggles were abundant. We sat at the dining room table and caught our breath and thought that perhaps a couple shots of liquor might help to settle the nerves for sleep. We did it- with no help from anyone!

We are Badass Possum Warrior Princesses and succeeded in protecting our home from being ravaged by the string-tailed, small-dog sized, creepy as hell invader.

Here are the Lessons learned from the Great Possum Invasion of 2008:

Close all internal doors, especially bedroom doors, before starting the hunt;

Hurl heavier books than politically right on / magically real paperbacks, something that might actually make an impression on something pretending to be dead – try an unabridged dictionary;

And finally, I am simply too damn old for liveass possum chasing.