Chalkballerina: Weddings and Writings; Whimsy and Whining.

This is WAY too easy man.

About to get on da ferry man.

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Six years of marriage with a side of vomit, coming right up.

Marriage is a bitch.  I am working on six years of it, and pretty much want to vomit.  I'm not saying I want to trade in my husband or that I wouldn't recommend marriage.  I'm just saying that the concept of trading in husbands would be neat, and that I'm so glad I'm not the person who couples go to for a "yes" or "no" answer when they want to get married and are all glowing and smiling and smelling of lilacs. 

A few weeks ago when I was in Barcelona alone on the rooftop pool of our hotel (this sentence is one of those that I have always dreamed of saying... so just be aware that I am typing it extremely slow) with absolutely nothing on my mind except the hot sun radiating deep into my skin (come cancer, come now) and the cold drink next to me and the glorious book I could read or not read depending on my mood, I happened upon a song that made me start to cry. (that last part isn't part of the sentence I've always wanted to say... just to be clear).  If you want to listen to it, here it is.  If you don't, then I would pretty much question your salvation.

       

This Night Here (Something Like Hope) 

Timothy Seth Avett As Darling

This night here is perfect for getting lost
Perfect for taking off
Look at the sky I'm surpised you would ask me, 
to tell you why

This night here is perfect for going wrong
Trust me I know them well
I can't remember the last time that I did
the right thing

This night here is perfect for telling lies
Look through the devil's eyes
What do you see when you're looking at me 
Has anything changed?

This night here is perfect for giving up
Walking from everyone
Enemy, friend, and all those who pretend that
They love you

This night here is perfect for getting drunk
Finding the boats we sunk
And heading down there just to send up a prayer
to the living above

This man here should never be listened to
Don't do what he says to do
Else you will end up as miserably lost
as he happens to be

This night here is perfect for trading sins
You can be what I've been
Half way between misery and serene nights 

of something like hope   

I can hardly copy and paste these words without crying.  And when copying and pasting becomes an act of sorrow, well, let's not go there right now.  If you listen closely to Timothy as he sings, there is a strange break between two stanzas... it happens right after he says "those who pretend that they love you."  I am convinced this break came from his own tears.  If you have information proving the contrary please keep it to yourself or know that when you tell me I will glaze over and throw up a little bit in my mouth.  I take solace in his tears, real or imagined, and in my knowledge that he is married.  Over and over and over I find that I can be okay in almost any circumstance if I am not alone.  

This night here is perfect for telling lies.

What do you see when you're looking at me?

Has anything changed?

HAS ANYTHING CHANGED???????????????????????????????????????????????????????? 

Sometimes I think nothing has changed.  This is perhaps my greatest fear in my marriage; that nothing has changed.  You know the drill - our parents screw us up and then we marry our parents and have the same lives and screw up our children in the exact same ways.  It's awesome.  If I were to envision the worst scenario for my life in six more years it would be one where I am exactly the same.  Sameness.  I hate it when tapes get to playing and the words are the same, the same, the same, the same.  

I want to say new things as a twenty-six year old woman than I did when I was twenty.  I want my husband to say new, magical words to me made of sex and chocolate, not the ones he sometimes says to me made of dental floss and old cheese.  I'm sick of the dental floss/cheese combo.  I'm ready for the sex and chocolate level.  

I want to know we have changed so clearly that I DIE laughing when we talk about our first years of marriage.  Picture this: I'm forty two (not sure why that age is significant...) and I'm saying these words: "I want to know we have changed so clearly that I DIE laughing when we talk about our first years of marriage. Picture this..." SEE?? Isn't that FREAKY??????????  All the while my feet don't move, my eyes don't laugh and my hair probably looks like shit because this is my imagined scenario and I would be lying to say shitty hair wasn't part of it.  Okay so that scenario isn't as scary typed out as it is in my mind, but it makes my blood go cold to think about staying in a relationship my whole life that doesn't change; a relationship where I don't change.  And we all know we can't force a relationship to change.  Some of us have learned it the hard way (by getting slapped by the failure of our attempts over and over until there's this gross blister on our souls that, even after it heals, looks disgusting).  It's like trying to force a dog to lay an egg.  You can DO it, but you have to have magic.  And we all know where magic is kept.  I, for one, am NOT going there, magic or no.  

So, without magic, I'm screwed.  Change continues to be miniscule.  Sabotage continues to, well, sabotage.  And the lines we put on the wall each year marking how much we've grown are so agonizingly close together.  I want to grow six inches in a month SO BADLY.  I want to have to buy a new tape measurer.  I want my husband and myself to grow together.  I want us to measure each other and be proud of the growth we see recorded, not throw down the tape measurer and refuse to make pancakes.  I don't want to be the awkward teenager who is ashamed of how her body is changing.  I want to be the creepily secure teenager who can hardly stand to go outside without her shirt off she's so proud of her new boobs.  I don't want shrinking or recording a mark on the wall as lower than it really is to be a tool my marriage uses to feel safe.      

This night here is perfect for getting drunk
Finding the boats we sunk
And heading down there just to send up a prayer
to the living above

I love this image so much.  I feel sometimes like the best I can do is get drunk, say a prayer and head to the river and see what happens.  Hopefully this will continue to be a metaphorical river.  After six years there really are so many boats I've watched sink down, down.  What the hell do you do with all the boats at the bottom of the lake?  Get drunk with your partner you've secretly been trying to sell on e-Bay and point at them and laugh.  And pray. That's what. 

This night here is perfect for trading sins
You can be what I've been
Half way between misery and serene nights 

of something like hope

I know - it's dismal.  But sometimes hope found in the most dismal goes the farthest; a hell of a lot farther than rainbows.  People who find hope in rainbows are, living.  Do you know anyone who gets depressed when they see a rainbow?  NO.  They are HOPEFUL things.  It's easy. It's obvious.  Sometimes I feel like I have to alter and refine my idea of hope so I can freakin find it.  Not a lot of rainbows going on in year six if you know what I'm sayin'.  (side note: I heard a story on NPR about the new disorder "Summer Seasonal Affective Disorder"... it's people who find themselves getting severely depressed in the summer due to warmth and sunshine.  Can you guess what my reaction was?  If you guessed scoffing, cynicism and profanity, you guessed correctly.) 

This night here is perfect for trading sins.  

What a lovely way to think about relating.  No, I'm serious.  I really do feel like the best I, we, can do sometimes is trade sins.  Of course we don't MEAN to be cruel or jaded or selfish or selfish or selfish (we rarely do... it comes natural), and I'm not saying we should throw a fit when someone wrongs us or learn to punch really hard in preparation for mean guys, but if we scrutinize and look back on our actions and motivators we usually see that, "oohhh, woops.... yeeaaahhhh... my bad."  

I hear this phrase of trading sins to be a declaration that relating is continuing...   Maybe Timothy is saying that despite the inability to be young and in love, despite his ability to be amazing, he'll go for it - even if all we get is trading sins and even if we end up drunk, looking at boats we've sunk in a place half-way between misery and serene nights... even if all the hope we can find is something like hope.  

I'll take it.  I'll take it, at least, until I get some magic or there is profit to be made from selling one's husband on e-Bay.  

Or until I'm sold.     

Diane and Jay. Wedding. (Part I)

I photographed a wedding in Maryland last week.  Despite the ridiculously long plane ride (WHY is our country so huge?) the weekend was fantastic.  Diane and Jay were one of the most hospitable couples I have worked with.  Example: They provided me with a delicious homemade meal after my long plane ride the night before the wedding.  Let's just say I am now a huge fan of Jamaican food.  OH deliciousness. Jay asked me as he was preparing my plate if I liked spicy food.  OF COURSE I said yes.  I was raised in Texas 30 miles from the Louisiana border - spice: it's a matter of pride.  

This food was SPICY.  I was literally licking my hands and plate after I finished the barbecued chicken in my hotel room - my entire face was numb by the end of it.  Happily numb.  

Diane is actually seven months pregnant, and she and Jay were both glowing with delight at both the event of their wedding and with the impending arrival of their precious baby.  There was something so beautiful about Jay's hand creeping down to Diane's belly at different times throughout the day.  He took a break at one point in our maternity shoot to blow bubbles on Diane's belly and tell baby Dakota he loved her.  Their love for their growing baby was so precious.  

During the ceremony baby Dakota kicked like crazy, and the moment she chose to kick was the moment Jay put Diane's ring on her finger... could there BE a more beautiful moment!?!?  I think she was leaping for joy and love for her Mom and Dad's love for each other and for her.  

  

Next week I will post a sampling from Diane and Jay's maternity shoot (which we did the day before the wedding).    

Click the picture below for a sample of Diane and Jay's wedding day.  

Charis = Hash

And I always thought my name was Greek for "grace."  Awesome.  Good thing I believe urbandictionary.com more than my parents.  Thanks a lot Mom and Dad... thanks a lot.

1.	charis
	Indian for hash. Usually a soft textured highly pure and sweet smelling goo. Made by rubbing large buds in the hands, and collecting the dark resin-like deposits that collect on the palms. Smoked frequently by Indian Babbas using Chillum pipes. I cant wait for a good smoke of some clean charis, instead of that dirty urban skunk you always get.

Barcelona Pictures. Totally.

http://www.chalkballerinaphotography.com/barcelona