Dear Tic Tacs,

The dog smells like you.  Upon his return from doggy camp they bathe him (my mother's favorite part) and now he smells like Tic Tacs just before they start to dissolve.  At first we thought it was a cookie smell, but that was not quite right.

I know that Christmas is not a time for criticism and critique but, too late.  The Christmas Special.  She saves everything because she loves her husband and her kids? Yeah, sure, it had me crying like a baby, but it felt boring.  Can this woman do nothing else? Can women do nothing else?

As I said, Christmas is not the time for critique.


love,
hannah

Dear Stratford on Guy,

I always think of this song as I'm coming into O'Hare.  It's really only the first couple of lines, but they always come to mind as the plane comes in over the city.  One time I was able to listen to it as the plane landed, and that was a beautiful, and kind of surreal moment.  Another reason I think I liked this song when I first heard it was because I was really interested in Shakespeare and I enjoyed the play on his hometown, even if I didn't really understand it.

I have returned from Costa Rica, or as I have dubbed it Cute-sta Rica for its ability to transform me into a fourth grade girl.  Sadly, I did not return with any super cute animals in tow.  But, there's always the chance that when we go to pick up the dog at Petsmart I could pick something up stateside. 


love,
hannah

Dear Costan Rican reading list,

For those that are wondering, I'm headed to Costa Rica tomorrow.  We're going on our last real family vacation before I go off and join the world as an adult. 

Here's what I'm bringing to read:
The Marriage Plot by Jeffrey Eugenides
Class by Cecily Von Ziegesar
The Other Wes Moore by Wes Moore
Packing for Mars by Mary Roach

Two fiction, two nonfiction, looking to trade with my fam once we get there.

Oh, and there's a volcano and rainforest to explore as well. 

AND SLOTHS.  So excited for the sloths.  Get pumped world, me and sloths, comin' at cha. 

See you again, post-sloth, pre-2012.


love,
hannah

Dear Gone in the Morning,

I am hooked on this song right now.  It came on shuffle yesterday evening and I have been listening to it non-stop ever since.  Once I started listening, I've been needing to dance.  It feels like my whole body is itching.  I even remembered this one move from African dance over the summer and sat through a play last night just wanting to dance. 

Even now, in public I just want to sing this song out loud and dance down the street. 

I am in a serious countdown mode.  In less than a week I will be home preparing to head to Costa Rica.  But, this year the countdown feels less happy.  I'm weirdly happy, and strangely disconnected from the stress that's setting in right now. 

I'll just keep listening to this song. 


love,
hannah

Dear Meryl Streep and Stanley Tucci,

Can we be best friends? Or at least, can I go to dinner with you guys? You seem awesome, and a lot of fun.  We can talk about working class history, Mean Girls and arts education.  You guys would care about my finals and have brilliant things to say.  Or, we could share some pizza, or a martini.

Your pick.  Come to Minnesota?


love,
hannah

Dear final madness,

I'm splitting my blogging time these days.  Check out this joint endeavor with Caitlyn.  It makes decidedly less sense, but it's probably more fun.

love,
hannah

Dear Jellyfish,

A friend who has come to visit the Twin Cities periodically throughout the fall always asks me two questions when we see each other: Are you happy? Do you feel loved? (The first time she asked this question she asked "Do you feel like the world is cradling your heart in between its palms?" I wasn't sure if that was true, but I did feel loved.) These are two simple but sometimes difficult questions to answer and the answers aren't always what you expect.  Well, my answer to one of them has not changed.  I have felt loved this entire season and school year.

Last night I felt loved.  After months of writing and thinking and brainstorming and walking around the space and rehearsing we finally premiered the Jellyfish Project.  The show is about stereotypes of women that appear in film and trying to find some reality in them, a morsel of truth.  In so many ways the Jellyfish Project is an extension of my work in Feminisms in Progress, but very different.  I was so pleased with what we had come up with and as we got closer to show time I became nervous that what I thought was beautiful and insightful would appear confusing and garbled to those watching.  (Don't worry, that wasn't the case.)  The show went off without a hitch and from what I heard from friends every nuance and every little idea we had tried to pack into the show was understood in some way or another.  I have so much love for the women I worked with to create this show and who jumped into this project trusting that I would lead them even when I had no plan at all. 

Even more than my ensemble, I felt so much love for my posse.  Those who love and care about me were there, right up front (I picked out the best seats for them, of course).  In the end I was left with such a feeling of joy because these people were there to support me, no matter what I was working on they would have been there.  My posse was there to support me in my work out of love, and they were just so happy to do it.  My heart was cradled in between their palms. 

What an incredible posse I have, what an incredible group of people I have to guide me and support me and share our lives.  And, always with a strange understanding that this posse will dissolve, it wasn't meant to last and before long we will scatter across the globe and rely only on Facebook.  I suppose that's a grim way of looking at it, but... but it feels strangely true. 

This is just to say that my heart is cradled in between their palms.


love,
hannah