Postcard Collection

I've been home sick for three days and have been too tired to do much. I am tempted, with all this time, to bind books, organize shelves, bake cookies, got o the store. Then I fall asleep instead. Today I sat on the floor and sorted through postcards, mostly stuff I brought back from Europe, though also from friends and things I've had for a while. I but a bunch of things together but now I am too tired to hang it on the wall. But here is a glimpse of images that inspire me.

Postcard Exceptions

Since I finished school in Milan, postcards have not been too consistent. I hear that number 42, sent from Spain the first week of June, arrived just a few weeks ago. I took a month off as Andy and I traversed Europe. Back in New Orleans, I printed Keep Writing number 43 at Fitzgerald Letterpress in New Orleans. I bought 130 postcards while in Europe, mostly in Italy, and printed on the backs. I thought it would give me time to catch up to moving.

In August I handset this, which you might remember seeing locked up. I never had a chance to proof it as a hurricane hit and we left the city a few days later, still without electricity. Again, John helped out by printing the text I had left onto the chipboard Kathryn had donated to the cause. He kindly sent multiple messages to me, which I did not receive because of phone and internet issues in Oakland and eventually had to guess the placement of my text according to my awful notes. The finished postcards are in the mail. Now back to work on setting next month's, using the facilities at the San Francisco Center for the book.

Road Warriors

We did the math, using google maps, estimations, factoring in for desperation, joblessness,and a potentially screaming cat. We didn't know our new roommate would also be waiting on us. Three days of 12 hours of driving, not including bathroom breaks, gas stops or the weirdness of driving a rented truck for hours and hours. This is what we saw:

for a few thousand miles. We drove a little at night which looked more like this:

but since we woke up around six in the morning and neither of us have ever been too fond of amphetamines, we didn't drive much past dinner. We stopped in Flagstaff to say hi to Adam. I ate peanut butter and jelly, we talked, and I woke at 4:30 because of the time zone changes. I driven through Arizona a few times and even stayed in Phoenix for a few months when I was 18, but Flagstaff at sunrise is pretty and vibrant with color. Unlike the California desert in the middle of the afternoon when you are just kind of ready to arrive.

We've both crossed the country a few times, separately, and this was supposed to be more leisurely, move adventurous. But after this summer of moving so much, I think we were both in a rush to sit still.

Excuses Cease to Cage Us

A note: I started this most nearly a month a ago, wrote half of it and put it down for the night. Then we heard there was a hurricane heading our way. The storm was not so bad but we lost power which meant no internet. And we were supposed to be renting a truck and moving to California. We still had no electricity as we packed the truck, drove three days across the Western US, arrived, moved into new house and now, just yesterday, did we get internet service back. Also, you may have noticed I have been moving around a lot. Finally though, I feel unjumbled enough to write a little about these photos.

Straight up optimism is hard to find in New Orleans. Optimism implies an acknowledgement of facts and New Orleans is heavily into denial. Troubles, what troubles? Here baby, have a drink. Though Hurricane Katrina hit 7 years ago, this sign still mentioned class registration until recently. Now, someone optimistically declares that we are better than this. Getting past our own troubles which look like excuses to others. Of course, a few days after I took this photo there was a warning for a hurricane heading our way, seven years later to the date and I, along with other friends, felt anxious for reasons that didn't line up with reality. What was I really scared of? I couldn't tell you exactly. And the knowledge that it wasn't going to be the same thing all over wasn't comforting enough. We made plans, gathered friends, called people we hadn't talked to in months. We reassured family, ourselves, each other, with reasonable sounding plans that didn't brush off the possibility of the worst. We packed a bag, brought food and water to a friend's house and waited. We made it through with friends, and board games, WWOZ playing the same 3 songs over and over, (one of them being "Let the Good Times Roll"). Our new roommate in California texted about our new house and we tried to explain that it would be a few days before we could get to the bank to send him a deposit. It is hard to convey how the city willingly shuts down, without electricity or during celebrations. Everybody loves a day off. We played boardgames wearing headlamps, sweated in our sleep and listened to wind peel siding off the house, possibly more because of its construction than the force of the storm. The storm passed and we came out, walked to the neighbor's, who was making pancakes and shrimp and grits. And we ate together like we should. New Orleans got some rain and wind, but southern parishes had it worse, and flooding closed the highway between New Orleans and Baton Rouge.

New Orleans is a lot of ups and downs, a lot of contradictions. It easily overwhelms the senses. Decay and excessiveness, dancing at funerals, hurricane parties. It might seem shallow, like we don't know what is going on. We do. Which is why at breakfast we listened to Scott talk about coastal erosion, hugged everyone upon arrival and leaving, and, after going home to pack more boxes, we came back to mid city to walk to the river with our friends' brass band. The next day, or maybe even the day after, friends helped us pack the truck, met us for one last drink and in the morning we left, our neighborhood still without electricity and cranky without air conditioning or ice, but still going.

Making Stuff

Lucky for me, John Fitzgerald of Fitzgerald Letterpress agreed to give a demonstration about how to operate a Heidelberg Windmill, which is motorized press with a mesmerizing arm motion. Also, it is the favored press among small, artisan letterpress shops. It seemed like a good idea that I know how to use it or, at least recognize how it operates. Unfortunately, I have no photos of that or of the fried green tomatoes and poached eggs with grits I ate while talking shop with John and Kathryn. But John is also generous enough to share his shop with me for 2 days so I can print the next Keep Writing before leaving for California. I set type for hours this afternoon and am very excited to see how it looks on paper, or chipboard as it may be. Notice the lack of straight set type...all handset at angles.

I came home from the shop, hungry and anxious about cross-country house hunting. I made a drink with one of these lovelies, vodka infused with lavender and one with elderberries. I drank the lavender infusion with sparking water and packed the kitchen dishes. You'll have to wait to see the postcards and I hear that y'all are just getting the ones I sent from Spain 2 months ago. Soon, soon I will have an address and a workshop.

Getting Ready

Ah...one month back in the U.S. and I feel a little more sorted, relaxed, ready for postcard planning and fun work to begin. Unfortunately, I still have to move so most of my stuff is still in boxes (and all of it should be soon--we leave in 10 days), sitting in the sad sad van that will be left behind and is currently my storage space. I finally feel like looking at some of the things I collected during my travels, the papers and the sketches, my ideas for what I want to make in the coming year. And I found a new place for my stamps--this tin box complete with music bit Alec gave me and a tin rooster that was on my bike basket that now belongs to Jenn. Also, I have started assembling date books again. It might take another rainy night to finish them but slowly, slowly, all of me is back in one place, mind, body and the boxes.

24 Hours of Rain

It is unusual to wake up in the summer in New Orleans to a proper rainy day. Here the rain comes in fits, in floods, heavy in the afternoon, secretly at night. It is brief but often too fast for the saturated ground and causes flooding. But today I woke late, noticed the dark, the unusually coolish air, and went back to sleep. I read in bed with The Cat and my sweetie, and finally got up before lunch.

The rain actually began yesterday during our yardsale. We were lucky enough to have lots of friends stop by, starting right at 8. We had cookies, and lemonade. At one point, Andy made grits and vegetables for all of us under the tent, hiding in the shade. Old friends met new friends and Eric insisted on this photo of himself and Misha to prove we were all here for a minute. When the rain started, friends and strangers crowed in, away from the edges as we tried to keep the rain from pooling on the tent. I was in the middle of "fixing" Eric's bicycle, recused from a free pile somewhere in the city, so he was stranded with us, making for at least three people under the tent at all times. A crowded little party, but easy to pass the cookies.

This morning, this pile was all that's left. There is a soggy box on the curb with some plastic containers, and these piles waiting for their new owners to claim them or to be donated or sold somewhere else. All day I have been sleepy, sluggish. A combination of rain and allergies, of sleeping too much and from being worn out from the unspoken goodbyes. It is a drawn out process, as we still don't leave for two weeks, but also a chance for multiple meetings, coffee and dinner, or a walk and a snoball. And tonight, maybe even a bikeride.