All Images and Text Copyright (c) 2009-2011 Michele Marie Summerlin Shimchock. All rights reserved.

All Images and Text Copyright (c) 2009-2011 Michele Marie Summerlin Shimchock. All rights reserved.
I know a lawyer who will eat your face off if you use any of my stuff without prior written permission from me. Thank you.
"It would have to shine. And burn. And be / a sign of something infinite and turn things
and people nearby into their wilder selves / and be dangerous to the ordinary nature of
signs and glow like a tiny hole in space / to which a god presses his eye and stares.
Or her eye. Some divine impossible stretch / of the imagination where you and I are one."

An excerpt from "Something New under the Sun" from Steve Scafidi's Sparks from a Nine-Pound Hammer


Friday, September 3, 2010

The Importance of Stuff, or The Day I Organized My Desk…

When you’ve moved as often as I have and when you’ve left so many possessions scattered across the country like little life seeds, so hopeless of ever again sprouting, you place greater value on the things that remain.

Wednesday, I made it my task to tidy up the small corners of our dining room that have inevitably become my spaces. It was no less than a nine hour undertaking. Admittedly, I work deliberately, but when it comes to my stuff, that task takes on a life of its own as I must carefully inspect, touch, open, shuffle, read, and remember.

I only took one before picture because, after I took a really good look at it, I was really embarrassed.

I am a Cancer-on-the-cusp-of-Gemini. I am sentimental. Stuff is important to me. Now, I am not materialistic, because this is a beast of an entirely different color. But the possessions that I keep actually mean something to me. This is Crabbie. Crabbie came out of one of my son’s Happy Meals, oh, about ten years ago. He gave it to me knowing nothing of astrology but simply because tie-dye is one of my very favorite things.

I have had this StoryPeople® computer printout for three years. It has been taped up in every office I’ve ever occupied in that time. If it were possible, I would wallpaper my home office (when and if I ever get finished with it) with computer printouts of all of my favorite StoryPeople® musings. And if I actually had, you know, money, I would buy the framed art and decorate each wall with all the colorful whimsy that is StoryPeople® art. But this particular musing, it means something to me. It is substantive.

And so it goes and goes…

I couldn’t possibly throw away this birthday card. Mom sent this to me, and it has wonderful possibilities for that collage I plan to begin sometime in the very near (read: distant) future. I couldn’t possibly throw this card away because mom sent it to me, and she took the time to write such a sweet and uplifting message. I couldn’t possibly throw this away because it might hurt her feelings. I CANNOT throw this card away because the very act of doing so smacks of betrayal (and my heart will surely crumble).

The same scenario played out in my head when I considered putting away the snow couple, also a gift from Mom, even though it is September and 98 degrees with 90 percent humidity and sweat was certainly trailing down between my boobs and pooling in my bellybutton at this point. Besides, Christmas is just around the corner, right? And the jiggling spring-legs amuse me.

The fact that my mother lives in San Francisco and that I am firmly planted in Virginia and very, very poor and can’t afford a plane ticket to go see her even though I haven’t seen her in three years also makes throwing said card in the trash or putting the snow couple to sleep in a drawer just seem like ridiculous and unnecessary guilt-inducing decisions.

Therefore, my tendency to accumulate stuff may very well border on the side of Hoarding. And while I am a very effective organizer in my professional life, I am much less so in my personal life. It’s almost as if my stuff is like the security blanket that I slept with until I was 21 years old and about to have a baby. It’s like my nest. Each piece of paper, knick knack, and poetry book, each curious item is like a thin pine needle tucked carefully into place.

To you, it looks disheveled. To me, it is comfortable home-heaven, a place where I rest my feathers just here, just so.

This toucan pen? It’s been to college and grad school with me. It was there when I was going through my divorce. That toucan pen is my friend.

That thing that looks like a tooth? It holds the molar that my son had to have extracted when he first got braces. And, yes, I do still have his umbilical cord. Don’t judge.

(In my own defense, I cannot tell you how many times I have said to myself. Self, if you only had [insert item here], you would have your answer, clarify this memory, solve said mystery.)

Unfortunately, I also share this space with this sad sack, Baxter the Very Bad Rescue Greyhound.  And he was a bit unnerved as I labored and shuffled his space all day long and into the night. Because, as you can clearly see, this is what was in his divine life plan—to lazy around all day, shuffling his beds into just the right position. He is a nester, too, and whoever thought Baxter was born to race was even more clearly a dumbass.

So getting organized meant that I also had to tackle the file cabinet, which was in its own State of Emergency. But where else was I going to put everything that I needed to keep? Posting a before photo of the file cabinet, however, would have produced a mad case of the itchy hives all over my body.

But this is what it looked like when I was finished.












You notice I only share with you three drawers. This is because one of the drawers belongs to MSG, and I am NOT messin’ with that shit. Not unless he is right there to guide me.




And he brings me random bouquets of flowers for such love and understanding.















For a day’s worth of work, nine hours to be exact, this is what I ended up with.

This.









And a grand sense of accomplishment.

Friday, August 27, 2010

Circular Drive, a Thursday Story...

Sometimes, Michael has Thursdays off.  Sometimes, we just like to get in the car and drive.  Often, because you live in one place for so long, you take advantage of your hometown’s beauty and serenity.

Yesterday, we wanted to go to Paint Bank.  Not only to visit the trout hatchery, but also because I just like to say, “Paint Bank.”  Paint Bank.  Paint.  Bank.


View Larger Map

Michael had to work in the morning, so we left around noon and headed up 311 through Catawba, into New Castle. Up Pott’s Mountain and around. Around so many bends. The Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia are breathtaking, and I am ashamed of the fact that, at times, I get so bored with living here.

Days like yesterday will learn me every now and again.

We had the hatchery to ourselves, save for a family of four with two small children. There are candy dispensers full of fish food, and, for a handful of quarters, you can watch the fish dance atop the water’s skin. The tow-headed little boy, however, had a whole bucket full of food. I told Michael I, too, wanted a bucket of those dog-food-looking pellets.

“You have to be two to get those,” he said. My luck, huh? I just turned three.

(Dropping the five attached to that didn’t even help me. Not like it does when I want to buy a Happy Meal or order a grilled cheese off the kids’ menu.)

I wanted to take pictures of fish, too. The Paint Bank hatchery breeds rainbow, brook, and brown trout. Trout is a lovely, colorful species of fish. And tasty, too. However, we’ve found that the trout released into and caught too soon from our local streams tend to take on the taste of those dog-food-like pellets. And because I’m a naive photographer, I wasn’t thinking about how difficult it would be to take good photos of fish under water and the steady gaze of an afternoon sun.













































































Being adventurous people and because we love being in love and love each other’s company, we decided that, instead of venturing back down the mountains, we would take a left at Paint Bank and see where we would land.

State Route 600 crosses the West Virginia state line and turns into County Road 17, which runs through an unincorporated town called Waiteville, West Virginia. (It takes cajones to live back there. We must have been 60 miles from the nearest IGA.) The road follows the mountain valley through the Jefferson National Forest. Along this road we saw deer grazing in the fields and came upon a farm that raises bison.

“Oh! Ooo! Ooooooo! Ah! Look at that! Stop. Stop! Miiiiichaaaaeeeel, ssstttooooppppp!”

I screamed like someone who had never seen bison before. I screamed at the top of my lungs at the love of my life. The Subaru screeched to a halt in the middle of this country backroad, and Michael broke out in a nervous sweat as I swung open the door and jumped out of the car.

“Michele, there’s nowhere to park! I can’t just stop here! What. Are. You. Doing?!”

I’m a sucker for majesty.

Along this road, we encountered beautiful old barns with faded and rusting tin roofs and rolled hay bales strung neatly in rows. I also saw a unique 15-foot travel trailer (you know, the kind you tow behind a truck). Its owner had built a quaint little roof over it. I would have taken more photos. However, I felt very strongly that Thursday was certainly *not* a favorable day to risk ticks and chiggers. Nor was it a very good day (or place) to get shot.

County Road 17 crosses back over the state line and turns into Big Stony Creek Road, or State Route 635. It passes along the back side of Mountain Lake and ends at 460 in Ripplemead. Heading back toward Blacksburg, we stopped in Pembroke, which is where we put in when we canoe the New River.

The air was thick and wet. The roads were polka-dotted with huge puddles. But the sun was still shining and strong. We realized we had been chasing gulley-washers all day, and a fresh storm was forming and getting ready to cross the river.

Just beyond that bridge and to the left are a set of rapids. In the center, a small, wooded island. To the far right, a narrower waterway. This is where, on one river trip and having just cleared the rapids, Michael and I realized that we had forgotten the keys to our second car, parked up-river at our take out spot in Ripplemead. This is where we drug Big Red, our old Coleman canoe, against the raging current through that narrow waterway. This is also where I almost lost a whole toenail.

(Because, in all of my infinite wisdom that day, I chose to wear Tevas instead of tennis shoes. And, no, I have never worn Tevas to the New River again.)

The thing about the New River at Pembroke is that it looks so tranquil, like the epitome of peace. But it is not. It is vicious. It flows north for a reason.

After a short prayer for my toenail so soon ripped from its fleshy bed, we headed up 460 into Blacksburg. It was time for a visit to PK’s. Michael filled his belly with some of his favorite chicken wings, and I had the best turkey-and-smoked-gouda sandwich that I have ever eaten.

I snapped this final photo from the car window, the last blue crescent moon of sky light before running into rain.

Saturday, August 21, 2010

Impromptu Day Trip to the West Virginia State Fair; A Photo Essay…


Michael was just barely finished mowing the yard this morning when the phone rang.  I answered it, and on the other line was his lovely, wonderful mother saying, “Oh, shit!  I forgot today was the last day for the WV State Fair!  Do you all want to go?”

Of course we wanted to go.  We would do anything for that lady.  And if the State Fair was where she wanted to be, well, we would be right there with her.  I’ll admit.  The prospect of spontaneous state fairing was exciting to me.  I’m all about the spontaneity.

What follows are things we saw, gawked over, made fun of, and genuinely enjoyed.  I hope you to do!  Thank you, Momma Kay, for such an amazing day!
Very large pigs at Napper’s House.

Momma Goat standing over her babies.












Soulful Goat with stories in his eyes.












HAMS!












Three Baby Goats getting’ their grub on.












Another Baby Goat chowin’ down.












Momma and Baby Goat Chillin’ with a capital C.












Dwarf Bunny












Dwarf Bunny snoozin’.












Bunny wondering, “Who the hell is checking me out now?” 











Monster Bunny.  You may have seen her in your nightmares.











Angora Bunny.  “I will NEVER be a sweater!”












Floppy-Eared Bunny.  “I’m not sad; my ears were just made that way.”











BBQ Shack was the real deal!












Yours truly getting ready to devour the largest ear of roasted corn that I’ve ever seen!  It was oh-so-good.











Pavlov’s Ducks












Baby Turkeys catchin’ a tan under the sun lamp.












Baby Chicks on the playground.












Animated Sun Catchers.










 

John Deer Tractor made of hay bales.  Hey, it won 1st Place!










Mmmmmmm. Oversized Cinnamon Buns.  No, we did not eat one.











Toward the Midway.  Momma had to get her smoke on.











Papa says, “Hey!  There were just there a minute ago.  Dang!”











Just outside the midway.












Future Farmers of America.  Michael said, “Good tenderloin!”











Midway.












Another Midway shot.












Swings!  Round and round.  And round we go.  Where we’ll stop?  Nobody knows!











Midway food rules!












Headed to the Horse Show?












More Midway madness.












Shaquille O’Seal.  Fo’real.












More Midway madness.












Best in Show.  The quilt display was plentiful, and the craftsmanship was simply amazing!















Tye Dye!  A few of my favorite things.












Cornstalks.












Winning melons.  No.  Not mine.  :)












Squash!  We’ve got your squash here!












Veggies.












More quilts.  Do you know the tremendous amount of time that it takes to make a quilt?











Tomatoes.  Yummy summer.












Award winning hot peppers.












Unlike any hot peppers I’ve ever seen.












Quilts of the smaller sort.












Very large octagon quilt.  My eyes crossed, then it set off a migraine.  No lie.











Proof that we really were at the West Virginia State Fair!











Mechanical Bull.  Needs no further commentary.












That’s Puddin’ the Cat.  Ruler of the house where we parked our car.











That’s Booger the Posing She Dog.  Also a member of the household where we parked our car.











This is our $5.00 parking spot.  Its proximity to the Fair’s front gates was fabulous.

The people who let us park our car in their yard were so friendly.  In fact, everyone we met today was nice.  The only thing missing (or that we couldn’t find) was a beer garden.  Turns out, we didn’t need it.  The handcrafted Ben-Ellen Doughnuts produced a very similar effect.  I would have taken a picture of them, but I was far too busy stuffing my face with that homemade goodness.  Maybe you can make the trip there next year to see for yourself.