Under a Red Roof

A Start

July 5, 2010 in Celebrating, Inspiring, Learning, Loving, Writing by Colleen | 7 comments

Well hello there friends –

I am not about to beat around the bush on this one, no way, no how. What do you think? Do you like it? I hope so, because I really, really do.

After all of that writing about it, I decided that if I am a Writer (notice me embracing that capital W), I better start acting like one. Step one, business cards. Super duper lovely and ever-so-Colleen style business cards. Many, many thanks to Marty of Bartleby’s Letterpress Emporium (how perfect that the shop shares the name, though certainly not the demeanor of one of my favorite literary figures, too). Ever so kind, patient (if you hadn’t noticed, I am a bit fussy), and supportive, not to mention her phenomenal talent with a letterpress brought this girl to tears, even though I promised her I wouldn’t. Not a bad promise to break, if one must, after all. They turned out exactly how I imagined they would: the heavy cotton, that beautiful texture, our our humble red roofed abode (drawn by me). They are perfect. By the by, if you live here in Stumptown and love fine paper goods, do pay her a visit. Her printed cards are exquisite, really. The shop is just a charming place to wander, too.

Okay, getting to the second step now, full speed ahead. I will also be attending the Willamette Writers Conference in August where I hope to wow someone into representing me. So, for the next month, I will be polishing my manuscript, honing my elevator speech, typing up dazzling query letters, and generally believing that I can do this. You know what the wonderful part is? I am not afraid. I am ready. I am worthy. I am talented. I am a good writer and a terrific person. Why wouldn’t someone want to represent me? Okay, I just ventured into Jack Handey territory, but that’s okay too. I am among friends!

So, a start. I hope you will join me on my journey.

This is It…

June 8, 2010 in Being, Inspiring, Learning, Thinking, Writing by Colleen | 5 comments

Well friends, I have what is surely the last of the peony photos this year and a broken record alert! Aren’t they pretty? Aren’t they pretty? Well they are, and these two smell quite lovely, too. Yes, yes they do. We also managed to get two dry days in a row to enjoy them, but the clouds are rolling in, and I’m pretty sure that means Mr. Rain will be up to his old tricks in no time, which is okay. The little break of sun was enough to tide me over until next time.

I have no clever segue way to what comes next. I’ve been thinking a lot about what it is that I want and how to get it. I came to a conclusion that probably should have been obvious, but wasn’t, but now that I’ve made it, I feel as though I’ve been hit over the head with a hammer in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Yet, instead of stars, I am seeing what I do with greater clarity than ever before.

I have never called myself a writer. I have always said, “I’ve written a book,” or “I’ write a blog.” In some ways, I didn’t want to pigeon-hole myself in the “I am not what I do” way because I feel I am so much more than a single word. I also didn’t think I deserved the title of Writer without being published. Yet, in this way, I believe I have been selling myself short, for who will believe I am a writer, especially one who is worthy of publication, if I don’t? It also diminished my work, made it less important. Well, dang it, it IS important, even if only to me.

So, a change. A “this is it” moment: I, Colleen Sohn, am a writer. Gosh, I got weepy typing that last sentence. I am a writer. I wrote a novel that I hope to get published one day. I write a blog. I write poems. I dream up worlds. Words dance in my mind and through my finger tips. They are alive, just like me and you.

That felt good. Thanks for reading. I love sharing my writing with you!

Not Their Usual

June 4, 2010 in Inspiring, Spotlighting, Watching by Colleen | Permalink

As my cutie pie neighbor Keirnan (age five) might say, “She’s up to her old tricks.” He’d be right, too. I am up to my old tricks, loving the offbeat films where the actors are decidedly not up to theirs. It is so refreshing!

The hubster and I saw Greenberg this past weekend. Finally, finally something I was interested in seeing at the Academy. I have been waiting for ages. Seriously, I cannot remember when I was there last, and it totally bums me out. I love movies. I love sitting in movie theaters. I love watching people file in and search for the perfect seat. I love the moment the lights dim and the action starts, all the while munching on buttery popcorn and Reese’s Pieces, despite their absence of nutrition. For the film is the sustenance, the essence of life, moments in darkness that ultimately illuminate.

I digress. Greenberg, save two, um, cold(?) sex scenes, yes, cold, is one of those train wreck type films. I could not look away, yet my heart kind of ached to. It is the story of Roger Greenberg: broken man, letter writer, vest wearer. He’s come to Los Angeles to house sit for his brother’s family after suffering a mental breakdown. He’s meant to build a dog house, take care of its future occupant, Mahler, and, as he states rather explicitly, do nothing else. It doesn’t quite work out as planned, as he immediately has feelings for his brother’s assistant Florence (a pitch perfect performance from Greta Gerwig), the dog gets sick, and he generally makes an ass of himself, though he puts the blame squarely on others. It’s a great story about loss, starting off on the wrong foot, and the way we cobble our lives back together. Perfect in its imperfection.

Will Farrel is Harold Crick, a boring and friendless IRS agent who suddenly starts hearing a voice. A voice that knows him well, is never wrong, and clearly states that he is going to die. What ensues is a beautiful transformation – from a numbers man ticking away the hours to a human being truly living and loving life. So very, very good. It makes me want to be a better writer.

This is Paul Thomas Anderson’s fantastic and exhilarating art house version of Adam Sandler. As much as I like movies like 50 First Dates and Mr. Deeds (Are you surprised? Do you underestimate my sneakiness? They’re funny!), I sure wish he would make more movies like this. Sandler plays Barry Egan, intense, lonely, incessantly badgered by his annoying and domineering sisters, he is constantly on the verge of rage and violence, and utterly powerless to stop it. When a woman unexpectedly enters his life, there is instant chemistry and mystery. What will he do? Will this end badly? What about that awful guy at the phone sex place? Finding out is a great and scary ride.

This last one could actually be tied with Vampire’s Kiss. Have you seen that one? Nicholas Cage (circa 1988) plays a guy who thinks he’s been bitten by a vampire and acts accordingly, sporting fake teeth and all. Which only makes me think of Chris Cooper’s teeth in this movie, oy vay, creepy. This movie is strange, smart, and beautiful. Nicholas Cage plays the Kaufman brothers, so unlike any character I have ever seen. Fearful, weird, out of shape, paranoid, balding, and obsessed, yet likable. The kind of underdog fellas you root for. Besides that, there’s Meryl Streep and Chris Cooper. Who could ask for anything more?

Tags: Movies

Bird Watching

February 10, 2010 in Admiring, Celebrating, Inspiring by Colleen | 2 comments

Look at my sweet Birdie. Doesn’t she have a fine profile? I love the curve of her nose, her enormous ears, and all that soft, silky fur. She is a fine specimen indeed. It’s funny, too, even after nearly fifteen years (her birthday is March 4th!), I never grow tired of watching her. Playing, sleeping, running in the yard, it’s always a pleasure to see her happy. Unhappy is quite another matter, but I won’t get into that!

In other bird watching news, I had the FINEST (all caps for serious emphasis) sighting from my back window this past Thursday afternoon. I was walking by and saw something high in a treetop, a slight white glimmer of movement. My heart leapt! Could it be? I turned back and stopped, focusing my eyes. It sure looked like it.

I whooped and hollered down the stairs, “Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!” I grabbed the phone and the binoculars as fast as humanly possible and bolted back up the stairs. Imagine my excitement when I learned my hunch was absolutely correct. There was indeed a Bald Eagle atop a tree, no more than a hundred yards from me. I could see its regal gaze scanning the horizon, the beautiful white feathers, the golden beak, the lovely eyes. I called the hubster, and I spent the next few minutes detailing the eagle’s every move.

“It’s turning his head, yikes almost 360 degrees!”

“It’s moving it’s wings. Wow, it’s so big!”

“I think it’s looking right at me.”

“The crows are coming! They’re cawing, but this guy isn’t paying one iota of attention to them, no matter how close they get!”

“Oh my goodness, Buddy, I’m watching a Bald Eagle from our back window!”

In all, I probably watched it for ten joyful minutes, repeating that last sentence about five times. It then left it’s perch and flew right over our house, so close I could see individual feathers. I’d like to think it was a “Hello Colleen, I saw you, too,” gesture. Whatever it was, I could not have been happier (well, maybe if I could have taken a photo, but our camera cannot zoom like that), and I certainly won’t ever look at that tree in the same way again.

Herb and Dorothy

October 16, 2009 in Admiring, Inspiring, Spotlighting, Watching by Colleen | 2 comments

I am spelling out the following number for emphasis: Four thousand seven hundred eighty-two. This set of digits is hardly impressive when one considers population, drops of rain on my red roof, or annual salaries in America. However, when one ponders the fact that it is in relation to how many works of art were amassed by Herb and Dorothy Vogel in their tiny New York apartment over the course of forty years, then it expands into something nearly unfathomable. Holy smokes – 4,782!

The absolutely adorable couple (they still hold hands and find each other cute), a now retired librarian at the Brooklyn Library and a postal worker, began collecting in order to follow what was, at least initially, Herb’s passion. He worked nights at the post office, would sleep a few hours, and then go to the library and read everything he could about art, as well as take a painting class or two. Dorothy, wanting to share in her husband’s interest, decided she would paint, too. Soon, the walls of their apartment were covered in their work, but then, in 1962, after realizing they could live humbly off of Dorothy’s salary and purchase art with Herb’s, they marched forth with gusto, visiting galleries and studios all over the city and purchasing inexpensive works by unknown artists.

Their criteria were simple – they must like the piece, be able to afford it, and it had to be carried via foot, bus, or taxi to fit in their apartment. They weren’t looking to collect anything just for the sake of it; they had to love it as well, and love they did. They covered every possible surface with art: walls, ceiling, floor, amassing piles and rows, squeezing it in among their fish, cats, and turtles, a wonder of physics if the truth be told. Dorothy remarked, “Not even a toothpick could be squeezed into the apartment.” She was right.

In a bold and quite generous move, the couple decided to donate their entire collection to the National Gallery of Art in Washington D.C., the site where it all began, the first museum they visited together as husband and wife. Of all the museums clamoring for their collection, all of them willing to pay princely sums, I might add, the Vogel’s chose the National Gallery because quite simply, as Americans, it belongs to everyone. The works will never be sold and anyone can visit, for free, furthering their belief that wonderful art can be both affordable and accessible, just as it was to them.

It is a marvelous portrait of love – for each other and modern art. It made me weep at how having a benevolent spirit and following our passion is rarely about how much money we have but what we choose to do with it.

Tags: Movies