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As a bee seeks nectar from all kinds of flowers seek teachings everywhere. Like a deer that finds a quiet place to graze seek seclusion to digest all that you have gathered. Like a mad one beyond all limits go where you please and live like a lion completely free of all fear.
-- dzogchen tantra
The medieval French village of Samois-Sur-Siene, 45 minutes west of Paris by train, is a bit grey and damp today. Its 48 degrees latitude, to Seattle's 47. I could have been daydreaming due to sleep deprivation or disorientation, somewhere between a full moon, a big time change and watching over a sick baby. Nevertheless, I saw a wild boar run across my path this afternoon. He dashed out of the forest and rooted along the roadside not fifteen feet in front of me.
I was head down, pushing a stroller with nephew "Jiggy" aboard. We bumped along the cobbled street when I heard the boar Jiggy shouted and I froze. I looked up to see black bristly creature snort lustily then wheel around into the forest as if he hadn’t even noticed us.
“C’est un gros cochoain!” Jiggy shouted as we threw open the door and recounted our tale to my sister.
In its own unique way, France spans contrasts of wildness and restraint. I'm impressed with the architectural hegemony of this quaint stone village and the Haussmanien buildings of Paris: mansard-roofs and sandstone walls march and down the city streets like court subjects all in a row. Along the street, stout trees wield short clubbed arms of identically pruned branches, flat as fans across the top. What it is like for the tree to be restrained like that? Its not like the strain of a spruce that leans out to the sea, holding rock for dear life in the fist of its roots.
Back to the wild pig. “In fact, the village is within in a huge forest. There are lots of wild animals here,” Molly Lou reminds me. The kings built Chateau Fontainbleau to enjoy riding and hunting in the forest."
As I massage my sister's forehead later, we both drift off, far from our familiar. I am far from home, far from my plan, far from the camper where I’ve slept securely for weeks. Far from my yoga mat, my studio and far from my own particular daily dressage, but all of this is nothing. My sister spoke today of feeling cut off from her body, cut off at the waist. Each day is of recovery is weighted by exhaustion. Sometimes its hard, truly hard to know if healing is happening. Its hard to trust we are on a productive path. I think of the the boar, who doesn’t run on paths. It runs headlong as one lean muscle. The boar makes is path and roots his way forward freely, unafraid.
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Tonight, my time away from my little tin house with Michael and Jake hits me hard. I haven't slept well in days. This strange image captures how I feel right now. High above there's a blue sky, but I feel like this glass awning, heavy with sodden moss. The repercussions of my sister being in a body cast are so incredibly difficult. She may not sit for a month and who knows when she will be able to lift her son into her arms.
"Carry you?" says Jiggy, asking to be picked up. We are walking slowly over uneven cobblestones. My sister who has always whisked down trails like a moth in the night, now pauses in the path with each step gently, like a monk in walking meditation.
Jiggy washed his horses in the bath today. I found these three little horses outside the back door and put them the tub. He was very excited and asked me to play with him. I asked them their names. He introduced Jiggy, his favorite horse and then he showed me Mama and Papa. Papa is the spotted grey; Mama is white with orange patches. Then he scrubbed them each with a nail brush.
Life isn't fair, and as we get older it seems to get harder. We must get stronger and stronger, more brave, resilient and compassionate to weather the inevitable challenges. The best medicine besides a walk out doors is to look into the innocent and trusting face of a child.
"Carry you?" says Jiggy, asking to be picked up. We are walking slowly over uneven cobblestones. My sister who has always whisked down trails like a moth in the night, now pauses in the path with each step gently, like a monk in walking meditation.
Jiggy washed his horses in the bath today. I found these three little horses outside the back door and put them the tub. He was very excited and asked me to play with him. I asked them their names. He introduced Jiggy, his favorite horse and then he showed me Mama and Papa. Papa is the spotted grey; Mama is white with orange patches. Then he scrubbed them each with a nail brush.
Life isn't fair, and as we get older it seems to get harder. We must get stronger and stronger, more brave, resilient and compassionate to weather the inevitable challenges. The best medicine besides a walk out doors is to look into the innocent and trusting face of a child.
- Published on
Samois is sleepy under a heavy grey sky today. The village is beautiful, almost medieval. It was a station for barges on the Siene and other than doors and shutters, everything is made of stone—houses, roads, walls. Along the river by the village is a tiny island where there is a jazz festival every summer. Django Reinhardt lived here, and the festival honors his influence. Down the the little one-way road we walk to the river, half-full with tiny cars. Some of the doors on the homes are barely five feet tall. Behind the homes are sometimes public paths and fields with winter vegetables and tall grass. We walked along “Ruelles” which means little street. The town is picturesque, and somewhat disheveled, with dying summer overgrowth, leaves and vines.
After breakfast my brother in law shows me his son's nursery school He introduced me to the staff at the little daycare, so that I could pick him up later. It was very clean and cute and to me, rather institutional, with an office, rows of lockers, and a playroom separate from a sleeping room. Its not like a home, typical of American daycare. It’s a tiny person’s school, imparting structure and ritual to the day, from “home-made” meals to naptime, outdoor time and playtime.
We are all writing.
During our walk my sister and I reminisched about moments of childhood like driving to Alaska and moving into the house which was under construction. We remembered Sawdust Baby, our first doll we made of wood shavings from the house, and the clothing mom made for us. And how mom could go for hours singing songs-- sea chanties, labor work songs, spirituals, yiddish and Isreali songs. When Mom called she told us her new, no-fail pot pie recipe based on a Mexican dish.
“It starts out with knowing you have leftover beans and spagetti from previous nights. You bake this in a medium sized stone casserole dish.
Make your dough:
2 c. flour
1/2 c oil
1/2 c. milk or sou rcream or yogurt
Roll dough out and lay it in the bottom of the casserole, press into the dough some fresh rosemary. Layer the bottom with swiss or cheddar cheese (to prevent the bottom of the crust from softening). Layer on black beans, friend onions and garlic and any leftover vegetables like spinach or chicken sprinkle with dabs of sour cream top layer is either spagetti or another cooked pasta. Cover with pesto or pasta sauce, then one more layer of cheese and worchestire sauce, then layer on the top crust and sprinkle with a little bit of chili powder. It’s the mix of beans and pasta that makes it so wonderful”
We crack up with laughter about the idea of using leftover pasta, but we both write it down.
After breakfast my brother in law shows me his son's nursery school He introduced me to the staff at the little daycare, so that I could pick him up later. It was very clean and cute and to me, rather institutional, with an office, rows of lockers, and a playroom separate from a sleeping room. Its not like a home, typical of American daycare. It’s a tiny person’s school, imparting structure and ritual to the day, from “home-made” meals to naptime, outdoor time and playtime.
We are all writing.
During our walk my sister and I reminisched about moments of childhood like driving to Alaska and moving into the house which was under construction. We remembered Sawdust Baby, our first doll we made of wood shavings from the house, and the clothing mom made for us. And how mom could go for hours singing songs-- sea chanties, labor work songs, spirituals, yiddish and Isreali songs. When Mom called she told us her new, no-fail pot pie recipe based on a Mexican dish.
“It starts out with knowing you have leftover beans and spagetti from previous nights. You bake this in a medium sized stone casserole dish.
Make your dough:
2 c. flour
1/2 c oil
1/2 c. milk or sou rcream or yogurt
Roll dough out and lay it in the bottom of the casserole, press into the dough some fresh rosemary. Layer the bottom with swiss or cheddar cheese (to prevent the bottom of the crust from softening). Layer on black beans, friend onions and garlic and any leftover vegetables like spinach or chicken sprinkle with dabs of sour cream top layer is either spagetti or another cooked pasta. Cover with pesto or pasta sauce, then one more layer of cheese and worchestire sauce, then layer on the top crust and sprinkle with a little bit of chili powder. It’s the mix of beans and pasta that makes it so wonderful”
We crack up with laughter about the idea of using leftover pasta, but we both write it down.
- Published on
Samois sur Siene, France
My sister singing “Yankee Doodle” with her son. Then they read from a new set of illustrated Little House on the Prairie books. He is sitting next to her as she lays on her back in the hospital bed. He is rapt. When she pauses he points at Laura Ingalls and asks, “What? What is she doing?!”
She has been up on her feet more than I expected. We walked down to the Seine and watched the ducks and swans. After climbing the stairs several times today, helping hang the wash, preparing dinner with me and orienting me to the bath routine she is now on her feet quite a bit. But she can't hold her baby. Walking and moving around will build her strength. By seven pm she’s exhausted. Jiggy marches around blowing his wooden whistle. She rubs a leaf as dark and soft as a baby elephant’s, which Jiggy stuffed in his pack. As she rubs it, she recites
Tea by Wallace Stevens
When the elephants ear in the park shriveled in frost,
And the leaves on the paths ran like rats
Your lamplight fell on shining pillows of seashades and sky shades,
Like umbrellas in Java
My sister singing “Yankee Doodle” with her son. Then they read from a new set of illustrated Little House on the Prairie books. He is sitting next to her as she lays on her back in the hospital bed. He is rapt. When she pauses he points at Laura Ingalls and asks, “What? What is she doing?!”
She has been up on her feet more than I expected. We walked down to the Seine and watched the ducks and swans. After climbing the stairs several times today, helping hang the wash, preparing dinner with me and orienting me to the bath routine she is now on her feet quite a bit. But she can't hold her baby. Walking and moving around will build her strength. By seven pm she’s exhausted. Jiggy marches around blowing his wooden whistle. She rubs a leaf as dark and soft as a baby elephant’s, which Jiggy stuffed in his pack. As she rubs it, she recites
Tea by Wallace Stevens
When the elephants ear in the park shriveled in frost,
And the leaves on the paths ran like rats
Your lamplight fell on shining pillows of seashades and sky shades,
Like umbrellas in Java
- Published on
Aboard an early morning flight from San Jose to Paris via Chicago. I haven’t slept enough in days. With all the revelry in San Francisco, and packing Jake off to Alaska for five days yesterday morning, I feel a bit dizzy. The City is delightful. We did our best to show Jake a good time. As soon as schoolwork was done about noon every day, we sped around, exploring. Day One was Jake’s favorite local hotspot, Chinatown. Walking along Grant street, Jake took tons of pictures and purchased a postcard, a placemat featuring Lombard Street and a few trolley ornaments. He searched for a ball cap with “San Francisco” in Chinese. What a good idea, but no go. Instead, he documented the lucky cats, raised paws waving reliably. We savored our lunch at the New Asia, a dim sum palace. Jake ate all three pork buns as Michael and I savored “Chinese greens” (brocolini), shrimp in a pinched rice pocket and sliced bbq pork. For the sake of adventure we tried Shanghai style pork buns. Not as good as the puffy ones. We all relished rice balls filled with sweet red bean paste and rolled in crunchy sesame seeds, cut like a tulip in bloom. Too full to eat more, we stared wistfully at the little, loaded food carts and finished our tea. Then, just for the fun of it, we boarded the upper level of a double-decker bus for a tour of the city. That night Jake stayed in with cousin Jaden in Noe Valley while Michael and I went to the New Nothing cinema/music cave/ film studio enclave for band practice with the Goats. Tomorrow would be our San Francisco debut.
On Tuesday, Jake’s art project combined writing and geography for a short movie featuring his still images of Chinatown. Per Jake’s direction, Michael strummed quiet blues and read Jake’s script which included a survey of the history and culture of Chinatown. Jake plowed his way through prime number process for math and cell theory for science. Lunch was big burritos at La Taqueria on Valencia. Jake asked, “Is this Mexicotown or something?!” He was fascinated by a roving preacher who pronounced bold indictments of modern-day life at the intersection of 17th and Mission, almost following him.
Later Tuesday night we joined the Goats for a casual show at the very Bohemian Café Bazzar in the Sunset district. Michael was nervous, but he performed standing up for the first time. From nervousness, I retreat into the steadiness of the beat on brushes or button-tipped fingers, too focused to sing. So lovely to see the lovely Michelle Maine there, my bosom buddy since we roomed together in the Mission 25 years ago. Though out of touch on a day to day basis we manage to convene every year or two for a full-fledged meeting of minds and
On Wednesday we went to Jaden’s school for science fair. We were all amazed to see second graders speak mostly animatedly about their experiments using the scientific method. Alta Vista is an impressive new private school for little geniuses, reminds of Jake’s alma matter, Fireweed, but with more of a techno/science focus than the arts. Or, as Jake said, “Like Fireweed but with a lot of money.”
Jaden was adorable in a blue buttondown oxford shirt and black velvet bowtie explaining his experiment measuring the freezing time of different liquids. “What do you like most about the science fair?” I asked him.
“The talking part,” he said, “And my parts get moving and turning,” he said grinning impishly and waving his arms and legs like a robot, “and pretty soon I’m gone!”
He wheeled off into the crowd. I spoke with a little girl about her experiment, which studied how people analyzed language. From a list of words in four “not obvious” languages including Farsi, Korean she wanted to know which words people who did not speak these languages would attribute to certain objects. It was hard to imagine the idea and the execution of the project was truly the work of the child. There was at least an audience of one individual for every student. Parents filled the hallways, enthusiastic, but also troubled by the pressures placed on their youngsters to achieve. In a mandated atmosphere of integrated city public schools that perform poorly its seems quite difficult for families to find a sane middle ground between San Francisco’s diverse and elite polarities.
As Jake and Jaden played Legos, Usha, Rasa and I collaborated on black bean tacos for dinner. Rasa’s propane was down for the week since a leak had been detected, necessitating a complete rebuild of her gas plumbing. This led to a wonderful and cozy flow of cooking, washing and socializing throughout our stay, culminating in the “community” collaboration of Thanksgiving. Usha is Tara’s half-sister, which makes us something like step-sisters, but, as she aptly stated, “that doesn’t sound as nice as it really is between us, so we just say sisters.”
I never would have imagined that coloring this odyssey in a most vivid and poignant way is the opportunity to spend about two weeks with each of my sisters. The trip just unfolded that way. This has deepened the quality of the odyssey beyond measure for me. As it was hard to leave Arcata, I ached over leaving San Francisco last night. Looking around the table at Usha’s family in Rasa’s cozy and cabin-like living room, I savored the colors and smells. Proseco bubbles, honey candles, roast turkey and butternut squash, parsnips, carrots and leeks candied pink with beets. Michael’s beautiful appetizer plate of roasted mushrooms skewered with fresh mozzarella and basil, dripping with sundried tomato-infused oil. We all had such fun preparing this meal. I felt Jake’s absence. I knew he was delighting in Thanksgiving at Alyeska’s Pond restaurant with Kurt, Kim, Roddy and special guest, Adam Brinster from Homer, who will share the break skiing with Jake. But I still basked in Jake’s love of San Francisco, and how he has wheeled into our odyssey with courage and energy, embracing family and making new friends in a bolder way than ever before.
As we tooled down the road to San Jose last night for my early morning flight, I caught Michael’s itch to hit the road. He spoke of driving to LA to hang out and play music with Kevin, another “roaming Goat,” and then back to Marin to camp before picking up Jake on 11/28. If I were with him, I would have pulled him back to the Occidental area for more exploration, from Bodega Bay to Napa... but, perhaps its better to leave with possibility and curiosity still burning bright. Parked by his buddy, Brent’s bungalow, we slept like babies in the buggy. And parted rather babyishly this morning.
On Tuesday, Jake’s art project combined writing and geography for a short movie featuring his still images of Chinatown. Per Jake’s direction, Michael strummed quiet blues and read Jake’s script which included a survey of the history and culture of Chinatown. Jake plowed his way through prime number process for math and cell theory for science. Lunch was big burritos at La Taqueria on Valencia. Jake asked, “Is this Mexicotown or something?!” He was fascinated by a roving preacher who pronounced bold indictments of modern-day life at the intersection of 17th and Mission, almost following him.
Later Tuesday night we joined the Goats for a casual show at the very Bohemian Café Bazzar in the Sunset district. Michael was nervous, but he performed standing up for the first time. From nervousness, I retreat into the steadiness of the beat on brushes or button-tipped fingers, too focused to sing. So lovely to see the lovely Michelle Maine there, my bosom buddy since we roomed together in the Mission 25 years ago. Though out of touch on a day to day basis we manage to convene every year or two for a full-fledged meeting of minds and
On Wednesday we went to Jaden’s school for science fair. We were all amazed to see second graders speak mostly animatedly about their experiments using the scientific method. Alta Vista is an impressive new private school for little geniuses, reminds of Jake’s alma matter, Fireweed, but with more of a techno/science focus than the arts. Or, as Jake said, “Like Fireweed but with a lot of money.”
Jaden was adorable in a blue buttondown oxford shirt and black velvet bowtie explaining his experiment measuring the freezing time of different liquids. “What do you like most about the science fair?” I asked him.
“The talking part,” he said, “And my parts get moving and turning,” he said grinning impishly and waving his arms and legs like a robot, “and pretty soon I’m gone!”
He wheeled off into the crowd. I spoke with a little girl about her experiment, which studied how people analyzed language. From a list of words in four “not obvious” languages including Farsi, Korean she wanted to know which words people who did not speak these languages would attribute to certain objects. It was hard to imagine the idea and the execution of the project was truly the work of the child. There was at least an audience of one individual for every student. Parents filled the hallways, enthusiastic, but also troubled by the pressures placed on their youngsters to achieve. In a mandated atmosphere of integrated city public schools that perform poorly its seems quite difficult for families to find a sane middle ground between San Francisco’s diverse and elite polarities.
As Jake and Jaden played Legos, Usha, Rasa and I collaborated on black bean tacos for dinner. Rasa’s propane was down for the week since a leak had been detected, necessitating a complete rebuild of her gas plumbing. This led to a wonderful and cozy flow of cooking, washing and socializing throughout our stay, culminating in the “community” collaboration of Thanksgiving. Usha is Tara’s half-sister, which makes us something like step-sisters, but, as she aptly stated, “that doesn’t sound as nice as it really is between us, so we just say sisters.”
I never would have imagined that coloring this odyssey in a most vivid and poignant way is the opportunity to spend about two weeks with each of my sisters. The trip just unfolded that way. This has deepened the quality of the odyssey beyond measure for me. As it was hard to leave Arcata, I ached over leaving San Francisco last night. Looking around the table at Usha’s family in Rasa’s cozy and cabin-like living room, I savored the colors and smells. Proseco bubbles, honey candles, roast turkey and butternut squash, parsnips, carrots and leeks candied pink with beets. Michael’s beautiful appetizer plate of roasted mushrooms skewered with fresh mozzarella and basil, dripping with sundried tomato-infused oil. We all had such fun preparing this meal. I felt Jake’s absence. I knew he was delighting in Thanksgiving at Alyeska’s Pond restaurant with Kurt, Kim, Roddy and special guest, Adam Brinster from Homer, who will share the break skiing with Jake. But I still basked in Jake’s love of San Francisco, and how he has wheeled into our odyssey with courage and energy, embracing family and making new friends in a bolder way than ever before.
As we tooled down the road to San Jose last night for my early morning flight, I caught Michael’s itch to hit the road. He spoke of driving to LA to hang out and play music with Kevin, another “roaming Goat,” and then back to Marin to camp before picking up Jake on 11/28. If I were with him, I would have pulled him back to the Occidental area for more exploration, from Bodega Bay to Napa... but, perhaps its better to leave with possibility and curiosity still burning bright. Parked by his buddy, Brent’s bungalow, we slept like babies in the buggy. And parted rather babyishly this morning.
- Published on
Aboard an early morning flight from San Jose to Paris via Chicago. I haven’t slept enough in days. With all the revelry in San Francisco, and packing Jake off to Alaska for five days yesterday morning, I feel a bit dizzy. The City is delightful. We did our best to show Jake a good time. As soon as schoolwork was done about noon every day, we sped around, exploring. Day One was Jake’s favorite local hotspot, Chinatown. Walking along Grant street, Jake took tons of pictures and purchased a postcard, a placemat featuring Lombard Street and a few trolley ornaments. He searched for a ball cap with “San Francisco” in Chinese. What a good idea, but no go. Instead, he documented the lucky cats, raised paws waving reliably. We savored our lunch at the New Asia, a dim sum palace. Jake ate all three pork buns as Michael and I savored “Chinese greens” (brocolini), shrimp in a pinched rice pocket and sliced bbq pork. For the sake of adventure we tried Shanghai style pork buns. Not as good as the puffy ones. We all relished rice balls filled with sweet red bean paste and rolled in crunchy sesame seeds, cut like a tulip in bloom. Too full to eat more, we stared wistfully at the little, loaded food carts and finished our tea. Then, just for the fun of it, we boarded the upper level of a double-decker bus for a tour of the city. That night Jake stayed in with cousin Jaden in Noe Valley while Michael and I went to the New Nothing cinema/music cave/ film studio enclave for band practice with the Goats. Tomorrow would be our San Francisco debut.
On Tuesday, Jake’s art project combined writing and geography for a short movie featuring his still images of Chinatown. Per Jake’s direction, Michael strummed quiet blues and read Jake’s script which included a survey of the history and culture of Chinatown. Jake plowed his way through prime number process for math and cell theory for science. Lunch was big burritos at La Taqueria on Valencia. Jake asked, “Is this Mexicotown or something?!” He was fascinated by a roving preacher who pronounced bold indictments of modern-day life at the intersection of 17th and Mission, almost following him.
Later Tuesday night we joined the Goats for a casual show at the very Bohemian Café Bazzar in the Sunset district. Michael was nervous, but he performed standing up for the first time. From nervousness, I retreat into the steadiness of the beat on brushes or button-tipped fingers, too focused to sing. So lovely to see the lovely Michelle Maine there, my bosom buddy since we roomed together in the Mission 25 years ago. Though out of touch on a day to day basis we manage to convene every year or two for a full-fledged meeting of minds and
On Wednesday we went to Jaden’s school for science fair. We were all amazed to see second graders speak mostly animatedly about their experiments using the scientific method. Alta Vista is an impressive new private school for little geniuses, reminds of Jake’s alma matter, Fireweed, but with more of a techno/science focus than the arts. Or, as Jake said, “Like Fireweed but with a lot of money.”
Jaden was adorable in a blue buttondown oxford shirt and black velvet bowtie explaining his experiment measuring the freezing time of different liquids. “What do you like most about the science fair?” I asked him.
“The talking part,” he said, “And my parts get moving and turning,” he said grinning impishly and waving his arms and legs like a robot, “and pretty soon I’m gone!”
He wheeled off into the crowd. I spoke with a little girl about her experiment, which studied how people analyzed language. From a list of words in four “not obvious” languages including Farsi, Korean she wanted to know which words people who did not speak these languages would attribute to certain objects. It was hard to imagine the idea and the execution of the project was truly the work of the child. There was at least an audience of one individual for every student. Parents filled the hallways, enthusiastic, but also troubled by the pressures placed on their youngsters to achieve. In a mandated atmosphere of integrated city public schools that perform poorly its seems quite difficult for families to find a sane middle ground between San Francisco’s diverse and elite polarities.
As Jake and Jaden played Legos, Usha, Rasa and I collaborated on black bean tacos for dinner. Rasa’s propane was down for the week since a leak had been detected, necessitating a complete rebuild of her gas plumbing. This led to a wonderful and cozy flow of cooking, washing and socializing throughout our stay, culminating in the “community” collaboration of Thanksgiving. Usha is Tara’s half-sister, which makes us something like step-sisters, but, as she aptly stated, “that doesn’t sound as nice as it really is between us, so we just say sisters.”
I never would have imagined that coloring this odyssey in a most vivid and poignant way is the opportunity to spend about two weeks with each of my sisters. And to think that Tara was with Molly for the whole time I was with Usha. The trip just unfolded that way. This has deepened the quality of the odyssey beyond measure for me. As it was hard to leave Arcata, I ached over leaving San Francisco last night. Looking around the table at Usha’s family in Rasa’s cozy and cabin-like living room, I savored the colors and smells. Proseco bubbles, honey candles, roast turkey and butternut squash, parsnips, carrots and leeks candied pink with beets. Michael’s beautiful appetizer plate of roasted mushrooms skewered with fresh mozzarella and basil, dripping with sundried tomato-infused oil. We all had such fun preparing this meal. I felt Jake’s absence. I knew he was delighting in Thanksgiving at Alyeska’s Pond restaurant with Kurt, Kim, Roddy and special guest, Adam Brinster from Homer, who will share the break skiing with Jake. But I still basked in Jake’s love of San Francisco, and how he has wheeled into our odyssey with courage and energy, embracing family and making new friends in a bolder way than ever before.
As we tooled down the road to San Jose last night for my early morning flight, I caught Michael’s itch to hit the road. He spoke of driving to LA to hang out and play music with Kevin, another “roaming Goat,” and then back to Marin to camp before picking up Jake on 11/28. If I were with him, I would have pulled him back to the Occidental area for more exploration, from Bodega Bay to Napa... but, perhaps its better to leave with possibility and curiosity still burning bright. Parked by his buddy, Brent’s bungalow, we slept like babies in the buggy. And parted rather babyishly this morning.
On Tuesday, Jake’s art project combined writing and geography for a short movie featuring his still images of Chinatown. Per Jake’s direction, Michael strummed quiet blues and read Jake’s script which included a survey of the history and culture of Chinatown. Jake plowed his way through prime number process for math and cell theory for science. Lunch was big burritos at La Taqueria on Valencia. Jake asked, “Is this Mexicotown or something?!” He was fascinated by a roving preacher who pronounced bold indictments of modern-day life at the intersection of 17th and Mission, almost following him.
Later Tuesday night we joined the Goats for a casual show at the very Bohemian Café Bazzar in the Sunset district. Michael was nervous, but he performed standing up for the first time. From nervousness, I retreat into the steadiness of the beat on brushes or button-tipped fingers, too focused to sing. So lovely to see the lovely Michelle Maine there, my bosom buddy since we roomed together in the Mission 25 years ago. Though out of touch on a day to day basis we manage to convene every year or two for a full-fledged meeting of minds and
On Wednesday we went to Jaden’s school for science fair. We were all amazed to see second graders speak mostly animatedly about their experiments using the scientific method. Alta Vista is an impressive new private school for little geniuses, reminds of Jake’s alma matter, Fireweed, but with more of a techno/science focus than the arts. Or, as Jake said, “Like Fireweed but with a lot of money.”
Jaden was adorable in a blue buttondown oxford shirt and black velvet bowtie explaining his experiment measuring the freezing time of different liquids. “What do you like most about the science fair?” I asked him.
“The talking part,” he said, “And my parts get moving and turning,” he said grinning impishly and waving his arms and legs like a robot, “and pretty soon I’m gone!”
He wheeled off into the crowd. I spoke with a little girl about her experiment, which studied how people analyzed language. From a list of words in four “not obvious” languages including Farsi, Korean she wanted to know which words people who did not speak these languages would attribute to certain objects. It was hard to imagine the idea and the execution of the project was truly the work of the child. There was at least an audience of one individual for every student. Parents filled the hallways, enthusiastic, but also troubled by the pressures placed on their youngsters to achieve. In a mandated atmosphere of integrated city public schools that perform poorly its seems quite difficult for families to find a sane middle ground between San Francisco’s diverse and elite polarities.
As Jake and Jaden played Legos, Usha, Rasa and I collaborated on black bean tacos for dinner. Rasa’s propane was down for the week since a leak had been detected, necessitating a complete rebuild of her gas plumbing. This led to a wonderful and cozy flow of cooking, washing and socializing throughout our stay, culminating in the “community” collaboration of Thanksgiving. Usha is Tara’s half-sister, which makes us something like step-sisters, but, as she aptly stated, “that doesn’t sound as nice as it really is between us, so we just say sisters.”
I never would have imagined that coloring this odyssey in a most vivid and poignant way is the opportunity to spend about two weeks with each of my sisters. And to think that Tara was with Molly for the whole time I was with Usha. The trip just unfolded that way. This has deepened the quality of the odyssey beyond measure for me. As it was hard to leave Arcata, I ached over leaving San Francisco last night. Looking around the table at Usha’s family in Rasa’s cozy and cabin-like living room, I savored the colors and smells. Proseco bubbles, honey candles, roast turkey and butternut squash, parsnips, carrots and leeks candied pink with beets. Michael’s beautiful appetizer plate of roasted mushrooms skewered with fresh mozzarella and basil, dripping with sundried tomato-infused oil. We all had such fun preparing this meal. I felt Jake’s absence. I knew he was delighting in Thanksgiving at Alyeska’s Pond restaurant with Kurt, Kim, Roddy and special guest, Adam Brinster from Homer, who will share the break skiing with Jake. But I still basked in Jake’s love of San Francisco, and how he has wheeled into our odyssey with courage and energy, embracing family and making new friends in a bolder way than ever before.
As we tooled down the road to San Jose last night for my early morning flight, I caught Michael’s itch to hit the road. He spoke of driving to LA to hang out and play music with Kevin, another “roaming Goat,” and then back to Marin to camp before picking up Jake on 11/28. If I were with him, I would have pulled him back to the Occidental area for more exploration, from Bodega Bay to Napa... but, perhaps its better to leave with possibility and curiosity still burning bright. Parked by his buddy, Brent’s bungalow, we slept like babies in the buggy. And parted rather babyishly this morning.
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Last night I lay awake for a couple hours. The city was so quiet. My feet were burning hot. Was it the glass of wine I drank at dinner, or the walk to the Castro theater and back in clogs? Thoughts thundered through my head like mustang horses.
In Occidental, I was charmed by a lovely herbal apothecary run by a very engaging, artistic woman who makes tinctures, presents talks and workshops. An adjacent space with a shared foyer that she recently started occupying with a temporary tag sale sent my mind flying. In that space, with its redwood floors and white walls, I imagined a gallery as a complementary venue that supports her work by providing a workshop and presenting space, while I showed art on the walls. My presence there could also give her time away from the shop, to make tinctures and art. I could teach workshops that might appeal to her clientele, like drawing and book making for the botanist. And her presence a couple days a week could spell me as well. We could each do what we love, and if we did it humanely, it could be sustainable. At the center of two parallel paths of entrepreneurship is a vision for independence, creativity and mutual support.
In Occidental, I was charmed by a lovely herbal apothecary run by a very engaging, artistic woman who makes tinctures, presents talks and workshops. An adjacent space with a shared foyer that she recently started occupying with a temporary tag sale sent my mind flying. In that space, with its redwood floors and white walls, I imagined a gallery as a complementary venue that supports her work by providing a workshop and presenting space, while I showed art on the walls. My presence there could also give her time away from the shop, to make tinctures and art. I could teach workshops that might appeal to her clientele, like drawing and book making for the botanist. And her presence a couple days a week could spell me as well. We could each do what we love, and if we did it humanely, it could be sustainable. At the center of two parallel paths of entrepreneurship is a vision for independence, creativity and mutual support.
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Its become harder to write. I’ve been avoiding it for the last week. Starting in Arcata, I began to have the feeling of settling, not a voyeuristic traveler anymore, but a settler. The first few weeks of travel I felt like a rain stick flipped over, a cacophony of sounds/ideas/impressions. Now, I’ve quieted down inside. I don’t particularly want to keep moving and taking notes. I want to see what new sediment has emerged. I want to reconcile my desire to settle with the longstanding habits of my life in Alaska—especially at Bunnell. From this vantage point, I see how, in my absence, Adele’s extraordinary capacity for leadership has flourished. I see how, in my absence the Board has risen to the challenge of supporting staff by hosting events more frequently, and preparing for a stragetic planning retreat. Like the parent of a twenty-year old, I ask myself what is the best thing I do to facilitate maturity for the organization? Holding the reins tightly is certainly not the answer. If it has been healthy to step away, I ask myself, how will it serve Bunnell for me to return?
I am very grateful and encouraged by long chats with Adele. Today we spoke for an hour, reviewing recent activities and finally, asking each other to imagine a best-case scenario for Bunnell’s management. Ideally, how would we each delegate the work that needs to get done? There’s artistic and executive direction, gallery management, book keeping and event-promotion protocol, policy review and development planning. Bunnell has grown so much by embracing the strengths of the people who lead it. My rain stick is shaken again and my effervescence arises.
I also imagine new opportunities for myself outside of Alaska. On Sunday, we drove an hour and half north of San Francisco, thru Petaluma, Sebastapol and Occidental to Monte Rio on the Russian River. In this area, Papa spent a lot of time – as a child, he swan in the Russian River with cousins. As an adult he lived in Petaluma amongst chicken farms and walnut trees. I was amazed at the beauty of landscape. Towering redwoods at the river, buttressed by rolling hills dotted with oak, cows, vineyards. Lots of farms, art, yoga, flea markets, thrift shops, bike paths…the variety of environmental and cultural opportunities astounded me, but very much less of Marin wealth and more of Humboldt humility. I could live here, not far from the city, tucked among trees.
I am very grateful and encouraged by long chats with Adele. Today we spoke for an hour, reviewing recent activities and finally, asking each other to imagine a best-case scenario for Bunnell’s management. Ideally, how would we each delegate the work that needs to get done? There’s artistic and executive direction, gallery management, book keeping and event-promotion protocol, policy review and development planning. Bunnell has grown so much by embracing the strengths of the people who lead it. My rain stick is shaken again and my effervescence arises.
I also imagine new opportunities for myself outside of Alaska. On Sunday, we drove an hour and half north of San Francisco, thru Petaluma, Sebastapol and Occidental to Monte Rio on the Russian River. In this area, Papa spent a lot of time – as a child, he swan in the Russian River with cousins. As an adult he lived in Petaluma amongst chicken farms and walnut trees. I was amazed at the beauty of landscape. Towering redwoods at the river, buttressed by rolling hills dotted with oak, cows, vineyards. Lots of farms, art, yoga, flea markets, thrift shops, bike paths…the variety of environmental and cultural opportunities astounded me, but very much less of Marin wealth and more of Humboldt humility. I could live here, not far from the city, tucked among trees.
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The days in Arcata have drawn to a close, for now. Tonight we pick up Tara after work and drive from Arcata to San Francisco. She’ll fly to Paris in the morning and I’ll fly over as soon as she returns. We stayed here longer to help with the travel arrangements. Being together reinforced our commitment and appreciation for sisters. Now we each look forward to seeing Molly and helping out however we can.
Artcata and has made a big impression on all of us. For Jake, it comes down to the tamales, unsurpassed in scale and flavor. He also digs the skate park and the neighborhood boys with whom he is now playing basketball. For Michael and I, Arcata/Eureka is interesting for its similarities to and differences from Homer. While there is no single organization that does quite what Bunnell does, overall the neighboring small cities of Arcata/Eureka beat out Homer in the book “America’s 100 Best Small Art Towns” by 98 places for several years. These towns got 2nd, Homer got 100th place. The Arcata/Eureka area has a First Friday townwide gallery walk in Eureka and a Second Saturday Arts Alive Arcata-- art and music in every towncenter shop. I've made some great contacts and had a few informative meetings. Arcata's nonprofit Artcata Playhouse, like Bunnell, is also going for an ArtPlace Grant. See http://thelumberjack.org/2012/11/07/big-changes-for-arcatas-creamery-district/ ... as you'll see, very much like how Bunnell's envisions sparking a renaissance in Old Town, and a great affirmation and insight about cultivating community momentum. Michael and I met with husband and wife Jacke and Dave, E.D and Operations Mgr. of Arcata Playhouse and learned how they present very similar performance work to Bunnell, in an historic space off the town center. We saw a great show there--Jessica Lurie’s band, an impressive quartet featuring the most innovative electric guitar and banjo player I’ve ever heard. He totally fried a horsehair bow on the banjo and he sent us to another planet when he held a small radio up to his strings. Meanwhile, Jessica warbled into a toy megaphone against a scintillating backdrop of percussion and upright base.
Bob Doran, Arcata's local arts editor for the North Coast Journal, a weekly arts and culture rag, graciously sat down with Michael and I for an hour over coffee. This paper provides articles and a standing listing for every local arts venue, non-profit or not. I've come to think that Homer's media (public radio and the newspapers) actually diminish Homer's arts scene by under-reporting it. Everywhere, non profits in this country are trying to reach and expand audiences. Its a strain on small non-profit budgets to advertise in two newspapers for every event, especially when the volume of actual arts reporting is not half of what it could be. There was no feature story leading up to any of the events Bunnell presented in the past six weeks except for a small mention of Kathy Smith’s painting show. This is remarkable, in light of the volume of events Homer produces. Ironically, this week Homer’s nonprofits monthly meeting focuses on working with local media.
Artcata and has made a big impression on all of us. For Jake, it comes down to the tamales, unsurpassed in scale and flavor. He also digs the skate park and the neighborhood boys with whom he is now playing basketball. For Michael and I, Arcata/Eureka is interesting for its similarities to and differences from Homer. While there is no single organization that does quite what Bunnell does, overall the neighboring small cities of Arcata/Eureka beat out Homer in the book “America’s 100 Best Small Art Towns” by 98 places for several years. These towns got 2nd, Homer got 100th place. The Arcata/Eureka area has a First Friday townwide gallery walk in Eureka and a Second Saturday Arts Alive Arcata-- art and music in every towncenter shop. I've made some great contacts and had a few informative meetings. Arcata's nonprofit Artcata Playhouse, like Bunnell, is also going for an ArtPlace Grant. See http://thelumberjack.org/2012/11/07/big-changes-for-arcatas-creamery-district/ ... as you'll see, very much like how Bunnell's envisions sparking a renaissance in Old Town, and a great affirmation and insight about cultivating community momentum. Michael and I met with husband and wife Jacke and Dave, E.D and Operations Mgr. of Arcata Playhouse and learned how they present very similar performance work to Bunnell, in an historic space off the town center. We saw a great show there--Jessica Lurie’s band, an impressive quartet featuring the most innovative electric guitar and banjo player I’ve ever heard. He totally fried a horsehair bow on the banjo and he sent us to another planet when he held a small radio up to his strings. Meanwhile, Jessica warbled into a toy megaphone against a scintillating backdrop of percussion and upright base.
Bob Doran, Arcata's local arts editor for the North Coast Journal, a weekly arts and culture rag, graciously sat down with Michael and I for an hour over coffee. This paper provides articles and a standing listing for every local arts venue, non-profit or not. I've come to think that Homer's media (public radio and the newspapers) actually diminish Homer's arts scene by under-reporting it. Everywhere, non profits in this country are trying to reach and expand audiences. Its a strain on small non-profit budgets to advertise in two newspapers for every event, especially when the volume of actual arts reporting is not half of what it could be. There was no feature story leading up to any of the events Bunnell presented in the past six weeks except for a small mention of Kathy Smith’s painting show. This is remarkable, in light of the volume of events Homer produces. Ironically, this week Homer’s nonprofits monthly meeting focuses on working with local media.
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My resolve to journal has melted in a week of sun. Today lacked even the characteristic morning mist on Humboldt Bay. The sun was up earlier than us, casting dazzle about most casually. Yesterday as I biked I studied the landscape for hours. Its amazingly like a Claude Lorraine painting around here. A particular view from Old Arcata Road over a duckpond in horizontal shades of sap green and pale pink laced with distant deciduous looks absolutely like Barbizon. I’m excited (and terrified) to pull out my paints. I’ve taken lots of pictures. The best views are along the main roads from here to Eureka. I have been biking as much as possible. And Jake is skateboarding – he likes the skate park here. He studies skateboard tricks online and at the park, but prefers to go when he can be alone. I’m not allowed to be anywhere in sight. When the big dogs are there, he seems like such a puppy, or a little turtle, moving about cautiously in his black helmet. Today I leaned into the backside of a big Pondersa pine and read ecstatically for the first time in days. Michael drove down to San Francisco to play with the Goats. “The Goat Family” has shows on Saturday and next Wednesday. They’re so close (for an Alaskan, five hours’ drive is nothing, right?) I’m sure he can smell them. After removing the bike rack so he can park in the city more easily, he took off—returning tomorrow.
The bike rack may not go back on. With San Francisco ahead of us, we may leave our bikes here (Jake will take his back to AK) since we hardly use them in Homer. And carry on, scaled down to fit the cityscapes ahead. It will be all walking and trollies and skateboarding and searching for a decent place to park and sleep as soon as we hit Frisco. And now I’ve added a new wing to my plans. I’m going to spend two weeks in France cuddling Jiggy as much as possible, cooking and cleaning and discussing and reading Molly Lou’s latest poems. I just can’t stand the thought of her little boy missing his mother's touch during this trying time that she’s flat on her back with bedrest to mend her spine...three months! My heart aches for him and for her so much. Two weeks is little time, but I can do it. We’ve all talked about it. Jake will be in Alaska for the first week, then he and Michael will have their first duo adventure ever. Camping by Big Sur? Joshua Tree? Disneyland? My heart swells with love for Michael, who is excited at the thought of this time with Jake.
Being here, I’ve been leveled to a new, profound awareness of the importance of holding family close. Its wonderful to be around Tara’s kids. I actually haven’t had more than a few days here each year for the past 20 years. Its so lovely to go with the flow as a passengar, to absorb the place, and the energies of those who I don’t often see, like Sandor. He is so dear, stopping by for frequent and brief bites of family time. A bit scruffy in jeans and plaids, but always in a bowtie, his signature style sets him apart as an arborist a bit like like the Kookaburra in the Old Gum Tree. Yesterday we drove through a neighborhood of beautiful older Arcata homes. Sandor sees all properties in terms of their trees. Left at “The Mayor’s Tree” we stopped for icecream. He spends a lot of time pruning some of the larger trees in these parts.
“Fucking Cryptomaria.”
“Excuse me?”
“Looking at these trees, like those big Japanese Cedars makes me tired. It takes a lot of work to maintain their shape.”
Sandor and Tara pointed out several lovely older homes that were boarded up, some partially inhabited, some tagged. I could imagine them as dignified little homes, or shops. Arcata wears its air of weathered charm like an eccentric old lady in a vintage hat. I’m not seeing any pretensions. Michael loves its gritty edge, like the emerging arts scene around Arcata Playhouse. There’s some cute old houses down there he wants me to look at. Jake has other priorities, like snow. He’s looking forward to skiing over Thanksgiving, back in Alaska. He feels that 65 degrees is wiltingly hot. But he is very distracted by any opportunity to wheel around, or chase Tara’s new Sheltie puppy, Suki.
“Michael, there’s a pretty adorable scene going on in the bathroom!”
Suki, three months old and about the size of a small cat, is getting a bath. Today she demonstrated promise at delicately herding chickens. The family is dog-crazy, and its all very cute. Trevor greeted us warmly on Halloween in a giant fuzzy grey dogsuit. He was dressed as Wilfred, a certain virtual dog persona known to a younger generation, handing out candy to kids and hosting a party for friends.
The bike rack may not go back on. With San Francisco ahead of us, we may leave our bikes here (Jake will take his back to AK) since we hardly use them in Homer. And carry on, scaled down to fit the cityscapes ahead. It will be all walking and trollies and skateboarding and searching for a decent place to park and sleep as soon as we hit Frisco. And now I’ve added a new wing to my plans. I’m going to spend two weeks in France cuddling Jiggy as much as possible, cooking and cleaning and discussing and reading Molly Lou’s latest poems. I just can’t stand the thought of her little boy missing his mother's touch during this trying time that she’s flat on her back with bedrest to mend her spine...three months! My heart aches for him and for her so much. Two weeks is little time, but I can do it. We’ve all talked about it. Jake will be in Alaska for the first week, then he and Michael will have their first duo adventure ever. Camping by Big Sur? Joshua Tree? Disneyland? My heart swells with love for Michael, who is excited at the thought of this time with Jake.
Being here, I’ve been leveled to a new, profound awareness of the importance of holding family close. Its wonderful to be around Tara’s kids. I actually haven’t had more than a few days here each year for the past 20 years. Its so lovely to go with the flow as a passengar, to absorb the place, and the energies of those who I don’t often see, like Sandor. He is so dear, stopping by for frequent and brief bites of family time. A bit scruffy in jeans and plaids, but always in a bowtie, his signature style sets him apart as an arborist a bit like like the Kookaburra in the Old Gum Tree. Yesterday we drove through a neighborhood of beautiful older Arcata homes. Sandor sees all properties in terms of their trees. Left at “The Mayor’s Tree” we stopped for icecream. He spends a lot of time pruning some of the larger trees in these parts.
“Fucking Cryptomaria.”
“Excuse me?”
“Looking at these trees, like those big Japanese Cedars makes me tired. It takes a lot of work to maintain their shape.”
Sandor and Tara pointed out several lovely older homes that were boarded up, some partially inhabited, some tagged. I could imagine them as dignified little homes, or shops. Arcata wears its air of weathered charm like an eccentric old lady in a vintage hat. I’m not seeing any pretensions. Michael loves its gritty edge, like the emerging arts scene around Arcata Playhouse. There’s some cute old houses down there he wants me to look at. Jake has other priorities, like snow. He’s looking forward to skiing over Thanksgiving, back in Alaska. He feels that 65 degrees is wiltingly hot. But he is very distracted by any opportunity to wheel around, or chase Tara’s new Sheltie puppy, Suki.
“Michael, there’s a pretty adorable scene going on in the bathroom!”
Suki, three months old and about the size of a small cat, is getting a bath. Today she demonstrated promise at delicately herding chickens. The family is dog-crazy, and its all very cute. Trevor greeted us warmly on Halloween in a giant fuzzy grey dogsuit. He was dressed as Wilfred, a certain virtual dog persona known to a younger generation, handing out candy to kids and hosting a party for friends.