Dog

Because I'm still nervous with the camera

Blue Dress
I sit in her lap
in my blue party dress,
and she tells me about 
the celebration ahead,
the celebration of me. 
Little me.
It is the first thing I realize,
my first conscious 
memory being created 
right then and there. 
I babble to her, 
and she speaks back to me 
with immense kindness. 
She weaves tales of 
party children dressed to the nines
getting ready to descend upon 
this three-year-old’s household. 
She is sane, a gift, 
and loving, a memory
for when the days become short, 
as they must.




The Record: Motherfuckergoddamsonofabitch

I sit in the backseat of the Accord, staring up at the traffic light that my mother is yelling about.
 
I pray.
 
Change.
 
I am pretty sure that if I ask hard enough, if I focus on it long enough, I can make it happen; I can make it change. 
 
Change.
 
Goddammit! she says loudly. The cars whiz by.
 
The light stays stubbornly red. 
 
And suddenly, I know it’s not going to happen. The light isn’t going to change soon enough. This will continue, and I will have no choice but to sit quietly in my seat and stare out the window. 
 
God has failed me once again. 
 
Like a shopper who chooses which checkout line to wait in, I am always, always in the wrong one. 
 
I sit in the seat for what feels like an eternity. And finally, mercifully, the light changes. 
 
The release from this moment has me letting go of the breath I’ve been holding while I panicked over what she might do. 
 
I’m little. I’m scared. 
And the existence of that fear at all scares me more than anything. 





Dear Margaret #4

Dear Margaret,

I did it! I finally bought a ticket to come see you this spring! I wonder what it’s like where you are. What does your house look like? What do your dogs look like (when on good behavior)? What kind of trouble do you get into late at night?

The last time I was in France, I was on my own, very young and scared. Most unfortunately, I was paired up with two guys in a hostel in Paris. They were fine, no trouble or threatened feelings… until one of the guys started bringing girls back to the room every night, and I was on the top bunk. I didn’t know what to do! So, instead of doing much of anything, I tried to just wait it out. The fuckface kid had been trying and trying to get SOMEONE to let him have at it. Well, it wasn’t until the last night that he finally managed to lie his way into someone’s pants. The shaking of the squeaky, metal bed was impossible to manage, but the real kicker was that he was gone the next morning and never showed his face again. The poor thing who’d let him do a variety of things to her came back later that morning looking for him. Surprise, surprise. Time to stop fucking strangers you meet when you’re both drunk at a bar and get the (very) stupid idea to move forward with it. As dastardly as this young man’s intentions were, she still didn’t pick up on it. I’m guessing that girl never did such a thing again, and I hope she’s happy out there somewhere, wherever she is.  

And I hope he’s fucking miserable found happiness. Never done shit like that again. Fucking miserable. What a creep.

Now, I’m still nervous to be heading out on an adventure like this on my own AGAIN; in fact, I’m not entirely sure how I managed to con Brian into it, but he is such a loving man. And tolerant of my long list of crazy, hairbrained ideas. I’m reminded again and again that I’m a very lucky woman. The poor man will be managing total fucking chaos while I’m gone. In fact, I don’t know that most could manage half of it without extensive training. Our family is… challenging. He will be fine, don’t get me wrong, but I will need to come back with stolen diamonds or at least a lottery ticket to make it up to him. 

I hope you’re doing well with the winter weather. Here in Northern California, it’s sun, sun, sun for the next 7 days. Of course, down south is a fire-destroyed apocalypse. It’s pretty unbelievable, so I guess I’ll just thank my lucky stars that we have what we do. Our home is beautiful, and we’re even learning how to live in it as one big family. 

All right, woman. Get ready to party. See you soon!

XO
Jen


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Readers! What spoke (or didn’t speak) to you about this week’s roundup? What would you like to see more of? Please comment on this post!

This week had me nervously pressing the shutter with nothing but dogs in the viewfinder. In fact, there was only one I deemed worthy of posting, and it’s iffy at best. Whom will I see next from the other side of the lens? It’s anyone’s guess. If you’re in the Bay Area (or even beyond) and have ideas about theater casts/producers who might like some behind the scenes photographs, please reply to this email and send me some info. 

The poem represented what was truly my first memory. I’m so glad that I can report it was a great one. 

The essay was about… a less great memory. 

And Margaret, well, she’s the cat’s pajamas. 

In other news, I am starting to go back to my old posts to upload audio. I’ll also be making commentaries at the end of each post (like this one) moving forward and backward. Next week I will let you know which posts have been changed so you can revisit!

Stay safe out there, folks. It’s a crazy fucking world. Better hang on tight. 

Jen