The Way We Were: A Year In Review

When I look back on this year, I see a lot of puddles—places where bits of my heart pooled and gathered in certain pockets of humanity, sought refuge in places both familiar and foreign. Lots of starts and stops, holding on, letting go, holding on, and cycling, bearing loss and life with friends and family and I swore, oh I swore this day would never come but it did. It did, and I am here, and I am still standing.

This year did a number on me in ways I never would have expected. At the beginning, I remember not wanting to let go of 2012—it held too much beauty bound up in its withered days—now 2013 is no different. And when I say I will improve, I will. When I say I will be imperfect in the process, I will, because I am human.  

2013 was (in no particular order)…

A newfound love of darts. Throwing sharp projectiles at walls is more stress-relieving than you know.

Hairdye hits and misses, and the Year Of The Mini Undercut (which is now growing out very cute and super awkwardly).

Discovering beautiful people, a few of My People, in the most unexpected places, at the most unexpected moments. I love the way life works sometimes.  

Less creating with my hands (which was kind of sad), more soaking up the world and the people in it (which was interesting).

Devouring the written word, and finding my own words again. Filling notebooks.

Obsessing over Joan Didion and Spalding Gray and Simone De Beauvoir, and trying not to drool over the work of Marina Abramovic.

Connection and disconnection, holding on and letting go, pulling together and falling apart in stitches—abiding the fluctuation as only one can.

Doubling up on Record Store Day with fabulous dearhearts and coming away with some amazing albums, but more the experience than anything else.

Proud-crying at her voice recital, at his talent show. Again. 

Being commissioned to do some work for two weddings and enjoying every second of the process for both. Pinterest has made beautiful monsters of us all, haha.   

Mini local roadtrips immortalized only on film, partially in writing.

Watching the slow disappearance of the weathered patio booth, piece by piece. First the round warped center table, still on its side against the back corner fence, and then the whole booth itself. Gone. In general, what a year can do to the landscape of a place, or what people will do to the landscape of a place. Somethingsomething a metaphor for our lives.

Experiencing Handsome Ransom’s last show, and the way I cried silently when they closed out with Broadripple.

Falling into almostlove, and realizing that for all of my openness, there are still things I am afraid of.

The sound of the planes and how they truly turned my stomach after that night. How some touchstones weather with time, and there’s nothing you can do about it, except find different ones (and guess what: they’re all around you).

Reconnecting with nature and long distance dearhearts, and how we were once again a duo, and two trifectas, and how you never truly forget the people who love you—life just gets busy sometimes.

Operation Room Repaint 2013 Edition!

.

That night my worlds converged and I just kept shooting those darts til steel barrels rubbed my fingers raw, blunted the tips. The bitterness was deafening, and I hated the round barrel tables, the picnic one in the corner.

Vinyl parties and sunset lifetalks in the staunch white gazebo of time. 

The love-soaked mess of people at the house where my great-grandmother turned 101 years old, all that light in her face, brightness her smile.

Grand Stafford Theater experience, Revolution Cafe, those simple soul explosions.

How I needed that Alt-J show more than I ever could have possibly realized beforehand, and how strangely certain things are imprinted in your memory, the ones that you cling to for hope sometimes.

Disposable cameras in my bag every single month, and how Walgreens stopped developing them in-house, and it was frustrating but worth the wait, always.

Water bottles were the new pillows, and driveway hangs were the iconic summer thing, nostalgic and comforting under balmy humid skies. 

The one meteor shower witnessed. Multiple wishes were made that night.

Planting strawberries in a martini glass, because it was The Most Practical Thing. 

Yoga mats and life mantras and leaving anonymous love notes everywhere we went.

Joining the technological age with my first smart phone, while expanding my vinyl collection more than I have in any given year. Bifurcated mind of the best kind, y’all. 

How I proudcried when he made that decision, because it was proof that he was ready to fight and in the end came out stronger for it. How we’re both each other’s inspiration and encouragement, and how the small victories matter.

The day she walked into the room and I knew the minute I saw her we were meant to be soulmates. I was right. And how every time I mention Kerouac or Ginsberg or the Beats, she’s on the top of my heart and the tip of my tongue. Always.  

Learning so much from him, and being thankful for every second I was allowed, even though I know there are moments I did not sufficiently appreciate while I was in them. He was my exercise in staying present.

Taking a swing at portrait embroidery, and having a blast.

All of those serious conversations, and how some things bloomed and other things never actually came of them. We still left the puzzle unfinished. I left it unfinished. It was my job to begin with.

Seeing one of my oldest friends in her wedding dress, looking so damn gorgeous my breath was completely stolen, and how honored I was to be part of the occasion, and how much my heart explodes with joy for the both of them, especially since that day.

Curbside poetry late into the night, in the cold. Especially the not-so-cold night near the alley with the open air barber shop and I cried because the little girls were dancing on the sidewalk and I wanted to tell them love yourself. Hold onto this moment, even though you won’t. You are beautiful, and don’t believe anyone who tells you otherwise. This was our therapy.

Becoming a regular. That could be a good or a bad thing, haha.

Getting beaned square in the forehead with a pick at the end of the show I accidently stumbled upon, and how that made me one of the luckiest girls alive. What came after still makes my heart smile. 

Thrift store runs for ugly sweaters, dollars stretching beautifully for such Important Life Quests. 

Heightened awareness, and indulging in calculated risk-taking. It was almost always 1000x better than I expected, and hardly ever worth the initial stress.

So many late night friend hangs and mini adventures with my girl Mae, and how completely and truly blessed I am to have this woman in my life. Such a ridiculous encouragement and testament that fighting is so worth it. And to everyone else who has encouraged and supported me through this year (I love you all incessantly—it wasn’t always pretty, I know), thank you. I mean really. I’m a pretty terrible human being sometimes. But you were there regardless, so thank you, hard words and hardknocks and all. Needed that, haha. 

I hope everyone had safe/fun new year celebratorials!

You can see last year's list here. 

xo

The Way We Were: A Year In Review

2012 was (in no particular order)...

Starting a blog a week after Christine and how weird we both felt about it after talking about it for years.

Meeting up with Kendall and Jerrod at MFAH for the King Tut Exhibit, and freaking out about how much of the history made sense because of my Art History class the semester before. And that Hatshepsut (the bad-a ladypharaoh I did my presentation on) was there.

Always being aware that he never held my hand.

Collecting too much paper and ephemera for so much art journaling.

Seeing Pablo Francisco live and thinking that it was decidedly the worst comedy show I’d ever been to, and that the local college groups the year before were much more fun. My lipstick was wrong and I felt so small.

Late movie nights in cozy apartments with raccoon pillows not actually made out of raccoons.

My parents celebrating 25 years of marriage and me crying so hard over a pie because it was such a foreign concept; being with someone for so long and still making it work.

Fishing off the pier with the guys that night and smelling like shrimp and fish guts with wind in my face and being so glad I wore the boots. And seeing a ribbon fish for the first time, and feeling so alive.

Hearing the the tv from the kitchen while dying paper doilies for Sophie’s bridal shower. And how we all sang and laugh-cried to the Partridge Family and the Osmonds and The Monkees and Rod Stewart while we decorated and cooked the night before.

That night my worlds converged and I just kept drinking. The bitterness was deafening, and I hated the kitchen, the bamboo room. 

Driving to our first Renegade Craft Fair and laughing hysterically at the sad state of our ‘bargain’ hotel, crayon on the bathroom door, and how Mark just so happened to be in town that first night we ran up and down 6^th. And then exploring the fair with Christine and taking so many photos and talking to so many beautiful vendors and meeting some blog crushes and dying a little.

Dinner at the original Kerbey Lane later and asking our sweet waitress Susan for an empty bowl and being nervous but thankful because I couldn’t eat off the menu. And feeling strong later with him and Christine as we all ate together and it felt completely normal.

New moments at the Sundance Film theater, and familiar ones at River Oaks.

Experiencing the NST auto drift competition in a romper and headband the same day he got a haircut and it was the coolest thing I’d seen in awhile.

Having mildly invasive surgery for the first time, everything happening at once, only a week after I’d been officially diagnosed…and everything finally making sense after all these terrible years. And crying a lot to five different medical professionals and mainly saying “thank you…thank you…”

Riding in the Datsun after a shoot and being afraid I’d smell like gasoline or be asphyxiated even with the windows down…and then having to steer in neutral up the driveway into the garage after it died.

Slow dancing in silent gazebos.

Photographing Sophie and Josh’s beautiful outdoor wedding, despite having zero credentials to do so, and having an absolute blast.

Filling my heart with the spirit of Record Store Day, thumbing crazily through the long wall of dollar bins, and hugging special releases to my chest. I remember loving everyone in the room, and talking, and feeling like I’d found My People.

Holy Mountain surprise and Sidebar realtalks with feathers that fall and fade, realizing what perfect timing it was, despite what we were saying, despite singing happy birthday to a girl we didn’t know. And joyriding elevators to find my car, and confessing things in heels to people who love the Beatles and swear against Led Zeppelin.

The day we did two new and one old-new thing. That was a good day.

Happy-crying over every letter I got from her, especially the one that came a few months after she stopped responding, and how much I wanted to hug her when I finally found out what was going on.

Feeling a communal holiday spirit in the frozen hands and toes despite the vodka and meeting the beautiful people of his world between local Christmas songs.

Accidentally starting a film camera collection, that now also includes three instant film cameras. And despite this fact, capturing some of the greatest moments with disposables because I was am obsessed.

Surviving the end of the world in a swirl of lights and color at a gone party at the Museum of Fine Arts. 

Seeing Rum & Vodka at Stages Repertory Theater and feeling way too proud and Andy getting a stellar review in Houston Press.

Falling in love with Liberty Station, especially the night Ceeplus was spinning and I ran to ask him what song that was, and did double takes because the guy near the booth looked like Steve Aoki, and how we beat those guys at foosball.

So much gesso on my hands, feeling the power of paint on my fingers again. 

That trip to Galveston, and how we ruined the end of both nights, but the days were beautiful and sacred, and how we had this perfect view of the beach, and I actually felt like I was on vacation, and I was so thankful for you. And how I begged you to stop at that Antique Gallery before we left town, and you did, and you found the Minnesota.

Squeezing my eyes shut against the roar of planes taking off above me and feeling the barrier break down to my toes, knowing wholeness for an instant.

Staying in that hotel alone, and feeling completely independent and safe, except that I questioned the high ceilings. And conversations with Shareef because he was super helpful and such a character and worked the front desk both times I checked in.

The night Nick drove down because I needed a hug, and I needed a shoulder, and I needed air. So we drove.

Seeing Helen again at Holiday Renegade and falling completely in love with her new designs, and so much nostalgia I could’ve broken open right there, and looking for the Ex Libris Anonymous booth because I wanted a Nancy Drew journal.

Catching up and laughing hysterically with Lemon, Adam, and James; seeing their new place/my old place, and ending up at a random backyard bonfire that was just a holy beautiful mess of love.

The Saturday evening on the Strand that filled my heart.

Airguitaring to/making fun of Foreigner in Nick’s apartment while he baked cheesebread and we worked on a 500 piece iridescent Star Wars puzzle, laughing at everything and enjoying silence. And sitting on his stoop later and thinking this really is the perfect spot but understanding the emptiness.

Two stepping at a country bar but mainly just sliding around in heels and thinking how ridiculous the whole thing felt.

Proud-crying while shooting my brother and his friends at a coffee shop show, and singing silently along. Proud-crying again at Dunn Bros open mic night when my little sister sang with my brother. And proud-crying for the millionth time when Farewell Abigail killed the talent show.

The look on my great-grandmother’s face and knowing she was an hour and a half away, despite the salvaged party and the hordes of people loving on her. Her heart was with the people who couldn’t.

Dancing the night away with Mark at the millionth Spazmatics show this year and having the time of my life; so barefoot onstage and liberated I didn’t even have words…all I could think was “this is the New Years Eve of my dreams”…in mid-December. And how he wanted a mix of 80s music after because it’s infectious.

Driving that same route over and over again in rush hour traffic, always feeling wrecked before and after going into the city. Sometimes the music filled my bones; sometimes I drove in silence and screamed into the steering wheel.

Psychedelic backyard party that was actually Dan Electro’s Guitar Bar, when we finally went because Handsome Ransom was playing, and I dressed accordingly this time, and it was home.

Staring at the entrails of my old laptop while you tried to resuscitate it to sell, trying to hold a straight face and watching everything implode behind your eyes as you turned some frivolous screw over and over and over because neither of us knew how to handle what was happening. And how we broke character when it was done with key card complete and the confusion that followed.

Finding seawall graffiti that I believed with my whole heart and that’s why I snuck a photo. It was the perfect day.

So many nights of digging my fingers into the carpet during closeted phonecalls to Cara about everything, and realizing she’s been the best thing to happen to me this year. I thank God for knowing her.

xo