Some photos to share...

hello. i have been getting some very kind emails about wondering what i am up to these days! many thanks for all the checkin's and thinking of me. i started school last month, currently "filed" as a fine arts major, but who knows where i'll end up going! here is a short lil video i made about a month ago- thought i'd share some of the photos with y'all! much love, pamela...

"I'm that untouched casserole dish..."

It's been a few months since I have stopped in to spit out some sort of formation of words...
Seeing that it is late, and I am pretty tired, this will not be much- sorry to disappoint.

Life, is a baffling, funny, difficult, and an unknown journey of all things previously stated and then some. Much to what you would find at a summer Church picnic and a questionable casserole that has only been slightly picked away at- a few folks taking a spoon full here and there merely out of sympathy for the mysterious one who prepared it...no one wants to be the person at the church potluck who walks away with a full pyrex dish of what you thought would be a big hit.

To say the least, I'm that untouched casserole dish...except the saran wrap is still stretched over the top of me- barely visible due to the steam that caused condensation on the ceiling of my home, it looks and feels like a hot and humid struck day in the South, and I'd know because I once lived in a small city called Atlanta.

Morning will arrive soon enough, singing horrible digitalized harmonies titled "fairy land" on my cellphone- time to get up, start my french press, turn on the morning news, make sure I've got all my pens and pencils in my pouch...the right books in my backpack for class. I've already put out my outfit for tomorrow, much like I did before my first day of school when I was a kid...except my clothes are far from new, and there's no new shoe smell lingering around. The routine will carry me in her arms one more time for the week, and then it is me, left with me alone. I exhale a deep breath and realize that what I might be saying makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, but another "Sorry to disappoint", I don't get it either.

Perhaps I'll end with this: I used to be someone I knew. Now I'm figuring out what really laid beneath all those layers and walls that built up so high. Welcome to my journey. Whether it be through the lens of a camera, pen & paper, or whatever comes to fruition from this screen and keyboard that my fingertips dance on, well, it's my sanity and hope. For my ability to express the "blahness" of life through my creating is the only way I can make it through without retreating back to those old walls...

The Sound of the plexiglass is extra 'staticky' today...
maybe it's because I chose the last cart on the train in the hopes of it being less occupied-
two stops down the line and now I have fellow backseat dwellers who display the same message that I currently wear around my neck, "leave me alone."

Bits and pieces of the Friday morning rush hour still linger around the seats and floor of my swaying caboose. Sticky and dried up puddles of sugar and cream that probably had a few dollops of coffee mixed in at one point now shines in the reflection of the sun like a frozen lake in the middle of a winter dressed forrest somewhere in the middle of Michigan.

Shreds of the Daily Metro headlines chopped and torn up-
pointless news in the form of contaminated confetti.

I gnaw nervously on the edge of my dried and cracked lip...my thoughts carry a serious tone upstairs as i inform myself, "I'm dehydrated. I should probably increase my water intake and cut out the other fluids that seem to have taken its place. Ya, I should do that."

A tweaked out boy that's dressed in a mans body is pacing back and forth in a fashion that makes my own leg begin a tap dance. Our train is obviously tired as it's sitting still with the doors open allowing a nice breeze from the JFK/UMASS loading dock to ease its way into my little caboose. Tweaker is obviously upset by this, "Yo, I'll be there in like seven minutes Man. I've got the fucking shit!" He's overly loud on his cellphone, his words sloppy and misconstrued in a thick 'Southie' dialect. It's apparent that 'Boy Dressed in Mans Body' has a deal he needs to make at Downtown Crossing...I'll be sad to see him go. Actually, no I won't.

My train is back in motion and has slithered its way underground...I hate the tunnels. The sound of this heavy machinery has no where to travel to other than it bouncing off the hundred year old walls that are covered in soot- caveman like markings in the bright orange x's and blue squares...our construction cavemen are always busy at work with new projects scattered throughout this entire city. Job Security. "Me mark X on tunnel C3. Me Build stronger rails." Construction caveman then throws a clinched fist on the muscle of his chest.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection on the clear window with the in motion polluted wall running behind it. Serious tone goes back on, "You look like shit. Messy girl, with messy hair. Obviously I'm wearing another message around my neck- 'I don't care what I look like.' Well done, you certainly don't."

My eyes dance to the current stop- Park Street. The trains doors open, first the ones to the inside dock. Suddenly, as expected, a damn of human beings has broken- they flow in, now it's crowded and smells even less pleasant than it did just moments ago. Two more stops, then everyone looks at me like I'm the asshole. I'll make my way to the door that will have even more humans fighting to get on, and I, along with other robots on automatic "get off now" will try to fight our way off. Lil' Red (my bike) will be on my left side, my hand guiding her as it rests on the top part of her head where the handle bars bridge out like a bulls horns curled over and ready to take charge at a red flag in the distance..."Excuse me...coming through. 'Cuse me-"

And here comes my stop...

"Excuse me...yup, hi. Like to get off please...comin' through..ya. How ya doin'? Great, I'd like to get by you now. Helllllo- thanks."

Deep breath- pick up bike. Walk up 37 steps, get on bike, go.

dear oregon...

suddenly i crave the smell of rain leaving its mark on the doug firs that dress the towns, mountains, rivers, and cities in my beloved oregon. standing next to the metolius river, and hearing the roar of its passion, and the scent that can only be the ponderosa pines...the aroma of local coffee houses brewing and serving up their fresh pots...the familiarity of faces that walk past you on the sidewalk...

the daily hugs that you someday realize you take for granted...the sound of your nieces and nephews when they see you on a visit- because you're the aunt that they hardly ever see...eyes to look into that know you so well that you don't have to speak a word and they get it...
to the sky that remains forever the same, that no matter where your feet take you, you can look up and see what you see, where ever it is that you go...

i haven't slept in my own bed for two nights now, and suddenly now that i am home, i am realizing how much i miss the one that holds a chunk of my heart across the country...to oregon, and all the beautiful, lovely, individuals that it holds close and warm in this (lucky for you, spring like) winter of yours, i miss your faces. i miss even the most dysfunctional of love. like they always say, "No matter where you go, there you are." there's comfort in this old saying, but to be honest it takes time to get there and to be able to accept it. however, it's going somewhere new, and you just can't suffice off that old trick...your left alone, once again, to figure out how it all can come back together...how you can get back on top of that building where you belong- back home.