Rock on and roll

Drawing Class Resumes

2010-01-10T20:56:00.001-08:00

Me and E in 2005. We lunched this weekend after TOO long of an absence. She'll be 16 next month.

Art class has resumed. I missed most of today's first class because a house came up that we had to scoot and see. We said no to the house, but I decided to show up to class even even though I was 1.5 hours late. Taking this class means a big chunk of my weekend is scheduled, which horrifies me. Altogether it's four hours of my precious weekend. How will I fit it in friends, cooking, hikes, exercise, downtime and my new romance with my husband?

To help, I bought a very expensive smart rice cooker and a second crock pot. I don't think I've eaten brown rice since I started my job. So now it's time for brown rice, and yes, I've gone mad with the slow cooker.

My dear teacher sprang it on us that we have to pay him an additional model's fee for the class. $100. He explained that part of the cost is getting better models from San Francisco, which made me laugh out loud. Isn't a nude, a nude, a nude? Apparently not. Some regulars shouted out "suburbia." Edward added, "too square." He told us about driving to San Francisco this morning and picking the red headed woman standing before us in "her birthday suit" (as my grandfather would say) at the Ferry building in San Francisco and driving down the Peninsula with her in tow. Then he announced that he had to end the class 30 minutes early because his car doesn't have any headlights. "Edward has transportation issues," another regular called out. I've seen his car, and it's a wonder he's as reliable as he is. His car makes my beater car with 138K miles on it look like a prize.

The man tickles me and I'm glad to be back in his presence.

We Need Not

2009-12-30T13:46:00.000-08:00

Illustration by Maira Kalman

By generous, happy accident I was reintroduced to Maira Kalman. If you don't know her, really, you must.

Chocolate Chicken Chili Soup

2009-12-20T11:36:00.000-08:00

Photo from Elly Says Opa!

I cooked only once this week. So sad. And then I forgot to take a picture.

A few friends from yesteryear came over for a reunion, midweek dinner of sorts. After throwing the inedible Pumpkin Prosciutto Soup down the drain from the week before, I was nervous about trying out a new recipe on guests.

Nothing to worry about. It was such a hit, there was nothing leftover for lunch.

Some ingredients:Boneless chicken, onion, garlic, cumin seeds ground, cinnamon, chili powder, dark semisweet chocolate, can of northern beans, cilantro.

Another winner from Art of the Slow Cooker

Dreaming

2009-12-19T11:26:00.001-08:00

This photo from Syko lets me dream a little.

The dream is I have my same life AND the time to do stuff like this with my perfectly organized, gorgeous still life of supplies at the ready. Ha, ha, ha.

Speaking of which, it looks like Xmas will be a bust this year. Note to self: Make Xmas gifts for 2010 during Xmas 2009 holiday break.

Glasses

2009-12-13T09:48:00.000-08:00

French eyewear collection from Face a Face

It started six weeks ago when I woke up--on my birthday of all days--and couldn't see the numbers on the digital clock. Happy Birthday to me!

A few weeks ago, I tried on a friend's Betsy Johnson glasses, looked down at the words on the page and found them magically magnified.

This morning, it's official: I could barely read one article in NY Times without straining. I'm told by the husband that when it happens, it happens fast.

Dear Santa, Could you please send the green-framed Face-a-Face glasses with the tortoise shell eye-to-ear stems?

Oh My! Julie Powell, Skanky, Girl.

2009-12-10T07:32:00.000-08:00

Photo by Carlo Allegri

In case, you haven't seen this yet:

>>
A Q&A with Julie Powell
By Jackie Burrell
Contra Costa Times

Posted: 12/09/2009 12:00:00 AM PST

One thing seems fairly clear: Amy Adams, who played the food blogger in last summer's breakout hit, "Julie & Julia," probably won't be donning a butcher's apron for Julie Powell's newest memoir.

Nor will anyone who devoured every last morsel of naive, witty adorability in Powell's first book that recounts the year she spent cooking all 524 recipes from Julia Child's "Mastering the Art of French Cooking," willi find the new book to be the polar opposite.

"Cleaving: A Story of Marriage, Meat and Obsession" is a tale of tortured wedlock, jaw-dropping adultery, unbelievable wine consumption, and more meat than you could ever imagine. Yes, there are recipes, but after reading about the metallic fragrance of freshly butchered, "custardy-smooth," burgundy-tinged livers, you may find yourself in the mood for a nice bowl of soy products.

But flying cartilage and sinew aside, the most brutal parts of the book outline Powell's two-year affair with D — an old flame from her college days with whom she cheated once before on her then-boyfriend Eric Powell. Fast forward to 2004 and "Julie & Julia" is soaring up the bestseller lists when D comes around again. What ensues is an affair that verges on obsession, even cruelty, including sexting and wee hours makeout sessions in her apartment, while Powell's husband, Eric, sleeps in the next room. That Eric quickly discovers the infidelity and has an affair of his own does not make any of it

Yet we're helpless to resist. We keep turning the pages and when Powell, who has made a career of baring her soul, offers to chat, we grab the phone.

Q: So what happened? You worried that people thought you were too adorable last time around?

A: People are reacting in all kinds of ways, very strongly. People who were invested in Eric's and my relationship in "Julie & Julia" — and then the movie was a sweetened version of that — it's unnerving. A lot of people saw the relationship as this paragon. It's not that it was a lie, but I wrote it at this period where I was very naive and I thought marriage was a pretty little box with a bow. Marriage is incredibly difficult and the people in it change. I wanted to honor that. Both of us — primarily me — have made some really terrible choices.

Q: Eric and Damian know they're in the book, right? With... everything?

A: Eric and I are together now. He's not tripping through the roses (about the book), but we talked a long time about this, did counseling. I could never have published it without his blessing. I've exposed our life in a way that's not comfortable for both of us, but he's been extraordinarily supportive. D had to sign off on it. He read the manuscript. I don't know that I'd say he's on board. I haven't spoken to him in a great while.

Q: So in the midst of this crisis, you decided to do ... a butchering apprenticeship?

A: I've been fascinated by butchers for a really long time. I grew up in Texas, where all the meat I bought was from a supermarket, wrapped in cellophane. I discovered these old world New York butcher shops and these guys who had been doing this work for decades. They'd learned from their fathers. I was envious of that innate skill. One facet of my personality is, when I'm in crisis, I seek a project. I needed a haven of sorts, and this idea of spending all this time in a shop with guys who didn't know me or anything about me, it felt like an escape.

Q: But big macho butchers? Flying meat?

A: There's this stereotype of butchers. They're big macho guys, no question, but what I found was how delicate the work is, how meditative — 85 percent of butchery you can do with the tip end of a boning knife. There's a sort of road map with everything, how muscles are supposed to come apart, that tiny crevice between the cup and ball of the joint. There's this rote aspect and yet you still have to concentrate your mind and body on what you're doing. It became this way to work through this crisis.

Q: OK, so you leave your butcher apprenticeship and instead of going home to Eric, you head off on a Grand Meat Tour of Argentina, Tanzania ... and the Ukraine??

A: It was a little random, I'll grant you. Argentina makes sense — it's a great meat culture, also a good first country to visit alone. I'd always wanted to visit the Carpathian Mountains. Tanzania? The people who live there, the Masai, their entire identity as a culture revolves around the animals they raise. And the bleeding of the cow —

(A pause, while we reread the description of Masai tribesmen piercing a cow's jugular vein so everyone can drink.)

— It's so primal and so central to their tribe. It's the sole reason I went.

Q: Does Amy Adams have any idea what's in store for her?

A: I have this little fantasy. In this alternative reality, Amy Adams is going to be forced to play Julie Powell in all her guises. I don't think we're going to see a Nora Ephron movie of this one. I haven't even sent (the book) to Nora Ephron. I'm terrified she'll explode.
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Art at a Pediatrician's Office

2009-12-05T17:00:00.000-08:00

Last week the happiest moment of my work day was a visit to the most beautiful doctor's office I've ever seen. Art everywhere. Fun art. The art of Sheldon Greenberg.

Not only was the art gorgeous, but wow, the doctor I was interviewing for my job, the fabulous Dr. Raquel Burgos , had style, energy, and warmth to outdo even the fab interior. Dr. Burgos told me that Sheldon's son got hit with a baseball and he did this painting of him. It's a big ole gorgeous piece (maybe 9ft x 5 ft).

More Sheldon art at this concierge doctor practice:

Pass me the paint brushes, please. And some bubble wrap too.

Onion Glasses: They Work!

2009-12-04T17:00:00.000-08:00

Okay, I admit it. This is about more than about the glasses. I love this girl. Look at her!

Here she is at Thanksgiving cutting onions with the pink onion goggles that Jeff got me for my birthday. He thought they were hilarious. I thought they were cute, but totally non functional.

WRONG.

I may never mince a clove of garlic or chop an onion without them again.

Slow Cook: Curried Coconut Chicken Soup

2009-12-03T21:15:00.000-08:00

Art of the Slow Cooker, Recipe #3. Fantastic.

I made it after dinner last night, cooked it during the night via the lamp timer, finished in the morning in time to cool and put it in the fridge before work and reheat for dinner tonight.

Mmmmm. I have a similar recipe that I make on the stove. I make lots of soups, but this is better than stove-top soup. The flavors have time to meld and deepen. And it's much less effort. Go figure.

Soul Food for Survival

2009-12-01T07:11:00.000-08:00

Photo: Delish

Life is all but slow these days. You know, that darn job. The one I wanted so much. The one taking over my life.

I read a couple blog posts last night, looked at Jen's little books and wondered "how do people do it? how am I going to get creative time to survive?"

Standing under a hot shower last night, an answer came.

Chop, chop. Brown, brown. Roast, roast.

Earlier that day between sips of my morning coffee, I chopped and roasted veggies for a vegetable soup. After deciphering the instructions on my lamp timer, I set the slow cooker for four hours. Even though I had to resist lying down for a cap nap by the time I was ready to get out the door, it was worth it. I had energy at work, I made it to QiGong class, and the soup was delicious.

Mmmm. Depth and flavor.

Art of the Slow Cooker is my guide these days: a new book, a birthday book.

It may save me.

My Picks from Caldwell Snyder Gallery in St. Helena

2009-11-23T11:22:00.000-08:00

Artists unknown. This gallery features artists from around the world. I might have to visit their San Francisco gallery soon.

More Art from Cindy's

2009-11-22T11:14:00.000-08:00

Spotted in the bathroom at Cindy's Backstreet Kitchen.

What kind of guesses do you have about how this was done? It looks like paper painted and then another layer of paper and paint on that layer. Type of paper? Process?

Elizabeth McKinney at Cindy's: Happy Days

2009-11-21T10:39:00.000-08:00

One of the highlights of my weekend in Napa Valley with the cousins was a meal at Cindy's Backstreet Kitchen in St. Helena. The menu looks simple enough, but Cindy Pawlcyn, best known for her Napa restaurant, Mustards Grill, breaks all the rules with nearly every dish she makes.

"Forget everything you've known about tamales," our waitress told us when we asked about this dish on the menu. She was right. [Big sigh] The meal was as refreshing and soul satifying as our day at Indian Springs spa.

And what is a good meal without fabulous art. Here's one artist work I fell in love with at Cindy's. I can't find anything about her on the web, but the staff told me he name is Elizabeth McKinney.

Fall Splendor in Napa Valley / Calistoga

2009-11-15T21:22:00.000-08:00

Napa Valley / Calistoga was a feast for the eyes and a salve for the soul this weekend. I've NEVER seen it more beautiful.

Photos by cousin Jodee

First Nude Model: Longing to See

2009-11-07T10:43:00.000-08:00

Photo by Eliot Elisofon

I walked in the room late, and the nude woman moving on the platform made eye contact with me and flashed a warm, welcoming smile. I sat down and started to watch her as my teacher talked. We didn't draw for a long time. We just listened and watched.

It took a long time before I could see her. At first I could only see the image of her and process my own feelings about seeing her--my first experience with a nude model in an art class. She was no regular looking person; her body was startling perfect in every way, and she had a Brazilian wax. For a long time I tortured myself repeating, "Is this how people are supposed to look?"

She carried herself with the ease of biting into an apple as she bent over unclothed in a room of strangers. Yet she was shy about stomping her foot the right way in a pair of her sister's slightly too big boots for the first drawing/stomping exercise. She giggled and teetered and looked at us for support and approval like a self-conscious beginning art student making her first drawing or mark on the page.

Watching my instructor with her was a lot like my first experience at a nude beach in France with my college French teacher and his group of friends. Zero sexuality. Total comfort with the body. Ease with all kinds of body types. Of course, that's the French I'm speaking of, not me.

By the end of the night I knew her body better than my own and the only other body I get to look at in the nude on a regular basis--my husband's. I fear it's taken all these years and an art class to understand what I'm missing in front of my eyes everyday.

Motherwell-esque: "The Subject of All Art is Feeling"

2009-10-23T11:28:00.001-07:00

Last night we started our fourth drawing class watching a Robert Motherwell video (yes, a video, not DVD) called Storming the Citadel (no YouTube clip to be found). Wonderful!

Only slightly familiar with Motherwell, this is is what I know of his work. Black as a color.

Last night I learned about the range of his work. He didn't get stuck in a style.

Back in the day when I sat in art history classes soaking up the lectures, I never imagined making my own art. Now I'm studying with a Motherwell-esque teacher who uses art history lessons of abstract expressionists as a jumping off point to make make our own work.

A recurring theme: "The subject of all art is feeling."

Last night's lesson: We started out with a pine cone, the backside of blueprints, and big charcoal. After drawing the feeling of the pine cone for 5-10 minutes (with music), we rotated to another person's "drawing" and drew on it to add to it and make it our own. We made two passes to each person's drawing. In the second round we added white charcoal; in the third, pastels. As we worked, he told us he was teaching us how to build a drawing/painting and how to layer. Ahh, I got it.

This week I'm building a vacation week before the start of my new job on Tuesday. My plans for a getaway have not gone as planned. But this morning I realized that I'm having the perfect organic vacation. It's unfolding. I'm building it layer by layer. And now I'm off to rotate to the next drawing.

Collage Inspiration: Paperwerks

2009-10-21T20:50:00.000-07:00

Paperwerks, Abstract Collage I

Paperwerks, Scan 10001

Loving the simplicity and color balance. It works!

Does It Work?

2009-10-17T09:02:00.000-07:00

Where to start after not posting for so long? I'm shifting gears to start a new job at the end of the month and in power mode. I've started to get serious about limiting my online time to do more of the things I want to do, and it's working. But I miss blogging, and I haven't read Design Sponge in weeks. That's a sign.

Let me catch you up on art class, which continues to be wonderful. "Does it work?" was the big take away of the second class. He showed us parts of a Rauschenberg video. Watch the bit below to hear Rauschenberg on "Does it Work?" with his famous goat.

The in-class assignment: self portrait collage using only art magazines. In case you've forgotten, this is a beginning drawing class. The best thing about the class is this guy has the ability to transport me. He plays interesting music, he tells seemingly meandering but relevant stories, he reads aloud, he challenges our ways of being and thinking.

The end result of my piece was okay, but not great. My answer to "Does it Work?" was "No."

Later that night after class, I couldn't sleep, so I got up and started over. I spent a lot of time editing--a good move. But then it seemed like I was overworking it. Too controlled. Still not working. So I randomly messed up the pieces on page and watched where they would land. I did it a few times until I felt that inner sense of, "Yes, it works."

It was the first time I felt a piece was finished and knew when to stop.

And then it was time to sleep.

Shades of Green

2009-10-07T21:37:00.001-07:00

Sandy Ostrau, oil on canvas, Shades of Green

My knitting group hasn't met for a long time. I miss it. We're all off doing different things these days and still knitting.

Sandy has been painting and showing her work for some time now. I have one of her paintings, but I'm really thrilled for her she has a show in a gallery in San Francisco for the first time. I love how her work has become more and more abstract. Yummy colors.

Taking Notes

2009-09-29T16:34:00.001-07:00

The house hunt continues. The summer flow of listings has dwindled, and we have a new strategy. Jeff does the online hunt. I do the drive by. I've learned to do less hemming and hawing. It feels like dating in my 30s. No. No. No. No. No.

This would be the kind of house, although a lot smaller, that I'd feel uncertain about. "Does it have potential?" "Should I go on a second date?"

New windows, siding, and a simple balcony and porch: a major transformation.

From Design Sponge

Flying with a Big Chunk of Charcoal

2009-09-25T08:12:00.000-07:00

Last night's beginning drawing class started with the inspiration of Jim Dine's charcoal wall drawings from this movie.

This class is my third attempt to find the right teacher to learn drawing. Bingo! I'm so happy I followed my sense that the right approach would make all the difference for me. He'd call his approach expressionistic; I'd call it drawing from the body--something I understand deeply.

I was both amused and surprised when he'd stop the class and say, "Woman in the green. Keep drawing and everyone watch her." And then say, "See how she's moving from her hips." Later he did it again, "See how she's moving with her whole shoulder."

Working with big charcoal, by the end of evening, we had all drawn the person sitting across from us multiple times. He'd have us stop and then erase it with a paper towel and start over. As we drew, he read from Robert Cohen's Acting One and told a few stories. There was a lot about good decisions and bad decisions. Good decisions, scare you. Good decisions....I don't remember, but all the words were just right taking me deeper into my process, emboldening me to step out farther and farther on the limb, and giving me permission to put aside my tentativeness. I drew with abandon and joy and at the same time processed the challenges I traversed this week in my marriage and understood what I needed to go forward for my second round of interviews on Monday for a job I'd like.

I fell in love with the person sitting across from me. How wonderful it is to just look at someone and see! No judgment. Absolute presence. I fell in love with her wrinkles, the circles under her eyes, and the curls at the corners of her eyes and lips. I ended up with a de Kooning-eque drawing, which both looked like a person and pleased me. I made her eyes much too large, but somehow it felt just right for my level of skill and what her face said to me. And besides, I'm not interested in drawing representational art.

I'd show you, but I showed my husband last night and it was a mistake. It's that little problem of expectations.

House Hunting Vision

2009-09-10T10:14:00.000-07:00

Here's what I've been doing lately: Looking at countless grim kitchens like this while we scour this valley trying to find a new house.

Bravo to Sabrina Holley-Williams whose remodel on a dime is featured on Design Sponge today.

This girl has vision: Three gallons of paint, a new counter top, and new sink. I'm guessing $2500 to transform this kitchen. Happiness.

Encaustic & Charcoal Minimalism

2009-09-08T09:49:00.002-07:00

Amanda Kavanaugh, Lowe's parking lot

Amanda Kavanaugh, Loneyville

Charcoal and encaustic, oh my. My heart goes pitter patter.

Thanks Painted Fish Studios for sharing Amanda's work.

2009-09-08T09:49:00.001-07:00

Has It Come to This?

2009-09-05T09:54:00.000-07:00

Sometimes there are these moments in a marriage when something happens that is so funny/ironic that both people realize it can only be fully understood by the two people who have been living the day in day out of this third thing called marriage.

One of those moments happened yesterday.

I'm suffering from a bad case of age anxiety. I have it so bad that I had to rely on my husband to make every decision about what I wore yesterday to an interview.

This is the same husband who once fought the fight and now waits patiently before any significant social event for me to lay out everything he will wear. For routine social events, when I say, "you should wear X shoes instead," he changes his shoes without argument.

Yesterday we went through a combo of five or more outfits. He narrowed it down. He made the final decisions. He postponed his ride until I was out the door. These pants or these? This shoe or this? These earrings or these?

I went without the suit, without the outfit that the lovely, early 30s sales lady talked me into yesterday, and without any jacket at all. Quelle horror! A first interview without a jacket? I called V. for final word and she concurred with the new fashion head of household.

Turns out he was dead on. I felt immediately at ease when I met my potential future boss, and I made the cut for the second interview.

The Girls Wrap Up and Moving On

2009-08-30T10:28:00.000-07:00

A's first sewing project.

After a week of heartbreak over the girls leaving, Jeff having the unfortunate timing of leaving the next day for a week to visit his daughter, and a wacky visit from my father, I'm happy to be back. Whew!

Wrap Up
The girls returned home to mom and dad with a new bad word, lots of practice using it in a sentence, and more driving experience than any 9 and 11 year old should ever have.

Decoupage was popular. As in, "When are we going to do decoupage?" "Is it time for decoupage?" "Are we going to decoupage now?" I'm convinced saying the word "decoupage" as many times as possible is the best part of decoupage.

Sewing was less popular. Competing with driving, skinny dipping in the pool, watching Project Runway for the second time, and Jeff's constant offers to drive down the street for another trip to Yogurtland, certainly didn't help. But also my method--grandma's beloved method--of sewing was threatening project completion.

I kept telling them that sewing was like driving a car, but my precise guiding didn't feel at all like our spins around the block. So after their final run to Yogurtland, I gave it another whirl with the "let er rip" philosophy. Let it pucker. Zig and zag. Pedal to the metal, let's just have some fun. And voila! Mission accomplished.

L. admires her work.

Yay! Sewing isn't dead.

P.S. If you're a Sherman Alexie fan, you'll love his new short story, "War Dances," in The New Yorker. Pam swears he's not to be missed in person.

Summer Love

2009-08-19T21:11:00.000-07:00

Look who's arriving today!
Our flower girlies, L & A ages circa 2005.

My girlfriend, K, tells me, Big "A.. wakes up and the first thing she says is,
"Oh Mom, I can't describe how excited I am!"

Little L tells me confidently, "I'm just nervous about the plane."

Last year on their first flight alone, they confided to us that they cried "just a little" on the plane, and complained that the flight attendant never said a word to them.

The house is stocked with Quaker chocolate chip oat bars, Wheat Thins, and pizza makings, the sewing machine is repaired for projects, and the camping gear is packed.

I'm walking in my grandparents' shoes. Except then my brother and I flew on PSA with stewardesses who doted on us, pinned us with flying wings, and took us to the cockpit to chat with the pilot. We arrived to a big-kid swing rigged to the beamed ceiling of the living room, two cots at the end of our grandparents' bed, and an endless supply of Eggo waffles, Twinkies, and Ding Dongs.

Packing my Bags

2009-08-17T22:02:00.000-07:00

Design Sponge's sneak peek of artists, Alyn and Paul Clancy, slays me with its beauty and artistry.

Alyn writes: "when i renovated my back three acres, i found walking from house to yard barefoot altered everything for me. the quality of my work, art, life changed."

Jeff will never go for living with seasons: snow, cold, rain, anything under 50 degrees, but I'm ready to be altered.

Sally's Paintings

2009-08-17T11:35:00.000-07:00

There's an amusing discussion going on over at isuwannee about how easy it might be to whip out an abstract painting. Jamie, queen of the one-line, pithy blog post, led me to Sally King Benedict.

I'll take ten, please.

One is too hard to choose.

I'll need more rooms.

With a bed in each room.

Hang the painting to the right.

I'll need to lie next to it to touch it with my eyes

for hours on end,

day after day.

Tugging at That Single Thing

2009-08-15T09:43:00.001-07:00

Yosemite Creek was the low point. The car was sputtering and spit firing, and we had just reached the bottom of a long, steep, unpaved, potholed road. Our last hope for a place to stay had run out, it was pitch dark, and we weren’t sure the car would make it back up the hill. So we made dinner.

I chopped tomatoes. One of our headlamps started sputtering like the car and went out. I helped Jeff comb the ground for his misplaced sunglasses, which we eventually found, not on the ground, but on the bridge of his nose. We ate our Greek salad out of a big salad bowl between us in the front seat of the car. We sat for a few minutes just taking a breather. And then Jeff spit out a one of his zingers as he hoisted himself out of the car. My laughter started slowly, built, gained momentum as he joined me until we were both doubled over convulsing, stumbling, and crying like a scene from a Cheech and Chong movie.

Before I married Jeff at 40, I had at least a dozen substantial relationships. I wanted very badly to get married and have a family. But I couldn’t pull the trigger with any of these guys until Jeff came along. But this isn’t one of those happily ever after stories that happens when you finally meet your prince. The biggest blow came when it became clear I wasn’t going to get my dream of having a family. I’ve been finding my way out of that disappointment for awhile now. In surprising ways, this trip was one more stepping stone along the path.

John Muir wrote, “When we tug at a single thing in nature, we find it attached to the rest of the world,” When he wrote this, I’m sure he didn’t have in mind a 450-mile round trip to Yosemite for a 10-minute walk. But that’s what I got.

Jeff waited at the car while I went scouting for a site at the backpacker’s walk-in campground. Within minutes of my short walk, I was overcome with a sense of bodily ease and serenity that shocked me with its speed in arriving and profundity. I came back to the car shaking my head, “Nope. Full,” I said.

Before I married Jeff, I found a guy who had never been married and wanted a family. He was 35, three years younger than I, and very sympathetic to starting a family on my time clock instead of his. The relationship worked best on visits to his parents’ where his mother would look into my eyes and gently finger my long hair resting on my shoulders. He knew all the words to Queen, would belt it out to the delight of my friends, and listened to NPR. All this was very, very good.

But no wedding bells rang. We took a trip once—a cross-country trip from Boston to Palo Alto, California--that ended with our being stranded in Tallahassee, Florida. For four days we drove up and down Tennessee Street, the car dealership row, to try and get the car fixed, to try and buy a car, and eventually, unload and junk the car. Elizabeth, who was nine at the time, plotted the adventure on a map that she updated with a pin every time she got an email. When the trip ended with only a few plotted pins, Elizabeth simply drew a picture of a plane and pasted it over the string that stretched across the United States to Palo Alto in one swoop. I found it all hysterical. Day after day as we passed one of dozens of those ridiculous inflatable stick figure air tube dancers demanding our attention at every car lot, I busted up as they began to symbolize the mockery of the trip. My potential, perfect future husband, however, grew as serious and humorless as a spokesperson for Palestinian rights.

Jeff and I got out of Yosemite creek, drove home in the middle of the night and were detoured and delayed nearly every 30 miles by an Obama-stimulus-plan road crew. We got lost. A hubcap flew off. And the laughter never stopped. Flopping in our bed that night, I lay looking at the once-divorced, ten-years-old-than-I, father to a 21-year-old, ESPN-loving man lying next to me and felt certain that I married the right guy and that sometimes 10 minutes is enough to get everything you need.

Sitting on a Story

2009-08-14T14:42:00.000-07:00

Last night, I returned from Yosemite. We were gone for about 12 hours.

Before I left on the trip, I wrote a letter to my great uncle. Getting a letter in his mailbox is the highlight of his day. He needs them.

This morning I started to write him a postscript letter about the Yosemite bust. The letter became an epic blog post, and then in the process the story changed. It got bigger.

It turns out it wasn't a bust, even though it was. Maybe I'll give it a shot sometime and tell the story. For now I'm sitting on it like Jen is sitting on her new painting.

One thing I enjoyed in our 11 1/2 hours in the car was telling Jeff all these details about my grandfather. I LOVE telling these stories over and over--a bit like a child who loves hearing the story of when he was a baby. Even though my grandfather left 27 years plus 1 month ago, it seems with every passing year his presence grows stronger and stronger.

Yosemite

2009-08-13T07:52:00.000-07:00

We're off to our favorite place: The back country trails from Tuolomne Meadows. The awesome presence of Half Dome on the valley floor is stunning, but so are the crowds. In the high country we get lake after lake all to ourselves.

Alice Waters' Pesto Pasta with Bottom Layer of Heirloom Tomatoes

2009-08-11T10:43:00.000-07:00

Lately, along with Mark Bittman's article in the NY Times, 100 Simple Salads for the Season, and Alice Waters' The Art of Simple Food, our weeknight fare has been getting the shake up it's been waiting for.

No Julia or Julia, I cheer Waters' fundamental tips and suggestions for getting jazzy with the basics. Last night's pesto pasta was divine.

Fundamental: Skip the food processor and pound pesto ingredients with mortar and pestle.

Basic: Add 1/2 cup of pasta water to pasta and pesto.

Sublime variation: Plate a layer of sliced heirloom tomatoes. Pile pasta on top of the heirlooms, letting them peak out for a meaty surprise.

Sneak Peek: Casa Sara and Larry Part I

2009-08-04T10:45:00.000-07:00

I haven't been able to persuade Larry to have his latest remodel photographed for Sunset. "Too much hassle," he says. So I've taken matters into my own hands. Welcome to Sara and Larry's, Part I sneak peek.

Larry's an architect whose house has been under constant remodel as long as I've known him. He uses color sparingly, but decided he could go SpicyTomato for the patio. "I tried it out on a client to see if it was really "hot, he says, "and it was. The client didn't like it, but I did."

Sara is entertainer/cook extraordinaire. I'm still aspiring to pull off dinner parties as well as she does.

Care for a mojito?

Perch yourself on a wheel-y stool and take a ride. Weeeeee!

Featured design element: exposed steel girders in dining area (above back).

The drawing, a scene of palapas on a Mexican beach by Eve Page, hangs over the former fireplace. When I ask Larry about the decision to remove the fireplace, he says, "Sara came into the living room when the sheetrockers were working and said, 'Why do we keep that thing? Just sheetrock across the fireplace. It always smells and smokes and I hate it.'" "Of course," he says, "she was right."

The swooping gold lamp, he reveals, "is, again, the brilliance of Sara, who reminded me that she had this lamp in storage in her garage and thought it would look great in our new living room. It is about 40 years old and I had to take it apart and really clean it up and put it back together." It's also available at Design Within Reach for about $3K.

The architect speaketh on the yellow paint: "It's called 'Caterpillar Yellow' after the Caterpillar tractor. This has been one of my favorite colors for a long time. I had a 40-year-old color chip and went to Dunn Edwards and they STILL had the color formula, written in pencil on a 3-by-5 card. The other colors are all on computer, so I knew this was the right color."

Standing from the patio, here's a view of SpicyTomato and Caterpillar Yellow looking through the glass doors, through the dining room and outside again. Larry took the inside yellow paint and extended it to the outside wall. It's an unexpected splash of color viewed from either the patio or the dining room.

Stay tuned for sneak peek part II.

Thanks to Design Sponge for inspiration.

Summer Salad: Arugula with grilled chicken.....

2009-08-03T19:19:00.000-07:00

Hat's off to Martha's Everyday Food team. This arugula salad with grilled chicken, corn, tomatoes, and blue cheese is perhaps the most satisfying salad I've had all summer. Easy.

I substituted goat cheese for the Gorgonzola. mmmmmm....

Fun with Decoupage

2009-08-01T18:37:00.001-07:00

Vanessa brought over some little boxes to paint and decoupage on Saturday. Fun to get reacquainted with this lost 70s craft.

Vanessa's: paper doll theme.

Mine

Nectarine Chutney over Grilled Chicken

2009-08-01T09:20:00.000-07:00

Oh my, delicious! Easy too. You must try. (Make some extra for a picnic at the park the next day.)

The recipe is from Epicurious: Grilled Chicken Palliards with Nectarine Chutney.

The Kindness of Blogger, Painted Fish Studios

2009-07-31T10:41:00.000-07:00

Look what came in the mail yesterday from St. Paul.

One day I commented on this post how much I loved these stones. The next thing I knew Jen asked me for my address and said she wanted to send me some stones. Wow! And here they are:

Only a few months ago, I found Jen's blog when I made these bowls.

The stones are soft and flat. Like a meditation stone, they're a sensory pleasure--visually appealing and grounding to hold and circle my thumb across the surface.

Check out Jen's etsy shop and her blog. She serves up a daily visual delight.

A Summer of ARTnics

2009-07-30T08:25:00.000-07:00

ARTnicing and looking so 19th century on a leisurely Saturday afternoon.

I'm becoming an expert at portable art studios transported in swirly canvas bag.

Jessa and her two little ones visited from Annapolis this week. We took them to the park for an afternoon of play and art. All this fun peaked the curiosity of three other kids in the park and the next thing you know yours truly was conducting a summer art camp, which was fine for about five minutes until one little girl started demanding more and more art supplies like an insatiable monster and then became Attila the Hun when I denied her.

"Where is your mother?" we said. And, of course, mother was no where to be found.

In one of the sweeter moments, our friend, Miss A, on the right did some face painting.

Attila gave us another shock when we moved to the playground. Here's my hubby, who I refer to as Roger these days--as in Roger Sterling in Mad Men.

Okay, hubby is no spring chicken, but we both nearly fell over when Attila yelled out from the swing set, "I want the grandpa to push me."

Stone River Tree

2009-07-23T09:51:00.000-07:00

I took this picture standing in a beautiful trench--an Andy Goldsworthy trench. To see his Stone River at Stanford, you start out on high ground and descend to follow his "river."

I'm in the trenches following the river of life these days. The tree reminds me that I can wait. Relax in the waiting and enjoy the view.

Collage: The point is.....Randel Plowman

2009-07-23T09:50:00.001-07:00

Collage artist Randel Plowman in this The Artist's Life article says,

"Having a conversation with the piece is the point. You can't speak too much to it. You have to listen."

This is nice conversation:
Can you hear the pause? Feel the breeze?
The sweet sound of listening?

Oh, and there it is:
a quiet, thoughtful response.

Tulsa Time, Plowman

Modern Striped Baby Blanket

2009-07-20T11:12:00.000-07:00

Knitting this blanket was a joy. A breeze. Oh, the tactile pleasure of clicking needles with that gorgeous Rowan Cashsoft Aran.

But stitching the four panels together was like tying me down and sticking needles in my eyes.

Encaustic Painting from Vanessa: Mt. Tam

2009-07-20T09:42:00.001-07:00

Look what Vanessa made for me:

Encaustic painting on wood panel

She used a Tom Killion woodblock print of Mt. Tamalpais as inspiration for the painting. I found Killion's work in an article Bay Nature did on his woodprints and passed it on to her, not knowing that I might be the lucky recipient of her work. I believe this is Vanessa's third encaustic work since she started heating wax and mixing pigments.

She's thinking of setting up an etsy shop. Don't you think she should?

I'm remembering....

2009-07-14T21:34:00.000-07:00

Days on the river

Collage Inspiration & Happinomics

2009-07-12T10:45:00.000-07:00

Denise Falk Collage , spotted at Denise Sponge

I'm inspired by how this artist uses whole pieces of vintage pieces in a collage. It appeals to the part of me that wants to preserve the whole of these vintage gems.

Pam sent me this fun piece of writing, Happinomics by Clay Williams, on his experimentation with Dr. John Helliwell's theory that increased social interaction increases our happiness quotient. Perfect timing. Here's a sneak peak of some favorite parts:

"The woman sitting opposite me on the #4 Powell bus is wearing a leather bomber jacket and stylized Armani glasses. Her fingers are crossed over the wooden handle of a corduroy shoulder bag. The words "PURL" and "KNIT" are tattooed across her knuckles in the same gothic lettering that Tupac Shakur used to tattoo "OUTLAW" on his forearm. I'm about to talk to someone who is, apparently, a gangster knitter."

And later:

"Ten minutes later, the bus pulls up to my stop. At the door I turn and say, “I like your tattoos.” She removes her iPod buds and looks up at me (hazel eyes. I love hazel eyes). “Thank you,” she says, a smile dancing at the edges of her lips. As the bus pulls away from the curb, I record a happiness level of seven into my logbook.[1]"

Yeterday after a glorious Whole Body Focusing class in Mill Valley, I had the opposite experience at a Mill Valley gas station. Never in my life have I had so many people honking their horns at me and others at a gas station. I finally lost my cool after the fifth incident when the horn-honking Prius owner pulled up beside my car, rolled down her window and started to chew me out because she couldn't tell that I was pumping gas while sitting in my car. The irony of the conclusion to my body bliss day was beautiful.

Risking Enough to Care about Strangers

2009-07-10T09:25:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to show you these.

Artist: Klaris Reis. Mixed media epoxy polymer on aluminum panel. Spotted at the lunch version of Slanted Door.

Yesterday was a good day with the public. Two of my quips to two strangers were received with hearty laughs that said either "wow, you're talking to me" or "get away from me crazy lady."

But my favorite encounter was at Peet's. A and I were catching up while we ordered and waited for our drinks. Next a woman, who I hadn't noticed before, appeared and said, actually she whispered, "Excuse me. I overheard you talking.."

Immediately I thought, "Oh, no. What did I say? She's going to chastise me."

She continued, "....about the dry spot on your face and I had the same thing."

"Oh boy," I thought, "I was doing that thing I do that my husband and I have a signal for--speaking MUCH too loudly in places that have hard surfaces--and I was talking about my personal health problems for the whole damn place to here. Nice. Where's my husband when I need him?"

She continued, "I went to a dermatologist in Palo Alto, Dr. Jacobson, and she told me to get Aquaphor and put it on every night. I did and it went away."

I was so shocked by this kind woman caring enough to help me with the mysterious dry spot that appeared on my face three days ago that I had to ask her to repeat the prescription.

"Aquaphor," she said. "It's very inexpensive, and you can get it over there at Rite-Aide."

Some time ago...

2009-07-02T16:05:00.000-07:00

I set out on a journey. My only intention was be with myself in a kind way to honor a loss.

I sat in the living room of a coastside B&B and sipped a glass of wine as I enjoyed the company of the innkeepers.

I drew a bath and soaked.

I slept well and rose gently.

I rocked for awhile in a rocker at the end of the hall.

I listened to the quiet of having the inn to myself.

I ate a fine breakfast and bid my hostess goodbye.

Rambling through the backroads along the coast, I passed fields of strawberries clustered with workers squatting to harvest the fruit.

Alyssa A, Marina High School, 11th Grade, Acrylic

I stopped in an antique shop and fingered through old books. One book was a discarded baby book of a mother's son born in the 20s who died in the 50s. The book included a thick lock of his blonde curl and told the story of his first outing to a Sunday luncheon at his aunt's.

Bundled in my woolies, I pulled to the side of the road to watch the surf of the ocean under a swath of fog.

There was nothing I needed to see and nowhere I needed to be.

So I wandered.

Along the way I discovered a landmark from the Mexican period of California's history: Monterey's La Miranda adobe.

And then the time came to return home.

Blissful Weekend Away

2009-06-09T10:10:00.001-07:00

Apparently, just a few weeks ago this was a field of lupin.

After a weekend of being with my cousins in their little/big piece a paradise, nature had its way with us. I witnessed a glow on my husband's face I haven't seen in some time.

What I'll Do Next Time

2009-06-04T12:28:00.000-07:00

From NY Times today House Like a Pocketknife

I have to remind myself that this most recent remodel was to increase the resale value of our house. But four years ago, we did the same thing (without changing the bathroom tile) with the same intention, and well, we're still here.

I need time to think over a remodel. This remodel came fast and furious in the midst of having to repipe the house. If I got a redo, I'd tile the entire wall to the ceiling with no division between the shower and wall (like the picture above), which would solve the back splash problem in a modern bathroom with a vessel sink.

The second tiny bathroom is ready for showing:

Entering Other Worlds

2009-05-29T13:51:00.000-07:00

Yesterday Jeff and I volunteered at one of my favorite elementary schools for their once-every-two-year Ohlone Indian simulation. One, unusual little girl about seven years old had quite the series of back-to-back conversations with Jeff:

*********************

Girl (G): Who ARE you?
Jeff (J): Jeff
G: How OLD are you?
J: 50 (fibbing slightly)
G: No. You're two.

*********************

J: Which station was your favorite so far?
G: The one out on the field.
J: Oh, why?
G: Because my mom was out there.
J: Ohhhh, is she one of the teachers?
G: My mom is dead.
J: Oh, I am SO sorry.
G: My mom is not dead.
J: Oh.
G: But she's dead. But she's not dead. She's dead.

*********************

G: Did you eat breakfast this morning?
J: Yes.
G: What did you have?
J: Oatmeal, cranberries, yogurt.
G: That's VERY inbalanced.
J: Why are you asking what I had for breakfast?
G: Well, you're so SKINNY.
J: Well, what did you have for breakfast?
G: Chocolate cake.

*********************

ARTnic

2009-05-25T08:30:00.001-07:00

I had two of these this weekend. On the second ARTnic, I was so relaxed I didn't bothering pulling out my camera to document our monthly pARTy in the park.

But, oh, Elizabeth. I couldn't resist photographing her: surrogate daughter/niece, junior bridesmaid, bringer of joy and beauty.

Painting Edges

2009-05-23T20:41:00.000-07:00

My art teacher keeps telling me to pay attention to my edges. I'm not sure I get it. I feel like she's steering me toward straight edges, but straight edges aren't me. Here's a piece by Annie Kammerer Butrus from her Peach Tree Trail series that makes me smile. I love the colors, the simplicity and the energy.

What does this piece say about edges?

Remodeling got me out of the habit of blogging. I have a hundred posts with pictures still living in my camera. I'm still one of those people who takes forever to get her photos downloaded.

More Vintage Books & Sacred Arts of Bhutan

2009-05-08T08:22:00.000-07:00

The Asian Art Museum is right next to the SF main library. So when we were on our way to the Bhutanese exhibit on Wednesday, I was lucky enough to stumble upon the library's annual book sale. Everything was a $1, so I scooped up 10-12 vintage books and lugged them to the coat check at the museum.

Here are a few pages from the first book I picked up, Master Guide to Physical Perfection.

Caption reads: "A Back Exercise and Test of Strength. This picture is introduced to show what power can be built in a man of seventy-one by eating natural foods daily and systematically exercising. The author can support 180 lbs. on his abdomen with his head on one chair, heels on another. Try it!"

Here plow is called an abdominal exercise.

"Lie on the back with the arms stretched beside the body. Throw the legs over the head till the toes touch the bed, at the same time holding arms firmly to bed. Repeat this five to fifteen times."

Look at her outfit. Copyright, 1929:

The Bhutanese exhibit was fantastic on so many different levels. This is the first time these sacred arts have left Bhutan. The curator lived in Bhutan for three years to trek up the stairs of many monasteries to inventory Bhutan's arts. The agreement was to allow these arts to leave the country in exchange for help conserving the arts in decay. These arts are not meant for visual pleasure. They are aids to enlightenment. Part of the reason the government agreed to share their arts is that they believe that just by viewing these sacred items you will receive blessings. They thought only good could come from sharing their blessings with the world.

Did I feel the blessings? I felt my feet throughout this exhibit. Whenever I can so deeply inhabit my body, I count that as a blessing.

The exhibit traveled to Honolulu first, New York second, and is now in San Francisco through Sunday, May 10. After that it will travel to Paris and a few other European cities and then return to Bhutan.

Bhutan is a fascinating place. Here's a 10-15 minute film about Bhutan, Lost in Democracy. Jeff and I saw this film Current TV several months ago. It's well worth viewing.

New Pipes & Art Class

2009-05-06T08:31:00.000-07:00

My contractor wanted me to notice the beautiful soldering work on our new pipes. I appreciate a good craftsman even if it's work buried in the walls.

This week we've have a constant stream of 5-6 workmen here re-piping our entire house. On Sunday afternoon we decided to also re-tile both bathrooms as part of the re-pipe. Our contractor gave us such a good deal that it seemed like a no-brainer to get some more value out of this house as we get ready to sell it. He's happy to keep his guys working these days even if they're practically giving away work.

After a job interview on Monday, Jeff and I put on our interior design hats and went out to select tile and fixtures. I like to make these decisions slowly, but we had to play beat-the-clock to get the tile by the end of the re-pipe and get the plumber the new valve before they sealed the walls. I had to learn about the differences between a chicken-wire tile installation and a wall float and how the method and materials impact whether you need quarter-round finishing or bullnose. Not exactly what I expected to be learning this week.

Needless to say there has been no time for five minutes of art here and there. I did start my art class on Saturday, Painting and Mixed Media, and really like it. One warm-up exercise that I got a lot out of was moving my markers to music she selected. I learned a lot about where I'm headed with my vision. Afterward, we played show and tell, and got even clearer about what I want to create. I have a lot of confidence about where I'm headed, and the class is helping me learn a lot of technique that I'm missing.

Today I'm headed to the city with Joc & Debra to see The Dragon's Gift: Sacred Arts of Bhutan before it leaves town.

It's Feeling Like 1999 in Kim's World

2009-05-01T08:04:00.000-07:00

I saw this fountain at Starbucks of all places. I love it.

Recession? Sure Jeff and I were both laid off within 1 1/2 weeks of one another, but for me, it's starting to feel like what 1999 was supposed to feel like.

In 1999 the economy was booming, and my consulting business was starting to build, but was nowhere close to booming. In 2002 in the midst of the dot.com bomb, my business hit its peak (and I was serving dot commers). After 14 years, I'm done with consulting (yes, Kay Zimmer, I'm purposefully using "done" instead of "finished"). And, what da you know. So far it looks like I've got a bounty of job choices coming my way. A couple of these jobs REALLY excite me.

But will they support my living closer to nature? Will they support a lifestyle of having time to make stuff? I have a feeling that I have one of those defining moments coming that will force me to clarify my top values.

I wonder if I'll surprise myself.

Creating between Cereal on the Stove and Writing a Cover Letter

2009-04-30T11:01:00.000-07:00

I've been having a lot of fun stealing a few minutes whenever I can to make backgrounds. In this background, I doodled while on the phone, I pasted a layer while the rice was cooking for dinner, another while my morning coffee was brewing, and as 5-10 minute rewards for finishing another cover letter for job hunting. Having an art space set up and ready to go sure does help.

I'm interested in the creative process--my own and others. What moves things forward, what gets in the way, how does creativity evolve, what disciplines support the process, and when does a discipline lose its usefulness?

Syko revealed the evolution of her creative process a few days ago as she expressed her frustration of "copying" on the Internet. The copying discussion is important, and I'm even more interested to hear about her process of slowly breaking out of patterns to find her own creative vision.

Right now, I'm doing patterns. V is constantly supplying me with books and magazines. She lent me Davies' Collage Journeys, which has a multitude of projects/patterns. This background in the pic above is taken right out of her book. It's not original working with sewing patterns, and I've noticed that I really enjoy the medium. I sewed with my grandmother and made my last piece of clothing--a peach linen suit for a wedding--when I was in my early 20s. Working with sewing patterns takes me back those days and reminds me of sitting side-by-side with my grandma, feeling her gentle guidance, and sewing on her Singer in her music/sewing room.

V also lent me cloth paper scissors. Liz Berg has a project in the March/April 2009 issue that uses magazine pages and acrylics as the medium for customizing paper. She's the person who says, "How many papers you make will depend upon how much room you have to dry the papers."

Because I'm a nut, I took this advice literally and lined up about 35 magazine papers all over the kitchen and dining room and proceeded to prep them (1st layer: matte medium; second layer: titan buff acrylic paint mixed with mixed medium).

During one layer, I rocked out to cranked-up ACDC like I was back in high school. When I got to the second layer, I used up an entire tube of the titan buff and had enough to cover only 27 of 35 the pages, which cracked me up. "Jeez," I thought, "I might not even like the result, what do I need with 35 pages of stuff I don't like. How about something more moderate like 10 pages?"

The third layer calls for more acrylic paint mixed with matte medium and then doing whatever you want to texturize it. I need more paint. Meanwhile, I may save some of these pages for our next pARTy and let friends experiment making the papers if they want (they're prepped and ready to go.)

The process of working this way is very satisfying. I like the flow of moving from the business of life to dropping in for five minutes or so to add the next layer. It's a good thing to do between washing the dishes and doing the laundry.

At bedtime, I've been picking up the Davies book again and again. I discover that as I do a project, I understand more and more stuff that I missed on the first, second, and third pass. A gel transfer is in my future.

I'm also reading Nina Leland's The New Creative Artist, which for now, is serving more as inspiration than practicing technique. Thanks, Late B(l)oomer. Here's one of my favorite, obvious, yet profound lines from her book:

"FOSTER A HEALTHY BODY AND MIND
Your first priority is to take care of yourself. Get enough rest, eat properly, exercise, and attend to your spiritual needs."

I'm curious to hear from readers about how your creative process has evolved--whatever the medium. Tell us some of your story or something about your process.

Striped Baby Beanie

2009-04-28T11:39:00.000-07:00

I wanted to use up some Rowan cotton wool yarn and knit this baby beanie to go with the sweater Cousin Aidan inherited last weekend. Virtually all the baby hat patterns I have call for yarn with No 7 or 8 needles. Rowan cotton wool needs No 5 or 6 needles. I followed One Girls' baby beanie pattern and added a topper for fun.

The bottom rib came out quite loose, unlike One Girls'. I'm not sure it will stay on the kid's head. If I redo it, I'll use a smaller needle for the rib. The other problem is it looks like it's sized for a preemie. (5" high; 16" round)

After knitting this I can see why most patterns call for yarns using a No 7 or 8 needle. This hat feels flimsy.

On this little project, I learned how to knit in ends with this video. It's a technique well worth learning.

Collage pARTy & Art Room

2009-04-28T11:15:00.001-07:00

Sunday, we gathered for our first official monthly pARTy.

In this group, delicious stretches of time pass where words become superfluous and being and creating together becomes its own form of connection.

On the left is my collage in the early stages.

V did some interesting things with mixed media and blending oil pastels. (Notice her new rock.)

I got my collage to this stage. It feels busy, but it also feels like it's starting to take a direction. For my third mixed-media collage, I'm pleased.

Eighty percent of the process was pure pleasure; twenty percent was frustration. The moments of frustration came when I wanted to move it in a certain direction, but felt stuck. A suggestion from V gave me some needed help to take it to the next level.

Later that night I reread projects in Jane Davies collage book and started to understand what I had missed the first time: I need backgrounds. Backgrounds are the support for collage, and creating them is a totally different process than creating a collage. In fact, Davies suggests churning out a bunch of backgrounds almost like an assembly line and using these pieces as a springboard. I'm ready.

The side table I added for supplies was the finishing piece I needed to for my work space.

It still feels serene and comfortable as my yoga/meditation room.

And it's functional as an art space with an clean, open work table.

Art space remodel costs: $0. Every item was a found object. Sort of like a collage.

Visiting the Tall Texan in Vacaville

2009-04-24T09:02:00.000-07:00

Photo credit: City of Davis

We're headed to Vacaville this afternoon to visit my Uncle Wayne and attend a hospice benefit at the Northbay Wine & Food Jubilee. Family and friends have made generous donations in the name of my late Aunt Helen and several cousins will be coming into town for the event.

My cousin, Cynthia, has been sending out reports on how her dad, my Uncle Wayne, is coping with losing a beloved partner after 64 years. She wrote last week:

"As Dad tries to deal with living alone, he has set a routine for himself to go out every day to the store, usually timing it around the deliver of the mail. So imagine 2 p.m. in the afternoon, Dad pulls up in his car next to the mailbox, gingerly gets out of the car and retrieves his mail from the box. He quickly assesses if it's all junk mail and can spot the real mail, i.e. cards and post cards right away. I can see on his face how much that means to him to get real mail.

Clothing catalogs addressed to Mom are tough for him. Dad has called the companies and asked for her name to be deleted. He has had to do that lot. And usually, he gets a kind voice on the other end who extends condolences and assures him that his request will be processed.

One of the toughest tasks he did back in January was to go by Mom's beauty shop to pick up a elevated toilet sheet she left there for her use. The ladies didn't know, and Dad had to tell them. I thought I was going to pick it up for him. But he beat me to the punch. And it was probably just as well. Dad has been very brave in dealing with the day in and day out of letting people know Mom has passed away."

On this visit, we'll stay overnight (courtesy of donated hotel rooms because of the benefit) and take the opportunity to ride our bikes through Davis and explore the town as a possible next place to live. Our exploration is a tiny step forward on my hard-won battle to move out of our house. Jeff has decided to embrace my desires and added "out of the country" as one of the many possibilities. Today, we start with Davis.

"What had they been doing all those years?"

2009-04-23T08:28:00.000-07:00

This was our 180 degree view at Bodega Bay for our girls' weekend earlier this month.

Notice the lack of fog.

We timed the wildflowers perfectly. That's Point Reyes at the far left point.

Ann Patchett, Bel Canto

"The rest of them said, no, they didn't play. People began recounting stories of a couple of lessons or the lessons of their children. It seem to Gen (and he included himself in this assessment) that never had a more uncultured group of men been taken hostage. What had they been doing all these years that no one had bothered with such an important instrument? They all wished they could play, if not before then, certainly now."

There was no piano playing in Bodega and very little longing for anything more than being.

Earth Day

2009-04-22T11:12:00.000-07:00

On my way home from the grocery store this weekend, I saw a pile of stuff curbside waiting for the trash and this table caught my eye. I thought it would be perfect as an extra table for my art/craft room, but it needed some repair. I dragged my repairman/husband down to take a look. He thought I should just go buy one from Ikea or Target. But these days $50 adds up and I'm definitely more conscious of our landfills and my part in perpetuating our throw-away culture. After some prodding, he agreed to fix it, hauled it home, and now I have a new table.

As a teenager, I was constantly irritated by my grandparents depression-era ways. They reused plastic bottles, containers and bags, wore down vests in a chilly living room to save heat, and bought new things as only a last resort. I pleaded with my grandfather to get with the times and spend money. This was the 80s after all! But the only place he'd spend freely was to indulge me with a new school wardrobe every fall and, of course, a college education.

I wish he were here today, so I could hear him say, "I was ahead of my time."

Our Ordinary World Away

2009-04-20T14:01:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I'm in awe that it only takes a 12 to 15-minute drive to escape the concrete and chaos of the city to enjoy the refreshment of these hills.

Throughout the year, hiking here is a regular part of our weekday. When I'm not taking it for granted, I often regret not carrying a camera.

The foothills on these hikes are filled with majestic oaks. To think so many of were cut down to build track homes in the valley pains me.

I used to think my grandmother was silly the way she'd fall in love with tree after tree on any ordinary trip to the butcher or the mall. "Ohh!" she'd say, "Look at that tree!" Longingly with a bit of a slump, she'd say, "Wouldn't I love to have a tree like that."

When I young and before I knew about her longing for trees, I remember she bought a huge tree that she had spotted an empty lot. She had it moved on a semi-size flat bed and planted it in front of her house. But soon that spot was empty again. The tree didn't survive.

We took our Brazilian friends on this hike on Saturday. We were having a leisure visit instead of a vigorous hike, so there was a lot more time to take pictures and see our ordinary places with fresh eyes.

This weekend was particularly special. Wildflowers in full bloom.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was inspired by this woman's words in a story the Mercury News did on her being named a Rhodes scholar.

Noelle Lopez, photo by Maria J. Avila--Mercury News

What she enjoys about running:
"A lot is in the details. The smell of certain trails, the feeling of putting on running shoes or spikes, the rhythm of the act itself."

Bargain Cashmere Yarn = Socks

2009-04-17T12:41:00.001-07:00

The price of cashmere yarn is astounding. So when I found this cashmere yarn at the bottom on the clearance bin and it happened to be in my favorite red, I had to have it. I've never understood the knitting socks phenomena. It seems like an awful lot of work for a pair of socks. But cashmere socks. That's another story. Look at those tiny double-pointed needles. (Yarn: 50% cashmere/50% mohair.)

So far so good:

I've done a lot of ripping out to get this far.

The spiral part of this pattern takes a bit of concentration. Jeff was channel surfing the other night and stopped on a gender bending show on Taboo. My confusion spun out of control. The person talking looks like a woman, but she's really a man and she's getting a sex change. Wait, that's a purl instead of a knit. And her boyfriend is a man. Or is he/she a woman? Wait, that's knit 3 then purl 1. And he's not sure whether he wants to be a man or a woman? Oh, jeez, I'm missing a stitch.

There's much less ripping out when I stick to mindless guilty-pleasure shows like Jon & Kate Plus Eight and Supernanny.

The Baby Sweater with Baggage

2009-04-17T10:03:00.000-07:00

Here's a baby sweater I finally completed. I've been meaning to finish it for five years. I started it for my half brother's baby before Jeff and I were married. But when my grandfather died a few months later and my half brothers were not included in his will, all hell broke loose and the family split up. (Too bad they missed out on this adorable sweater.)

Three years later, enough time had passed and I decided to finish the sweater. But like a lot of knitters, I abhor the finishing process. Seeking a little help, I got it to this stage. But without a baby as a deadline, I let it sit unfinished.

Two years later, on February 20, 2009, Cousin Aidan was born. I pulled out the sweater to take a look. What I saw was a mess with the collar in the picture below.

Oy! I put it down thinking I'd have to rip it out and redo it, but would probably need help again.

Last weekend while I was at the knit shop for V's bowls, I took this albatross of a project to get some help. I showed it to the woman to ask a question. On a side note, I told her the pattern was meant to have button holes, but I didn't make them and wasn't planning to add buttons. She took a closer look and said, "You made button holes." Really? Take a look at that "messy" knitting above. Apparently, those are button holes. I came home thinking "what am I going to do myself!" Then I declared to Jeff that I was finishing this damn sweater even if it killed me.

The woman at the knit store also mentioned that she loves finishing. So while I worked on weaving in ends and assembling, I paid a lot of attention to my body process wondering if it might be possible for me to enjoy the process. While it was pleasant to be very conscious, the entire time (over 2-3 sitting sessions) I felt anxious. I have decided I need to learn a few more techniques, but I'm also not sure I'll ever enjoy this part of the process. Knitting is relaxing to me. I like the rhythm; it calms me. It also quells my guilt for "wasting" precious time watching mindless TV with my husband. But finishing is a much different process. It lacks flow, and I don't do it often enough for it to feel like second nature.

Meanwhile six weeks later, Cousin Aidan has grown up enough that he'll be able to wear this sweater for about 30 seconds. I sent an email to another pregnant cousin, and thank goodness, she's having a boy in June.

Never mind that this cousin lives in the desert and her baby will have no need for a sweater in the summer. I cannot be distracted by such details. This sweater needs a home.

First Felt: Nesting bowls

2009-04-12T11:31:00.001-07:00

V insisted I make her something for her birthday. So in honor of her birthday, I learned all about felting.

I decided to felt bowls and was inspired by painted fish studio who was inspired by design sponge diy.

I learned about all the details of felting through lots of people's blogs (gathering the details about how to do it was the hardest part), so thought I'd contribute to the blogosphere with a bit of detail on my process.

I did buy the book, One Skein, where you can find the pattern, but as with most knitting patterns, I'm challenged to find a yarn I like that also fits the pattern. The pattern called for bulky/chunky weight yarn, and, of course, I couldn't find any in the colors I wanted in a bulky knit. Instead I doubled a worsted wool weight yarn, and it worked great.

Lots of people talked about having problems getting their 100% wool to felt, so I tried a swatch. This started as a 4 x 3 rectangle and felted at 2 x 3 1/4. I put it in my front-load washing machine with a pair of jeans and had no problem. Of course, all the instructions for checking your piece every five minutes in the washing machine are useless for a front load. For me, it worked to just throw it in and forget about it. Here's the swatch:

Here's what they looked like before I felted them: Medium bowl: CO 45 sts, knit for 5 1/2 inches and decrease.

That's Jeff watching the Master's and that's Ray Parker on the big screen at his last hole of his golf career. (I learned way more than a non-golfer should ever know about golf this weekend.)

One Skein has a pattern for only two bowls, so I guestimated my third small orange ball. CO 35 sts and knit for 3 1/2 inches.

For the big bowl, I used Lamb's Pride Wool, but unfortunately, by doubling the yarn, I needed more than one skein. CO 55 sts, knit for 9 3/4 inches and decrease.

Here's how a bowl came out of the washing machine before I shaped it. Btw, all the bowls went through the cycle including spin, and despite what Ms. One Skein says in her book, they were fine. It was easy to shape the bowls with my hands, and I found it unnecessary to use bowls as a mold.

Thanks to V, I have a renewed interest in knitting and look forward to doing some more felting. Feling is great for grunge knitting, and it's a nice change from another scarf, hat, or baby something.

Notes on felting:
--No superwash wool
--Only 100% wool will felt.
--You can mix non-felting yarns with felting yarns for fun.
--People recommend washing your knitted item with a shoe, a tennis ball, or a pair of jeans. Some people say it's unnecessary.

Domesticated Ducks

2009-04-11T10:29:00.000-07:00

Look what landed in our pool yesterday afternoon.

In the nearly 20 years Jeff has owned this house, he's never seen it happen. They hung out for awhile until we sent them away.

Maybe our rivers and lakes are so polluted that ducks can't tell the difference between a clorinated pool and a lake anymore.

Grizzly Collage

2009-04-10T09:05:00.001-07:00

Here's Jeff looking natty in his Mad Men costume for a dinner party we had a few weeks ago.

My recent collage project from Jane Davies' book was a bust. I was making backgrounds and did a few layers of collage and then I covered it with gesso. The idea was to peel the gesso off and make interesting shapes. Instead it peeled down to the paper support.

I brought a ton of collage materials to Bodega Bay for our girls weekend, but the weather was so incredibly gorgeous and we were so relaxed that we never broke out any art projects.

My foray into collage so far has done more to inform my morning newspaper reading than cranking out the art projects. Yesterday, there was a little article in the Times about our governor reaching into his own pocket to buy a bronze grizzly bear sculpture to put outside his office. The end of the article ended this way:

>>Real grizzly bears have not been seen in California since the early 1920s. Chris Serveheen, a grizzly bear expert with the United States Fish and Wildlife Service, said he liked the idea of a bronze version in the Capitol, "particularly since the state put bears on the state flag and proceeded to eliminate them all.">>

Last week there was an article about the disappearing salmon problem and there was a similar quote about how many fish have disappeared from the Pacific ocean along California's coast.

These are the kinds of statements that would normally go right over my head if I hadn't stumbled upon that fabulous 1933 Visual Geography of California book? There are dozens of maps about all kinds of stuff like this: how many mountain lions, bears, etc have been killed. Here's an excerpt:

"Suppose that we were to tell you that more than 6 thousand mountain lions (cougars) had been killed in California during the past 20 years? This statement seems hard to believe but it really is a fact. The state pays from 20 to 30 dollars for each lion caught." (I love the writing style.)

Soon I will get a flat scanner to share the pics from this book and successful and not so successful collage projects.

Priceless vintage collage materials?

2009-03-29T19:34:00.000-07:00

Friday I found this stack of vintage books to take home with me from the used book store. But instead of tearing up the books to use them in collage, I started reading them. One book I'm particularly delighted with is 1933 California textbook, Visual Geography of California. The book is loaded with gorgeous maps and photos, and I was so fascinated that I read the book from cover to cover. Here's an excerpt:

"Times are changing very rapidly and airplane speeds are increasing at a very fast rate. It is thought that soon large planes carrying freight and passengers will cross the United States in from 7 to 10 hours."

If I had a flat scanner, I'd scan the California aviation map that shows airports with radio stations (Shasta, Willows, Reno, Oakland, Fresno, Daggett, Glendale, Fontana and Los Angeles). Not San Francisco, not San Diego.

This is great stuff. What if I'm tearing up one of the last books of its kind?

This weekend I rescued all my vintage materials from the garage to add to my growing collection in my art room. But again, instead of making collage, I started pouring over my Great Grandma Niccum's recipe file with a dozen salad recipes--Cucumber Salad, Reception Salad, Spicy Salad, Jello-Sunshine Salad, etc--that marry gelatin and vegetables and fruits in unimaginable combinations.

I found things like a newspaper clipping about my grandfather's music business and learned for the first time that he was a music teacher for four years in Missouri before he was drafted for the war. I knew my grandparents and their stories well, so this was a surprise. Part of me wonders if it was a reporter's error instead of a detail they left out in their stories.

I'm prone to reverie and nostalgia, and it's becoming quite clear that I'm going to have a hard time tearing up any of this material and getting down to the business of collaging.

I remember in about 1990 I was riffling through my grandmother's closet trying to find a Halloween costume and stumbled upon a gorgeous pair of 1960s camel suede shoes. They were brand new. I was stunned. I wore them, but I still wonder about how she could have allowed those shoes to sit unworn. And now I see I may have the same problem. What good will all this stuff do sitting in boxes in the garage? But can I give myself permission to experiment with such precious material?

I doubt it, so I've been spending some time researching printers and scanners, and I'm not quite sure what to do. I wonder what kind of printer to buy. And I'm also realizing that to scan and print these books would quickly add up to more than the materials themselves. How priceless are they?

Metropolitan Diary

2009-03-09T20:43:00.000-07:00

Mondays mornings are busy mornings for me. On these days, my morning routine is disrupted, I'm out the door before my eyes are open, and the paper gets a once over or more than likely, completely ignored.

But I've learned that there's one part of the paper on Mondays I can't miss--the Metropolitan Diary. I consider it the spiritual section of the New York Times. Printed only once a week, it often reminds me of what I love about New York and New Yorkers. I may share a favorite every Monday.

Here's today's favorite: Dad's old apartment

Dear Diary:

A woman in her early 20s overheard talking on a cellphone on West 75th Street between Columbus and Amsterdam:

“Hey Dad. ... I’m on your old block. What was your number? ... Oh, I see your building. Yeah, the facade is plain. ... The number plate? ... Wooden? ... Yes, it’s there. ... You made that! In the ’70s? Well that’s cool.”

Katherine Humphrey

Photo: Jeff on the way to the Guggenheim

Cinequest closes: Please see Witch Hunt

2009-03-09T13:16:00.000-07:00

The Cinequest Film Festival is over, so now we can go back to regular life. We saw two additional films. One was a bit of a dud, the other was outstanding.

In the outstanding category: Witch Hunt, which will be broadcast on MSNBC on April 12 (Easter). Please watch your TV listings and see this film. Sean Penn narrated and produced the film.

I have Jeff to thank for getting me to this movie. I wanted to see it, but I also wasn't in the mood for another heavy subject.

No doubt this movie is about horrific injustice and lives destroyed in the process. But unexpectedly, this film is also about love, healing, strength, and the miracle of the human spirit. I felt moved and strengthed by the film.

The activist in me says everyone who votes or serves on a jury should see this movie, but fortunately, this film is about much more than a call for justice. When you give the gift of listening to these people's stories, you'll be given much more in return.

The Q&A session was incredibly lively. Someone asked how the hysteria began. While it's not clear, many people believe it started through accusations made during an ugly divorce and custody battle. Also something not mentioned in the movie that the Innocence Project lawyer mentioned in the Q&A is that Bakersfield was not an isolated event. In the early 80s, cases of parents being falsely accused of molesting their children were spread across the United States.

Imagine being locked up for 20 years for something that was pure fabrication. Imagine having your life taken away.

We also saw The Nature of Existence, the Cinequest closing night film, which we waited in line 1 1/2 hours in advance of the film to get tickets. The filmmaker works on Curb Your Enthusiasm, and he has that David Larry, Seinfeld kind of humor. Some parts were preciously funny, and there are a few gems in the movie, but in the end it left me feeling nothing. If you want an intellectual, high-level survey course on what people around the world think about the meaning of life, this is your movie, but not mine.

A very good day

2009-03-08T09:22:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I spent the afternoon with V and visited her at her new place "in the country" just past the suburban tracts of San Jose Almaden. Her art/craft room was my favorite. Not only is it her perfect place for creating, but the view is fantastic.

Their property has a (horseless) horse stable that she has a view of from her window. The view was especially beautiful yesterday. After many days of rain, the air is fresh and the hills are emerald green. We planned to do something crafty, but I was like a cat and had to see everything about where she lived before I could settle down.

I put the top down on my old Cabrio and we meandered up the road to the open space preserve for a hike. Along the way, we passed the historic miner's homes and the historic post office still in operation. Within five minutes from her house, she has access to gorgeous hiking. After our hike we turned on the heater and tootled some more, passing the reservoir that is now full, up to another open space preserve. Heaven.

Back to V's room, we hung out perusing a couple of books about encaustic painting and collage. She and I took an encaustic painting/collage class in January, and while I loved the process, I was less enthused about the product. This book changed my mind. Encaustic painting is equipment intensive, so we talked about setting up the "studio" at her place and working together.

I've been futzing around with collage and was in the process of converting half of the yoga room to a dedicated art space, but vacationing in Mexico, getting nasty sick again, job hunting, looking for our new house, and, did I mention, Cinequest, has derailed me. Without realizing it, I had lost my inspiration and was acting like I didn't know how to do it anymore.

V sent me home with Collage Journeys. I read it in bed last night like a sleepy kid who will do anything to force her eyes to stay open for just a little more fun. I'm inspired. My first step is getting set up. The kitchen table isn't working for me anymore and between job search and some contract work, neither is my desk.

Cinequest Film Festival 2009

2009-03-07T10:36:00.000-08:00

Life has been slightly out of whack for the last week or so while we've been attending one movie after another at the Cinequest Film Festival in San Jose. Out of character, we've sacrificed good health in the name of what seems like dozens of art film. In actuality we've only seen eight so far, but given that last night's film was a three-and-a-half-hour event, it's no wonder I feel feel cooked. Jeff's back is killing him, we've been eating out all week, and our workouts have ceased. But we've discovered, it's worth making sacrifices for good films.

Of all the films we've seen, two have been outstanding, most very good, two were funny, and only one one made us want to slit our wrists. Given that almost every film dealt with heavy topics like plight of the poor and exploited in the world, I'd say this is pretty good. We've traveled to every corner of the globe in these films to see a slice of life's challenges for modern day Pakistanis/Indians, Israelis/Palestinians, Nicaraguans, and American-Vietnamese and historical challenges for Canadian Eskimos, ancient Babylonians, 16th-century French, and 1920s Americans. I feel like I'm back in college cramming for my history degree--exhausted, but loving it. And, yeah, I never been much good at pacing myself.

If you're an independent film lover, find a film festival--there are hundreds of them across the country--and go. The best part is having the filmmaker and actors in the audience stand up and take questions at the end. While we waited in line for the premiere of All About Dad, we heard the guy in front of us say to his friends "Yeah, they don't have a special line for the stars." Sure enough, there he was on the big screen as the movie opened. For this film, a San Jose drama/comedy about the generation divide in Vietnamese-American families, most of the films actors were present for the Q&A after the film. Almost all were professional actors except the star--the guy who played dad. We loved the filmmaker's story about how he couldn't find a professional actor for that role (he wanted actors who could speak both English and Vietnamese and apparantently, it wasn't an easy task.). So he put up an ad for anyone to try out, and only one guy responded. He got the part. "Dad" was a hoot in the film and charmed us during the Q & A with his over-the-top excitement about his new experience as an actor.

Here's a synopsis of the movies we saw. Some of these will be readily available at other film festivals, some might make it, and for everyone, read below about Intolerance:

Dust of Words--I can't help mentioning this film even though it's last year's film. I loved it then and can't stop thinking about it. Poetic, spiritually haunting and sublime.

Ramchand Pakistani--This may have been our favorite film. Visually beautiful and tender. I'm struck by how much was communicated in this movie with the sparest of dialogue.

Heart of Stone--I'm extremely hopeful that this documentary will inspire someone to make it into a Hollywood feature film. It has all the elements of for the making of a mainstream movie, and it's a subject near and dear to my heart. While on the surface, it looks like your typical Stand and Deliver movie, this movie has a unique angle on this genre and points the way for a radically different approach for solving one of our nation's most important issues. The timing is right for this movie, and the filmmaker has a connection that makes it highly likely Obama will see it.

All About Dad--Someone during the Q&A described this movie as a Vietnamese-American sitcom. It's a good description. It's really the story of every immigrant family who struggles with the divide between the new generation and the old. It's a San Jose made movie that feels particularly relevant with the recent Little Saigon/Nguyen recall debacle that has gotten national attention. The best part of being in the packed audience for the premiere of this movie was hearing the young Vietnamese-American audience belly laugh over parts that the filmmaker nailed culturally. Having a special affinity for Vietnamese-Americans, I enjoyed learning more about their world.

The Necessities of Life--This film was Canada's selection for the Oscar's best foreign film category. People have slammed this movie as a cliche in blog posts, but I disagree. One of the things these critics miss is a message about how much we've lost as a modern culture living our lives surrounded by concrete and driven by light switches. This film, among many things, celebrates the power of living a simple life by the rhythms of nature.

For My Father--Some people thought this was the best film at the film festival, we thought it was very good. There's a lot to say about this film, but for now, I'll keep it at that.

Intolerance--A 1916 silent film. For any serious film lover this film is a must. Watch the schedule at your local preserved old movie theater with a pipe organ. See it with a live organist. It's a hoot, and it's important message about intolerance in the world is timeless. Griffith is a lover of Jesus' message and example, but not a lover of religious intolerance.

Esther's Inheritance--Beautiful cinematography. Great acting. And, I'm sorry, I just don't get it.

El Camino--We wanted to slit our wrists at the end. This movie needed an editor. Painfully long. This was the only film we attended that the audience didn't applaud at the end.

There are two more days left.

"I'll take two, please."

2009-02-16T13:42:00.000-08:00

Today, I wish I had checked out two books.

Hail Andrew Carnegie & Al Gore?

2009-02-13T15:25:00.000-08:00

Despite a fever I dragged myself to the library this afternoon to return Carlos Fuentes and picked up my next read being held for me at the library. I slid The Years of Laura Diaz into the return conveyor belt and walked to the books awaiting special-order to pick up mine, Revolutionary Road, in the number-three slot.

It's moments like these I like my newish name. While I constantly bemoan the fact this simple five-letter name is mispronounced eighty percent of the time, "Even in Mexico," Jeff sighed on our trip, I do have the pleasure of finding my book at the top of the heap by virtue of the first two letters Ac. So easy, I relished--like a personal service. Walking to the electronic checkout, I slid my card under the bar-code reader, scanned my book and walked across the courtyard admiring a new paperback while I thought, "Isn't this amazing?! I can come to this library and they'll lend me any book I want for free."

It took me a long time to love the library. In my 20s and half of my 30s, I bought every book I read and I read a lot of books. I had the idea that I needed to own every book I read because they were like friends that I wanted around to comfort me and remind me of good times. But I'm not sure they did, and I also wanted a bigger savings account.

Manolo Blahnik wasn't my problem; I had a problem with Penguin. So I went searching for my Manolo Blahnik's at Goodwill or Know Knew Books in Palo Alto. But one day I realized I my bookshelves were outgrowing my wall space and my piled-high books were seriously impinging on my idea of zen living. Expanding my idea of "my" and "mine," I decided that I could think of the used book store as my bookshelf outside my home. I would sell my books to the used book store and if I ever needed them again, I could buy them back. It seemed like a good idea until Know Knew Books closed its doors and I felt the loss of my books.

I had a hard time adjusting, just as I've had a hard time adjusting to life in Cupertino. But there are two things I like about my new home: easy access to the foothills for hiking and the beautiful new library about a mile from my house.

As a lover of beauty, it might be that this aesthetically pleasing place started my gradual love affair with the library. I started slow. If the book was available immediately, I'd check it out; if not, I'd hand over the plastic. When I wanted to read The Glass Castle a few years ago, there were something like 35 requests for the book and that seemed like a ridiculously long time to wait. The first time I decided to "get in line" for a request, I doubted I'd wait. But to my surprise, being number 35 was no big deal. Within two to three weeks, I had an email that my book was waiting for me. I put aside the book I was reading, collected at Ac, and started my "hot" new book.

The most challenging library check out is the 1-week-only book. I can read a book in a week, but I don't like the beat-the-clock pressure. I usually divide the number of pages by seven days and give myself daily goals. Fortunately, there aren't too many of those books for me.

Before I learned to love the library, I regularly mounted up sky-high library fees on a single book. I didn't know how to check out a single book. A trip to the library meant checking out a dozen books. Why? Maybe I was on some left over Pavlovian response from by childhood days of checking out picture books. Checking out one book is a great discipline, because despite my burgeoning list of books to read, I never know what I'll want to read next until I've finished my last read.

In the old days, my library fees grew in response to my laziness to drive to the library to renew a book. Who wants to go to the library to get the book you already have? Thankfully the Internet has saved me that hassle. Renew? Log on from home and renew. Search for a book? Request a book? Log on from home. To make it even easier, I have my library card number printed out on a label and pasted under the screen on my laptop.

Finally, I have to give credit to Shelfari for helping me let go of my book buying obsession, which I know, is the opposite of their business model. They give me a beautiful, virtual bookshelf like a kids' bookshelf where I can see all the covers. I like that I can write a review as notes to myself to remember what I like including favorite passages as if I'm underlining my personal copy.

When I worked for a nonprofit that believed in helping children build libraries of their own and gave away books in addition to tutoring lessons, it made me wonder if school age kids reading chapter books really need these libraries? Is having a personal library a part of our consumer culture? And what's my responsibility to support writers who need to make a living and sell their books?

These days my criteria for buying a book is wanting it as a reference. At Christmas, I spent a book gift certificate on Alice Waters, The Art of Simple Food. For my birthday, I asked for Steinbeck's East of Eden because I thought I'd want to read it again and again. I'm not sure I needed the latter. It's at the library and waits for me anytime I want. Why do I need my own copy?

Waiting for the Garbage

2009-01-25T10:48:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine went to see Seinfeld on Friday night and told me about some of his favorite Seinfeld jokes of the evening:

"All the stuff we buy is just waiting for the garbage."

About it Seinfeld said something like:

"We buy something and put it on the table. It sits there waiting for the garbage. One day we say I don't like it there anymore and put it in the closet. It sits in the closet waiting for the garbage. Next we move it to the garage, which is just a big holding place for garbage."

Maybe I needed to be there, but this strikes me as more profound than funny. I'm looking at my stuff differently. I have an HP LaserJet 3100 sitting on my desk waiting for the garbage. It's a perfectly good printer, but the USB is no longer compatible with new technology. I've used it for copies, but now it's out of ink and I don't plan on buying another cartridge. And there it sits.

I'm consider myself really good at not having a lot of excess stuff; yet when I walked through my house this morning, I found loads of stuff in purgatory waiting for its final resting place. Without even hitting the garage, an iomega hard drive back up thingy, a VCR, a lovely wooden box, and a set of jacks, hand clappers, and bubbles left over from Tuesday night's party winked at me and whispered, "I know you're stalling."

What's whispering to you?

Still Ga Ga

2009-01-24T15:58:00.000-08:00

My blog has no focus. Pam has a rule that she doesn't blog about current events. I don't know how she does it. These days it's all I think about.

Thursday night as I got into bed and started to chit chat with Jeff I thought about Obama and Michelle. What must it have been like for him to crawl into bed with her at the White House at the end of his first day? Did they say, "Can you believe it?" The work part is probably easy for him; he's known what he was going to do and he's just doing it. But this must have been a moment. Did George W leave Obama a note like Reagan left Bush? What did it say?

Yesterday, while I was waiting for Ann, I was thinking about the scuttlebutt about Yo Yo Ma's prerecorded performance, (so what, btw) and it took me back to the absolute joy he exuded playing that day (he was playing). The performance was so much more than the music. Without his beaming in-the-moment expression, it wouldn't have been the same. I had chills all over again just in the remembering. The best video I can find of it is here at 2:22 minutes.

I spent this morning reading the paper like it was Sunday. I caught up on bits I didn't have time to read from cover to cover throughout the week. I want to know what Obama says and how he says it. Give me the details. I'm fascinated by stuff like Eric Cantor, the number two house republican's, description of Obama's reaction to Cantor's points of opposition on the stimulus plan:

>>
[Cantor] said the president had told him, “You’re correct, there’s a philosophical difference, but I won, so we’re going to prevail on that.”

“He was very straightforward,” Mr. Cantor added. “There was no disrespect, but it was very matter-of-fact.”
NY Times, By JACKIE CALMES and DAVID M. HERSZENHORN
>>

Somewhere else I read some writer commenting on the difference between Obama and Bill Clinton and how Obama is so self contained. He doesn't need the validation that Bill needed and how that makes Obama able to maneuver so cleanly and clearly and build relationships with people who differ from him.

My mind is all things Obama all day long. Today, I even sent my first personal, not-for-work letter to the editor on the subject.

I heard a Jay Leno joke I've been replaying and laughing over all week.

Barack is upstairs sleeping in the White House.
Michelle and her mother are downstairs in the kitchen.
Marion says to Michelle, "You could have done better."

"I felt full"

2009-01-22T12:09:00.000-08:00

I got this message today from a Focusing message board, but wasn't successful finding the video clip. I'd love to see it if anyone is able to unearth it:

Dear Focusing Friends,
Maybe some of you saw the clip on one of the networks these last days, in which a young angelic boy--his name and appearance suggested he was of Middle Eastern or African and white parentage--met and talked with Obama. He actually looked like a young version of Obama. After they conversed, a reporter asked the boy how it had been, how he felt, to talk to the then-President-elect. The boy got very quiet. He went inside. Then, very seriously, he said, 'I felt full.' You could see him checking that with himself. He nodded. 'Yes, I felt full. Full of my self." He emphasized 'self.' 'I feel like I can do more now, do more things in my life." Then he checked inside again, sensed he was finished, and smiled."
Joyce Kornblatt

Beautiful stuff. Pure.

I remember this being mentioned on CNN. A reporter told the broadcaster that this is what the kid said. The broadcaster laughed nervously and said something like, "oh, okay...well, there you have it." She obviously thought it was strange.

Her response reminds me how alien felt experiencing is to our culture. The boy reminds me that it's our natural state of being and access to it is takes just a little bit of pause and listening.

Favorite Obama Inauguaration Moments

2009-01-21T09:08:00.001-08:00

I still can't believe it!
Doug Mills/NY Times

Oh, Baby!! Doug Mills captures in 10-month old Jedi Scott the joy and awe so many of us feel about Obama. (on the eve of the inauguration)

Elizabeth Alexander's inaugural poem: A gorgeous, sensory experience, although with the last line, it ended too abruptly for my liking.

PRAISE SONG FOR THE DAY: A POEM FOR BARACK OBAMA’S PRESIDENTIAL INAUGURATION

Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other’s
eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.

All about us is noise. All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, each
one of our ancestors on our tongues.

Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.

We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark
the will of some one and then others, who said
I need to see what’s on the other side.

I know there’s something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain: that many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges,

picked the cotton and the lettuce, built
brick by brick the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring-it-out at kitchen tables.

Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,
others by first do no harm or take no more
than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?

Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.

In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,

praise song for walking forward in that light.

—Elizabeth Alexander

Text of Rev. Joseph Lowery's inauguration benediction

In Church

2009-01-19T14:29:00.001-08:00

I had the pleasure of catching Rev Gene Robinson's pre-inaugural prayer for Obama on Talk of the Nation today. Rev Robinson said he wanted to give a prayer that would surprise in the tradition of the Franciscan four-fold prayer.

"Dear God of many understandings," he opened. Now, that's a God I can embrace. He's not the God of my childhood or the God of this religion or that. He's more than belief and doctrine.

On the rare occasion that I pray, I'm usually praying for forgiveness and compassion. To no one in particular, I'm usually wishing to be rid of my character flaws. If only I didn't have a direct route to the autobahn of anger, there wouldn't be such unpleasantness. But "bless us with anger?" Wow, there's a transformational, turn-conventional-wisdom-on-its-head prayer.

I was in church this weekend for my great aunt Helen's memorial service. Sitting in the Episcopal pew with my cousin Mary Katherine on my left, Jeff on my right and surrounded by my Italian cousins, I had a view of my great uncle Wayne who sat in rapt attention as each of his surviving grown grandchildren and his three children eulogized his wife of 64 years. The service began in song and with little forwarning, my dormant grief came crashing through like a torrent. Fortunately, before the service I asked Jeff to switch seats with me so I could sit next to Mary Katherine. She knew just what to do and held me tight. Never needing to glance his way, I knew Jeff had his own revisiting of losses quietly quaking inside him and he was grateful Mary Katherine was taking over.

There was lots of getting up and down and while I was crying outwardly, inwardly I was laughing as we rose and I heard my dear husband belting out the refrain, "I believe in Jesus Christ, his only son, our Lord...I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic church, etc." I'll tell you, there's nothing like one's wife falling to pieces next to you in the middle of your own seismic activity to help you find Jesus Christ. Seriously, those words could have been anything. The point is we were all holding on through the saying of those traditional words together.

Over the weekend we gathered seven times to visit, be together, and tell stories. As our time unfolded, the roots of my grief revealed themselves in a story, a comment, or a photo. Some grief was for Aunt Helen and the welcoming open heart she extended to me. Some was for those I love who passed long ago. Some of it was for my own irretrievable losses. Some for the pain of current challenges. Still some more of it is grief that existed long before I was born and that has been passed down through the generations. It even occurs to me now that some of that grief may have been my Aunt Helen's. Grief she never mourned that I picked up. Grief that passed through me on her way out. I'll leave the definitive explanations to the God of many understandings.

What I've come home with is a washing through, fatigue in the wringing, spaciousness and expansiveness in the holding and belonging, and vulnerability in the knowing that this life passes quickly leaving us ravished with beauty and pain.

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I'm also including here Aunt Helen's beautiful obituary, written by her daughter, my cousin Cynthia:

Helen C. Roberts
Aug. 21, 1922 - Dec. 20, 2008

A memorial service for Helen C. Roberts, 86, of Vacaville is set for 1 p.m. Monday, Jan. 12, in Epiphany Episcopal Church.

Mrs. Roberts passed away peacefully at home in the care of hospice, with her family near her side, on Saturday, Dec. 20, 2008, from complications related to cancer.

The Rev. Terry Gilmore, a longtime friend, will lead the service.

Though she resided in her adopted community of Vacaville for the last 14 years, Mrs. Roberts always considered Los Angeles her home. She was married and raised her three children there.

The youngest of five children of Italian immigrants Achille and Concetta Marinucci, she was born in Detroit on Aug. 21, 1922. In 1935, her family moved into a house at 1508 Temple Street in the city of Los Angeles, a home her father later remodeled into a small apartment building.

As a young girl, she loved the movies. In school she discovered the joy of books and literature. A 1941 graduate of Belmont High School, Mrs. Roberts had a generous, fun-loving spirit. She once took a friendly dare and jumped into the ocean off the end of the Santa Monica pier.

Shortly after high school, she moved to National City near San Diego and completed aircraft training school before going to work for Ryan Aeronautical Co.

In the summer of 1942, at a USO dance, she met a tall Texan on his first leave after Navy boot camp. She not only liked the looks of Wayne Roberts, but the devoted way he talked about his family back home in Burkburnett, Texas. They dated until he shipped out to the South Pacific in November 1942. They wrote back and forth unfailingly for nearly two years. Upon his return, they were married in St. Athanasius Episcopal Church in Echo Park on Sept. 10, 1944.

Her hard-working immigrant parents taught Mrs. Roberts to value education. She relished learning about the world, a passion she passed on to her three college-educated children.

An FDR Democrat, rarely did she miss watching the Sunday news show, "60 Minutes." Although her Italian heritage did not endow her with the gift of song nor language, she had the skilled hands of a Michelangelo to craft whatever her imagination or family need might be - children's play clothes, matching Christmas outfits, prom and party dresses, wedding gowns or a grandchild's christening dress.

Her culinary skills were generously practiced in her home of 44 years on Bracken Street in the San Fernando Valley town of Arleta.

Her extended family knew Aunt Helen's was the place to celebrate birthdays, holidays and Sunday family dinners.

Even her Christmas fruitcake, bejeweled in cherries and pecans, was a prized gift.

There were spaghetti dinner fundraisers and craft projects for her beloved Girl Scouts, pecan pies and angel food cake for the St. Mark's bake sale, a bright dessert table for a bridal shower, picnic potato salad for the Fourth of July and Texas icebox pudding, her husband's favorite.

A willing volunteer who cherished doing good works, Mrs. Roberts cared for her aging parents, making sure her mother, who lived to the age of 101, got her hair coiffed regularly. She was her chauffeur on errands and to family gatherings.

Mrs. Roberts enjoyed her garden of roses and azaleas - and all things lemon. Swimming at the local YMCA was her pleasure and her exercise.

Her last volunteer project was baking brownies and pineapple upside-down cakes for Epiphany Church's Friday dinners in Vacaville.

Mrs. Roberts was preceded in death by her sister and three brothers, and by her granddaughter, Emily Roberts, all who lived in Los Angeles.

She is survived by her best friend and husband of 64 years, Carl Wayne Roberts of Vacaville; daughter and son-in-law Cynthia and Steve Huddleston of Vacaville, daughter and son-in-law Donna and Clay Dluehosh of Albany, Ore.; son and daughter-in-law Dana Roberts and Bessie Kouvara of La Canada; grandson Gavin Dluehosh and his wife, Jana, of Valley Springs; grandson Tyler Roberts and his wife, Alicia, of Pasadena; granddaughter Lindsay Dluehosh Harrison and her husband, Tim, of London, England; grandsons Henry and Thomas Huddleston of Vacaville; great grandson Wil Dluehosh of Valley Springs, and many nieces, great-nieces and great-nephews.

Memorial contributions may be made to NorthBay Hospice & Bereavement, in care of NorthBay Healthcare Foundation, 4500 Business Center Drive, Fairfield, 94534.

A second memorial service will be held in Los Angeles on Saturday, Jan. 17 in St. Mark's Episcopal Church in Van Nuys.

My Secret Garden

2008-11-24T20:51:00.000-08:00

Sitting in Noelle's living room this morning, I watched the light stream through the cutouts in the fence and dreamed of my secret garden. It's unassuming, rambling and intimate--a place for play, special friends, some planting and some weeding.

\

It's the most satifying garden I've know.

Rock on and roll

2008-11-21T10:13:00.000-08:00

It's sunny outside, I'm still in my PJs, and the paper sits unread. Today, I feel free. I'm free from my job. I'm free from wanting to do so much in an organization that felt crushing to my spirit on most days. I'm free from bitching about it. I'm free from hurting over it. And I'm free from trying to find a way to work it out.

Yesterday I woke up to nothing. A cloud hung overhead. Where was my wanting? Gone. Where was the email to check to jump back in the fire? Gone. Where was the need to scan the newspaper to find a story angle to pitch to the media? Gone. I had just joined the club of the newly laid off.

The day dragged. The house was cold and dark. The dishes piled, the refrigerator emptied, and my underwear, bills, and newspapers littered behind me.

Jeff came limping home with his back thrown out and his hands thrown up over another chunk of our savings gobbled up by the tumbling market. I found myself snapping out of it and started to rescue my home from falling into a state of neglect mirroring my spirit. By 730pm the house was back to normalcy and I was dressing myself and pushing myself out the door for Joc's birthday party while a part of me keep nagging, "I don't want to go." Fortunately, my love for Joc prevailed over wanting to stick my head in the sand. With my middle-aged rolls well camouflaged, I stepped into the party an hour late, saw some familiar faces, smiled and started to breathe. Joc hugged me and announced to a circle around her, "Kim was laid off yesterday!" as if it were cause for celebration. And apparently, it was.

I left at midnight with the croons of Ellis Paul swirling within me and the glow of love among friends transcending any kind of spirit crushing people management, job loss, or free falling dow.