A new comic about going to the movies with my dad.
Happy first night of Chanukah, everyone.
my cover of Talking to my Angels by Melissa Etheridge, on ukulele:
If you’re working on your holiday shopping, here are some ideas:
Custom Drawings (FYI: I make custom holiday portraits which you can use as your holiday card to send to all your friends and family– a fun, artsy alternative to the traditional holiday photo.)
Cat Cards will be available soon!
Support your local artists! Buy cool stuff that people make!
Go to my etsy shop to order!
Will fit all your secret love notes and/or 1 bunch of kale.
The perfect gift for your favorite writer/dancer/artist/teacher/doctor/photographer/movie theater worker/grad student/co-op shopper friend or the hep cat/nerd within you.
My cover of Take Care by Beach House, on ukulele:
The first time I drank Boddingtons was on a freezing February night in Syracuse in 2007. I had taken a Chinatown bus from New York that that arrived in a dark parking lot where Lee was waiting for me. We went to a crowded pub for dinner and he ordered two beers. “This will change you life,” he said.
My mom had very recently been diagnosed with breast cancer for the first time and Lee was the only person I wanted to talk to about it. I ignored all the calls coming to my cell phone that weekend– friends wanting to see if I was okay, because they’d heard from someone else about my mom. Lee and I walked around campus throwing snowballs at each other. We watched a soccer game on TV– the only soccer game I’ve ever actually watched. Argentina was playing. Lee made crepes for breakfast.
My bus back to New York left at 2am on Sunday from the same dark parking lot.
March 10th, April 18th, September 6th and November 11th.
Those are the birth and death dates of two people I have lost. I always know when those days are coming, always feel it about a week away and it hangs on for a few days after. I want to do something momentous on those days and I also want to crawl into a cave of blankets and hide. Nothing I do is ever satisfying or important enough, and I never feel better.
Tonight I’m going to drink Lee’s favorite beer and try to just feel the shitty feelings and remember as many memories as possible. It’s never going to be fair or okay.
I have very little time this morning, but I couldn’t let it pass without writing something. It’s Dia de los Muertos, after all, which is our holiday– truly ours.
My heart is broken, every thing inside me is broken. I’m ready for winter, to seal up and heal everything , regrow it again, make something new or reveal what’s been hidden.
If my heart was a bone it would be broken. I think it is a bone, the heart bone’s connected to the mother bone.
I dreamed last night these horrible nightmares. My mom was alive, she had gotten better somehow but we were so distant with each other. Somehow in her healing we’d grown apart and I couldn’t reach her.
For me, watching my students´ performance of "The Skeleton Woman" at the English show in Futa on Tuesday was a wonderful way to celebrate the Day of the Dead. It was really beautiful to watch one of my mom´s favorite stories, a symbol of the life and death cycle and of true love, acted out in front of me by a wonderful group of kids.