To Mom & Dad in St. Louis: Summer Days at Retro House

Mom and Dad,

I am feeling a little lonely for you both tonight.

Sometimes I wish you could see my babies. I am so proud of them.



Being home with them during these slow, sweaty, summer days is the greatest joy of my life right now. We eat Popsicles, we lounge in the green room, we fill up the pool and wade our feet, we nap, we eat tacos, we wait for the sunset and put the babies to bed.

Every day seems to creep along at a lazy pace, and then at night, tired from summer's spell, I crawl into bed and ask Chup, "Where did the day go?"

I was reading in the Book of Mormon tonight and liked how Jacob described the experience of life,"and also our lives passed away like as it were unto us as a dream."

That is how these summer days feel like to me, dream-like, dreamy.



Ever is lovely. At night I put her in the crib, turn on her some sweet music and the fanny and sing to her, "Good night Ever Jane, I will see you in the morning" and she actually rolls over and goes to sleep. I think this is quite phenomenal because she sleeps until ten and then wakes up the next morning with the brightest smile face.



Remember this guy?



He likes swimming, he says, "Iwantswinning." When we take him he get so excited he clenches his fists and jaw and laughs hysterically. But when we can't go swinning we just hang out at home with "shuga" meaning Popsicle and "shuga" also meaning motorcycle. He likes to conserve his vocabulary.







Remember this guy too?



He thought he was busy when he worked his Big Fancy job, but I'd wager he's about seven times more busy now that he is home full time. He has taken over all the household laundry partly because he is good at it, and partly because the laundry room is next to his office. He's always carrying big baskets of well-scented laundry up the stairs. Today he made a laundry line the full length of the backyard, and on it he dried all of The Chief's little boy shorts.

And Ever has found heaven in lying on his chest with her entire fist in her mouth.




As for me,



I am trying to be good. I am trying to have the patience to appreciate the dream I am in (it's such a sweet dream). I am trying to remember three daily things: repentance, hydration and to kiss my Chup as much as possible.

Strangely enough, the kissing is the easiest to remember.

Love you,
Courtney Jane

Two Photographers and a Girl

We were having a meeting about our Rooftop Concert Series on the rooftop the other day when Justin Hackworth says to Chup, "Quick, give me your camera. I see a shot."

Cool.





There is a musical treat waiting for you here:

I am c jane and I am a sucker for a bald man with a beard.
contact me:
cjanemail@gmail.com

I Ain't No Fortunate Son, Oh No

Tonight Chup and I are writing fortunes for everyone who comes to Mindy Gledhill's album release concert next Monday. The idea is to raise money for Provo's downtown cultural arts--you donate cash, you get a fortune written by c jane or Chup. Why are you laughing? People pay big money for our fortunes. I mean, they will in the future. See? I just told my own fortune.

As it goes, the fortunes were actually due at 8:00 tonight--per Mindy's request, but it's 10:22pm and we've only written five so far.

Five, no wait. Four. Actually, let me just . . . look at our list so far . . . shuffling papers . . . ok . . . um, reading over them real fast . . . oh . . . scratch that one out (stupid! stupid!) and . . . three. We've written three so far.

It's going to be a long night.

Chup keeps coming up with motivational ones like, "You are what you think about, so think about what you are" which I won't accept because that is not a fortune, that is Yoda. Or Oprah. Or somebody.

I like fortunes that tell the future, you know, give you a sparkle inside your heart.

Here's one I wrote:

"Tomorrow you will find a penny, pick it up, all day long you'll have good luck."

Isn't that a thriller? Don't spend the penny, just pick it up. Pick it up . . . good luck. One whole day. If you got that fortune the night of Mindy's concert, how would you sleep that night knowing what was about to unfold THE NEXT DAY?

That is what I am talking about.

By way of compromising, Chup and I did come together on one fortune so far. After complaining that Chup's weren't foresighty enough he came up with,

"You will be getting a new pet."

Which was . . . well . . . a start. So I added,

"You will be a getting a new pet--a new pet peeve. Enjoy!"

Then Chup looked at me like "are you kidding?" and I looked at him back like, "no I am not kidding, in fact I think it's genius!" and he shook his head and I started laughing deliriously and come to think of it I should probably scratch that one off the list too.

So now we are down to two.

Well, anyway. I've got to get back to fortune telling. It's taxing. If you can't tell.


Here's the poster again, because I know you are coming and I wanted to get you excited:

Just look at what our mayor is up to this time:

I am c jane and if you leave me a comment all of your wildest dreams will come true. Except not the one where you are naked in public. Sorry.

contact me:
cjanemail@gmail.com

Breakfast is Now Served

I had to fight the urge this morning to rub butter all over Ever Jane, powder her with confectioner's sugar, plop a dollop of vanilla pudding on her head and eat her for brunch.

I know, not all mothers come with a tempting sense of parental cannibalism. I learned this when I wrote about desiring to eat The Chief smothered in a peanut curry sauce when he was five months old. Readers were like "Ewwww c jane. That's just weird."

When I read those comments I started to feel a little insecure, was it wrong of me want to ingest a baby between two buns slathered in barbecue sauce and melted swiss cheese? Also, lettuce, pickle and tomato? Maybe bacon? Uppity mustard? So I did what any sensible insecure person would do, I googled "animals who eat their young."

Turns out, humans are not on the list of species who eat their young. So maybe I am weird. BUT it also turns out no one really knows why evolution created filial cannibalism in the first place. Maybe extra protein? My hypothesis is this: if the scientific community could've seen Ever Jane this morning they'd have their answer.

Because mmmmmm. Mmmmmm. Mmmmm.

Stop all studies! We figured it out!

Is what they'd say.


Anyway.

If Ever grows up and doesn't like me one day (it happens, you know) I'll quickly remind her,

"You're lucky I didn't eat you when I had the chance."

In an omelette, dripping with syrup, washed down with a fresh glass of orange juice.

Like a mama wolf spider at IHOP.

I am c jane and I resist the urge to eat my young. Seasoned with Lowry's. Garlic butter. Sprinkled with Parmesan.
contact me:
cjanemail@gmail.com

I Want A Lot of Children

I want a lot of children.

I want their little grubby hands all over me--pulling my hair, squeezing my face, pulling at the bottom of my dresses. I want to dip them in the tub before bedtime and snuggle with their soft bodies when they cry in the night. I want their baby breaths, their toddler tantrums and whatever comes after that. I want to make early morning pancake breakfasts in my fuzzy robe, bed head flapping, children waiting--flipping so many pancakes my wrists are sore.

I want so many children that I call them seven wrong names before I get the right one.

I want a house so full of children that when I open a door or a window, bodies pour out.

I want more children than Chup can remember--

Is this one ours, or the neighbor's?

Here is the problem--mainly--with that wanting:

My ego.

My ego insists on wrapping itself around everything I can't control. Like The Chief at church. I can't control The Chief's disinterest in reverence and it's making me feel like a lackluster mother.

Plus, the Sabbath Day Chase is making my love of wearing sexy shoes to church next to impossible. Asking my ego to forgo fashion is devastating (and I wish I were using that word lightly) did I sign up for this part?

But then, Sister Newly Married from the nursery says to me, "You dress him so cute every week," and my ego inflates to an uncontrollable blimp. Because it is true, my ego dresses him and I think he's one smartly dressed
. . . irreverent human chimpanzee. Sometimes I can't help but swoon myself.

Oh and I can't control Ever's love of snuggling--not that I'd want to--but that little girly likes to burrow herself into my being until we both are skins of sweat. Then! Then I can't control my desire to snuggle her more. Damp babies are like adorable amphibians--there is a compulsion to touch. And ok, lick. Just a little.

Problematically, children come equipped with an irresistible attraction--a severe sphere of undeniable lure. I can't go one hour without asking The Chief for a hug and a kiss and a hug and another kiss. And maybe, just one more hug. And one more kiss. (Two more.)

Sometimes I trade affection for Popsicles.
It makes me feel so vulnerable and . . . cheap.

They will make you love them, these entities called children, they will. It's sick how well they do it too. Just when you want to lock yourself away for the next forty years they do something like apologize "sworry" and you are back to where you started. And my ego, my tender ego, can't handle such intense manipulation.

And maybe worst of all, I let them control my brain power until I can barely finish a sentence. What was I saying?

Oh brain power, right. I am a maternal zombie. I wander the world with once-lukewarm, white regurgitation crusted on my clothes, draped with extra pounds on my body and postpartum hair that has started falling out. In three months I'll try--but fail--to control patches of wispy baby hairs popping out all over my skull. And I do it all for the love of little teeny tiny people who will grow up to be not so teeny tiny and not so dependent and probably not so much in love with me as they are today. Is that so wrong?

What is my ego going to do with all this . . . this . . . overwhelming loss of control? Learn to be humble? Learn to appreciate the uncontrollable elements? Learn to lose myself in this cause with the hope that I will find myself someday? And what will more children create in my life? More chaos, more blessings, more hugs and kisses hugs and kisses hugs and kisses? I am bursting at the seams, it seems.

No more! I can't take it!

I want so many children I'd have to buy an entire laundromat to keep up with the washings, but my ego tells me to shoot for three.

Maybe . . . four.

Probably three.



I am c jane and maybe four. Chup says.
contact me:
cjanemail@gmail.com

Hello Mother, Greetings From Camp Ivegotlice Now! With a Response!

My mother wrote me a pressing email from St. Louis this morning:

Court,
I'm not getting your blogs unless you aren't blogging--what's up? Are you o.k? See what happens when you don't post then your mother starts worrying about you and if you are sick, alive, depressed, etc. Please blog. I love you so much!
your mom

I am suffering from blogger's block. I can't lie, it's bad this time around.

I will work on that, but in the meantime, this is for my mother.

Hey Mom!

This is a picture of me at a girls camp above Cedar City. I went to speak about "Being anchored in Christ." I told the story about going to girls camp when I was 12 and becoming really sick because I didn't acclimatize after being in Seattle (sea level) the week before. That was the same year I realized I had lice--and had spread it around the camp. We had to wash our hair in head-freezing water in the middle of the night.

Do you remember coming up to see me? Do you remember me begging you with all my homesick heart to please take me home? Do you remember refusing me? I will never get over watching your taillights lead down the dirt road that evening. I watched from the cabin's cut-out window with quite possibly the largest lump my throat has ever tried to swallow.

Thanks for not taking me home. I think it was character-building. I survived. And had you taken me home I wouldn't have had a story to tell over two hundred girls at camp twenty-one years later.

But just to be sweet, tell me it was hard for you to leave me. Tell me you stewed the entire car ride home--second guessed yourself and deliberated with Dad, thought about turning the car around. Tell me you couldn't sleep until I was happily home three days later. Tell me you cried. I want tears Mom.

And there is your post,
Court

Post-edit:

Here is what my mother wrote back to me this evening:

Thanks for the blog Courtney. I thought Mary Ellen brought you home but I think that was from the Trek and you threw up. It was something new each year. I'm sorry if after twenty years you still hate me--but I'm sure I knew you would be just fine.

I love you so

your mom

I am c jane and I miss my mother and my mind. In that order.
contact me:
cjanemail@gmail.com

Please Meet My Friends Reagan & Piper Jane

A couple months ago a certain Reagan from Reagan's Blob Hooray! emailed me about her daughter Piper who lives in a hospital. I couldn't wrap my head around that thought, having a child who lives in a hospital, so needless to say, I thought about this email a lot.

And then, in my blogging travels I happened to visit Reagan's Blob Hooray! and cybermet Reagan and her tiny hero of a daughter Piper Jane and I fell in love. I can't see how anyone could visit this blog without becoming a Super Fan--of Reagan because she's beautiful and stylish, but oh-so-funny, but also her handsome, talented husband Jake and of course, our unsinkable Piper Jane.

I emailed Reagan back and begged her to guest post for me. I asked, "Will you write about that moment when you have to say good bye to Piper at the hospital and you feel your chest all heavy and HOW DO YOU GET OVER THAT FEELING?" Because I wanted her to tell me something that would calm the mother in me. I wanted to know that if I had to, I could do it too.

This is her response.

When I leave Piper's house on a good day, she's distracted by a toy or a book and the sting of separation is faint. We played on the floor, she likely tried to pull my earrings out and she pretty much mauled me with Pippy love for the last few hours. I smile that the visit was successful and I get in the car already looking forward to the next time I can see her. When I leave on a bad day, she makes a puss face, holds onto the bars of her crib and watches me leave. My chest is heavy and I hate myself for having obligations that take me away from her. I get in the car and put on a french song that I'm pretty sure translates to exactly how I feel (I don't speak french, for all I know the song could be about total nonsense, but please don't tell me the song is about total nonsense), and cry medium to gigantic tears on the way home.

Piper Jane is my three year old daughter, and she lives at a rehab facility about 30 miles outside of Manhattan, where my husband and I live. She has never been home with us, and has spent her whole life bouncing from one hospital to the next. She has a rare condition called Cerebro Costo Mandibular Syndrome. Her tiny little Pippy body is effected in many ways, but probably most severely in her rib cage, where she only has half the ribs she should. Having a small rib cage prevents her lungs from expanding all the way, so she is very dependent on a ventilator and unable to come home.

People ask me sometimes what it is like for me to not have the Pip at home and how it feels to leave her. It's never easy, it's a little isolating at times and often I don't feel like I can call myself a real mom. I feel guilt for my good health, having a job, doing fun things with friends and not being able to see her every day. When I'm asked these questions, things stick out to me like the time I came home to my husband taking apart her crib after realizing it wouldn't be used for a very, very long time. That one was hard for us, she was 7 months old.

I can vividly remember the shock of finding out my baby was sick while I was 17 weeks pregnant, the annoyance of tests and three times a week ultrasounds, the trauma of her early/emergency delivery and the endless worrying during her first fragile year of life, but I can even more vividly remember my favorite visits with her, and the hilariously adorable things she does. Her milestones are really marathonstones, <-let's pretend that's a thing, and we celebrate achievements that might go un-noticed in a more normal family situation. It's our way of coping, surviving and learning to love the trials that the three of us have been given.

She is scared of feather boas and hand puppets and lays face down with her hands over her head to hide from them. She turns the pages while I read to her, holds her arms out when she wants to be picked up and that Pip even puts her arms through her sleeves all by herself when I dress her. One day I discovered that Piper Jane recognizes me and I'm pretty sure she even knows I'm her mom. It became obvious that I'm her favorite. Booyah. Don't be jeal!

Just after she turned two, I got a video message from Jake of that little Pipsqueak standing up for the first time, in her crib, holding on to the bars with the most wobbly knees and biggest grin I had ever seen. I know the first time standing is a big deal for every child, but for a little Pip it is even more of a challenge, and we all went ape. Bakers (my family), Breinholts, nurses, childhood friends, former roommates and coworkers all going ape in honor of a Pip. Let me know if you want to go ape with us next time. (secret-I don't really know what "go ape" means)

Sometimes Piper Jane gets sick. Almost every winter she gets a nasty infection or pneumonia that sends her to the PICU. She has had every kind of line (IV, PICC, Art, IO...) you can get and looking close at her little body can feel like looking at a pin cushion. She has been hooked to a room full of huge machines, given heavy medications that induce a coma and had allergic reactions that cause her little body to swell so much that she is unrecognizable. We don't leave her side. We don't sleep and we don't eat enough. We sit by her bed for several hours without saying a word. We pray, we cry and we wait. And then she gets better. She always does. Pippy fights and kicks (literally, she kicks) until she is well. She spends the next few months recovering and she starts back up with therapy to regain the progress she lost. We hate those times, they are scary and hard and it hurts more than anything to see your child so sick. We worry that we'll lose her. We worry that she wont recover. And then when she gets better we try our best to appreciate the sunshine she brings us. Like that one time she looked down my shirt and laughed.

We carry on as if it's all normal. We have to, it's the only way we can be happy and thankful. Jake let's me fuss to pieces over doing Pipsey's hair and dressing her in miniature clothes so cute I want to both decorate my apartment in them and eat them for a meal...and he stays up late making her a custom chair that's just her size so she can use it for therapy. We both melted into soggy puddles this year when she was interested in her birthday presents for the first time. Last December we talked the whole way home about how she pounded and strummed the volunteer's guitar at the Christmas party and then turned around to make sure we were watching her. We put on our nicest clothes and take family pictures. We use the Pandora app and sing songs together (Piper hums her own little song). We lay on the floor and let that Pip go to town studying the inside of our noses, poking us in the eye and tapping Jake's watch.

Our family is different, our trials are very trial-y, but we can do it because our Pip is so dang Pippy.

We do our best to be a happy family.

We're the Breinholts and we're nailing it.




The Jolly Porter is back for the summer!

What to do on Pioneer Day, other than go to Spanish Fork:

I am c jane and my favorite post on Reagan's Blob is this one--warning you will cry.
contact me:
cjanemail@gmail.com

The Busiest Day of My Life (with photos!)

Dear Weblog,

I want to write about the busiest day of my life.

No, no it's entertaining, I swear. I swear it! Lots of photos and with a grand finale too!

Here it goes:

The busiest day of my life so far was July 2nd 2010. May I never, never, never live another day like July 2nd 2010 because although it was full of tricks and treats it nearly killed me one week later--as already recorded on this very same weblog, see: near death experience.

(But anyway, hooray for life!)

9:00am

Meeting at Sarah Wiley's house with Mindy Gledhill to discuss an upcoming concert series this blog (yes, this very blog cjanerun.com) is sponsoring to benefit the cultural arts in downtown Provo. We think the concert series shall be called the "Rooftop Series" because two of them will take place on a rooftop in downtown Provo this September and October. Brooke White anyone? Crushing on Benton Paul (as are the Jonas Bros)? They will be there on the rooftop on September 10th. Booked, ready to put on a show!

You are invited . . . it's free!

And I can't be more thrilled about it. I really can't. I tried. Let me try again. Nope. I am so excited to be apart of this experience and to give back to the community that gave and gave to me and my family when we were in need. It's so lovely.

But perhaps the best part of all is that our first show will be Mindy Gledhill's album release concert at the Covey on August 2nd. All of her ticket sales will also go to fund the arts downtown--plus concert goers can buy the album before the rest of the good world.

Weblog, look at this concert poster, isn't enchanting?
(Jed Wells)
+
(Blue Lily)

See? cjanerun.com in the balloon? That is why I was at the meeting. Because putting on all of these concerts requires meetings and talking about stages and lighting and publicity and before I knew it, The Chief had pulled every high-end, Wiley-owned transportable toy out of the toy closet and on the floor where he sat in a voluminous traffic jam in the middle of it all.

It was ten o'clock before I made this discovery.

"I have another meeting right now," I said to Sarah picking up my young conductor, but I will back this afternoon to pick all of those up."

"No you won't," said Sarah. As in "don't be ridiculous."

But I swore in my determination that I would.

10:00am

Meeting with Sweet Jim and his sidekick Jose. He's my business guy. His business is my business, my business is his business. He's the one who gets all my dearcjane@gmail emails about advertising and rates and occasionally emails from women passionate about their bras (you know who you are, and we loved that email!)

But really, this is what meetings with Sweet Jim and Jose are really like:

One entertains us, while the other entertains our child--my kind of meeting.

That's why we pay them BIG BUCKS$$$

12:00pm

Lunch for Chup.

Lunch for The Chief.

Lunch for Ever.

Lunch for me? I ain't got the time.

1:00pm

Time to put the small monkey pets to bed for a nap. As I successfully put the smallest monkey pet down I closed the door and turned around to see Chup exiting the older monkey pet's bedroom looking whiter than a bag of cotton balls.

"He's out. I am going down. I don't feel so good," he said wobbling down the hall to our bedroom.

Oh no! My wingman down? Not on a day like today! Not on the busiest day I have ever lived!

It always happens like this! Wingman down on the day of flight!

2:00pm

My brother Steve, wife Suze and children who are to be our house guests for the next few days show up. Suze and I sit down and go over accommodations, babysitting, schedules and how hot my house felt at that moment.

"Chup is not so good," I warned her. "He is in bed and says he'll probably be there for most of the day. He can't move."

"We'll help you," offered Suze like she always does. Oh Weblog, what would I do without Suze?

Picture of me and Suze:

3:00pm

I left to get my hair did by Ashlee. With my Wingman out and The Chief being tended to by our house guests, I bravely took my daughter to the salon with me knowing full well what was at stake.

She cried the entire time, mostly.

Poetically though, Ashlee was able to give me Victory Rolls and created nothing short but a masterpiece in the back of my head.

Looky, see?



And she was able to whip it all together in one short hour.

That's why I pay her the BIG BUCKS $

(Only, I forgot my wallet in all of the chaos, so she donated this do. Isn't she charitable too?)

4:30pm

My best friend Wendy's birthday pool party.

(Chin down c jane--oh well, nevermind.)

I had a suspicion that this would be Wendy's last birthday part as a single woman. In commemoration I wanted to do something extra! extra! so I asked Azucar arguably my most talented friend to make her a birthday cake to end all birthday cakes. A mermaid theme, I thought.

What I didn't know (but should've expected) was hand-crafted AND hand-painted starfish, shells and other delightful gifts of the sea. And to top it all off (literally) were two mermaid tails making for a W at the top of the cake. Does all of this sound like a good dream? Or at least dreamy?

It was.



And it tasted like good cake. Not like pretty cake. Like GOOD CAKE.

By-the-way, Wendy appeared at that birthday party with a vintage engagement ring on her left hand.

(SQUEAL!)

6:00pm

I had to hurry and change into my party frock (the first of two eShakti dresses for the evening) so I could decently attend Mr. Justin Hackworth's 30 Stranger's exhibit reception. Chup was supposed to be my date, of course. But did you hear? He was sick? But he slid out of bed and took me in the car and drove around downtown so Ever would stay asleep so I could run in and marvel at the art and kiss a few cheeks. Plus downtown was bonkers and I knew a parking spot was going to be impossible or next to it.

Kissing cheeks with Ashlee (who checked to make sure my hair was in place ) and her sister Stacey.

Kissing cheeks with Mindy--who hadn't had enough of me for one day (I mean, I hope).

Kissing cheeks with Mr. Hackworth--ok not really because Chup would be jealous, instead, nostril shot:

True to Hackworth style, the exhibit was moving. I became a lover of humanity all over again.

7:00pm

Next up, and last of all, was my family's Gala. We do this every year. This year was a little different because our parents weren't in attendance. Sad face.

But we did our best to eat really tasty food, make really funny jokes and look exceptionally good. For them. We did it for them. Even Chup, who pulled it together and attended with a smile.

Why, even Ever Jane showed up in her fanciest hat:

So fancy, even (Jed Wells) couldn't help but take her photo:

9:00pm

The Gala's entertainment hour began. This time we were absolutely spoiled to be serenaded by The Lower Lights--a hymn revival. Oh Weblog, where do I begin about The Lower Lights? Maybe like this: if we put together some of the best musicians of our culture and gave them the opportunity to take sacred music from all of Christianity and interpret it in away that was moving and full of spirit and they came together live to deliver that music to our souls, that might (MIGHT) be a good start.

Ryan Tanner, I am your biggest fan.

My family was floored by this experience. We cried, we clapped, we sang along. Even my brother Stevie, perhaps our toughest music critic sat impressed. This was a gift.

9: 30pm

The Lower Lights let me come on stage to sing This Little Light of Mine with them, because as it turns out, I was in the studio when they recorded it, and Chup and I sang back up. Not kidding Weblog, that is me between Cherie Call and Sarah Sample.

9:32pm

Dance while singing.



When it was over, we rushed the musicians and asked if/when they'd play for our ward/stake/youth conference.

p.s. Remember the Rooftop Series? Yes, we've booked The Lower Lights for October! Happy face.



10:15pm

We took a goofy family photo. Don't ask me what Jesse is wearing. He said he had a busy night and ran out of time to dress up. I'm sorry. Did he say a BUSY NIGHT? And yet, I managed. I always adhere to dress codes, Weblog.

Topher is one button undone away from Simon Cowell, and I think it works. By gravy golly.

10:30pm

Thanked our gracious hosts, Topher and Lisa, packed up a sleepy Ever and headed home.

Midnight:

You'd think I would be sawing logs at this point. But I couldn't sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about how one day could contain so much goodness. So much love and joy and talent and brilliance.

Music on rooftops, entertaining business managers, visiting family, hair design, friends, friends getting engaged, cake art, dresses, baby hats, photography, food, fireworks, singing, celebrations, music in backyards and even after all that, going to bed with a handsome man.

What do you do, I wondered awake in bed, with a day so busy full of the best of life ?

And I thought about that for awhile.

Until I remembered, I never went back to pick up The Chief's traffic jam at the Wiley's.

So I said a prayer of thanks and hoped for forgiveness.

1:02am

Honk shoo.

Here are some links:

1. More about Mindy Gledhill's concert (please come, we'd love to have you!) see here.

2. More about that cake (THAT CAKE!) see here.

3. More about my eShakti dresses see here.

4. More about the Lower Lights and how you can get them to come to you, plus a video inwhich Chup and I have a small cameo, which explains the project in an artistic, (Jed Well-ish) video light. Just go there already--here.

I am c jane and I made it through the busiest day of my life. And almost didn't live to tell about it.

contact me:
cjanemail@gmail.com