The Moon Zine #09 - Family (May 2016)

Issue

#09

/ Family

May

2016

Dear Readers and Moon Luvers, We are here to support you and love you unconditionally. Like your family (hopefully).

Family is very complex: Generational relationships, race, similar and too similar personalities, lifestyle differences, two people banged to make you (and sometimes they still bang??), blood relationships, in-laws, tv schedules, nontraditional families, nuclear families, pets, your dad teaching/coaching all the people that went to your high school, diapers—WOOF. There’s a lot to say about family, good and bad. Thanks to our contributors for sharing their experiences, laughs, and vulnerabilities.

For future themes, submission deadlines, and anything else, be sure to check in with us online. (See last page.)

Like our previous issues, the numbered pages are original submitted content. Other pages are altered by yours truly and unique to each edition of the issue. Thank you for taking a chance and picking up our zine. Hold on to it, or gift it to your mom, as The Moon Zine is one of kind.

You sure are getting big, The Moon

the moon zine staff bios:

Julie Davis - it’s obvious Allison Sissom - classic middle child in all possible ways.

Wes Harbison - Oldest of four. Occasional third parent.

Josh Saboorizadeh - middle child sorta/it’s complicated Lauren Kellett - only child, but turned out awesome staff picks: family tradition

Julie - O Brother, Where Art Thou? is a Christmas film Allison - When we were kids, we carved pumpkins in our underwear. We also played a game called Underwear Head.

Wes - Dad puts on iRobot in the minivan dvd player even though we all beg him not to. Then we drive forever.

Josh - Dad chasing us around the house with a spatula singing Tim MCGraw I like it, I love it Lauren - Singing and creating choreography to Andrew Lloyd Weber while we do chores

1-800 josephine

by Taylor Kolkmeyer

Josephine the dragon wants a partner in crime. She wants a drunk stranger to put their hand on her shoulder and spill the secrets that could wreck the other side of their life, the boring side.

Except this person wouldn’t be drunk at all, they’d be honest and wicked and they’d make a casual brunch feel like a sleepover. And she knows, Josephine knows, that there is no one that is genuine and spontaneous enough to complete her as a dragon. When you wish for a lover or a confidant it simply isn’t just all that you want. It is a start. Is there a hopeless romantic convention?

Is there a circus coming by soon? I’ll take it! She says. I’ll take it.

There’s not though… She’s gotta round them up.

The first recruiting sign that Josephine makes reads:

this is funny then I like you. Help me with the next step. That is what she decided she would say. Josephine the dragon turns around and no one is actually looking at her.

She looks at her phone number written real big on that poster and feels a rush of adrenaline. Who does this apply to? It applies to Josephine obviously. She’s a house that has been built fresh, decorated and color coordinated, furnished and stocked. Even the bottom of the sink is dry and shined but there’s no guest to wreck it. Josephine is the last 15 minutes of class where your elementary school teacher says FINE we can play heads up 7 up. We are so excited about this time! What a stupid game we got so pumped for. Josephine is that kid that just played heads up 7 up and went home and didn’t have any homework actually.

LOST YOUR PASSION?

What kinds of weir UNSURE ABOU T THE F U TURE? dos are going to call her?

IN NEED OF A NEW IDENTIT Y? She became very anxious

RUN AWAY WITH ME but in an excited way. She

314-971-5321 felt like her eyes were ac She makes one big poster and tually bright. Josephine enters a resglues it to the brick along a busy street. taurant and sits in a bathroom stall She flattened out the edges with her with her phone in her lap. claws and felt the burning of stares at Any moment now. the back of her head. No! She’s think- Probably. ing. No, I don’t have a game plan for Wow! This city is so healthy. Everyone this I just want to talk to someone who is so happy with their lives. No one likes this poster. Okay? If you think needs a partner in crime. Wow, yeah.

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Josephine is fucking tired now and “JOSAembarrassed.

She wishes there was a video with a fEEn MARIE!! What the hell are you cute doinky little song and the only thinking, putting your personal phone image is Josephine hitting her head number in big red letters for anyone against the bathroom wall. It would be to get to you? Who did that? Is someone fucking with you, Jo? I’m reading a off beat, too. sign that’s asking people to call YOUR She writes on the wall number if they want to run away, Jo. Do you get high off your fantasies?

That’s weird. Who did that to you?”

314 971 5321 “Mom…” Tell me a secret “Is that… Is that something you put 314 971 5321 up there?”

Call me if you want to hear a secret “Yeah, I thought it was funny” 314 971 5321 “That’s not safe, Jo.” “I can take it down.”

Tell me about your favorite fantasy “You know what, baby?

314 971 5321 How bout you come Call me if you want to hear about my favorite fantasy down tonight and have 314 971 5321 dinner with me and Call me if you want me to say something you want to hear your dad?”

314 971 5321 “Um, yeah. I can do Do you want to hear a joke? that, Mom.” 314 971 5321 “I mean, if you have something planned Can I do your makeup? or if you have to work early tomorrow I understand baby I was just-” 314 971 5321 “Mom I already said I can come over” Josephine feels weird about all these “Okay chick, get over here then. Be things she’s written on the wall and careful. I love you.” she goes home.

It’s bright, it’s lunchtime, she’s playing the sims 3 for PC on her bed.

Her phone buzzes on the wood floor and it’s so loud! It didn’t need to be because she was listening so hard for that noise. Who wants to hear a joke? Who wants to be her new best friend? Who has a plan for my free-for-all life, Josephine says. Who. It’s mom.

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Provisional Painting: Summer Fan Allison K. Sissom

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For this first work, I used provisional painting, complex layering, and self-reflective images that depict how I connect places, objects and time in my life. This painting specifically serves as a point of reflection for the summers of my childhood.

In this 30 x 40 inch work, I used washes of acrylic paint with an accent of silver metallic paint. I chose to use washes to emphasize the connection to water and create layers in the work.

I chose to accent with silver metallic paint for several reasons. First, the metallic paint reminds the viewer of the metal cage around the fan blades and second it encourages viewer movement, allowing for a simultaneous dingy and shiny appearance. As the viewer moves closer, the metallic paint fades and pencil markings become visible, which shows the process of the work (an important aspect of provisional painting).

As the viewer moves left to right, as the fan would oscillate, the metallic paint dwindles and then reemerges. This movement enhances the work.

The subject matter of the painting, water and the fan, are paired together to prompt the feeling of summer. As a child, both of my grandparents had swimming pools. I remember spending most of my summer swimming in either place. Also I felt the color of the swimming pool water echoed the colors in the fan, which has a more personal significance. The fan depicted in the

work is the exact fan my parents own, and I remember playing with as a child.

One of the most notable aspects to the fan is the piano key style buttons.

Outside of these connections, I am not entirely sure why I was so motivated to depict the fan my parents own. Originally, I was going to pay homage to my Aunt Judy using the antique fan as a representation of her and her family.

My cousin Jennifer, my Aunt Judy’s daughter, lost parts of her fingers as a child to an antique fan. Despite the morbidity of the work, I felt it would make a great painting. As time passed, I decided I had no connection to the antique fan and instead decided to paint the fan my parents own, which I had not seen or used in years. It seemed to be a more appropriate choice, as I had never seen the fan that cut off my cousin’s fingers. I remember as a child playing with this fan and wondering how it all happened, which is what connects me to this piece.

At this point in the work, I feel disappointed. I think it is missing something and lacks depth. It is not as intellectually stimulating. I wanted to add fiber elements to the work; however, I think it would clash with how the picture is painted. Any fiber element I would be too crisp or clean. I thought about adding a close up of the piano key buttons, but I think that may only add to the banality. Conversely, I might add a map over the work, with three points of in-

terest, my home and both of my grandparents’ homes. I am afraid that it might make the work too busy. I am not sure what to do next, but this work is certainly not finished, please consider it as a work in progress.

Cousins

by Maddie Smith we laughed, we ate a lot of cake, we didn't talk, we yelled a little, we whispered to each other, we rolled our eyes, we were in on it, we were out of the

loop, we secret handshook on it, we bought each other shirts, we got arrested, we stubbed our toes, we felt guilty, we lost weight, we dated, we cried

but didn't tell each other, we messed up, we got raises, we missed each other. we're apart, but we're always together.

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table with no food on it

by Chris Moody *************

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Family Emails

by Allison K. Sissom

Family Emails all recieved on March 2nd From: Melinda Sissom Time: 9:00am Subject: CELL PHONE LADIES, I LEFT MY CELL PHONE AT HOME. IF YOU NEED ME CALL ME AT WORK 636-***-**** EXT 2***. LOVE MOM From: Melinda Sissom Time: 9:21am Subject: Phone Dad brought me my phone – I have it back.

From: Cassandra Sissom Time: 9:50am Subject: jazz I love you. the end. ps. i want a PANDA DOG!!! *picture of two baby goats *picture of kola *picture of sleeping baby rabbit *picture of hedhog *picture of puppies *picture of dog dyed to look like a panda From: Mark Sissom Time: 11:16am Subject: FW: What a HOOT ! But, how did they do it?

Too, too cute! *video Love, Dad

Sound on

From: Melinda Sissom Time: 1:54pm Subject: hey We need to talk about the airport taxi crap.

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Julie Davis

by Jacque Davis ************

by Jacque Davis ************

The Moon Zine presents:

Cut it out!

a mOON zINE mAMA’S COOKIE rECIPIE

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My dad was born in Iran and my mom was born in South County. My last name gives away my Iranian descent much like McAnything (Irish) or SomethinSomethinOvich (Russian). Most people in the States don’t know that. So much of race is perceived by the color of skin and it is something I have struggled with. To elaborate, when I was in High School I had gone to my parent’s mosque. There was a man (SLU Med. Doctor) that needed help taking some stuff out of his trunk. When I went to help he asked me who I was there with. No judgement or hesitation in allowing me to help but my existence was in question. When I let him know that my dad was standing 5 feet from us, he gave a hearty laugh that I found uncomfortable.

“I thought you were married to someone here” (like it’s your fucking business anyway)

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My dad and mom split when I was young.

Dad got remarried to someone of the same national origin and I was gifted two half siblings—both with much darker skin than mine. When we all would go

park with maryam and nima ********************

On Race

by Josh Saboorizadeh

out as a family my difference from the group would always get to me. Going to play outside with my little brother and sister seemed to throw the neighbors off because there is only one scenario a white teen would be walking a brown girl around the block.

“So who are you, her babysitter?” (like it’s their fucking business anyway) I wanted to be considered just as foreign as my parents. I wanted the world to perceive me as I perceived dad. I wanted to fit in with my family.

As my emotional intelligence strengthened my feelings came from a healthier place. I began to understand that being biracial wasn’t that scandalous because it’s pretty common. There is most certainly a biracial presence in our society and for some reason we don’t talk about it.

On Race

By Julie Davis

I will start off with a few things.

I am white. As far as I’m aware, I do not have any non-European ancestors. I have 5 cousins.

Total. 4/5 of those cousins are biracial. I have two cousins who are ½ Korean and two cousins who are ½ black.

When I was younger, I guess I noticed that my cousins and aunts looked different from the rest of the family, but it was never talked about. It didn’t need to be. Or I don’t know, maybe it did need to be talked about (but we all loved each other so why the fuck would we waste our time talking about our appearances?

Let’s play video games, instead.)

Racism exists. So, I think my family didn’t talk about the biraciality of some of its members because they didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that we weren’t all the same race, because drawing attention to it would mean it was bad, right?

Or would make my cousins or aunts feel bad, right? It’d be negative attention, right?

Nah. Like I said, racism exists.

Race is a pivotal point in our society, not saying it should be.

But it is. And I think it should be talked about.

At my workplace, we’ve had this local group of parents and young children come hang at our events. This group is comprised mostly of white families, but does not exclude nonwhite families. The families get together to read stories and talk to their children about race. My boss mentioned to me “yeah, most nonwhite families don’t join the group because they talk about race more often than white families.

They don’t need to join.” She’s absolutely right. My white family didn’t talk about race a lot. We openly accept anyone no matter what race, etc. and that’s that. But not all families do that and even though my family is very open-minded, accepting, and loving, I still think we need(ed) a more open dialogue about race.

Recently, I found out my friend Caity is ¼ Mexican. Throughout my life, I’ve circled around whether race is “important” or not.

When I was young, it didn’t matter what someone’s ethnic background was, everyone’s a human with feelings, rights, challenges, etc--and we should love everyone as ourselves. And hell yeah I still live by that-that “it doesn’t matter what color someone is” sentiment. But, I don’t think that’s the whole conversation. Racial injustice exists today. If we openly talk to our kids about race, I personally think it would help. My boss has collected many books that talk about race--about our similarities and our differences. If we talk about our differences, we’ll better understand what challenges others have and we will be better equipped to help each other. Back to Caity, I reacted in a strange way. Continued on page 34…

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“baby”

by Chris Drew my mother had almost all of her teeth pulled out a few weeks ago and now i am thinking about the carol burnett show and eating cereal for breakfast i am not an original i want a fulfilling career i want to look good in the clothes i wear don’t worry i want a living space to fill with meaningful things i want to believe things can be meaningful i even want to make bourbon fudge for xmas but my mother won’t be able to eat it

Family Room

by Bob Boston ************

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101 Dalmatians-Effect

by Chris Colgin

My dog looks more like my ex-girlfriend than me, and I think she's starting to notice. She's a blonde lab with big, brown eyes, and a soft nose. But it's her walk—her slow saunter that no longer keeps pace with mine—which seems to suggest she's onto me, that there's been a major shift in our apartment since Cait left a month ago. I'm not surprised she noticed, I just didn't think it'd be like this.

The first time Callie woke to find six legs in our bed instead of eight, she didn't seem to care. She stood up like usual and yawned with a breath that woke, and I watched her eyes take account of the bedroom. I was still in that dimensional-droppedoff-in-the-middle-of-nowhere-horribleness that comes after a bad breakup, and I looked over at Cait's pillow as the reality sunk over. But Callie, she just hopped off the bed and went into the kitchen for some water. I did the same, and then we went on a walk.

Getting a dog was Cait's idea. She hadn't said it'd bring us closer or anything (my mom suggested it'd been a subtle test at baby-practice); she just came home from work one day and said it'd be nice.

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I'd never had a dog before. My mom tried to raise me a little afraid of them, I think. Whenever we'd encounter one on the sidewallk, she'd squeeze my hand tight and pull me close. Mom seemed to know that me getting a pet would mean more legwork for her, and she was clever like this. Plus, I got bit once by a neighbor's dog, so that had its dissuasive effect, too. But when Cait suggested visiting a shelter over the weekend, I didn't think raising a dog would be a big deal. She had that way about her.

The walks used to be my favorite part.

We'd go down the street and make one or two laps of the center of town.

Sometimes we'd stop for coffee, and the college-aged barista would bring out a bowl of water for Callie. I'd thank her, and Callie would look up at me after drinking like we were a team.

I started figuring out which bars had patios that allowed dogs, and we made the rounds on most evenings. She got a lot of compliments, and I was usually able to turn them into conversations.

We got Callie older.

I told Cait I didn't think I had it in me to raise a puppy right off the bat, and since she was teaching most the day while I was home trying to write, she gave me that bit of the decision. Everything else was all her—the shelter, the breed,

the dog, the name after her best friend from childhood.

The leash and collar she bought matched her eyes, but I hadn't noticed the 101 Dalmatians-effect until one or two weeks in, when I was watching the two of them sleep on a Sunday, Cait's hair stretching and flowing over Callie's, the reflected sun making our room golden. It was a moment, and I wish I'd stayed there watching until they woke instead of doing whatever it was I thought mattered more.

It used to be that I couldn't put my socks on without Callie freaking the fuck out.

Now she just lies there until I clip on her blue leash. We go around the town square, and the weather's the same.

But our walks these days take longer than they used to; she's languid and lagging, and I have to pull her along to make it across the street before the light changes.

Mom says she might be sick, that I should be a responsible adult for once and take her to the vet. But she doesn't know Callie the way I do. We sit on he couch looking at each other for long stretches of the writing day, and I don't need her to tell me what's wrong.

When Cait said she was leaving, I didn't put up a fight. I'm not that kind of romantic. I just lit a cigarette and watched her eat yogurt. She'd made up her mind, and she was stubborn as hell. That was always something I liked about her.

She'd said it all with dry eyes and a clear voice, and this'd said more than her rehearsed speech.

But when I asked about Callie, she let loose, and I watched her fall over the bed and make a big scene like I was giving up. I left to play pool, and when I got back she was gone. A week or two later, so was her stuff.

Cait used to go on runs with Callie. They'd come back all sweaty, and Cait would drop the leash without unhooking it, and Callie would drag it along to the water in the kitchen. Cait would sit on the couch and say, 'We went so far,' and I'd get up from my desk and go to her. I'd hold her close and breath in her hair and kiss her flushed cheek.

We'd kiss some more, and when we stopped we'd look over to Callie looking at us like she was happy. And we felt happy, too.

I'm not much of a runner, though. I smoke too much, and probably drink too much as well. Callie's figured out the change and shows me with her walk. I see it in her eyes, too. In the morning, she looks up at me while I'm still in bed and there's always this moment that passes between us, a sigh of something deeper than language and further than I want to go just yet, something like giving up.

But we keep going out anyway. Otherwise the apartment would smell like shit.

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29

From Inside

by Andrey Krapivin ***************

by Samie Knobbe *************

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Good Lookin Out

by Donald Justice

Pops died; we all knew it. And I did something I usually don't do to my family -- I kissed his forehead for some reason. Almost magnetically. His forehead was cold, or at least below room temperature, like a ceramic plate in the cabinet, when you're worried it'll maybe cool your dinner too soon. But you want to eat well when you eat well so you eat on china and you just shuffle to the table quickly and do or do not say your graces and get right down to it.

He had been a long time coming.

Drinking -- cheap vodka. The swill that comes in the 1.75L -- that's a hair over fifty nine ounces -- and is better off used as paint thinner. I don't as nearly much now. Sometimes, but not like that. Healthier is better. Not like taking his pain pills, the shit that will make you ralph in half hour but your body feels like it is cumming for the time prior. The shit that does jazz improvisation in the back of your mind and sings scat goosebumps all over ya while fingernails tickle your thoughts.

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It's not a sense of loss, because that loss already happened. When you're sick you're not your same self. Basically dead. You don't have the appetite, will or desire to eat good food, listen to good music or even watch a western. You're a former science teacher dying of cancer barely trying to con-

vince your son to watch Breaking Bad because it is "fucking genius," and it is, but don't think about the parameters of that statement, or how it could make him feel. Despite all the previous angst about being asked to do yardwork or dishes years prior there exists no tenderness on the other end of the sentiment.

When you're already dead you're dead. There's no science. You don't think to look when walking around the house or a Walgreens or anything, you just wander ethereally to oncologists and get your chemo and radiation and rides back and thank christ you didn’t insist on driving.

Moments of lucidity though.

But then with family despite the fact that everyone is doing something their damndest to not think about loss it's hard. But they do find ways. Extracurriculars. Grad school. New hobbies.

Church groups. Guitars. Hell, guitars at church. Church as a guitar.

Then you experience it yourself. Not the sick, but you know, taking care of another living being. Or trying your best at it. So it's been long after you've put down the bottle or whatever it is you crutched yourself with, though you still may stumble if you have your bits

of pain. And we all do. Part of having a pulse. But you watch out for your kiddos. Want them to be happy.

Stupid happy. Tail-wagging-like-achampionship-catamaran-in-thelast-lap-of-the-tournament.

That just so happens to knock off your glass of now tame cab sav.

You miss shit and that's cool. And you notice, too, when you're turning into your predecessors. And at some point that's cool, too. Even welcome.

But if you can't get your happy little pet to like jazz or westerns, that, too, is cool. You just wanna be there for them the same comforting way you remember your parents being there for you in your more challenging hours.

Love's cool like that, man.

There's a lot of good shit out there though, you know? A good olive, the taste of honey, the time I tried Haagen Dazs salted caramel gelato for the first time and said fuckdamn in front of my mother. Thought shit--whoops, wish I didn't say that. She thought it with her bite but didn't say it, didn't give a damn. That's how I feel about family.

Deep, severe confidence, patience and love it's just okay. When a love exists that is true and strong it inspires you to inspire that in others. I can't teach my puppy the subtleties of Breaking Bad but he can't or won't walk away when it gets heavy. We sit there together, and, sometimes, he holds me.

And when his dad looks sad, he does something unusual too. He gives me a kiss on my cold forehead.

On Race by Julie Davis, continued from page 18: I didn’t believe her when she told me she was Mexican. I got excited! Like “holy cow!

Did you all know Caity is Mexican?” Later, I asked myself, “Why did you react like that?” It’s not a big deal that she’s Mexican. It doesn’t matter to me. She’s just Caity. BUT on the other hand, it DOES matter. Your ethnicity (often) plays into traditions, food, language, religion, all that stuff y’all know. Yeah, Caity and I are super similar in a lot of ways, in most ways.

The same with my cousins.

The same with the middleaged black woman who lives across the street. The same with my co-worker who is from Brazil. But damn, we’re all different, too, and that’s the best part.

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Hi Print-Your-Own-Zine folks!

Dropping again in to say that we’re still toying around with this extra page to the right. We’ll likely be keeping it around, we just need to find a better way to present it in the PYOZ document.

All in good time.

So, when you’re done reading this, cut the page right down the middle (hamburger style) and toss this half in the recycling. Take the other half and paste it right on the very last inside page. Or wherever you want! There are no rules!

Thanks and have a good day!!

XOXO

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Credits front cover: 47-96-2062 [Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt with their thirteen grandchildren…], Franklin D. Roosevelt Presidential Library & Museum

below: Image taken from page 99 of ‘Songs for Little People. [With illustrations by H. Stratton.]’, The British Library

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- Fleetwood Mac, “Sisters of the Moon”

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