Remember that time I was attacked by peacocks at Mayfield Park and wrote an essay about it? Because I like to live on the edge, I returned to the scene of the crime and told a live version of the story, surrounded by the very same peacocks, for the Night of the Peacock Benefit organized by Max Langert and Cinnamon Path Productions. My husband recorded my performance (probably in case we needed evidence for a peacock-attack related insurance claim) and it's available to watch from the comfort of your peacock-free home.
I'm super excited to be participating in Camp NaNoWriMo this April. I'm primarily an essayist and poet, so I've never participated in NaNoWriMo (the attempt to write a 50,000 word novel in November). But, I stumbled across the Camp NaNoWriMo website and saw that it offered the flexibility to work on a variety of writing projects including poetry, and I was intrigued. It's free, fun, summer camp-themed, the t-shirts feature a Storysquatch, I'll have an excuse to eat "working" s'mores -- there's nothing that could make me love this more.
I’ve been thinking about Hestia lately, the virgin goddess of home and hearth. Basically, her story goes like this: she was pursued by both Apollo (the god of the sun) and Poseidon (the god of the sea), but rejected both of them and chose to remain a perpetual virgin in order to keep the peace. As a reward, Zeus gives her the duty of maintaining the fires of the Olympian hearth. Oh, and the hearth isn't portable, so she was rewarded with a life in the kitchen... forever.
Share This: Last weekend I was sitting in the drive thru of a fast food restaurant (attempting to salvage our weekend after our son hated the South American food we had for lunch) when across the parking lot I noticed a hurt pigeon. One of its wings was stretched out at a weird angle like...
It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon, the skies were clear, there was a slight breeze, but the peacocks… the peacocks were angry that day, my friends…A few weeks ago, my son and I picked up lunch at the grocery store and went to Mayfield Park for a picnic. It’s a popular Austin park known for...
When I was a kid, my favorite ride at Disney World was always 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. I loved it. There was something wonderful about voyaging under the sea. Maybe it was the water, the colors, the fantastical ruins of Atlantis, or how my heart would race as the giant squid wrapped its tentacles around the Nautilus and all seemed lost before we wrestled free and triumphantly made our way back to the serene beauty of the tropical lagoon.
Share This: Sitting in a nook where a quiet residential street turns to meet the lively chaos of South Congress Ave in Austin, Texas, is one of Candy Chang’s Before I Die walls. Unless you happen to drive through the neighborhood, or walk back that way to avoid the crowds, it would be easy to...
Share This:My name is pretty neat: Ava Love Hanna. Hanna is my married name. I only recently added that part after my son was born. For most of my life I was Ava Love. It’s a cool name. It stood out. It was unique. Share This:
I grew up in Houston, Texas. If you've never been to Houston, I can describe it for you like this: just imagine any dystopian movie and then replace all the crazed brain-eating zombies with crazed brain-eating conservatives and there you go. To be fair, Houston’s come a long way lately, but when I was growing up there, it was the late 80's/early 90’s. And Houston in the 90’s certainly wasn't known for its picturesque parks, art scene, or lesbian mayor. Houston in the 90's was largely known for its suburbs and its malls, neither of which I felt particularly drawn to. I knew there had to be more to life than to grow up, live by a big mall, and then die.
There are eggs cooking in a pan. Why are there so many songs about rainbows and what’s on the other side? The notes drift into the kitchen and I feel them in my chest, know them by heart. There’s a special joy in unexpectedly hearing a song you love right when you need to hear it; a little gift from the universe. Serendipity. He heard it too and runs to me; his 6 year old hands outstretched, inviting me to dance. I move the half cooked eggs off the burner. Breakfast can wait, my dance partner can’t.