Philosophies of Motherhood

Practice Makes Perplexed

2012-02-02T20:28:00.000-08:00

It's obvious, looking at the generous coating of dust on the keys, that I haven't practiced the piano in awhile. But hey, it's supposed to be like a bicycle, right? Jump right back in there and do your thing? Nyet. Nein. Non. Nahin. Playing the piano with any finesse at all requires regular periods of uninterrupted attention, something that's entirely impossible in my current daily repertoire of events.

Still, I thought I could fiddle around a bit, just for fun. My plan was reasonable enough: the day's dealings had already fried my brain by two in the afternoon, so half an hour at the piano seemed like a good way to reset the system. The piece is interesting, but simple: the Barcarolle from Louis Vierne's Sihoutettes d'Enfants (you can hear a tiny snippet here). Normally, I'd read the music, play the left-hand notes, play the right-hand notes, and then put them together in some reasonable semblance of the piece.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the formula: my glasses literally got in the way. With progressive lenses, I have to tilt my head back to read the music, then forward to see the keys. The bottom of the frames cut my plane of vision in half. I lost my place every time. I couldn't put left and right together. I tried not looking down, which made it worse. The whole thing was a disaster. I guess this is an old lady's problem. I guess I'm back to square one. I guess it's time I learn to play by ear...

Bucket List: Walking the Right Path

2012-02-01T11:47:00.000-08:00

El Camino de Santiago de Compostela is the most recent addition to my bucket list. The cathedral of Santiago, considered the burial place of Saint James, was one of the great pilgrimage goals of the Middle Ages, with some pilgrims traveling on foot from as far away as Paris. Those who completed the arduous journey where granted full remission of their sins. My goals aren't quite so lofty, and anyway, I'd probably have to circumambulate the entire globe before I'd have a shot at forgiveness (but that's another story all together).

It's not the getting there that's my objective; the journey is its own reward. I'm most interested in what happens along the way: the setbacks, the surprise encounters, the self awareness, the serendipity. But first, since it's 750km from St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port to Santiago, I'd better get a new pair of walking shoes Or two.

photo, Maren Misner

Bucket List: Sky High

2012-01-31T21:45:00.000-08:00

For those of you who think I'm just some mild-mannered home-economist-foodie-artsy-scrapbooking sort, I've got news for you: there's a latent Evel Knievel-ish daredevil lurking in the shadows. So there are a few thrill-seeking items on my bucket list, and skydiving is one of them, although it's moved farther down the list now that there are small children in my care.

The Matterhorn is not a prerequisite to my intended leap of faith, although it does make for a magnificent photo. I've seen this giant hunk of rock before, from a few different angles, and I don't think I want to be anywhere in its vicinity when I drift back down to earth. Wide open plains of wheat fields, maybe.

Any ideas for the ultimate skydiving spot? Want to come along? I figured you would jump at the chance...

photo, Office du Tourisme du Valais

Bucket List: Carved in Stone

2012-01-30T13:29:00.000-08:00

Petra

It seems no work of Man's creative hand,
by labour wrought as wavering fancy planned;
But from the rock as if by magic grown,
eternal, silent, beautiful, alone!
Not virgin-white like that old Doric shrine,
where erst Athena held her rites divine;
Not saintly-grey, like many a minster fane,
that crowns the hill and consecrates the plain;
But rose-red as if the blush of dawn,
that first beheld them were not yet withdrawn;
The hues of youth upon a brow of woe,
which Man deemed old two thousand years ago,
match me such marvel save in Eastern clime,
a rose-red city half as old as time.
John William Burgon

photo, Bernard Gagnon

Bucket List: Painting with Light

2012-01-29T23:27:00.000-08:00

Last week's solar flares caused dramatic variations in the Northern Lights and left me longing to check off the number one item on my bucket list: a chance to see the Lights with my own two eyes. It's been an obsession of mine for most of my life, which is probably more than half over at this point...

When I was a little girl, my great-grandmother gave me a tiny tear-shaped stone that seemed to contain every color of the rainbow. It hung around my neck on delicate silver chain and I never wanted to take it off, especially after she told me what it was called: an Aurora Borealis crystal. Even the name sounded magic, and I listened with rapt attention as she told of the mysterious lights which appear in the northern sky. That crystal may have been nothing more than an irradiated bit of rock, but for me, it was the seed of a dream.

Certain dreams and mysteries shouldn't be explained away. For once, I really don't care about the scientific explanation of the phenomenon, that this display of lights is caused by charged particles colliding in the thermosphere. Let me have my childish belief in astronomical alchemy, of spirits dancing in the sky. And please, please let me witness them before I, in turn, become a spirit of the void.

photo, Daily Mail

Puzzlement

2012-01-28T19:11:00.001-08:00

There's a fountain downtown (and by downtown, I mean the corner where our two village blocks converge) which was installed a few years back, to the delight of some and the consternation of others. I have nothing against the aesthetics of the thing, but the engineering bothers me. The water is supposed to fall in a continuous glassy sheet from the upper basin to the lower, but often it breaks into splattering waves that make an annoying cacophonous flutter.

Mostly, I'm irritated by the fact that Ive taken probably hundreds of photos of this fountain, and I can never get the shot quite right. There's distraction in the background, or it's overexposed, or the dramatic moving parts of the thing won't cooperate with the angle I'm trying to achieve. Or someone throws a penny into a perfect reflection, or someone bumps my arm. Or the wind blows. Hmph.

Art and life are both like that. I can have all the required elements. I can set up the shot just so. I can do everything right, and still, the end result comes out completely off kilter. There's just something missing. The pieces won't cooperate. Or maybe I'm actually looking at it all wrong. It's a puzzle, one that won't ever be solved unless I keep on trying. Once more, with feeling...

The Empire of Light

2012-01-27T11:09:00.001-08:00

Aeons ago, I went with a friend to see a Magritte exhibit at the SFMOMA. I love Magritte's whole body of work, the trompe l'oeil, the sense of humor. This particular image, one I hadn't seen before, struck me at the time and has stayed with me ever since. I was lucky enough to see it again a few years ago, hanging in its rightful place in the intimate setting of the Peggy Guggenheim Collection in Venice.

It's a painting I long to enter. I want to go around the corner, throw open the door, and skip steps as I run upstairs to the second floor. The light is warm and enticing, beckoning; there's something commonplace and comfortable about the scene, but it's magical too. Light is so hard to capture. I'm in awe of artists who truly get right, who can beautifully illuminate a scene from within. Magritte was one of them.

Please, leave the light on for me...

Un Peu de Mystère

2012-01-26T21:24:00.000-08:00

Hundreds of times I have gone full circle 'round the roundabout at the end of our town, near the end of our peninsula, and I never ceased to be amazed at the sights I see at any given moment of the day. Mornings hold a particular glory, with the sun in its many costumes. San Francisco is just there, behind a dense wall of fog, as the Angel Island ranger's boat putters over on its morning run.

The nice folks who run the corner café must think I'm nuts, the way I jump out of my car and go running for the water's edge each time I drive by; there's always something new to capture: a leopard shark, a seal, a manta ray, a schooner, a skiff, a cloud front. The city skyline, dazzling in sunlight or shrouded in mystery. A scooter with a broken headlight, a penny on the pavement, an egret in flight.

Here's the secret: I refuse to see anything less than the spectacular in the everyday. It's my contest with myself. Just one amazing thing; it's not that big of a challenge, but it does mean you have to be waiting for something, expecting something. If you're looking for it, you're bound to find it. Believing is seeing.

Flecks

2012-01-25T20:46:00.000-08:00

"The size and age of the Cosmos are beyond ordinary human understanding. Lost somewhere between immensity and eternity is our tiny planetary home. In a cosmic perspective, most human concerns seem insignificant, even petty. And yet our species is young and curious and brave and shows much promise. In the last few millennia we have made the most astonishing and unexpected discoveries about the Cosmos and our place within it, explorations that are exhilarating to consider. They remind us that humans have evolved to wonder, that understanding is a joy, that knowledge is prerequisite to survival. I believe our future depends on how well we know this Cosmos in which we float like a mote of dust in the morning sky."

Carl Sagan, COSMOS

photo, NASA archives

Pearish the Thought

2012-01-24T16:56:00.000-08:00

We received these gorgeous pears as a gift over holiday season, individually wrapped in gold-gilt circles of pale green tissue paper, each piece of fruit tinged with the loveliest blush. They were delicious and everyone was delighted to indulge in a luscious, special treat. It's the best kind of present; one that's beautiful and useful and enjoyable, and in this case, nourishing. One that can be shared and doesn't go to waste. We couldn't ask for anything better. Except maybe another case, since we're all out now, perish the thought...

It's Not Easy Being Green

2012-01-23T16:28:00.000-08:00

While I've been romancing the romanesco, my kids have been fomenting a full-on rebellion."Where's the beef? What'd you do with the butter?" They're sneaking off to In-N-Out the minute my back is turned, I just know it... When I asked for the verdict on this lovely warm balsamic-braised salad of broccoli, shiitakes, and tomatoes, the diplomatic response was, "Well, the blandness of the veggies covers the horrible bitter taste of the arugula."

It's not easy being green. People look upon me with pity; "Really? You're only eating vegetables these days? That must be so hard for a foodie like you..." Explaining that I want to do this, that so much of what I've read lately convinces me the surest path to optimum health is paved with greens, garners me a lot of blanks stares. I don't mind. I'm certainly not going to force my ideas on anybody else.

My family, though, is obliged to humor me just a little. They have to at least try it, then they can smother it in bacon bits and sour cream and shredded cheddar. They can have my dinner with a side of pork tenderloin. I'm not giving up; I'll let the results speak for themselves. Now, pass the kale chips, please. And yes, I actually like them.

Soggy + Soccer = Sogger

2012-01-22T12:23:00.000-08:00

There's a special place in Heaven for soccer moms...

Don't Let Go

2012-01-21T15:53:00.000-08:00

o by the by
has anybody seen
little you-i
who stood on a green
hill and threw
his wish at blue
with a swoop and a dart
out flew his wish
(it dived like a fish
but it climbed like a dream)
throbbing like a heart
singing like a flame
blue took it my
far beyond far
and high beyond high
bluer took it your
but bluest took it our
away beyond where
what a wonderful thing
is the end of a string
(murmers little you-i
as the hill becomes nil)
and will somebody tell
me why people let go

– e.e.cummings

photo of my mom, pregnant with me,

taken by my dad...

Bright Ideas...

2012-01-20T20:45:00.000-08:00

...I'm fresh out...

Fractals are Food

2012-01-19T16:27:00.000-08:00

Romanesco broccoli is one of nature's most stunning works of graphic art. A self-similar fractal form, Romanasco's logarithmic spirals are a perfect illustration of the Fibonacci sequence. Fibonacci probably had this for lunch, sautéed in olive oil and dusted with finely-grated Pecorino Romano. It also makes a unique conversation-starting centerpiece for your dining room table. Come on, you know you want to try it...

Cerulean Soul

2012-01-18T20:41:00.000-08:00

One of the advantages of rising before dawn is the privilege of actually witnessing the sunrise each day. This morning's tableau was serenely spectacular; it's as though there's a clear-cut line between rosy day and dark night, with its crescent moon still hanging high in the sky.

If only life's transitions were so straightforward. Try as I might to greet each day with optimism and enthusiasm, there are times when my soul stays sunk in a deep blue funk, a sadness without solace. Sorrow, though, can be a profound creative well. Minds like mine don't travel in straight lines, and sometimes a detour into the deep and dark is required to throw some perspective on the quality of the light.

Torrential downpours are coming, probably tomorrow, and my mood may well reflect the weather. But it's impossible to watch the sun come up on a beautiful day like today and not believe that somehow, some way, things will turn out as they should. I'll save that thought for a rainy day.

Nothing But Blue Skies

2012-01-17T20:11:00.000-08:00

"The coldest winter I ever spent," Mark Twain purportedly reported, "was a summer in San Francisco." We, on the other hand, are experiencing a winter unlike any other I can remember in the Bay Area: crystal-clear skies, balmy days, and visibility for miles. The conditions are so enticing that I've been taking the long way home (like this detour, up into the Marin Headlands) any time I can get out and about. According to our local meteorologist, those lovely days are numbered, but I won't forget how lucky we've had it these last few weeks...

Sippin' Soda Through a Straw

2012-01-16T15:53:00.000-08:00

Remember when a Shirley Temple was the bestest,

most wonderfulest, ginormous treat ever? Do ya?

Amped UP!

2012-01-15T21:09:00.000-08:00

Anyone who's ever spent an afternoon at our house knows that the sound levels are in no need of any amplification whatsoever. But the noisemakers are undaunted; the louder the better! We've got lead singers, lead guitars, percussionists, keyboardists, operatic divas, a belly-dancing back-up performer, and a rapper dog. All trying to outperform each other. At any given moment. I just wish this show would go on the road, on tour, sometime. Quiet in the Studio, and all that.

Often, the home phone will ring and the conversation will go something like this:

Me: Hel-LOOO?
The other person: Hi, how are you? ...do you need to go...?
Me: I'm fine. WHAT? No, I can talk now.
The other person: It sounds like you need to go.
Me: No, no, that's just the usual. Wait a second. KEEP IT DOWN IN THERE! STOP STRANGLING YOUR SISTER WITH A GUITAR STRING THIS INSTANT! AND KEEP YOUR DRUMSTICKS TO YOURSELF! Sorry, what were you saying?
The other person: Um, I think I better go...

People say the house will one day seem much too quiet, they tell me how much I will miss this when it's over. Try me.

Georgia On My Mind

2012-01-14T23:00:00.000-08:00

Calla lilies, simple and striking, have always been one of my favorites. It's easy to see why Georgia O'Keeffe was drawn to paint their sensual swirls. There is something innocent and at the same time coy in the way their curves capture light, a question and an answer, a mystery revealed. Beauty, and a thing's importance, are truly in the eye and soul of the beholder, where small things become immense. I love O'Keeffe's large-scale interpretation. It's as if she was privy to some universal secret truth and I often wonder, how did she know?

Friggin' Awesome!

2012-01-13T17:05:00.000-08:00

Who knew? -- "In the United States, roughly eight percent of the population is afraid of Friday the 13th, a condition known as paraskevidekatriaphobia... Friday is named after Frigg, the Norse goddess of love and sex. This strong female figure, some historians claim, posed a threat to the male-dominated Christian church. To fight her influence, the church characterized her as a witch, vilifying the day named after her." -- I love learning (and questioning) something new...

Frigga Spinning the Clouds

painting by J.C. Dollman

Itty Bitty Book Club

2012-01-12T16:24:00.000-08:00

This is possibly the most adorable book club ever! The kids in Claire's class have split into several small groups, each reading a different book, with a parent leading each group. These guys are so cute and have such thoughtful things to say about what they're reading. We're learning about moral dilemma and hard choices. Big subjects for little people, but they tackle them with all the enthusiasm you'd expect from these fresh, eager faces. Some days, I really just love this gig...

Borrowed Intelligence

2012-01-11T22:02:00.000-08:00

In 1999, one of my editors at Autodesk called me over and said, "Hey, there's a pretty good new search site called Google. You should check it out." He was a smart guy and a painstaking researcher, so if he said something was worth a look, I made time to look. Back then, we were writing about the visionary possibilities of location-based services, imagining a cell phone driven future we've now far surpassed. We're approaching singularity at lightning speed.

Now "google" is a verb, and anyone anywhere can find practically any blip of information in the blink of an eye. I'd contend though, that for most humans, information culled in this way isn't "sticky"; it passes through consciousness and keeps on moving. I call it "borrowed intelligence". Look like you're smart and know your stuff one second; forget every bit of it the next.

For me, there ought to be something sensory, something tactile for the best absorption of information. My kids roll their eyes every time I start in with "When I was your age, we went to the library and --", cutting me off and finishing my sentence for me. There's a new way of doing things, I get it; admittedly I'm pretty cutting-edge-techno-geeky myself and don't want to be hypocritical. But give me stack access over a hyperlink any day. I'd rather borrow a pen than borrow against what my own memory can hold.

Five-Fold Happiness

2012-01-10T23:27:00.000-08:00

These tiny tokens charm my heart. The artist, Judy Vilmain, captured these symbols of the Chinese concept of five-fold happiness with perfect balance. I love the weight of them in my palm of my hand, the jingly sound they make when they jumble together, and the good tidings they represent. Such great pleasure from things so small:

a coin for WEALTH; the circle signifies heaven, and the internal square represents earth
a gourd for GOOD LUCK, to ward off evil spirits.
a monkey for PROSPERITY, especially success in one's chosen career.
a pair of Mandarin ducks for DOUBLE HAPPINESS in love, because they mate for life.
a pine branch for LONG LIFE, from the hardiest of trees.

Here's wishing all of you all of this in the year to come...

Ham AND Cheese...

2012-01-09T21:07:00.000-08:00

Bend It Like Wynham

2012-01-08T13:02:00.000-08:00

Jack saw this picture and said:

"Wynham, Wynham, he's our man;

if he can't do it, no one can!"

and Claire said:

"Hey, whatever happened to those pom-pons, anyway?"

and Chloé said:

"I'm going to make chocolate chip cookies."

and Wynham said:

"Mom! There's not even a BALL in the picture!"

Ya win some, ya lose some.

I simply like this photo for all

the possibilities just beyond the frame, and

the way Wynham is running up to greet them...

Parenting: Epic Fail #427

2012-01-07T19:48:00.000-08:00

If ever I forget any of my shortcomings as a parent, my kids are quick to remind me. They are so helpful in that regard. Every once in a while, when I've had all the hemming and hawing over homework I can stand, when there's just one more whine about what's for dinner, well, I SNAP! "Fine then! You can just go to boarding school!"

There are any number of excellent parenting books which could point out the grave error of this reactive type of statement: You're damaging their fragile little psyches! They'll spend years in therapy undoing all the harm you've inflicted on them! I'm sure Claire has read them all. I'm sure she can quote the chapter, page, and paragraph correcting any of my various infringements against her delicate soul.

The last time I used the boarding school threat, Claire ran down the hall, to be seen moments later climbing the stairs to my room. Upon receiving this missive, left forlornly on my pillow, I had the following reactions:

I am the world's worst mother.
Wait, I'm going to redline this text and give it back to her. If she's going to call my bluff, she should at least use proper spelling and grammar. And editorially, "sad" and "little" together is laying it on a bit too think, don't you think?
Aack. Back to reaction #1.

Ultimately, I told Claire I was going to frame her note, to preserve it for posterity. That stopped her in her tracks, but probably not for long. I can tell you one thing for sure, there's not a single line in any of those books to prepare you for the day when you suddenly realize your kids are smarter (or at least way more clever) than you...

When Royalty Goes Awry

2012-01-06T23:55:00.000-08:00

It's that special day of the year again, the Feast of Kings, the occasion when we serve the Galette des Rois and someone is crowned king or queen for the day. This year the favor was found in "the share of God," the extra piece left for the first person to arrive at our home after this celebration.

Claire was having none of that. She insisted on having the favor, on the grounds that she had never been the lucky recipient of the crown. To my surprise, some parent (Not me. Ahem.) acquiesced to this demand.

Drunk with the possibilities of her newly-appropriated sovereignty, Claire headed straight to the kitchen and came back with the marble rolling pin, hollering "Off with their heads!!!" No flimsy orb and scepter for this monarch, no siree. She attempted to wield this daunting bit of authority in the whereabouts of Wynham's pate, but like the good French peasant that he is, he took up his dinner fork and retorted with "Vive la Révolution!!!"

At this point, the Queen Mother decided she'd had just about enough of all this abuse of power and uttered words guaranteed to deflate any budding potentate: Go. To. BED!

Long Live the Queen...

Rock Star for Rent

2012-01-05T20:37:00.000-08:00

Possibly, the only thing more egregious than a teenager with attitude is a teenager who goes away to college and comes back with more attitude. Don't get me wrong, Chloé's a good kid getting good grades, and I'm proud of her and all that, but I think her sosie came home for the holidays. Gone is that helpful young lady who could be relied upon to put the dishes in the dishwasher and watch after her younger siblings, the one who never missed a curfew, who called when there was a change of plans, who could be counted on to clean up after herself.

She's been replaced by a somewhat unruly creature who's out all hours, leaves apple cores and underpants on the mantle, has a constant in-and-out stream of adoring fans, and seems to think there's room service 24/7 and perpetual housekeeping services at her disposal. I'm thinking, as her personal manager (every rock star needs one), I could cover the cost of all these amenities by setting up gigs for her, whereby she goes to someone else's house for 24-hour increments and impresses folks with her many talents. Just sayin'.

For any interested parties, please expect impromptu concerts any hour of the day or night, an incredible slowdown in your wireless network, an incredulous look if expectations aren't instantaneously met by the minions, and oh yes, you might want to install a revolving door. And an extra large-capacity water heater. And don't forget to stockpile enormous quantities of chocolate for regular care and feeding of the rock star. You've been warned...

Coco! I love you! *mwah*

Hard to Pin Down

2012-01-04T15:28:00.000-08:00

The New Year always seems to bring with it a sweep of ideas and emotions, relief and regrets, optimism and determination. This go-round, I resolved to keep my resolutions realizable. They are small and fuzzy, not grand and polished, and perhaps a little hard to pin down. They might, just maybe, be doable.

In the spirit of starting small and staying focused, I took a few photos with my new microscopic lens for the iPhone. I love the results, and this one in particular is the perfect talisman for 2012. It's a straight pin, threaded through a tiny glass bead and a seed pearl, on an ornament I made 40 years ago. A tiny thing, but enduring.

So the motto for the year is, "If you cannot do great things, do small things in a great way." Starting small is just fine. The important thing is to start...

Learning My Lines

2012-01-03T20:23:00.000-08:00

Certainly, I've had my issues with getting older. Gravity, for one, is not my friend. In the last couple of years, I've spent a lot of time and energy fighting the inevitable, inexorable, downward trend. *sigh*

A dozen years ago, an older friend of mine complained to me that the creases which appeared on her face while she was sleeping now seemed to stick around for quite awhile after she'd gotten out of bed. I didn't have a lot of pity for her at the time. I should have, but how was I to know?

To no avail, I waged an all-out war against that little Grand Canyon between my eyebrows, the one that careens off towards my left eye. The one I probably got from squinting for all those years while I refused to admit I needed the glasses. All the time, not just for reading. Well, now I'm making peace.

It's time I learned to love my lines. Time to treat them, not like scourges on the landscape, but as badges of honor: something earned. No matter how that landscape evolves, the smile, I hope, will always shine through...

Falling for Franz

2012-01-02T21:29:00.000-08:00

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then how many musical notes does it take to convey the powerful provocation of a given image? Far less, I imagine... Well, you might not call me an aficionado of the majority of his compositions (although certain pieces are quite moving), but I'm absolutely besotted by this portrait of Franz Liszt, painted by Henri Lehmann in 1839.

It happened by chance encounter one sunny afternoon a dozen years ago, at the Musée Carnavalet in Paris. I can't tell you much about my visit other than the fact that, in a tall-ceilinged room flooded with natural light, this canvas stopped me in my tracks. Long rays of sun mimicked and illuminated the original lighting of the scene. The painting, well, it glowed...

Liszt was a handsome-enough fellow, known to make ladies swoon, a virtuoso sporting a checkered romantic history. His face may have been his passport, but his power was in his hands. You can see how Lehmann captured that essence: the confident-yet-not-quite-insouciant posture, the unusual ring on his index finger, those puissant and perfectly formed digits.

Words fail, but his music still speaks volumes. And so does this portrait, with its nuances and innuendos indelibly etched in my mind.

To crack open the lid on Lisztomania, start with this NYT article.

Henri Lehmann gets a place in history, too.

Filaments

2012-01-01T07:58:00.000-08:00

"When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers,

the moon and the stars which you have set in place,

what is man, that you are mindful of him...?"

Sometimes in the sleepless hours of a cloudless night, I play a game with myself. Staring at the western sky, I attempt to will a shooting star into my field of vision. I mean really, how hard is it for the Universe to nudge a bit of space junk into the atmosphere for me?

The object of the game is to go back to sleep, of course, by loosening those filaments of thought from their tightly wound configuration which keeps me up in the first place. If I focus on the space between the stars, planets, and moons, if I concentrate just hard enough, I might be rewarded with a fiery arc across the heavens. Or better yet, slumber. Or best of all, both.

I'm a tiny speck in the grand infinite. But once in awhile, in the evanescent skeins of a falling star, I feel my power. And then, If I'm lucky, I can dream...

Out With the Odd...

2011-12-31T09:18:00.000-08:00

Oh, Joy!

2011-11-09T09:51:00.001-08:00

This little guy, well, he really makes my day. He has such a blythe spirit, naturally infused with ebullience and enthusiasm for the world around him. He asks me questions like, "Who drew the first straight line?" He wakes up singing. He holds my hand. He loves my cooking, and says so emphatically. He hugs on impulse. He's not afraid to say "I love you!" Jack, you are my sunshine...

Oh My Goddess!

2011-10-31T10:04:00.000-07:00

Some of us could take a lesson from Claire: if you want to be a goddess, just own it. She does, and don't anyone try to stop her...

Are You a Poet?

2011-10-17T17:09:00.000-07:00

A complete stranger recently asked me, in the middle of a fundraising meeting, "Are you a poet?" "E-excuse me?" I stammered back, unsure if I'd heard her correctly. "I wonder if you're a poet; you look like one." While I was pondering whether she meant I look like a poet she knows, or if I simply have the air of a poet, someone else answered cheerily, "Well, of course she is!" Everyone in the room chuckled, including me, but the metaphysical implications of the question have been nipping at my heels ever since.

True, in concrete terms, I was poet laureate of my high school class and even won a few awards in college. Then I put aside my sophomoric efforts in pursuit of more serious endeavors, like getting a paying job. The highlight of my poetry-writing career came several years later, though, when a friend-of-a-friend at a party I was throwing came across an unfinished poem I'd scratched out on a scrap of cardboard and hastily stuck in a bookshelf. I watched his face go from a jovial grin to something like, well, profound recognition. He pressed it against his chest and stuck it back where he'd found it. I felt hotly embarrassed, a voyeur in my own home, until it suddenly struck me that I'd done my work: a poem is supposed to speak to the heart.

Intrinsically, "Are you a poet?" isn't a question of title or position, it's a question about how you perceive things. Are YOU a poet? ARE you? What do you see around you? Can you see beauty in the ugly and mundane? Could your sadness be a song? Is there ecstasy in the everyday? There's poetry in numbers, the poetry of food, the epics of human touch, the dirty, disambiguated poetry of the streets, the sublime sonnets of nature; there's even something poetic about the laundry, the fragrance and the folds of it... How you interpret the world around you means the difference between loving life, or just living it. By that right, yes, I hope I am a poet. And I hope you are, too.

Apple of My Eye

2011-10-06T08:31:00.000-07:00

Although I've always been irked by the slogan "Think Different" (the grammar, or the punctuation, depending on how you look at it), the sentiment of it has been an inspiration for nearly fifteen years:

"Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do."

From that first Macintosh SE with its 256K external hard drive I had 22 years ago, to the 64G wonder of an iPhone in the palm of my hand today, Jobs' innovations with Apple have improved my life in incredible ways. Steve Jobs was one of those geniuses, someone who could fully envision what most people couldn't even begin to imagine. He was one of The Truly Great. May he rest in peace...

(photo by Chloé Guillemot)

The 4AM Club

2011-10-05T04:25:00.000-07:00

More often than not, I find myself staring at the glowing green of my alarm clock, waiting for it to slip from middle-of-the-night into Time Purgatory, that hour between 4 and 5 a.m. If you find yourself awake at this hour, you're part of a special club, one with three distinct branches. There are those who are just slipping into bed at that hour after a feverish night of who-knows-what. There are others who are just getting up, because they have a hellish commute or they're baking your bagels and brewing your cuppa. And then there are the folks like me who are, well, just AWAKE in those wee hours of the morning.

Seeing the time turn over is part of the ritual. Suddenly you're transported to a place few people inhabit. The Time Purgatory is a weird space, not exactly normal, because it's really not a regular time to be wandering about. In a house like mine, with paper-thin walls and very few doors, there are very few acceptable 4 a.m. activities. Sometimes, in sheer desperation, I turn down the brightness on my backlit screen and reach out to the other Purgatorios out there. Sometimes, I stare out the window and do some of my best critical thinking. Sometimes, I just close my eyes and sigh. *sigh*

There's a poet named John G. Rives who delivers a brilliant and amusing TED talk on some surreal coincidences surrounding 4 a.m. I for one am a believer. Strange things happen at this hour of the day... I just wish I weren't awake for so many of them.

Unexpected Turns

2011-10-03T08:52:00.000-07:00

It's a cliché, but undeniably true: life is full of unexpected turns, both good and bad. And if there's anything I've learned to embrace in life, it's another cliché: expect the unexpected (you'll rarely be disappointed)!

This is particularly true in parenting, where you never know when your 5-yr-old might whip off his shirt and start belly dancing to "Do You Know the Muffin Man?" in the middle of a dinner party. Or the teenager actually does take out the trash without being reminded. Or the 8-yr-old uses some unfortunate "mature" language. In church. In front of the Bishop. Oh well.

Last month when I took Chloé to upstate New York, we were both feeling glum over the dilapidated industrial feel of her new college town. The waiter at our surprisingly good restaurant, who turned out to be an adjunct professor of Visual Arts at Syracuse University, told us we had to go see Green Lakes, a few miles east of the city. The lakes, transformed to a startling shade of aqua by the calcium carbonate in their waters, were breathtakingly beautiful and utterly unexpected. We were transported by the morning song of a Northern Oriole, and our outlook brightened considerably. It was a good turn.

The turn I took on my ankle a couple of days ago was not so good, although it must have been amusing to see me sprawled out in the handicapped parking space where I fell because I missed the dip in the sidewalk intended as a wheelchair ramp. I'm a motley mass of sprains, scrapes, and bruises, but nothing's broken, and I'm reminded how good I've got it just to get through most of my days without disaster.

There are days when I spend too much energy spinning my wheels (or rather, grinding my gears) in an effort to follow a friend's advice: "One day at a time, with a plan for tomorrow." Tomorrow's coming anyway, plan or not, and sometimes I just want to know my seatbelt's working so I don't fly out when we go around the curve. Occasionally, it's top-down-exceeding-the-speed-limit and I don't worry about what's coming around the bend. The only thing you can be sure of is, whatever's headed this way, it will probably be unexpected...

Color My World

2011-08-18T08:38:00.000-07:00

Not long ago, I recruited my friend Heather to help me sort and sharpen a large bin full of colored pencils. It's testimony to the kind of friend she is that she didn't say "You're crazy," but simply rolled up her sleeves and got to work. 4 kids X 1 box a year X 12 years = a LOT of pencils. They were all different sizes. The leads kept breaking. It took two hours. Ostensibly, this exercise was on behalf of the children, but I felt a deep sense of personal satisfaction when the task was completed.

Second grade was a game-changer in my day; that was the year we graduated from crayons to colored pencils. I can still see it clearly: seated in the front row of class in a black-and-white checked dress, with a bow in my hair and a gap in my teeth, I gripped that box of pencils until my knuckles were white. Getting your own box was a rite of passage; it meant the grown-ups trusted you with things like fine lines and delicate shading. Colored pencils were liberation and progress.

The world has changed since then. Nowadays, the kindergartners get a package of Sharpies straight off the bat. (What does that tell you about society?) For me though, a colored pencil is still the slender totem of creative possibility. An entire cup full of them, points upward, offers an irresistible urging to do something great. Whatever I can dream, I can draw. And I don't even have to stay inside the lines...

Remember Me?

2011-08-15T09:39:00.000-07:00

Mundanity has a way of killing creativity, either in one fell swoop or by degrees. Perhaps that's what compels constant travelers to get out the door, just go, before their souls are swallowed up in a sea of grey. As I survey the everyday scene surrounding me -- dishes, dirty laundry, dog toys -- I try mightily to hold on to that glimmer I felt over the weekend.

At the Travel & Food Writing & Photography Conference I just attended, I basked in the glow of some of the brightest minds in the industry. If you were to ask me why I was there, I'd probably give you the standard-form answer: to further my career as a professional writer and get those creative juices flowing more freely. Obviously, I didn't know what to expect.

Somewhere amidst that crowd of brilliant authors, erudite editors, market-savvy bloggers and fine-eyed photographers, I ran into someone I hadn't seen in awhile and might not even have recognized: Me. "Hey, wow, how are you?" I asked. "Good, good; where have you been?" said Me, "We should get together sometime. You can bring your ukulele." Now, there's an idea.

It wasn't a revelation or a transformational moment. Really, it's just a matter of recognizing and remembering that somewhere in the juggling act, in the barrenness of a busy life, you still have to be true to self. It's good to keep company with like minds. And it's great to parlay your passions into your life's path. "Do what you love and the rest will follow." Who's to argue with that? Not me...

Tofino Tides

2011-07-18T11:37:00.000-07:00

Solitude —
hard sought,
seldom won —
catches me
by the sleeve
at the end of the world,
when the sun
has long since
curled around
the cusp of midnight.
Exhilaration and fear
ionize the air.
Bewildered,
breathless,
I sink onto
the closest outcropping
to inhale the atmosphere
and pay humble respects.
Waves, echoing
the ebb and flow
of human emotion,
swell and slam and shudder
against the shore —
manic, insistent —
demanding
one inch more.
Earth trembles, moans, with
a 3 a.m. longing
only the sky
can hear.
You’d think the world
would split wide open from
all that desperation.
Exhaustion enfolds me —
amidst Nature’s infinite chaos
I am swallowed by sleep —
arms outstretched,
palms upward,
my small sacrifice
offered to appease
that lunatic heaven...
The waves,
knowing tradition better,
slink silently away,
tide pools trickling
their fullness through
the crevasses of time.
An eagle cries,
dim light haunts my eyes.
In the late morning mist
I see those craggy cauldrons,
once full and fomenting,
now empty, exposed, excoriated:
an image of
my own cupped hands,
a reflection of
my very heart.

It's a Toss Up

2011-04-25T22:13:00.000-07:00

Wynham turned 16 today, but he never stopped moving long enough for me to get a decent picture. Karen was more obliging as she whipped up her "prize winning" salad with greens from her garden. I've never been able to top, or even duplicate, her dressing; she should be selling it in gourmet grocers across the country!

Easter Treats

2011-04-24T10:17:00.000-07:00

SO SWEET!

In Other Words

2011-04-23T23:12:00.000-07:00

The senior advanced theater class put on an amazing performance at CellSpace in the city. They wrote the show themselves and I have to say it's the best production I've seen in a long time. Chloe sang a couple of original pieces and she continues to astound...

Motion Sensor

2011-04-22T15:18:00.000-07:00

Hi, Everybody!

Don't Fence Me In...

2011-04-20T08:20:00.001-07:00

Some words of wisdom crossed my path yesterday: "Hang your future on a rusty nail." Meaning, don't sit around waiting for things to be perfect; get out there, jump the fence! Who cares if you rip the seat of your overalls on the way? A more humble, down-to-earth piece of advice than "Hitch your wagon to a star," but more accessible in the everyday, and one worth considering.

The words came with a strong visual, a memory of a college weekend when I left the books behind and tagged along with a handful of friends who said "Come on! Let's go!" We ended up in Sonoma county on a warm Indian summer day, hiking high into the hills, coming back down to the borders of a friend's farm at sunset, tired and parched.

And there, hanging on a rusty nail in a fence post, was this beautiful bowl. Glazed in celadon and burgundy, graced with the impression of some ancient fossil, it mesmerized. "That's gorgeous. Why is it here?" I asked. My friend, the inhabitant of the farm, said "My sister made it. She figured the right person would come along and claim it." With that, he took it down off the nail and handed it to me.

We filled the bowl with blackberries found growing along the fence, and pulled water from the well, and watched a silvery crescent come up over the Valley of the Moon. All those memories are held in this vessel, and other things too: a reverence for simple beauty, the wonder of things unexpected, a reminder to look past the usual boundaries. Yes, I think I'll hang my future on that rusty nail...

Moon Over My Heart

2011-04-18T20:43:00.001-07:00

Coming home from San Francisco on Saturday night, I was somewhat disappointed when I couldn't fully appreciate the moon over the fog-enshrouded city (necessity requiring that I keep my eyes on the road). As I walked in the door, Chloe said, "Hey Mom! Look at these pictures I took with your camera tonight..." In that perfect, synchronistic way of things, she had captured the very moment I'd wanted not to miss.

Funny thing about our beloved Golden Gate, shown in this photo in particular: it's an ever-changing tableau, one that even the most jaded among us never tire of, and a humbling reminder of human excesses and limits. Majestic yet fragile, beautiful and ominous, a mecca or a means to an end, revealing things seen and unknown, shadow against light -- the perfect reflection of a tender and terrible heart.

Something to fear, something to love, something to live or die or hope for... Let's meet in the middle...

Acquaintances

2011-04-15T16:57:00.000-07:00

"Not Friends. A friend, after all, is someone with whom you need not discuss important subjects, though you often do. Nor do you have to clarify the status of the relationship, except when you must. Your good news doesn't bother him too much. Bad news brings out the empathetic best in you both. And each of you knows what small misfortunes to keep to yourself. To be just an acquaintance is normal enough. But terrible to be an acquaintance when you want to be a friend. Terrible when one person is thinking friend, the other acquaintance, and, after a long separation, those rapid, uncomfortable pats on the back when they hug. Show me a back patter, and I'll show you an acquaintance lost among his intuitions, whose body's Morse code is doubt, doubt, doubt. At a party full of acquaintances, it's almost as bad. What do we say after we've said what we usually say? Better to be a stranger with small hopes and a plan."

from What Goes On by Stephen Dunn

painting, Three Friends by Milton Avery

Gimme Shelter

2011-04-13T10:14:00.000-07:00

It was a rainy, windy morning, but that didn't stop all the kids from having a blast on the beach. The better to build a fort, my dear!

Grasping the Moment

2011-04-11T11:09:00.000-07:00

Deb had a grand time on the carousel at the Boardwalk in Santa Cruz, grabbing for that elusive brass ring. I love the momentum in this photo...

Somebody's Someone

2011-03-30T10:07:00.000-07:00

That would be me...

Oompa Loompas Doopity-Do!

2011-03-25T22:06:00.000-07:00

Bad picture, but great shot!

She's Eighteen for a Moment

2011-03-21T22:05:00.000-07:00

Just can't believe it...!

Into the Light

2011-02-20T10:04:00.000-08:00

Nothing like a steaming cuppa joe and a little bit 'o sunshine to get the day started right!

In the Pink

2011-02-14T13:54:00.000-08:00

Being Valentine's Day, my friend Heidi and I decided to "love ourselves" and go out to lunch at the fabulous Left Bank in Larkspur. What a delightful out-of-the-ordinary treat!

Flyin' Solo

2011-01-25T22:02:00.000-08:00

Claire didn't hesitate in her choice of subject for a biography book report: Amelia Earhart. Of course, the getup suits her perfectly...

Read Between the Tides

2011-01-16T19:00:00.000-08:00

Rare Moment, Short Lived...

Siblings By the Sea

2011-01-15T11:58:00.000-08:00

Claire and Jack made the most of a surprisingly beautiful day (for this time of the year) at the beach in Santa Cruz. Wish I could bottle moments like these...

Sweet Feast

2011-01-06T21:57:00.000-08:00

Another Feast of Kings sees Wynham crowned king...

Party On

2010-12-31T21:56:00.000-08:00

So many hats, only one head...

Perfect Pear

2010-12-30T18:55:00.000-08:00

Poaching pears in white wine

for tomorrow night's festivities!

It Just Dawned on Me

2010-12-24T09:53:00.000-08:00

Sometimes it pays to look up...

Sugar Plums

2010-12-20T21:52:00.000-08:00

Going to the Gingerbread Tea at the Fairmont with her friend Kiira was enough to send Claire into a royal tizzy! They looked so adorable and acted so lovely, and both were delighted with the selection of treats and the take-home miniature nutcracker they each received as a gift. Us moms didn't mind the glass of champagne, either...

Testing, Testing, 1, 2, 3...

2010-12-15T18:04:00.000-08:00

Twitter, and Blogger, and Facebook, oh my!

Natural Selection

2010-12-10T21:50:00.000-08:00

Hmmm...

Ya Got Me!

2010-12-06T19:13:00.000-08:00

Where he gets these ideas, I'll never know...

Sugar Coated

2010-12-03T19:15:00.000-08:00

This morning's gingerbread extravaganza was, well, not pretty. Claire, Jack, and Wynham argued over architectural integrity. They argued over who got better building supplies. They refused to share. They ate more of the decorations than they used on their houses.

I have never seen so much sticky stuff in so many places: hair, clothes, faces, floor, trunk of the car. When I got Jack home and removed his pants, they stood up by themselves. All that, topped off with a sprinkle of powdered sugar for a snowy effect. Like I said, not pretty.

Spot On

2010-12-02T08:11:00.000-08:00

Thanks, Claire; I would never have known...

Twinkle, Shimmer, Glimmer, Glow

2010-11-27T18:08:00.000-08:00

Even though I was feeling a bit "bah, humbug" this morning, Chloe insisted that we go out in search of our Christmas tree. It was selected in record time this year, partly due to the fact that Claire, Jack, and Wynham were jumping on a trampoline instead of arguing over which tree was THE best.

Of course, as soon as we got it home Chloe disappeared to go bake cookies and everyone else scattered to the four winds while Wynham strung the lights, after which he was not seen again until dinner. I don't mind hanging the ornaments myself; there is literally a world of history on our tree, and the memories come flooding back each year. For a moment, I feel the childlike wonder of my own tender years...

Par-TAY!

2010-11-26T23:05:00.000-08:00

In the midst of the holiday shuffle we celebrated two more birthdays, and though her actual date fell on Thanksgiving, Claire graciously deferred the celebration a day on the condition that we go out for fondue. For his part, Jack was laid back about bringing in his fifth year a couple of days early...

Strummin'

2010-11-25T22:02:00.000-08:00

There are many other snapshots of Thanksgiving I could have posted (potatoes being mashed, rolls baking in the oven, raised glasses, smiling faces), but this (unlikely) quiet moment caught my eye. I love the light, and Wynham's earnest contemplation in the midst of the surrounding chaos. Just a simple pleasure for which I am thoroughly grateful...

Pie, Oh My!

2010-11-24T22:58:00.000-08:00

It's impossible not to long for my mother around the holidays; she was the reigning queen supreme of beautiful cakes, pies, and cookies. Mincemeat was her favorite, and her version was always spiked with loads of extra brandy and bedecked with a miniature Della Robbia wreath she would painstakingly sculpt out of marzipan.

Her Christmas cookie assortment -- known to make people swoon -- included cinnamon stickies, apricot tarts, and stars glittering with those silver nonpareils which are now illegal (if she were still around, she'd have them smuggled in from somewhere, I'm sure).

My own humble pie has a too-brown crust and a cracked surface on its pumpkin filling and makes me miss her even more. But she would have smothered it in whipped cream and eaten it just the same, and for that thought, I am thankful...

God Bless Us Every One

2010-11-23T14:34:00.000-08:00

I'm pretty sure he fell asleep before "Amen"...

Mouse Invasion!

2010-11-21T13:33:00.000-08:00

Whenever I decide to go all Martha Stewart, I'm always actually relieved when it doesn't turn out as perfectly at the picture. The whole point is -- even with burnt ears and red-rather-than-black tails -- the kids simply had a blast with their friends creating these little mouse cookies (it's the journey, not the destination)...

We'll Always Have Paris

2010-11-20T16:31:00.000-08:00

Just LOVE this photo of Dad which Debra sent me from Paris;
a picture worth a thousand words!

Penny for Your Thoughts

2010-11-12T09:03:00.000-08:00

Look at this simple joy... Where does it go? Where do we lose our wonder? I'm glad I have little ones around to remind me not to forget...

Belting it Out

2010-11-05T23:28:00.000-07:00

Chloe steals the show at
the Night of Blues...

Divine Sky

2010-11-04T19:26:00.000-07:00

Breathtaking...

Making Faces

2010-11-02T09:25:00.000-07:00

The picture speaks for itself:
Claire expresses volumes with a few
simple strokes of the pen.

What a Treat!

2010-10-31T20:23:00.000-07:00

Claire? In a skirt?
Now, that's a treat for Halloween...

Pumpkin Patch

2010-10-30T14:22:00.000-07:00

Too many options; so hard to choose!

Athena Adorned

2010-10-27T21:21:00.000-07:00

At the very last minute (what a surprise), Chloe demanded a crown to embellish her Halloween appearance as the goddess Athena. Lucky for her, it was my night in the metalsmithing studio...

Song Sung Blue

2010-10-26T23:19:00.000-07:00

Cabaret at Redwood Theater.
Not a dry eye in the house when
Chloe sings a song sung blue...

90 Candles and Counting

2010-10-25T21:18:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday, Grandmom!
So glad we got to celebrate with you...

Color My World

2010-10-23T16:17:00.000-07:00

I've been experimenting with food and light and tried to steal a page from More Magazine's September issue... I love the way the thinner edges of this cranberry relish ignite with the back lighting, how the seeds and pulp cast shadows, and the color reflects off the surface of the Pyrex dish. Glam!

A Most Fortunate Event

2010-10-12T20:14:00.000-07:00

Claire and her friend Nina were thoroughly delighted to sneak up

on Lemony Snicket as he signed books this evening...

A Beacon in Darkness

2010-10-11T15:00:00.000-07:00

Alcatraz is, at best, a grim place: a reminder of all that is unfortunate in society. The cells and the bars made me shudder as we toured the erstwhile prison, but for me, this lone little lightbulb brightened the whole experience.

Brilliant Blue

2010-10-10T20:53:00.000-07:00

What a thrill to see the Blue Angels from Alcatraz this afternoon. Beauty and precision in a cloudless sky. Good ferry-to-ferry connections. Dinner on the waterfront at sunset. Some days work out just as they were planned...

Lights, Camera

2010-10-02T23:52:00.000-07:00

The Eagles live at the Oracle... Happy to report they still have it all going on!

Whatchoo Lookin' At?

2010-09-26T13:09:00.000-07:00

He's a hoot...!

Al Fresco

2010-09-25T21:08:00.000-07:00

Warm weather grants us the luxury of dining outdoors, an opportunity which never ceases to delight the whole family. The young ones feel a sense of something special in the air, as if dinner by candlelight were a magical experience. Even their manners are better! Well, mostly...

Angels and Demons

2010-09-12T12:05:00.000-07:00

Even in an acolyte's garb, Wynham is challenged to keep a straight face...

The Life Aquatic

2010-09-06T19:03:00.000-07:00

Seems everyone wants to be at the beach this weekend, otters, pelicans, whales, and dolphins included. I was swimming so close to these gorgeous creatures, they might have come over to play...

Let's Boogie!

2010-09-03T18:20:00.000-07:00

Claire and Jack were so enthusiastic about boarding in Santa Cruz that I threw on a wetsuit and went in after them. Embarrassingly enough for me, they are both way better at catching the waves than I am...

Be Still, My Beating Heart

2010-08-26T08:00:00.000-07:00

Jack? In kindergarten? How can it be...? Everyone seems delighted with this arrangement and there was an air of excitement as all the kids prepared for the first day of school. Still, there was a small wrenching of my heart as Jack jumped out of the car and trundled off to class with nary a backward glance...

After You...

2010-08-23T15:58:00.000-07:00

The elevated temperatures can make even the most laid-back fellows feel hot and cranky, so I was delighted to see patience and good manners on display at the playground water fountain. Maybe these little guys could teach the parents in our school car lines a thing or two about waiting your turn with good grace...

Perspective

2010-08-22T21:56:00.000-07:00

A neighbor invited a few families to a spur-of-the-moment cookout at her little bit of beachfront and I have to say it was a refreshing change from the usual. Why are we sometimes so challenged to step outside our spheres? Even the kids show a tendency to fall into a rut. Dinner at the beach? On a school night? With banjo-accompanied songs around the campfire? YES, we say, why NOT?!

Whisked Away

2010-08-11T17:54:00.000-07:00

Mostly, I find myself alone in the kitchen except for the occasional passerby foraging for snacks. So when someone wants to jump into the fray, by all means, I say put on an apron and let's get down to it. If children grow up with an appreciation for home cooked foods made from scratch, they are that much more likely to eat well once they start cooking for themselves. Or better yet, once they start cooking for me!