Summer updates and photos to come very soon.
Keep sweeping, Martha
Read Afterbirth by Elisa Albert.
8.12.2015
the write stuff
I've been writing most of the afternoon for the first time at my new little space in our office. We cleared out Boy Beeton's nursery a while ago, but this summer we finally got the space in order. The walls are grey; the desk and bookcase are red. The accents are yellow and turquoise. I made an inspiration wall above my desk complete with some paintings from my Nana and Poppop's house, a sweet little drawing by Boy Beeton, my I Love Takoma woodcut, and a framed cover of Good Housekeeping from back in the day (a 40th birthday present from C & A). The black and white photo adds to the romance of the writer's room.
Summer updates and photos to come very soon.
Keep sweeping, Martha
Read Afterbirth by Elisa Albert.
Summer updates and photos to come very soon.
Keep sweeping, Martha
Read Afterbirth by Elisa Albert.
7.20.2015
7.11.2015
happy birthday, you're really sweet
Boy Beeton made this video for Uncle T's birthday. Since he couldn't open it via email and since I couldn't figure out how to send it in a different format, I'm posting it here. Boy Beeton looks a lot different than he did celebrating the big 80.
Happy Birthday!
Keep sweeping,
Martha
Watched While We're Young.
6.19.2015
american crime
Mr. Beeton started his first week at Johns Hopkins. That means - for all intents and purposes - I'm doing the stay-at-home mom thing from here until the fall semester starts. Darn, if it isn't hard. Tonight, all I wanted was for everyone to go to sleep so that I could plop myself in front of the television and completely zone out.
I thought I'd watch the first episode of American Crime - a show my students highly recommended. It seemed fitting, given this week's (month's? year's? decade's? century's?) cultural climate and devastating circumstances.
Yesterday, Boy Beeton and I were role playing. He was being Peter Parker to my Mary Jane. In my narrative, Mary Jane's mother heads off the circus so that Mary Jane has to move in with Peter and Aunt May. That's how she and Peter become best friends.
Peter asks me, "Hey, Mary Jane. Is your mom at the circus?"
I respond, "Yes."
Then, he says, "Where's your dad?"
I pause to think - this is a part of the narrative I hadn't yet considered.
Before I can even come up with an answer, Peter says, "Oh... wait. You might have two moms. Maybe both your moms are in the circus?"
He said it with such matter-of-factness in his voice, no hesitation that not all families look alike, that this family structure, different from his own, wasn't anything out of the ordinary.
Oh, how I wish that all Americans would embrace Peter's loving acceptance. In his eyes, I saw a small glimmer of what our future could be. Our world could use a little more love and a lot less hate.
Thinking about Charleston tonight.
Keep sweeping,
Martha
Finished reading The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins. Watched most of Wild.
I thought I'd watch the first episode of American Crime - a show my students highly recommended. It seemed fitting, given this week's (month's? year's? decade's? century's?) cultural climate and devastating circumstances.
Yesterday, Boy Beeton and I were role playing. He was being Peter Parker to my Mary Jane. In my narrative, Mary Jane's mother heads off the circus so that Mary Jane has to move in with Peter and Aunt May. That's how she and Peter become best friends.
Peter asks me, "Hey, Mary Jane. Is your mom at the circus?"
I respond, "Yes."
Then, he says, "Where's your dad?"
I pause to think - this is a part of the narrative I hadn't yet considered.
Before I can even come up with an answer, Peter says, "Oh... wait. You might have two moms. Maybe both your moms are in the circus?"
He said it with such matter-of-factness in his voice, no hesitation that not all families look alike, that this family structure, different from his own, wasn't anything out of the ordinary.
Oh, how I wish that all Americans would embrace Peter's loving acceptance. In his eyes, I saw a small glimmer of what our future could be. Our world could use a little more love and a lot less hate.
Thinking about Charleston tonight.
Keep sweeping,
Martha
Finished reading The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins. Watched most of Wild.
5.21.2015
summer sickness
I've been struggling with a virus this week and ended up at the Minute Clinic getting treated for pink eye. Yuck. So here's something to make me smile, courtesy of Cherry Bombe.
Keep sweeping,
Martha
Keep sweeping,
Martha
5.03.2015
a grain of sand
We got a sandbox this weekend, and it is already changing my life. Boy Beeton played happily while I read Roiphe. Today, he and our neighborhood friend S played while S's mom and I enjoyed a glass of wine. Cheers to a summer of this!
Keep sweeping,
Martha
4.29.2015
a wonderfully messy life
I've been reading Katie Roiphe's book In Praise of Messy Lives. I know I'm not supposed to "like" Roiphe, but I love the title of her book. And, since my own life - of late - has felt incredibly messy, I thought it might be comforting to read the words of someone who not only has a messy life but goes so far as to praise it.
The book, which is a collection of previously titled essays, was inspired by an article that Roiphe wrote for The New York Times on Mad Men. It's an interesting read about the phenomenon that is the AMC series, about Roiphe's mother, and about the pursuit of happiness. In reading it, I was struck by the closing passage:
In the 17th century, the metaphysical poet Andrew Marvell wrote, "But at my back I always hear/ Time's winged chariot hurrying near." He also wrote: "The grave's a fine and private place,/ But none, I think, do there embrace." Mad Men seems to be telling us the same thing, in its own stylish, made-for-television way: we are bequeathed on earth one very short life, and it might be good, one of these days, to make sure that we are living it.
Could we use, in other words, in these fine healthy times, just a little of the madness?
My grandmother died this past week. She was 94 years old, and this summer would have been her 71st wedding anniversary to my grandfather. The next day I had to go to New York City for a conference. Before we left, my colleagues/friends and I stopped to take a picture of ourselves at the Don Draper bench near the Time Life building. When I got home, I walked up the stairs, past this fabulous photo of my grandparents, read this chapter in Roiphe's book, and went to sleep.
To me, that's more than a little madness.
Keep sweeping,
Martha
Finished reading Dept. of Speculation by Jenny Offill.
The book, which is a collection of previously titled essays, was inspired by an article that Roiphe wrote for The New York Times on Mad Men. It's an interesting read about the phenomenon that is the AMC series, about Roiphe's mother, and about the pursuit of happiness. In reading it, I was struck by the closing passage:
In the 17th century, the metaphysical poet Andrew Marvell wrote, "But at my back I always hear/ Time's winged chariot hurrying near." He also wrote: "The grave's a fine and private place,/ But none, I think, do there embrace." Mad Men seems to be telling us the same thing, in its own stylish, made-for-television way: we are bequeathed on earth one very short life, and it might be good, one of these days, to make sure that we are living it.
Could we use, in other words, in these fine healthy times, just a little of the madness?
My grandmother died this past week. She was 94 years old, and this summer would have been her 71st wedding anniversary to my grandfather. The next day I had to go to New York City for a conference. Before we left, my colleagues/friends and I stopped to take a picture of ourselves at the Don Draper bench near the Time Life building. When I got home, I walked up the stairs, past this fabulous photo of my grandparents, read this chapter in Roiphe's book, and went to sleep.
To me, that's more than a little madness.
Keep sweeping,
Martha
Finished reading Dept. of Speculation by Jenny Offill.
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