That girl with the gold shoes and the iPhone who is watching everything around her and scribbling notes? That's Erin. As an editor at Southern Living Magazine, she travels to collect stories about the contemporary South. Back at home in Birmingham she tells them in the pages of the magazine, online, and in her community.
Nate and his friend Austin played in Austin's neighborhood pool. They chased butterflies. Austin encouraged Nate, who is still a hesitant swimmer, the magic of being able to bob underwater. It felt like it was 100 degrees outside but the cool water was perfect. It was calm. Last year I wrote a series of posts entitled "Summer Is." This summer, the word I want to choose is calm.
This summer I want to read, stacks and stacks of library books and Kindle singles and magazines that have been piling up on the coffee table. I want to read until I fall asleep: And have this guy sitting next to me the whole time: I want to take time to walk around and think. Or not think: And when it gets too hot, back to the pool, or to Steel City Pops for some of these:
Today was Nate's last day of kindergarten. I never got when parents were weepy at the last day of school, or said, "Wow, this year went by so fast." But now I get it. And when I see my friends post about their kids graduating -- from elementary, or middle, or high school -- I want to pat them on the back. It's the parents that do the hard work. OK, the kids studied. Maybe.
I struggled over where to send Nate to school (public v. private). Had a bad start at the school of choice. But nine months later, I have to say I'm pleased with the education that he's gotten. He's reading and has the critical thinking skills of a champ.
I learned too this year, both as a parent and as an occasional teacher. Leading a food and writing workshop for third through fifth graders (with a lot of help from my friends Lindsey and Amy, who taught for me days I was out of town), was a lot of fun. We used food as a device to explore creativity, culminating with our final class earlier in this month.
We made and decorated chocolate covered strawberries and collaborated on a story about how to make said strawberries. Of course I was nervous -- would the chocolate melt properly? Would the kids be excited or think it was lame?
In the end, they had a blast. So did I. Here's what I learned:
1. You don't have to be an expert to make a difference in the life of a kid -- I am not a food writer. But I know that food is the perfect jumping off point to explore language, and it's a common denominator that transcends all backgrounds. We all have to eat. Most of us like to talk about that. The "curriculum" (part of which included writing stories about Justin Bieber meeting a vegetable and Big Al meeting a Coke can) was quite, how shall we say, "improvised." The kids loved it.
2. Showing up is half the battle --Yet I still struggled with this. The four dates for the classes were set in stone. My work schedule is anything but that. So try as I did to arrange things differently, I had to be out of town for two of the classes. My friends Lindsey and Amy went above and beyond to step in and teach for me. (The students loved them and talked about them all year.)
3. Showing up with chocolate is the other half -- I fretted a lot about the foods we'd use. Chocolate wins. Always.
4. Photographers always get the cool points -- For one session, I brought along a colleague, a talented professional photographer at the magazine. The students thought he was a rock star. The photographers are always the rock stars.
5. Bring lots of wipes. -- And don't forget to enjoy.
On Thursday, I was searching for WiFi in the lobby of a Panama City Beach hotel. With none in the room, I retreated to the lobby, where I set up my daily workstation while scores of sunburned vacationers shuffled for another day in the sun.
It was here that I saw the news: Donna Summer had died.
***
When I was a little girl, I wanted to be one of two things: 1) a writer and/or 2) a disco singer. To practice for the first, I spent as much time as possible at the Clearwater Public Library, reading everything I could get my hands on. It was there I checked out a VHS tape that turned me on to another world entirely: disco. By then it was the late-80s, so the heyday of disco had passed a decade previous. But you couldn't tell me or my brother that when we watched, over and over and over again, the seminal disco classic "Thank God It's Friday."
What -- doesn't every young girl and her brother spend hours on end watching a film about one night in a discotheque in which a young singer (see: Donna Summer) begs the DJ to let her sing just one song so the world can see her talent? No?
(For those who missed it, here's the plot. It's one night at a fictional LA disco called The Zoo. In addition to Nicki Sims, aka Donna Summer, the storyline also features contestants driven to win a dance contest in which the grand prize is a pair of KISS tickets, a couple trying to rekindle their love and discovering their *wilder* side at the disco, a sketchy club owner played by Jeff Goldblum, and the one and only Commodores, who perform "Too Hot To Trot.")
The film gave birth to the Academy Award winning "Last Dance." And it left a great impression on me and Ryan. To us, there was no difference between the character Donna Summer played and the actual Donna Summer. Here was a girl with a dream -- to sing her song, and to wow the crowds, and to do it with a big old flower in her hair. She elbowed her way into the recording booth so the world could here her booming, nuanced voice.
For kids growing up in the suburbs, it was a message that stuck. Ryan and I dug into my parents' record cabinet. I walked to the Goodwill near our house to outfit us in the finest in polyester. We staged elaborate productions. I like to think that was part of how Ryan got to Broadway, where his feathered blonde hair would have made Donna proud.
***
Her music was on a lot at the Shaw house, and in our cars. When Ryan and I talked about her passing, we compared notes about Mom listening to "She Works Hard For The Money" in our Custom Cruiser station wagon, driving us to school and to dance.
Back then, when I secretly tuned into public access to watch a program with a local psychic ("Metaphysically Speaking") I loved hearing the opening chords of "I Feel Love." Donna Summer seemed otherworldly.
Later, at middle school dances, the girls giggled while "Last Dance" played, hoping that they would finally be asked to dance, while the middle school boys were too busy shooting hoops outside. Again, an experience just beyond reach.
Donna's music has always been around, influencing our family. When Shane and I married eight years ago this week, Dad requested a special song be played as a nod to each of my siblings. Megan, who had recently graduated college, got Beach Boys "God Only Knows." Ryan, who'd finally made it to the Great White Way, got "My Life."
"When I was young
I used to dream of going far.
Having my once in a lifetime chance
To prove I was a star/
This is my night
This is my song.
Standing right here, out on the stage
Is where I belong."
It was the title song from the production "Ordinary Girl," based on Donna Summer's memoir.
***
Dancing is what we've always done. We still dance every time we get together. (This is us about five years ago in my parents' basement.)
We got part of our dance from Donna. Her songs still resonate -- countless people are writing in critical terms about how much it changed the landscape.
It's music that lasted beyond polyester dresses and disco nights I never really know. It remains music that represents freedom and potential.
And while I didn't grow up to be a disco singer (quite yet) I got a lot of daring from her music. And a few moves. Here's to you Donna.
Yesterday at lunch I went to the Magic City Art Connection in Linn Park (always a great Birmingham event). Look at this pillow! It's by local artist Daisy Winfrey. I love her work because it's raw and honest. A little funny, a little sad, a lot subversive. We started talking and had an instant connection. This girl is fantastic. How had we never met?
The first postcard below made me stop. She said she was inspired to make it after seeing an old photo from the Corky Bell School of Dance. I love the juxtaposition: tutu and bow with hands on the hips, red faced. She's not embarrassed! Sort of like the girl on the pillow. I think they would be friends.
Daisy said that friendship is a common theme in her art. She told me about her best friend and said she was the inspiration for "We're So Awesome" piece.
Daisy is awesome. I left wanting to make art. Or at least hang the art that I bought.
This morning I interviewed Bo Jackson about his week-long trek across Alabama to raise money for people who are still rebuilding after the tornadoes that ripped apart parts of the state. Bo Bikes Bama is an ambitious undertaking. So who is better to do it than the greatest multi-sport athlete of all time?
Struck by the names that he pointed out on his bike -- individuals who died in the storm and who he is remembering as he makes the 300 mile ride surrounded by supporters who are remembering too. There were so many names that they had to place them on in a small font. Small but clear, readable. He said he wanted their families to know that they would never be forgotten.
And a video below (produced with the help of some very talented and efficient colleagues).
When I got back to the office everyone wanted to know what he was like. A true Southern gentleman, soft spoken and convicted by his mission. Bo is trying to raise $1 million this week, money that will stay in Alabama. This is what it's about. Bo has a purpose, and a pride that radiates when he speaks. Bo deserves our support -- even just texting keyword BOBIKES to 50555 to donate $10 makes a difference.
Bo knows how important it is to help people. And that's real knowledge -- and heart.
Sunday, May 27, 2012 at 09:06PM 
And have this guy sitting next to me the whole time: 
I want to take time to walk around and think. Or not think: 
And when it gets too hot, back to the pool, or to Steel City Pops for some of these: 
