Drafty

I’m not one for drafts (weather-related ones and written ones both). To me, they have the same effect. Chilling. Going back, painstakingly, over (and over) an essay would be hellish; truth be told, I’m not that enamored of my work the first time I write it, much less during a second or third version. I vastly prefer to dash off a piece of writing, going back to change it only for egregious grammar mistakes. I NEVER keep copies of my WIPs (works in progress)—they are either promptly completed and sent off to an editor, or deleted. 

Please don’t assume this is a brag. I understand it’s probably a character flaw. It’s easy for me to hide behind my ADHD diagnosis, but it could be I’m just lazy. I rarely re-watch movies or plays, or re-read books (save for a precious few) for the same reason. As soon as I begin Take Two, my internal boredom-o-meter starts running. “Oh, yeah, I remember now. She’s really a resistance fighter disguised as a cloistered nun, and her brother is the high-wire walker who saves the town’s baguette supply by carrying them over the burning bakery. Yada yada.” 

 

I just realized—this may be why I am so enamored of the work of the young Japanese sculptor Tomohiro Inaba. Why I go back and look at his fascinating creations again and again, finding them dynamic and new with each viewing. To the unfamiliar, Inaba makes iron sculptures, many of them animals, with a twist: each one progresses from a tightly crafted likeness, to metal squiggles that seem to fade away into space. I am positive that Inaba works diligently and at length on these masterpieces, but to me their charm is their impression of an energetic first draft. A precisely-rendered head of a deer, followed by a body that isn’t a body at all, but random wiggly metal lines. It’s as if Inaba gets to a certain point, and then says, “and so forth and so on,” leaving the viewer to fill in the blanks. Yes! My kind of creator! 

 

Art critics rave about Tomohiro’s work, extolling the virtues of his use of “negative space.” And I’m sure they’re right, that his are very thoughtful artistic choices which breathe life into otherwise rigid statues. But for me, they resemble an ebullient child’s crayon drawings: created quickly (first draft!), leaving Mommy to intuit the subject matter. A balloon? No. A spaceship? No? It’s your baby brother? Of course! Mommy engages with her tot’s artistic vision in a way that she never could with a finished picture.

 

So maybe there’s a method to my slapdash approach.  My linguistic scribble-scrabble is intentional! My single drafts have a refreshing spontaneity! You can endlessly revisit my stories because YOU are a co-creator of them. 

 

I wouldn’t dream of disturbing this lovely reader-writer dance by revising my stuff! We’re partners, you and I!

 

And if you decide that I’m writing about a baby balloon in space? 

Sure.

isn't this COOL?

The Time Travelers

Hanoi rush hour

Steve and I are home from our epic Southeast Asia adventure! 

At least, I think we are. 

 

We got home on a Friday (Thursday? Saturday?)

 

While many details of this trip remain with me (like hand-feeding bunches of bananas to a hangry elephant), the time frame remains infuriatingly elastic. Intellectually, I was aware that we would be traversing many time zones and the international date line to boot, but physically/emotionally I was blindsided. “Spring ahead, fall back” is bad enough—try losing, then gaining, entire days! 

 

The airline made something of an effort to acclimate us, turning off all the cabin lights and closing the window shades to mimic night, then later serving up some congee—Chinese rice porridge--to encourage us to rise and shine. But it was still a shock to the system, especially our return voyage. I mean, I’m generally eager to put my past day in the rearview mirror (all those pesky missteps of mine!) anyway, and cross fingers for a better morrow. Well, presto! I got my wish while flying east to west across the Pacific Ocean. We embarked from JFK at 1 AM on a Wednesday, and landed, 17 hours later, in Vietnam--which would normally have been still Wednesday, but was instead Thursday. Who needed Wednesday anyway, right? 

 

En route home it felt even weirder—we literally got to experience Friday, November 28^th twice! Luckily, we were airborne the first go-round, and passed out from jet lag most of the second (so maybe we never experienced Friday, November 28^th at all?) And Thanksgiving this year fell by the wayside entirely. Our Turkey Day repast centered on gua bao (steamed buns with pork belly).

 

The whole thing is very Twilight Zone-ish, and I marvel at those who can blithely criss-cross the date line on a regular basis. For me, my body clock was totally screwed up for days and days; this restless sleeper/3 AM riser morphed into a world-class snoozer who was only AWAKE a few hours a day. Steve fared a bit better, but as a whole, our abode embodied the name of the hotel we stayed at in Thailand (it was called, kid-you-not, “Sleepy House”).

 

Thinking of it more, the fact that our calendar is all a-jumble makes perfect sense. Our Asia experience was jam-packed with the exotic and new. Cars there are few and far between (bikes and motorbikes RULE), traffic lights are unusual, and at the Thailand/Myanmar border you have to switch from left-side to right-side of the road driving! The three countries we visited used three quite different spoken languages, but also three distinctive sets of written characters. And when hunger strikes, what beats a hot bowl of noodle soup? In Taipei that would be “niu rou mian," in Chiang Rai it would likely be “khao soi”, and in Hanoi it would, of course, be "phở "(which is also the Vietnamese word for “street,” but that’s for another convo). 

 

On to Christmas decorating!  

Yawn.

And maybe another nap.

Thailand is adorable

               

Another Plate Full of Thanks

 From the Working Title archives, circa 2021...

Seyfried art installation

It all began with a second grade art project. Aiden came home last week with a place setting he had drawn, which included a paper plate decorated by things for which he was thankful. Sheridan quickly made his own “plate of thanks.” Last night after our wonderful Thanksgiving dinner, we broke out the Chinet plates and markers and the family went to town designing their own versions. I was delighted with their results (the only one not yet represented is Ya-Jhu, who was busy cleaning the kitchen during our impromptu art session (that earns Yaj a prime place on MY “plate of thanks.”) 

It was fun seeing the different items on the plates, from doggies and music to back scratches to sleeping late to, of course “friends and fam.” But, more than a silly game, it was an opportunity to stop and think of what we were all truly grateful for this year. For me, the #1 thing was definitely being together, indoors, for Thanksgiving with my family, after two incredibly difficult years mostly spent apart. Through the wonders of technology, we were able to see and talk with Evan in Seattle, and C in Honolulu, as well (yay, FaceTime). We look forward to having Ev with us for Christmas, and hopefully Ashlyn too (Pat’s lovely significant other has a large and close family, so no doubt we’ll have to fit into her plans where we can). 

I can’t say I ever took holiday gatherings like this for granted, exactly. I’ve often written about the cheerless “celebrations” in my family of origin. Mom in particular detested any activity involving cooking, or cleaning, or fussing of any kind (for Joanie, Thanksgiving was a horrible combination of all of these). 

In my late teens, when Steve and I became a couple, we would drive down from Atlanta to Valdosta for Thanksgiving with his parents. That was much better, although the sheer amount of food was completely overwhelming. I was still totally full from our 1 PM feast when, at 6 PM or so, Mom Seyfried would break out the leftover turkey and stuffing sandwiches, lest any of her brood perish from starvation. For Leona, as well, I think these ultra-holidays made up for HER miserable childhood, when the family of ten children often didn’t have enough to eat, truly. 

During my kids’ growing up years, and since, the last Thursday of November was always a joy, well worth the fuss and bother. This year, Julie and Gil (now vegetarians) brought veggie lasagna. Patrick made the ultimate cornbread with honey butter. I baked a maple custard tart with an oatmeal cookie crust, which turned out great.

Last night, as we swapped our dinner plates for our artistic ones, I was struck by how little, for me, Thanksgiving has to do with food after all. It's a time to really focus on my blessings, many of whom were gathered around my table after far too long. 

What’s on YOUR plate of thanks this year?