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Essays by Lesa Quale Ferguson

Pinball Wizard: a Lesson in Boys, Badassery, and Brokenhearted Victories

Mediums, Memories, and Messy Histories

Lessons Learned: Parenting Beyond Expectations for an ADHD Child

Too Much Thinking Before Coffee

KOA: Revisiting Childhood Road Trips, Working-Class Values, and My Mom’s Unstoppable Drive

Concubines and Choirs: A Remembrance of Charlotte at Trinity Buffalo

The Stars Aligned at Big Al’s

HOMELesa Quale Ferguson2024-10-09T16:47:59+00:00

Rick Fitch Platform

Welcome to Talking Iguana

Welcome to the creative platform of Lesa Quale Ferguson (affectionately known as Talking Iguana)—a space where words, photos, and stories meet. Here, I document my work as an artist, parent, and advocate, embracing the messy, vibrant life that shapes my art. From family stories to creative projects, this site showcases my work.

Read My Stories

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Explore My Written Work

Published essays
Through personal memories, local experiences, and subtle observations, theses essays uncover depth in everyday life.

Advocate Like a Mother
Essays on my advocacy for my kids, focusing on navigating systems and fighting for the support they deserve. Try not to take it on the chin.

First Novel. Still writing it … 20 years later

I am currently taking a series of online novel writing classes through The Writer’s Workshop.

Jana Harris teaches the class. She assigned the text The Weekend Novelist by Robert J. Ray. These are posts based on the assignments.

Coming Attractions!

The Dead Pecker Bench

SHHH! Novel in Progress

Read the First Chapter

Explore Completed Assignments

Douglas City Post office tin type

Photography as Storytelling

Since the early 2000s, I’ve been pairing words with images. It started with coding and Photoshop and grew into capturing life’s fleeting moments. My photos, especially those documenting our family since my son’s birth in 2005 and the adoption of his brother in 2012, hold stories of love, resilience, and the ordinary magic of everyday life.

The Art of the Thank You Note: A Postcard PortfolioLesa Quale Ferguson2024-10-21T17:49:01+00:00

Back of Talking Iguana Postcard

The Art of the Thank You Note: A Postcard Portfolio

Winners from the Erie Co. FairLesa Quale Ferguson2024-10-21T17:09:52+00:00

2nd Grader at Field Day P.S. 18 in Buffalo

Winners from the Erie Co. Fair

Calendar PagesLesa Quale Ferguson2024-09-22T21:26:52+00:00

Enz Quale, Sam and Cal Ferguson Calendar

Calendar Pages

Prom PicturesLesa Quale Ferguson2024-10-05T02:53:31+00:00

Erie Co Botanical Gardens prom

Prom Pictures

Calendar Slides from the AughtsLesa Quale Ferguson2024-02-03T01:07:19+00:00

In the Redding Bus Station 1970s

Calendar Slides from the Aughts

Kodak CarouselLesa Quale Ferguson2024-02-05T22:11:44+00:00

Ugly Couch with the Quale Kids and Cusellas

Kodak Carousel

Inspired by Bertien van ManenLesa Quale Ferguson2024-02-02T00:51:38+00:00

Dominic Hawk Cusella bowling

Inspired by Bertien van Manen

Essays and Stories by

Lesa Quale Ferguson

“And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”
― Sylvia Plath

November 2024

Pinball Wizard: a Lesson in Boys, Badassery, and Brokenhearted Victories

Pinball Wizard: a Lesson in Boys, Badassery, and Brokenhearted Victories

Originally posted on FB, November [...]

October 2024

Mediums, Memories, and Messy Histories

Mediums, Memories, and Messy Histories

Originally posted on FB, August [...]

Lessons Learned: Parenting Beyond Expectations for an ADHD Child

Lessons Learned: Parenting Beyond Expectations for an ADHD Child

Originally posted on FB, September 29, [...]

September 2024

Too Much Thinking Before Coffee

Too Much Thinking Before Coffee

Originally posted on FB, September [...]

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Finally, our Halloween pic!

#acrossthespiderverse #milesmorales #omniverse #peterparker #agatha #spiderpig #halloween2024 #greenscreen

#ReadMyBlogPost !!!!! #linkinBio

"That weekend, we played tennis, pinball, and ping-pong all over campus. And I beat him at everything. With each loss, he got more agitated, scrambling to find a game he could win. I was heartbreakingly in love, the kind of love only a girl with horrible self-esteem in her first real relationship can feel. Neither of us liked me as much as we both should have."

https://talkingiguana.com/pinball-wizard/

#linkinbio #pinballwizard #SUNYFredonia #talkingiguana #firstlove

Most days, I am so proud and impressed with all the changes with Sam and me. I miss him, but I see all the goodness happening to the whole family. And then...I came across a picture I didn't remember taking and gasped. Took my breath. I miss hanging out with him daily, seeing his face and changing expression. #mybones #offtocollege

From a series I am calling “Just Another White Working Class Lady.”
My demographic lost the election—53% of white women voted for Trump (57% in his race against Hillary Clinton). Rather than choose a public servant who happened to be a woman, we collectively opted for a convicted felon, a would-be dictator. If we had voted in our best interests, as Black women did, we could have changed the outcome of both elections. In 2020, 92% of Black women supported Harris; in 2016, 94% voted for Clinton. Unfortunately, there aren’t enough of them to push this country forward.
It would be easy to distance myself from my demographic, to say I’m appalled. But I won’t—and if you’re a white woman, I hope you won’t either, at least while reading this. Presidential votes come and go, but we’re united in more ways than divided.
So let’s take off the Pink Pussy Hats and all the other performative gestures and take a hard look.
I want to call myself out, hoping this allows you or someone else to do the same.
I realized I bake cookies for bigots. We don’t need to parse precisely what makes someone a bigot—a white supremacist or just a sad man at the bar, drunkenly spewing. If he’s the biggest bigot, you know, did you serve him a drink? Complicity isn’t about baking versus laundry versus cocktailing; it’s about how our caretaking, hosting, and running around keep us economically dependent.
White men underpin our lives economically and culturally. They are powerful, and we are power-adjacent. We cannot easily walk away from them. Ask any single mother anywhere. The system is built like that.
Let me repeat: The system is built like that.
Our reward for being the engine that drives our families is paternal protection—a special place in our men’s hearts and, often, on our combined wallet. How that turns out depends on the man, as you can imagine. From the cradle to the grave, we learn the fine art of deference for our economic survival. Being power-adjacent means our reach extends only as far as the man we defer to.
I know you want to say, “But not always and not me and I am single and I work for a living.” Please hear me out.
****rest in comments****

Trying to get up off the floor of despair this election has wrought by continuing forth with the positive changes we have made in our lives recently.

In March of 2020, we bought drums for Cal. He had one lesson, and the world and drum lessons shut down. Way too much pounding in lockdown; we stored them in Gaga’s attic.

Two weeks ago, Cal got himself in a bit of trouble. Instead of punishment, we decided to redirect his abundant energy. I told him he could play any instrument, but he had to choose one. He picked the drums again. We brought them down from Gaga's attic. The first lesson, he grumbled. He came out of his second lesson and said it was 5 out of 5. He has been practicing every day since. His drum teacher will teach him Tempted by Squeeze this Monday because Cal is doing well quickly.

Of course, he is.

Last night, Dave and I went to see Conclave. The story is so good. Shot beautifully, and the acting - 😘. Part of the story was a meditation on uncertainty.

I don't know what will happen next, but I am doing my best to keep time with uncertainty - to figure out what to bring forward and then wait and see what happens next.

#drumlessons #postelectiondespair #conclave ave

My friend Sally Sefton reached out today—a true heart, spirit, compassion, and encouragement beacon on social media. She’s an artist, teacher, sometimes nanny, and a theater director.

I have sat here today, lost in anxiety, racing thoughts, a blistering headache, a turkey sandwich, Ben & Jerry's "Everything but the...," and too many episodes of "What We Do in the Shadows," when her text hit: “Oh God, I need her not to cave to despair too.”

She fought so hard to rebuild her paradise after the Lahaina fires. Her knees didn’t buckle to climate change, but to a felon? I get it—my knees are buckling too.

Here’s what I told her—and myself:

1. In Erie PA last weekend, there was so much goodness, connection, hard work, determination, and organization. Just because we didn’t win the day doesn’t mean we were defeated. We need to relocate our efforts. All that goodness can't be stolen from us.

2. They’ll round people up; they’ll enact Project 25. I get why people call him Hitler, but he’s not. He’s a man of petty grievances and dementia, backed by minions who fear and rail they're being displaced by our most vulnerable. His administration has already shown us his hand. This isn’t a secret, so we have a chance. As my mom pointed out, our beloved FDR created Japanese internment camps right under our noses—that’s harder evil to fight. We need to go community by community to protect the vulnerable. The only way he wins is if we allow it to happen in our own backyard.

3. Mother Teresa said if you don’t know what to do, pick up a broom. Today, I’ll put my house in order until the next assignment comes in. There are so many great and good public servants who will rise.

4. I didn’t want to come downstairs to get Cal on the bus, but I did. He needed to see that, even though I’m upset, I still have it in me to name our strengths. Trump’s supporters think they’re protecting people like me—a working-class, straight white woman. My job isn’t to shrink into that embrace. This election isn't an attack on me but it will be an assault on my community. I am a warrior not a victim. I will look to local leadership and find ways to foil Project 25, ****rest in comments****""

Today, I drove 100 miles to take someone 1.5 miles to vote, and she ghosted me.

Of course, my paranoia is getting the best of me, thinking she might be a Trump supporter chasing do-gooders down blind alleys. Lol. But this moment brought up something I’ve been reflecting on: what Donald Trump has taught me about nonprofits.

Since moving to Buffalo in the early 2000s, I have worked for or actively participated in nonprofits—from churches to a charter school, community centers, adoption agency, youth services, and recreation services. This leap into the 501(c)(3) tax code world was such a shift from my years in corporate restaurants and my brother’s tavern, where I had spent most of my adult life working and socializing.

My first foray into the nonprofit world came when a rector hired me to manage a church bookstore after drawing me in as a congregant. He was new to the role and eager to expand the church beyond its older, white, upper-middle-class, shrinking congregation. I checked the box for “younger” and “working class.” He was upfront about how churches could quickly turn into clubhouses without oversight.

That job led to others, especially as I developed my tech and design skills. I began digitally promoting nonprofits. This by no means greatly feathered the Quale Ferguson Nest, only adding a tuft or two of filoplumes. Working in nonprofits is about mission over money. I became involved in these organizations I worked for because they brought goodness to me and my family. My nonprofit jobs felt like upselling chowder at the “Chowder Barn”—just a nosh to get you to the main course.

But just like too much overheated chowder, sometimes, when nonprofits start making profits, it can be hard to stomach. In small batches, nonprofits are meant to connect with each individual to offer them something nourishing.

Some of my experiences began to shake my idealism. Two executive directors I worked with became outspoken Trump supporters, one even threatening to put Trump signs on company vehicles. The National Labor Relations Board sued another one. Another agreed to pay staff but then didn’t follow through. My husband and I sued one and won.

****Rest in comments**

More Halloween Pictures! #GreenScreen #halloweenonWhitfield #lunchladyland #lunchlady

In Erie PA today canvassing and driving canvassers. So far toss up between the unregistered and Harris voters with a few drive-by hecklers. First person I saw when I walked through HQ was @michelleschoeneman yeah!!! Can't believe how far people have traveled to knock on doors even a guy from Seattle.

#canvass #harriswalz2024

Just some Random Halloween pictures! Preview, as it were. More tomorrow.

Stupid @abbottelemabc is making me cry on Halloween

"That's the interesting thing about traditions. The first time you do them, it's just something you are testing out. There's something so beautiful about unwittingly discovering what will become so important to you and those you hold dear."

The first time we dressed up as a family was when Sam Ferguson wanted to be a knight, and Dave Ferguson and I loved the costume, so we wanted to dress up to accompany him. Then Cae and my mom joined in, too. He's my inspirational fella'.

Sam is off being a dino in a prehistoric jungle with his dorm floor for MUGaween (Mariner's under Guidance Halloween).

Every year, I have had to force Cal into a family costume, even the ones he suggested. I wanted to give him the option to call it quits. Before I could even give Cal the option, Sam told me there was no way that I had to keep the tradition going, that Cal missed ones before he was born, and that Sam would miss ones because he was in college. And, of course, Cal has been all in this year and even designed his green-screen shot. Sam knows his brother so well.

Still, I am missing some of my inspiration for this day. If I had to use a word to describe motherhood and all the dear times that follow, it would be "unwitting."

Miss you, My Bones.

#familycostume #headasscostumes #abbottelementary #abbottelementarybarb #halloween24 #mysitcomlife

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“I yam what I yam” — like Popeye, I stick to what I yam. Outspoken, messy, and creative, I find meaning in the everyday life, turning ordinary moments into stories. This is what I do, “That’s all I can stands, I can’t stands no more!”

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