Come on a my house
Posted on April 7, 2010 - Filed Under My Work, Real Life, Uncategorized, What I am up to
Houses are the one highly overused symbol that I can’t give up. Just can’t do it. I know they are a dime a dozen, yet I keep making them as though originality means nothing to me. The house above is one of a series I did when I was working with house songs, in this case, Come On A My House by Rosemary Clooney. Just love that song, partly because the singer is a hybrid of a hopeless flirt and a begging child. Come on! Don’t moms all over America hear that everyday? The big ol’ bribery part appeals to me too, especially this phrase.
Come on-a my house, my house I’m gonna give a you
Peach and pear and I love your hair ah
Another of my habits is keeping track of my favorite paragraph in every book I read. I often copy them in my journals. Last week I liked this one, from Amy and Isabelle.
“There was all sorts of unhappiness in Shirley Falls that night. If Isabelle Goodrow had been able to lift the roof off various houses and peer into their domestic depths she would have found an assortment of human miseries. Barbara Rawley, for one, had discovered in the shower the week before a small lump in her left breast, and was now, as she waited for arrangements in Boston to be made, in a state of panic the proportions of which she never thought possible; for alongside the dark terror of waiting for the future (was she actually going to die?) was the private realization that she had married the wrong man: her husband, lying next to her in their dark bedroom while she spoke quietly of her fears, had had the audacity to fall asleep.”
It is snowing today, and I am going out to breakfast with my girl. We will have chai and quiche, and chat next to the fire before she heads off to Middle School, where the big worry is whether her best friend is actually going to kiss her boyfriend of one week, or whether it is at all fair for her to be the only sixth grader on the volleyball team, especially since she is tiny, it is so unfair we can hardly believe it. And that boyfriend, well, her friend went to the movies with him on Saturday but her parents had the audacity to actually go too and watch them while there, how gross is that. Nobody has any privacy anymore, and that is so unfair, and on top of that homework is boring.
All is well in Superior, Colorado.
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I am a house girl too. Houses and birds. Everyone else does them. I was doing them before I noticed everyone else doing them though. And they are mine and no one does mine. And you do yours. No one can do a “Jill” house. It would be interesting to do a series of pieces on some image that is absolutely NOT popular. I can’t come up with any though.
OOh my Jill…snow? It is close to 90 here today…arrrgghhh…what I wouldn’t give to stick my head in a snowbank right now! hehe
Nice idea to keep track of a paragraph of each book…good visuals and prompts too. Couldn’t help but notice this one included a house!
What a wonderful post! Thanks for giving us a glimpse into your house.
Jill I LOVE that William Stafford poem, thank you for sharing that, especially since I didn’t get to be in your class. And I love your entry today. I am so glad I met you!
P.S. I also have the Rosemary Clooney CD with that song on it, it is freakin’ great.
I’m a sucker for houses, too. As much as I try to stop. let’s just say it’s tough. Love the middle school drama. so cute.
I know how your daughter feels. I was the shortest girl in eighth grade. For eighth grade graduation they lined us up according to height. I was #1. Krissy was behind me because she had the foresight to wear 3″ clogs to graduation practice. I was 4’8″.