a little house in the clouds

What If

2012-01-25T06:00:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, only one person is missing,

and the whole world seems depopulated.
— Alphonse de Lamartine

A really gorgeous, thoughtful children's book came out recently from French illustrator Blexbolex. And it's not just about people, but about the human condition. The human condition is something I think about a lot. This book I held in my hands, so easily shows the subtle commentary on the dichotomies of lives chosen or just plain lived. We all exist alongside each other, our lives or our deaths can affect the people not only around us, but around the world.

The butterfly effect is something I believe in. Some days I feel like I just have to.

because sometimes you just want to laugh

2012-01-24T12:40:00.001-08:00

Day after Day, Time into Time

2012-01-18T17:46:00.000-08:00

via

And Maya Angelou writes...

I’ve learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow. I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights. I’ve learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you’ll miss them when they’re gone from your life. I’ve learned that making a “living” is not the same thing as making a “life.” I’ve learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance. I’ve learned that you shouldn’t go through life with a catcher’s mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw something back. I’ve learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision. I’ve learned that even when I have pains, I don’t have to be one. I’ve learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back. I’ve learned that I still have a lot to learn. I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.

leaving brings the lonely

2012-01-17T12:58:00.000-08:00

'You’ll get over it…' It’s the clichés that cause the trouble.

To lose someone you love is to alter your life for ever.

You don’t get over it because ‘it” is the person you loved.

The pain stops, there are new people, but the gap never loses. How could it?

The particularness of someone who mattered enough to grieve over is not made anodyne by death.

This hole in my heart is in the shape of you and no-one else can fit it. Why would I want them to?
— Jeanette Winterson

On December 14th, one of the best friends I've ever had, was killed.
It was a story heard around the world.
I know this because before I actually got the call from our good friend in New York that Suzanne had left this universe, an unread email sat in my inbox from a friend in Germany who had heard the 'news'. And it's 'news' in semi-quotes because it actually was news, the kind you instantly hear about on the radio and the kind that's played on the TV. And while it feels like there's a hole in me that sometimes feels as if it's filling up with the 'news' and I'm about to drown, it's also the part that keeps her memory alive and talked about by people that never even knew her but now wish they had. And that's the part that is both strange and wonderful. Two things I never thought I'd feel about someone's death.
I've never been through it this closely.
maybe it's age.   maybe it's awareness.
      Or maybe it's awareness that comes with age.

I've struggled with writing about her and not writing about her. Wanting to explain just how much she means to me. I'm not sure I can put into words...
With Suzanne, I was vulnerable. I hate being vulnerable, as much as I hate getting a shot. With Suzanne, I couldn't even feel it. It turns out, I realize in these days without it now, I relied on her sense of humor, her incredibly quick wit, her total interest in others, and a level of acceptance that was unparalleled in any other person I've known.

This would make her laugh.
Everything I just wrote, she'd laugh self-deprecatingly and say, "yeah, right."
And that's been the hardest part of this whole thing: Knowing I'll never hear her voice in this world again. I talk to her every single day, hearing her voice in my head so clearly, but some days the realization that I won't hear her laughter ring out, makes me gasp with fear.
I found this world easier with her in it.
And everyone I know that knew her felt exactly the same way.
      That's a really goddamn big loss.

And while denial can't be totally healthy for long, it feels,
rationally so,
that it's incredibly disrespectful to admit or even to accept that she's actually gone.
So, for now at least, I'm pretending she's not.
That may seem the strange part.

And yet, the incredibly wonderful part is that, in reality, Suzanne lives on in the big apple,
a place we both loved completely and completely lived for;
her name placed in Central Park on a bench for you and yours to rest on
and a tree for you to be shaded by.

That's just the way she is.

Admiring MLK

2012-01-16T12:46:00.000-08:00

Man has the greater capacity for goodness,and the potential for evil.--Martin Luther King, JR

Nothing Quite Like It

2012-01-11T10:40:00.000-08:00

via

Art of Craft? oui

2012-01-08T18:01:00.000-08:00

I have the sweet opportunity of being one of a small group of exceptionally talented artists and teachers that have been invited to teach a class during a fabulous weekend held at French General in Los Angeles, called The Art of Craft.

It's the 2nd annual Art of Craft weekend and the last one proved to be a craft-a-thon like none other. I know, this time around, we're out for more of the same goodness, french-ness, craftiness, camaraderie, creativity, and out-and-out fun.
I'll be leading the Pocket-Memory Book class: A non-binding book made with everyday envelopes and tons of great vintage materials.

The great thing about all the classes I've taught over the years, is seeing the students "fear" of creativity at the beginning of the class turn into no-holds-barred creativity by the end! So many of us think we're creative-less and it's just not true! It's marvelous to watch people come up with their own ideas, inspired by the original or inspired by the person they're sitting next to or by the materials provided (each class during the weekend comes with a kit to create your craft). Head over to French General's website and sign up for classes by Pam Garrison, Charlotte Lyons, Michelle Jorgensen, Kaari Meng, Anna Corba and moi! It may just be the beginning of your future of crafting and creating and community. It's a wonderful weekend that shouldn't be missed!

2011-12-05T11:22:00.001-08:00

I love having a studio. It's not something I'd ever dreamed of, or even thought was a reality of adulthood. Though I'd seen other artist's studios and garages-turned-workshop, it seemed like one of those far off things. It sometimes feels incredibly strange that it feels so incredibly normal: I've had an art studio for almost 7 years. I absolutely love where my studio is now, at Art Explosion. Very different than the last studio I had, the artists I've met here have been some of my biggest influences and an incredible amount of support. Artists are working consistently, any hour of any day, you can find the halls full of conversation and the smell of paint.

My studio feels like a little shop, a front window full of items, and a long wall full of work. More and more these days I think about opening a shop on some little side street. Funny thing is, the shop is something I'd be returning to: A reality of adulthood many years ago, when my sister and I owned a little destination shop in NYC.

In the meantime, I'll keep doing what I'm doing (a new series of little cigar boxes) and let the shops I know and love run things on the street. I'm loving that 8mm ideas is represented in so many of these amazing stores:
Green Apple Books
The Booksmith
The Desk Set
Daisy's
Library Store
Paper Sky
Skylight Books
Perch

And you,
you can stop by and see what we're all up to at Art Explosion's Annual Holiday Show. Maybe it'll get your own inspirational vibe moving and grooving just in time for the new year.

It's ARTICLE time!

2011-11-25T08:00:00.000-08:00

There is so much I wouldn't know if it weren't for the power of my mother's scissors:

And this, is one of my favorites.
('a must' click to read)

2011-11-24T08:30:00.000-08:00

Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it.

~william arthur ward

Sure, you can say 'thanks' anytime, but today seems like an awfully good time to say it to everyone. Happy Thanksgiving.

Other People's Lives

2011-11-23T07:30:00.000-08:00

I have an addiction. And usually, the first step, is admitting it.
Problem is, as long as their are estate sales, flea markets, boot sales and sidewalks with stuff for sale, I'm never getting over this one.
Every month, I think the same thing: I probably have enough stuff by now. I've got thousands of old photos, and hundreds of old letters, multiple family photo albums, many, many notebooks, dictionaries galore and an untold amount of playing card collections.
Other peoples stuff. Mine now. Who's later?
I asked the owner of the estate sale company, Guy, if this job made him more of a hoarder or more of a minimalist. His answer, both surprising and inevitable, was minimalist. With a caveat of trying to live by the motto of letting one thing go when you bring another in. Yeah, I've always told myself I do that, too.
And it's true, to an extent. Though I'm not sure RK would agree, I think I live by this motto at home. I absolutely in no way apply this same rule to my studio. Whatsoever.
And that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is how I justify buying one more photo, another letter, the filled-up photo album, the half-empty notebooks, and the Webster's of a different year.
This past weekend was no different: the photos I came home with will be up at my blog other people's lives all this coming week, the 10 wood boxes I came home with, and lovingly cleaned, will be turned into new work by the time of the next open studios, the geography book is a piece of history that can only be read to be believed and the 2-foot snapshot of the Forks and Knives club of San Francisco has already entertained RK and I for a good hour. I HAD to get it! I'm still a little sad I couldn't get both of them.
Bring in: BUYERS REMORSE!
I think because my sister, a fellow collector, has a few more years experience, she's better at saying 'no'. As in, 'no i don't really need that, because i don't really want that. moving on!' I often think I must have something and then curse myself for spending the $5 on it when I get home. This is a hoarder/bargainers brain. I live with it. RK constantly telling me to 'let it go', by which he means either let it go out of your brain or let it go in a sale.
So, I let it go. Out of my brain. Mostly.

But I do have to get to the flea market next week... I just know there's something I need.

Animal Love, Anyone?

2011-11-14T09:00:00.000-08:00

Just because I know my own dog is gorgeous and sweet and adorable and juicy...doesn't mean I can't appreciate the cuteness in others. Even cats.

Until one has loved an animal,
a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.
- Anatole France

We can judge the heart of a man by his treatment of animals.
- Immanual Kant

all images from the fabulous website Trend Tablet

2011-11-11T10:22:00.000-08:00

Today's date is 11.11.11
which is really pretty cool. As cool as 4.4.4 and 5.5.5 and 6.6.6, etc
but, we're talking about today.
I don't think it has any huge karmic significance or that things are going to 'happen' because of this interesting time scale.
But, it is cool and pretty neat and fun to think about.

Just like this monkey.

And this amazing project by Amy Krouse.

i took that image and i stitched it carefully into the hem of my own life

2011-11-09T08:00:00.000-08:00

I didn't hesitate a bit last week when a friend handed me her half-finished (evident by a classic bookmark: the book flap) copy of Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert.

I'm one of few people I know personally that really, really liked the book Eat, Pray, Love.
I liked it so much I bought multiple copies and gave them to a few very good friends, including my sister. I thought each one of them would love it in their own unique way.
Only one of those people actually finished it.

That's cool. It's not for everyone.
Mostly the feedback I heard was that they didn't like her voice. They didn't like her.
Her is Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of this very autobiographical book.
They thought she was whiny.
And she's the same reason why my friend handed me her not-quite-finished copy of Committed.

I must say... during the reading of both of these books, I never even thought of her.
The words she wrote, I applied them differently to my life.
The same way I think we all do, with every book we either love or hate.
A book on one end of the spectrum or the other, for you, most likely has a recurring 'thing' about it that just doesn't let up. But, to me, books are a bunch of mundane or pretty good or fantastic lines of poetry. I get caught up in a good story as much as the next guy, but really, for me, reading is like a river that you dip your toes in and out of. Words pop out at me as beautiful, and little stories in themselves. Put together in an arresting sentence, well, you've got me. And, I wasn't an English major in spite of this fact, but because of this fact.

As evidenced, I'm not thinking of Elizabeth Gilbert. I've only ever seen her on the book-jacket and I've never heard her speak.
I don't know anything about her but what she told me in the book before this one.
So, I jump in and find the next beautiful word, wherever it may find me.

ps: i really did enjoy Committed (title of post paraphrasing a line from the book) i've even recommended it a few times now, but tend to mention it's available at the library...

pps: it's a great big world out there, you don't want to loose your place...may i recommend this collection?

bookmarks: checkit

The Way To Start A Monday

2011-10-17T10:25:00.001-07:00

God Says Yes to Me
by Kaylin Haught

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes

sent to me by my friend, catherine, who's always ready with a 'yes yes yes', as well.

Dating Myself

2011-10-14T12:02:00.000-07:00

My sister is a HUGE fan of Rick Astley, always has been, but she tries to play it off like I'M the huge fan and is forever taunting me with moments of Astley: She had pencils made for me that say 'rick astley fan club'; She calls me from whatever dressing room or restaurant she's in and holds her phone up to the speaker that's blasting his tunes. Yesterday, she sent me the above image. Ahh, it takes me back to her youth.

It Tends To Happen When You're Not Looking

2011-10-12T10:04:00.000-07:00

If your parents are anything like my parents, you get a lot of forwarded emails: Bad jokes, pictures you can't quite see, political items that verge on the edge, religious ideas that are on it's 15th forward and, every once in awhile, some really great quotes. Then, sometimes, you get one of these forwarded emails from your parents that is right up your alley: They do know you well and are often paying attention to things you like, rave about, or are just plain interested in. This morning, I got one of those.

It's a beautiful way to start the day...And it puts me in mind of my own RK, who's done timelapse photography for years and is perfecting it each time he does another. Flowers were his obsession for awhile, but he's caught the longest day of the year, as well as the moon. It passed us by while we slept...as these things tend to do.

of course, all videos are always more enjoyable in full screen: So, hit it to get it!

It Takes Class

2011-10-07T09:00:00.000-07:00

I'm thrilled to be getting ready to teach again at my sister's annual Art of Craft weekend that takes place the end of January... and there's a question that I've been pondering a lot. It's also struck me that the answer is probably very different to each individual (individualism being what it is and all...)
So, Readers, I turn to you for an answer: What makes a good class?
You're an adult, you're paying for a class, what makes it a memorable, 'i'd-like-to-do-that-again' kind of class?

I've taken a number of classes over the years and I've stood in the wings on a number of others and I'm trying to come up with some concrete things that make a good class... but I'm really interested in what others think on this one:
What do you appreciate the most? What detail stands out to you? Was it the craft itself? The teacher? The supplies? The techniques?
Do tell!

(all photos: from the various (1, 2, 3) classes I've taught)

Raining Dogs, no cats

2011-10-06T10:23:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it feels like writing feels like a luxury I just can't seem to afford....
So, with that knowledge, I leave you, dear readers, with images that are worth a thousand words: Perfect for a rainy day, dogs shaking the water off their back.

All photos by Carli Davidson for her series "Shake".

it's just like that

2011-09-23T14:20:00.000-07:00

If you had told me twenty years ago that as I grow older, time would get faster, I wouldn't have believed you. It won't be speeding up for everyone, you tell me, just myself and the people my age and people older than me. The kids I teach, the hipsters that hang out at Dolores Park, the young sons and daughters of friends, they won't have the same concept of time, therefore, their 24 hours a day will last much longer than mine. I won't be able to do all that needs to get done while I'm awake. I will never feel bored again and I will wish for more than seven days in a normal week. I will look forward to the weekends, when I can work on my own time. If you had told me this feeling of not enough time vs. how much needs to get done can be so overwhelming you freeze. In mid-thought. And just decide to eat a grilled cheese and read Vanity Fair until you finish every article. Well, i Just wouldn't have believed you.
This concept is now nothing but a reality. And some days, it's really quite difficult to swallow.

I know my mom will tell me "i TOLD you that!" and my dad will say, "isn't it weird?", while my older siblings can only shake their head in acknowledgement. Some days, it doesn't pay to even think about it, let alone give into it. Some days, it's better to just believe all our 24 hours are the same.

(video: a big blog thanks to a woman who seems to have 72 hours in her 24 and shares it with the world)

I LOVE MAIL

2011-09-22T08:00:00.000-07:00

8mm ideas' cards are in this super fabulous, cooler than cool shop down under and now the owner, Stefanie, is holding this competition for all you letter writers! I, myself, cannot wait to enter and be part of their gorgeous window display (check out their facebook page for photos of all their current juicy stuff!)

I encourage anyone and everyone who loves mail and would love to see it come out of it's slump and keep on coming, snail-wise, to enter and enjoy! Feel free to tell Stephanie 8mm ideas says 'allo'!
And here's a little mail inspiration, courtesy of my dear friend Melissa, to get you going...

A kid by any other name

2011-09-21T10:46:00.000-07:00

If Stella were my kid, which she's not, I totally realize that, don't worry,
but IF she were my kid, she's the best kid I could hope for.


the stella coat, priceless

It's not that she's perfect, I don't believe in perfect, that would be silly, and stupid, and inane, and a way to drive yourself crazy, 'cuz perfect doesn't exist, but she's really awfully close. The good, the bad, the lack of wetting the bed, the lack of crying all night, or talking back to me... it's all there. She's a good friend, she's a bit of a soothing therapist, she sleeps in like a log and she's totally potty trained. The list is endless and I only wish that everyone could have a ~~kid~~ dog this fabulous.

Goodbye's Suck

2011-09-20T09:00:00.000-07:00

It's funny when you meet a new friend
and quicker than you can say, 'sheesh, i love our friendship!'
they're moving back to Australia.

Sometimes it's the people that we spend the shortest amount of time with that influence us the most. My friend, Catherine, has been that for me. Besides being a person brimming with knowledge and excitement for life and a great eye for design, she's also quite clever at connecting the dots and recommending the brilliant finds around her. Over the last year, she's turned me on to quite a few things I'd known nothing about and this latest piece is at the top of the list for numerous reasons: We Are All Savages Inside. It must be read.

And before she left, Catherine gave us the sweetest little book, inscribed to all three of us: Me, RK and Stella, of course, in her incredibly thoughtful way, called I Like You.

I like you and I know why.
I like you because you are a good person to like.
I like you because when I tell you something special, you know it’s special
And you remember it a long, long time.
You say, Remember when you told me something special
And both of us remember
—-

You really like me, don’t you
And I really like you back
And you like me back and I like you back
And that’s the way we keep on going every day
—-
I like you because I don’t know why but
Everything that happens is nicer with you
I can’t remember when I didn’t like you
It must have been lonesome then
—–
I would go on choosing you
And you would go on choosing me
Over and over again
That’s how it would happen every time
I don’t know why
I guess I don’t know why I really like you
Why do I like you
I guess I just like you
I guess I just like you because I like you.
-- by Sandol Warburg

So long for now, Catherine.
We're awfully sad to see you go.
We'll see you down under.

2011-09-16T10:57:00.000-07:00

This was our neighborhood in 1916.

I keep it on my desktop to remind myself, sometimes the best way to move forward is to peek backwards at how far things have come...

Here's to filled weekends and moments of grace. A happy Friday to all and to all a good night.

It's Contagious

2011-09-15T11:27:00.000-07:00

<p>&amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;I gu&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;gt;</p>I think this video has probably been making the rounds for a couple of years, but I just saw it this morning and it made me smile ear to ear.I am this guy. This guy is me: At every concert, at the sound of any good music wafting through the air, in a shop that's rocking tunes, I can't help but move to the groove. When I'm listening to my walkman and headed down the street, I'm barely making a straight line for all the foot stepping and arm waving that's taken over my body. I wouldn't have joined this guy on the grass that day, I would have already been dancing to the music, too busy to notice a crowd had gathered.

(thanks to RK who always picks me up when he shows me a great little video and loves me because the music moves me)

I've Been Everywhere, Man

2011-09-14T08:30:00.000-07:00

I have been to many places, but I've never been in Cahoots. Apparently, you can't go alone. You have to be in Cahoots with someone. I've also never been in Cognito. I hear no one recognizes you there. I have, however, been in Sane. They don't have an airport; you have to be driven there. I have made several trips, thanks to my friends, family and work. I would like to go to Conclusions, but you have to jump and I'm not much on physical activity.

(i don't know who wrote it, but it's my mother who sent it; thanks mom!)

Like My Mother Before Me

2011-09-13T08:00:00.000-07:00

I am my mothers daughter.
Just as she is her mothers daughter before me.
ie: We are all our mothers!

Now, I know many would disagree and tell me, 'i'm nothing like my mother!' But I would ask that you take a closer look. When you make a certain movement, did you learn it from her? When you say a certain phrase, do you say it like she did? Do you press your garlic the way you saw your mom do it? For me, in all these ways, the answer is yes.

One of my favorite things learned from my mother, learned from her mother before her, is the sending on of newspaper clippings. These clippings derive mostly from the local paper, but sometimes it's a magazine article, or a great ad seen in a flyer. And not very often, but every once in awhile, it's someone we know from the wedding or the obits page. My mom always laughs and says she can't believe she's sending the articles on to me, but her mom did it to her and now I do it to others, as well.

Today's clippings in the mail ran the gamut: One was on book making (my latest and one of my greatest phases, for sure) with a note at the top 'so sorry about the spills on this- it was next to the stove', while another was an editor's letter with a photo that clearly looked like me and my mother's handwritten note said, 'oj said "who do you think this looks like?"' OJ is my brother. It's a nickname he earned when the grand kids were little and they couldn't say John and said uge-J instead, which morphed into OJ. He's a trusted right hand man at the kitchen table in our house, scouring the LA Times with an eye like no-one else. So, of course he'd see me in a photo that isn't really me. And then, the third clipping, I knew it was coming one of these days... a quick jot from my mom that ended in two exclamation points: More reason for you to move South!! It was an article about the naked dudes in SF. Not just any naked guys, but more and more naked guys in this wacky city. And they're not just walking around naked, but sitting down on the same seats you and I sit on. So, a city ordinance is being talked about here and hopefully is put in place before my mother comes to visit!

Two Big Events in One Small Town

2011-09-12T09:35:00.000-07:00

When it rains, it pours and it's pouring this coming weekend...
I'd already signed up for the ever exciting Rock Make Festival when our Open Studios, at Art Explosion, were then announced on the same weekend! But I'm making them both happen and looking forward to the totally different experiences they are.

First and Foremost: Rock Make Festival, in it's 4th year, is a rocking and rolling street fair with a band stage at either end of the closed off street in the Mission. I've gone to check it out every year and always thought, 'I should do this!' So, I've enlisted RK and we're going in with style! I'll be hawking wares of far and near, somethings brand new, others are old favorites. RK will be hawking his organic dog biscuits and showing the world how a real dog should be 'treated'! His dog treats are always a big hit and now it's time to introduce them to the rock&roll kids that cruise the Festival. And our big treat for that day, if it all works out, is to take photobooth-style polaroids of peeps and their dogs in our booth.

Surrounding the outdoor festival is Art Explosion's Open Studios weekend. I'll be doing OS on the Friday night, which is always a fantastic party, missing it on Saturday (where you'll find me at Rock Make) and then again on Sunday, for a final wrap-up of all those people who haven't yet made it through. Open Studios is always a great gathering, bring a whole lot of random, fabulous people together just to talk about art. It's great feedback and exciting to see so many artists in their element with their doors wide open to the public! It's a gallery show explosion and so much fun!

How Can There Be Any Sin in Sincere?

2011-09-09T10:00:00.000-07:00

I LOVE barbershop quartets.

A definite hand-me-down from my parents, I've always been a big fan.

The singing starts and it stops me in my tracks.

And a real plus? I actually feel really lucky to love 'em;

some people positively hate barbershop quartets!

City Livin

2011-09-08T08:55:00.000-07:00

I wrote the third police statement of my life this morning.
The first one I had to fill out, about 15 years ago, was a tear-strewn mess, with myself as the perp.
The second one was seven years ago, on the eve of our wedding day, when a conversation with our drug-fueled, upstairs-neighbors went terrible awry.
And today's statement took place before 9AM, while we were finishing our coffee.
Only in the city, man, only in the city....

We were having our daily dog-park roundabout, with about 8 or so of our other dog-owner friends, when I saw a guy punch a girl in the face and keep on walking. She ran after him screaming. They were gone from our sight very quickly. We all thought we heard shots... and then, way off in the distance, someone saw this same guy jump over our neighbor's fence. Within minutes, the police were there and asking us to fill out paper work.

What's strange about this is not the scenario itself, but the fact that this didn't really feel all that strange. A wonder, an unfortunate incident, and curious, most definitely, but quite of the norm, really.
City Life. It is the way it is.
And since the bug of city living (all the highs and all the lows, all the good, all the bad, and of course, all the ugly) bit me years ago on Carmine Street and never let up, I just believed once a city dweller, always a city dweller. How could I possibly give all this up?!

I'm also not the least bit unique to have the idea of packing up the few bits you own, heading for the hills, keeping your eyes out for a little house and a huge backyard, to get as far off the grid as possible and not look back.
I just didn't know this idea would be so damn persistent. The country vs. The city?!
With the conversation in the past, it always ended with a 'yeah, but what in the world would we do?' Nowdays, it seems to end with 'yes, oh gads yes, but where shall we go?'

...and so she comes to dream herself a tree.

why can't we all just get along?

2011-09-07T10:30:00.000-07:00

<p>&amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;i mean&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;gt;</p>i mean, if they can do it...why can't we?

I love mutts, too!

2011-09-06T09:00:00.000-07:00

My sister sent me this fantastic walk thru the history of dogs as portrayed in the art world,
LISTEN & WATCH

and I've decided to add a collection of photos of the beautiful mutts I've met since living with my mutt, Stella Marie.

felt mutt

patrick bru's mutt

car watching mutt

cutest dog contest mutt

street market mutt

street market mutt who hears his dinner bowl

museum mutt

insanely cute flea market mutt

toulouse flea market mutt

stella's first swim and her mutt pal, penny

regal, sleepy mutt, nemo

lupe, a guatamalan mutt, hugging stella


three mutts on the beach, lupe, stella and penny

People Are Strange When You're A Stranger

2011-09-05T10:24:00.000-07:00

some good advice via 8mm ideas

Friends say they think I have some sort of gene or scent or something that attracts strange, weird and interesting people to me. Really doesn't matter where I am, I usually have some sort of encounter with someone that ends in a story that must be repeated. Often, when I'm in a shop, people assume I work there and start asking me questions that, funny enough, I tend to be able to answer. Or, I work really hard at helping them find the answer. To the point of feeling like I should ask for a paycheck from said shop we're in. It's that kind of above and beyond and I just can't help myself. I've always been amazed that with a little bit of effort, a sincere interest in others, and a serious curiosity about human nature, you can talk about almost anything with anybody.

Just a couple nights ago, at the shop I actually do work at, a man came in with long white hair and a Harley Davidson t-shirt and was sauntering through the aisles when I asked if he needed any help. He turned to me, put one hand over his neck and spoke in a way that I knew he no longer had a voice box in there: Some dude is smoking next door in the bar, he growled, and it's bugging me out, so I had to get away from it. I made some comment about how he must not smoke anymore and next thing I knew he was encouraging me to look down into this hole in his neck to see if I could glimpse his lungs. Sounds strange, but it didn't feel strange. Even when I told him I didn't think I should look down that hole in case I saw something I couldn't get over anytime soon, he pushed it, asked me to get a flashlight and insisted if I'd never experienced this before, it was a long time coming. We talked for quite awhile about it: How it happened, what he can and can't do anymore (riding his Harley, yes, diving for abalone, no) and how one time he almost drowned in the shower. He answered all my questions, wasn't insulted by my ignorance and truly was in the mood to talk.
Luckily, so was I, and that's usually the case.
But, sometimes, all this constant interaction can take a toll on me and I clearly need a break.

This past week, coming home from a long week away, where our social conversation/interaction meter was on high, I plopped into my middle-seat on the airplane, plugged in to my walkman, opened my magazine and got ready for six hours of relaxation.

This relaxation I speak of, this did not come in great waves.
I just happened to sit between two women who brought absolutely nothing to do on the plane and were ready to talk. When the woman on my right started in with how happy she was that I seemed so nice because she hates sitting next to people who aren't nice or who won't share the armrest or who glare at her when she gets up from her seat, well, let's just say she was ecstatic it was me at that moment instead of them. I got through her initial seat-mate excitement bit and again, put both earphones in and spread my magazine open a little wider to let it be known that, yes, i'm nice, it's true, i can't say no, BUT I am going to relax and I am not available for small talk for the duration of this flight, and that's when the woman on my left leaned forward in her seat, made crazy-eyed contact with me and began to talk. At first I wasn't sure what she was saying (mainly because I'd just plugged into my own happy space), but then I slowly took out my earphones and heard her little voice talk about a party she and her brother had just been to. Okay, that's nice, thanks for filling me in. I sit back and recline my seat as far as it will go, out of clear eye contact and burrow into my fake private space.

It was a short time later, the woman on my right decided to tap my arm and ask me a favor. What could I do? I unplugged, I sat up and I listened:
I know it seems strange and you'll probably think me crazy! But I'm scared to go into those little bathrooms and have the door shut and I'm in there all closed up and I get very claustrophobic and so I usually don't drink anything on these long flights because I don't want to have to go in there, but I've had some water and some apple juice on this flight and I know I'm going to have to go to that little room but I'm very very nervous about it and I was just wondering if you could do me this small favor, I'm sure you'll think I'm crazy but if you could help me out that would be just great, if you could just, when I have to go, when it's time for me to go up there to the bathroom, if you would just hold your hand in the door? so the door doesn't close in on me... I would just need to see your fingers, you know, not the whole hand, but your fingers like michael the archangel, holding my lifeline and then I could go and then it would all be okay. okay? would you do that for me? when it's my turn to go? You'll hold the door for me so I'm not closed in there? Yes? Yes? Okay?

OH shit.
Okay.
No need to go into details. It happened exactly the way you're imagining it. I walked up with her to the little room, I held my hand in the door, I was very discreet about it, it was over and done and we both went back to our seats.
So, now I figure I've friggin earned my alone time for the rest of the flight for that one, but it turns out, no. Seeing me help this lady on our right, this common seatmate of ours, must've triggered something for the woman on my left who waited until I'd come back, sat down, put on my walkman, opened my magazine and reclined in my seat before she leaned all the way forward to make eye contact with me and start speaking. Again, I can't hear her for the music blaring in my ears, so I remove my earphones and very politely say, I'm sorry, what?!
Well, I don't even like cake, but this party we just went to everyone was eating cake. All around us were different cakes, laid out, in all their cake forms and I don't really like cake. I don't eat cake, but I felt like I had to eat cake because there was so much of it and everyone else was eating cake. It was funny, but I didn't know what else to do, so I ate cake. Do you like cake? I don't. I know a lot of people do though, it's cake.

Oh shit.
Part deux.

Well, it keeps life interesting.

Tall Tales

2011-08-30T10:17:00.000-07:00

When one has an epic summer of epic travel....one usually ends up with epic tales of highs and lows, of wonderment and the unknown, of magic and sunburns.
And I do.
I have all of those.
I've had an epic summer of epic travel. The trouble is, I've done had it all... and now I don't know where to begin to try and sort out the stories, the tales, the shaggy dog notes,
to put it all right, from top to bottom, and to share the wealth.

Slowly, I guess. It'll all come together slowly.
And probably well out of order.

You & Me, kid

2011-08-16T18:55:00.001-07:00

Stella & Molly, a photo by tweetsweet on Flickr.

*I've got to be near you, Stella.

I've got to be with you, Stella.

It Could Happen Anywhere

2011-08-11T09:45:00.000-07:00

There has been a change in national temperament that has affected decent citizens as well as criminals. The country’s mood has turned sour. Indeed, the flip side of Britons’ famed politeness is the sort of hooliganism that appears at soccer matches and in town centers on weekend nights — an unfocused hostility that is usually fueled by vast quantities of alcohol. Fears of anarchic urban mobs date from Shakespeare’s time, and Prime Minister David Cameron has summoned these old fears, describing the present conflagration as “senseless.”

Everyday, I hear more and more talk of how it's all just falling apart. We see it in the world of consumerism, wholesale and retail, the economy is taking a dive; or a slow, exceptionally deep, dive it seems with each shrinking sale. We see it with friends who get laid off on a monthly basis. We see it in the park, as more and more homeless come to sleep there with tents, dogs, cots and a weeks worth of food that they leave strewn behind. And it's this last kind of 'falling apart' or falling down on our life's expectations that really wears. The disregard for others, for life itself, is terribly heartbreaking. With nary the ability to stop it, or to make a wide-spread difference, it seems we are forced to watch society as a whole come to a place where it's every man for himself. David Cameron has it right: It is senseless. But where can you engage your senses when all around you is nonsensical malarkey? Unless you're lucky enough to be surrounded by a family and friends that encourage the positive treatment of others, or the defense of the natural world, or the idea that 'less is more'... where are you left to learn it? Reality shows, Wall Street, and the daily news don't leave you with much to go on. One would have to really want to see/have/ be in a better world and then pass that on to others in order to find sense of it all once again.

Do Lectures Trailer from The Do Lectures on Vimeo. (thanks to T for posting)

Hot Diggity Dogs

2011-08-10T09:47:00.000-07:00

RK says I have a special way with dogs these days. But I just think it's hard to pass up cuteness this intense. This little character, in his half on/half off halter top, couldn't get enuf of the face squish scritch. And I was happy to oblige.

A nod is as good as a wink to a blind bat.

2011-07-29T22:46:00.000-07:00

merci

Sometimes I fantasize that I'm 25 years old again

with the wisdom of the 41 year old I actually am.

The world is my oyster, my whole life ahead of me,

and I know exactly how to go about it.

This time my potential will live up to it's fullest.

Luckily, of late, I can drop into this fantasy,

on any given day,

and get some good work done.

2011-07-28T12:43:00.000-07:00

Frank Sugarchile Robinson

No Leave, No Love 1946

Release the Cranes!

2011-07-27T09:20:00.000-07:00

......

Every once in awhile, a great project comes along and is available to the masses. Sandy and the 1000 Paper Cranes is one of those projects. Making & releasing a total of 1000 cranes, with positive words to spread to the world, Sandy is going to show others how it's done: Making someone's day in a clever, unique and dapper way.

We Are All Animals

2011-07-26T06:07:00.000-07:00

“The 20th century was particularly rich in extraordinary events, and many people became famous for many different reasons. Yet, far away from the noise and turmoil of the global, everyday life continued and could be just as extraordinary.

“The number and variety of the century’s epoch making events were the starting point for this series in which animals take our place to show the absurdity of the human world.”

Dig it, Sylvain, I dig it.

2011-07-25T09:13:00.000-07:00

Don't ask what the world needs.

Ask what makes you come alive and go do it.

Because what the world needs are people who have come alive.

-Howard Thurman

theologian, educator and civil rights leader

A Beautiful Friday Awaits You

2011-07-22T06:22:00.000-07:00

Cahors, France

{just a sweet happening}

teen dream

2011-07-21T09:14:00.000-07:00

This summer my niece became an official teenager. It gave me pause. Not for her sake, but for the memory of what being that age was like for me and how totally and completely different it seems to be for her. She's cooler than I ever was. She's more worldly than I'll ever be. She's more confident and beautiful than most. And, as an only child, she's got parents who are joyfully determined to give her more than the sum of her teen years.

She once told her mom that she thinks of me as both her Aunt and her sister.
That seems about right.

I'll Take Stella

2011-07-20T08:23:00.000-07:00

I don't think about disasters much. Some friends consider this strange, as being in San Francisco, we live on a number of fault lines that are just waiting for the next big plate shift.

Mind you, I completely recognize the obsession with the old game what things would you take if your house was on fire? Rhetorically, it's a beautiful insight. As adults, many of us know this game is silly and not remotely responsible unless your answer is your kids, or your partner. To risk life and limb for a few trinkets, while the flames lick at your collar and cuffs... why would one chance that?

Well, for various reasons, of course, lots of 'ones' would.

You can peek into the minds of others or ponder the question for yourself.

Having experienced a home fire, first hand, whatever I might have thought, I've now seen the truth. Flying down the stairs, both figuratively and then literally (when my foot slipped on the top marble step, it was almost like flying), in a tshirt and flip flops, I was ready to burst out the front door into the snow, carrying... my niece and not one thing else.

If it ever happens again,
I'm hoping RK will be holding my hand while, with the other, I grab the one thing on my list...

Sister, Sister

2011-07-19T08:32:00.000-07:00

Sister Corita may have just been the biggest jolt of inspiration that I needed in a potential personal malaise this summer.

A beautiful story, a beautiful woman, a beautiful result.
I felt honored to be standing in front of her pieces recently. She's been gone for 20 years and her work blows away anything I've seen lately.

Her politics and her passions, often one in the same, came through every plate she ever scratched onto paper. The bold messages, along with the incredible, home-grown, technical talent was a sight to behold.

It's been a couple months now since I've stood in the presence of these pieces. And, at the very least, I hope I can hold on to the tender hope it instilled in me then, giving me the ability to move forward with inspiration. Entering another season of all new card samples, all new art work for a show in the fall, and the dream of succeeding beyond my own expectations.

And an excerpt of a fantastic documentary* that was screening during the show,

*thanks cathy

Sweet as Honey

2011-07-18T08:02:00.000-07:00

Honey and bees have long held a soft spot in my heart. No, not going back to an early childhood when I was stung on the chin and thought I might collapse from the pain. But from some point when my brother turned bee-keeper and my mother turned honey collector. Since then, I've watched a hive spontanously create just feet from where we sat; listened raptly to my big brother's tales of the lengths he has gone to for his live-hive rescue business; and I've sat and eaten fresh honey right through its chewy wax honeycomb direct from the outdoor hives of our good friend, mr. bees.

And, yes, as an adult that soft-spot was momentarily hardened when I was stung by grabbing a poor innocent bee . My bad. Not the bees fault, of course. They are the providers, while we are the takers.

About four weeks ago, I was walking to my studio and came across this show in the windows of a local restaurant. It was a beautiful tribute to bees and a reminder to the current state of bees in our lives: They're dwindling, to say the least, and, yeah, it's not good. In any way.

{more photos, all lit by the sf sky}

So, in the serendipitous way that life works, two weeks ago, my sister, mom and I were flying down the french country roads, in search of a bread factory, when I saw this gorgeous sign and called out,

did either of you see that big sign for honey?

Squeal to a stop, reverse and suddenly we're in the driveway of two old school beekeepers, husband and wife team, just home for lunch between markets. Car full of honey jars.

With sheer luck and a keen interest in anything off the beaten path, we recognize this privilege: getting to glimpse the past, while feeling a hope for the future.

What is a way of life, passed down to those in the next generation on those country roads is, in city-living, beloved by only some.
I'm happy to count myself as one of them.

~ our own mr. bees, jon rolston,
shows us how it's done ~

Wonderground

2011-07-15T22:13:00.000-07:00

Summer Season in the South of France

Summer Season in San Francisco

The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.

{Any one of us woulda said it at some point}

C'est La Vie! (re-do)

2011-07-14T14:45:00.000-07:00

A number of years ago, when I was a die-hard Manhattanite, thought of living no where else in the world, because, really, what did the rest of the world have that NYC couldn't provide in some way, Rudy Giuliani started a quality of life hotline. I believed in this hotline. At the time, I lived above a bar that, at ungodly hours of the late night and early morn, produced an insanely vocal group of patrons. Next to that institution, that makes up a wonderous part of my beloved new york city lifestyle, was a restaurant that, on occassion, caught on fire and damaged our building. Mind you, the restaurant didn't have a fire alarm belching out noise pollution, so, technically, they didn't fall under the kind of quality of life we New Yorkers were looking to improve on.
So, okay, I accepted it: This quality of life would do just fine.
Look at everything I was getting here!

Then I moved to San Francisco. A totally different quality of life, if you will. Not perfect, but breathable: lots and lots of trees and gardens and space to move around.
This, I accept, as well.
Look at everything I was getting here!

But, along with this acceptance of city life, comes a known quantity: You get a little bit numb to things. The morning I left for the South of France, a man shot himself. Minutes before I stepped into the shop directly across the street, this man stood in front of the police station and ended it all. The guy in the mobile phone shop pointed out his feet under the yellow blanket while a news reporter asked me what I'd seen.
But I hadn't seen a thing, until pointed out to me.
What had I just seen?
Enough, I thought to myself, because I'd got a little bit numb to things.

This reality doesn't totally sink in until I arrive in France and we begin to visit towns and homes that embody the phrase quality-of-life.
This, this, I could really accept.

Being on Nadette's lavender farm was by far the most obvious quality of life change I was ready to move into. Look at everything I was getting here!
Living simply, surrounded by the scent of calm, doing what you love, far, far, far from the maddening crowd, with a dog who's only stress is watching the lavender grow.

I envision myself waking up to the morning.
This morning.
The farmers market, back home, cutting fresh lavender, selling my homemade wares, making soap, inhaling the world around me.

Everyone Should Have A Mogull

2011-07-06T08:18:00.000-07:00

I looooove coffee.
I can live without it. I can get through a day without it. I don't need it.
But, I loooooooooooooove coffee.
I love it strong, dark, heavy like oil, with lots of cream, no sugar, and steaming hot.

From the first touch down in France some 14-or-so-odd-days ago (i don't even know what day it is today!), there's not been a good cup of cafe in my hands. Ouch.
But, for lack of a good cup, there (at least) has been a cup.
About five days into the trip, our dear, dear friend Cathy Mogull actually started bringing a cup up to my room to help on my early rising {our days our packed with activities, a tight schedule, and very early mornings}. It's been a dream come true.
And it didn't stop there.

A week into our chateau stay, Cathy decided we really needed to get our act together and fill our veins with some serious dark grounds. This morning, after filling the french press to it's limit, she brought to my bedside a steaming-hot, creamy cup of the most delicious coffee I've ever had.
By god, she's got it.

I Miss Stella

2011-07-05T09:17:00.000-07:00

France is amazing.
It's taken me 20 years of traveling here to finally, fully understand it. In the last week alone I've said I could live here probably ten times. I love the rural, village life, every farmers market we've been to, the melodic language, and the french cafe word for beer (presión).

It takes me back to the days when I used to recruit university students to study abroad. Well, I tried very hard to recruit students: Private schools with quite privileged kids, who considered it a way of life rather than an incredible opportunity. Some of the most frequent comments were:
do they have peanut butter over there?
should i bring a lot of underwear?
and,
i think i'll miss my dog/boyfriend/mom/roomate too much.

I used to roll my eyes, hold back my comments and go through the details of what a life-changing experience this would be, if they would just forget all those worries and go for it.

Well, now I have a dog.
And while I love being here and can imagine staying for a long time,
I, like all those long ago college kids,
finally understand the feeling
of really missing my dog,
Stella Marie.

Luckily, a fantabulous water fountain in Cahors brought it all home for me.

I've Got The Best Blueprint Blues

2011-07-04T09:08:00.000-07:00

Dating back to the 1800's, not unlike the Chateau I'm currently living in, cyanotype is a magical process of exposing photographs. Taught to us by the fantastically easy-going and incredibly clever, Monica Addison, the cyanotype workshop was one of the best yet!

It's a simple process with the most marvelous outcome...
We started by each adjusting our eyes to the dark of the Chateau cellar to brush our exposure liquid onto watercolor paper, which then turned a bright green.

Once the paper dried, we crawled under a make-shift dark room and created our small scenes with the materials at hand.

Once the bright sunlight got things just right, a little rinse makes it alright.

And we had the best blues anyone could have for the rest of the day...

My favorite route was exposing old negatives I'd bought earlier in the week at a brocante.
It's like solving an old mystery.

ALLEZ!

2011-06-28T14:17:00.000-07:00

Some things never change here in the ole countryside...

A day at Guy's hat factory never ceases to amaze and always requires a bit of bartering to get the entire, true experience.
Brocante, hat factory, flea market and vide greniers, the only way to shop!

Each Day a La France

2011-06-27T10:13:00.000-07:00

Keeping our eyes out for interesting people with a lean towards the talents we don't possess, we came across a small atelier down a somewhat empty road off Albi's main square. Again, with very limited french, we managed to have a sweet conversation with the couple inside.

Lovely people who invited us beyond the shop walls into their beautiful brick basement to show us the rest of their world, keeping our interest peaked. They run this little brocante at street level, while the husband is painting in the background and the spiral staircase led us to their entire bookbinding business.

Never at a loss for wonderment.

Le Ferme

2011-06-26T14:50:00.000-07:00

My sister never lets a long, unpaved road go without a bit of a drive-down.
Whats down there?
Je ne sais pas.
Well, let's go see.
Really?
Yes! What can it hurt?
True.
And so we go.

The other day, it was an angora goat farm. We had a flyer, we had an idea, and we had success!

Franc & Rudolfo, two brothers who've been handed the Angora goat farm from their father before them, and keep it running year round, were kind enough to welcome us in, take us through and even show us how to milk a goat. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced. I felt like I could move right in and feel totally at home. It was as if I'd been missing something I'd never actually had. My mom, sister and I are endlessly excited about other people's lives and this was no exception.

It was just pure luck, we came at milking time. Well after 'business' hours, we drove down their dirt road, knocked on the door and became like family. Franc had us hold baby goats and squirt milk from udder to mouth. It was an event we could never have imagined, but will never forget.

Nous Sommes Arrivés!

2011-06-23T12:28:00.000-07:00

But I don't know where to start... Only in France 3 days and already we've had some crazy great experiences.

With random maps deciphered by Kick, and my sister behind the wheel, we're flying around the South of France seeing what we can see and finding all things interesting. We've visited our old friend Patrick Bru and gathered some good junk; we ate at a completely empty, hugemongous restaurant out in the country-side where we ordered whatever we could understand on the menu and got some surprises to boot!; and, after much lookin and lookin and making unknown turns, we landed at our big find of the day, le chèvrerie (the goat farm).
I feel like the luckiest kid in the world!

Podcast Love

2011-06-16T15:28:00.000-07:00

dear this american life,

you rock my world.

you bring me sounds and stories that stick in my brain.
i don't read the synopsis, i just hit the play button and find myself gasping.

you take me to parts of the world i'd never imagined, even here in the 'united' states of america.

you make me laugh,

and you always make me cry.

yours forever,

ps: episode #411{old boys network} and episode #437{first contact}
are some personal favorites of late,

thanks.

Greer, grin

2011-06-15T08:23:00.000-07:00

8mm ideas design

Chandra Greer is one of those shop owners that can really make your day. I met her years ago at the Nat'l Stationery Show and her beaming smile along with her love of 8mm ideas , floated me along on great vibes for weeks afterwards.
I've read a lot of fun interviews about Chandra and her spectacular shop, Greer, and this latest one (where I'm mentioned!) is no exception. Thanks to Chandra, I feel like a smart girl in a quirky business that just keeps getting better.

Don't Know Much

2011-06-14T06:03:00.000-07:00

Below, is an excellent editorial written by D.R. Burgess; Less to do with Sarah Palin and her inane hubris and utter ignorance, and more to do with any potential leader in the free world today who may run our country. It's a spot-on argument for intelligence. As if one was needed...

Above, is a book I bought when I was in high school that I highly recommend for anyone wanting to talk about anything.

When Sarah Palin flunked third grade social studies last week, her allies were quick to defend her. What difference did it make, really? Does knowing whom Paul Revere actually warned make a possible candidate any more or less savant on fiscal policy? Should mistakenly declaring that the American Revolution began in New Hampshire doom one's chances for nomination?

Yes, oh, yes. And here I speak not for the Tea Partiers, with their broomstick muskets at the ready, but for everybody else. The American president is the inheritor of an historical memory that is the United States. It matters to get it right, because ignorance of the fundamentals is symptomatic of something much worse: indifference.

How can someone speak of oneself as a patriot, even an American, without knowing who we are and how we became it? These televised flubs are worrying enough in themselves, but what is even more disturbing is the response. Getting it right means that the story matters to them; caring about getting it right means it matters to us. If we don't hold our legislators (and Sarah Palin) accountable for knowing the history it is we who are at fault, and we will assuredly get the leadership we deserve.

I don't wish to be unfair, but until well into the twentieth century a preponderance of our presidents read Latin, quoted Milton and Shakespeare, and drew from an immense mental repository of human history in making crucial decisions of state. The founding fathers, to a man, regarded themselves as latter-day Roman Republicans, and often signed their letters to one another as Cato, Publius, Cicero, etc. They understood that the revolution they undertook was not singular, but part of an ongoing struggle for human liberty that predated their efforts and would continue long after.

The memoirs of every departing president reveal that, at moments of great crisis, history is the greatest counselor. Presidents look to the actions of their predecessors for guidance and warning. Beyond that, with a wider field to draw from, they also look to events seemingly remote, yet crucial: the English Civil War, Alexander's campaigns in Persia, the legal reforms of Justinian. A greater knowledge of history means a broader field of precedents, and thus better-informed decisions. This does not guarantee success, as for every precedent there is usually one to counter it. But to argue that ignorance is preferable -- or even possible -- is to hand the controls of the jet to a five-year-old.

When choosing our next presidential candidates, they need to get it right, and so do we. Because after that, the rest is history.

Flora Grubb Time

2011-06-13T08:21:00.000-07:00

photo: flora grubb

While searching for a place to rent out and teach classes at, I came across the fantastic Julie Benjamin, who used to own a place in Hayes Valley called Little Lane. I never made it over to Little Lane while it existed here in the city, but I was lucky enough to get a great response when I reached out to Julie for advice. No, they didn't still have the space in SF, they'd moved on to greener pastures, but would I be interested in joining Julie for the summer classes at Flora Grubb?
Why yes, yes I would.

So, that's how its come to this point: I'll be co-teaching classes with Miss Julie at Flora Grubb this summer, getting my fingers dirty and my thumbs green while exploring the natural world with 6 to 10 year olds, all in the amazing, expansive compound that is Flora Grubb.

I'm so uber looking forward to it. I truly long for a gardening session and this may be the closest I get to it for awhile!

Bonjour & Bon Voyage!

2011-06-12T17:19:00.000-07:00

Getting ready for our trip to France, our chateau getaway, with last minute bits and pieces to organize and create. We know one thing everyone likes to have in their pocket is a cheat-sheet to converse with the locals. We can't all be linguists, but it's nice to give it a try. These little flash-cards I created will be a handy helper when we're out at a farmer's market or trying to barter for a great old textile at the flea market.

An ode to English Plurals

2011-06-09T13:25:00.000-07:00

We'll begin with a box, and the plural is boxes,
But the plural of ox becomes oxen, not oxes.
One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese,
Yet the plural of moose should never be meese.
You may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice,
Yet the plural of house is houses, not hice.
If the plural of man is always called men,
Why shouldn't the plural of pan be called pen?
If I speak of my foot and show you my feet,
And I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet?
If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth,
Why shouldn't the plural of booth be called beeth?
Then one may be that, and three would be those,
Yet hat in the plural would never be hose,
And the plural of cat is cats, not cose.
We speak of a brother and also of brethren,
But though we say mother, we never say methren.
Then the masculine pronouns are he, his and him,
But imagine the feminine: she, shis and shim!
Let's face it - English is a crazy language.
There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger;
neither apple nor pine in pineapple.
English muffins weren't invented in England.
We take English for granted, but if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square, and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.
And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing, grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham?
Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend.
If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?
If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught?
If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?
Sometimes I think all the folks who grew up speaking English should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane.
In what other language do people recite at a play and play at a recital?
We ship by truck but send cargo by ship.
We have noses that run and feet that smell.
We park in a driveway and drive in a parkway.
And how can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same,
while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?
You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down,
in which you fill in a form by filling it out, and in which an alarm goes off by going on.
And in closing, if Father is Pop, how come Mother's not Mop?

(i don't know who wrote it, but i loved it, thanks kick)

Work It!

2011-06-01T09:35:00.000-07:00

I was given a Workshop Sewing 101 class for my birthday this year. It was the perfect fit to last years birthday gift of a sewing machine. I needed to just get myself out of the gate.
It was fantastic: Fun, Easy-going, Just the right pace, Cute people, Great pointers,
and a really larger-than-life-personality in our teacher, Kelly.
She was rocking it.
And every funny, the-first-time-i-tried-to-sew-a.... sewing story had something to do with her liking some cute boy, sewing up a hot numbered dress out of some old heavy-metal tshirt, or wearing tight jeans. I'm not remotely this cool, but it made me feel cooler for taking the class from her.

Turns out, Kelly has cancer. And it ain't for the first time. She's been fighting this dang thing for quite awhile now. She's got an incredible attitude about it, has started a blog about her experiences and her friends and followers are throwing numerous fund-raisers in the wake of her uninsured honor. So, here's to Kelly and kicking cancer's ass DIY style.

Sunday Dinner

2011-05-31T14:09:00.001-07:00

Sunday dinner., a photo by tweetsweet on Flickr.

This photo perfectly encapsulates my fantastic three day weekend. Most of which I'm not sure I could even recount, but this particular meal, much of it provided by said photographer, T., was truly memorable.

All the outside time in this partially windy, partially rainy, partially sunny town was pretty fabulous too!

And even a first: boule in the sand lots of Golden Gate Park.

T. has actually captured quite a few special moments of the last year, luckily for me.

Workshop Students and Good Ole Dad

2011-05-26T22:19:00.000-07:00

I've been holding studio lessons for some of my old students and their siblings. It's been interesting to have a kid's eye inside my studio. Weird, but interesting: The way they look at the transfer letters, or the old german foil, wanting to use the typewriter just for the sound. It's been a kick for sure. Sometimes the questions they ask really make me think through why I do what I do. It can be frightening.

But the stuff they're coming out with has been good fun.
The other day, we started a little book for father's day. They're 7 and 8 years old, so I asked them to each write out that number of things they loved about their dad (7&8). They came up with some doozies.

They've been keeping very good track of each of their lists. They've added and changed and crossed out and counted down. And they actually found the same joy I get when realizing you can make a missing letter out of other transfer letters: theres no more 'y's left but i can make one out of the 'v' and the 'L'. wow! Yes, girls, it's true, transfer letters are completely rad and no longer made.

They'll finish up the books next week, just before father's day and I already like thinking about their dad's reaction: It's a great appreciation of dad-ness.

Art On A Wednesday

2011-05-25T09:36:00.000-07:00

***

I love Geoff McFetridge's work.

I Saw A Sign

2011-05-24T06:08:00.000-07:00

I didn't think I'd ever see the day...but we were driving down the road and this sign jumped out at me.
I haven't actually placed a call yet, I'm still just amazed I finally found the place that sells it! Woof!

2011-05-23T07:24:00.000-07:00

Stella and her good pal, Lupe, spent a lot of time in gorgeous, breathtaking, right here in the city, McLaren Park. It's a little slice of heaven right down the road. One of many spectacular parks that the world of Stella has introduced us to. When she's at McLaren with her friend, Lupe, the fun never ends. They run endlessly in huge fields of dried grass and tall wildflowers. They leap over fallen tree branches and they stick their noses as far as they'll go into gopher holes.

When you play that hard, it only seems right that you'd need to sleep it off that hard, as well. Which Lupe and Stella know how to do right.

And No One Likes Consequences...

2011-05-22T11:32:00.000-07:00

The big talk this weekend is all about The Rapture.
It was supposed to happen at a six pm local time YESTERDAY.

I wouldn't even think to spend my time on it: No one we know well knew the details through and through. But, curiosity got the best of me and I did a bit of reading on the ole internet this morn and found out just what this is all about! And, man, it turns out A LOT of people really bought into this.

So, my big question is not why are we still here?
but,
why don't this many people get this passionate,
amped up,
spend this much money,
time,
or publicity
on
The Cure For Cancer?
Feeding People in Africa?
Rebuilding Katrina?
Saving Children?
Global Warming?
Rebuilding Japan?
Endangered Animals?
and any other topic from the entire host of terrible things that are happening in our world today,
while you're still here and can do something about it.

One person can make a difference, and everyone should try.
--john f. kennedy

Spatial Relationships

2011-05-18T09:00:00.000-07:00

post-card, now art

2011-05-17T05:52:00.000-07:00

Every year there's a show held called The Postcard Show. Each artist is given a small, rectangular box and can put whatever work they'd like in there, as long as it fits the dimension. I've done the show for a few years and I usually just sell my cards. But, it's an interesting challenge to see what people come up with, in multiples. There can be up to two hundred artists showing and it's a lot of work to get through, both good and bad. One of the more interesting ones this year caught my eye for it's utter absurdity and hysterical banality (my highest praise). I read through each and every one but had to settle on just these few. I love them so much! And I promised myself I would not just hang on to them like interesting little talismans left on my desk, but would send them out into the world. To people I know would appreciate the weirdness of it all.

My big thanks to Emily Tareila, who made these juicy bits of goodness!
I only have two left and don't know yet where they will go.
Or, maybe I can convince myself it's okay to keep just two more little talismans in my life.

Memory Lane: NYC style

2011-05-16T12:00:00.000-07:00

I would most definitely say I grew up in Manhattan, New York.
Not in the way we, as a society, define grew up: As in one certain age existing up until another certain age. I grew up in New York the way one defines that moment they start really getting a kick out of living. No more holding back, live confidently in whatever direction you want to head.

One thing I never really lacked a lot of confidence in, but was surely never accepted or encouraged for in my youthful days, was asking a boy out.   And not until I moved to the big apple did I know that in Manhattan, the opportunities were plentiful, and doing so was completely accepted and often encouraged. And though it wasn't really the great date-getting that set it all off, but the stories that came with dating, that my confidence grew, in a city that changed me for the better, where my individual self finally came together as a whole. My best friend, having known me since the 4th grade, said to me at the time, "when you moved to new york, you totally made sense." I take it as a compliment.
I was dying to live confidently.

This morning, I was flipping through one of the many issues of New York magazine that our neighbor generously donates to our doorstep every couple of weeks and that I devour like bacon on a Sunday. New York City, as many a great observer has noted, is lots of little neighborhoods creating quite a small town, no matter who you are. Before moving to the city, famous people were larger than life stars we read about or saw on the big screen. In New York, they become part of the daily scenery to the point of normality which can be difficult to explain to visitors. It's the best small town I've ever lived in and more often than not, NYmag reminds me why. Unlike The New Yorker, which kept me intellectually satiated for many years after moving away, I'm now ready to reminisce about the early days of city livin' and only NY Mag can give me that fun walk down memory lane. They write about some classic fringe, famous and infamous characters, some of which happened to be part of my growing up in this small town.
This week there was a listing in the Agenda section that caught my eye and sent me right back to this particular night I volunteered with friends for a benefit auction held at The Puck Building:

The Puck is a ridiculously grand building that commands a corner of the city at the very heart of action in every direction.   We were dressed to the nines and already feeling fabulous when the guests arrived. The donation tables were laden with food, done-up baskets of goodies, handbags, surfboards, wine, all very enticing to people with lots of money to donate to an incredibly worthy cause. Because my friend was the man behind the guest list, we all knew we were about to rub elbows with some big-shots of the newsworthy sort. One of these big-shots (said loosely) was Dan Abrams. Before hot-shot newsman Anderson Cooper, there was Dan Abrams. And, I don't know why, but this guy floated my boat back then and I couldn't wait to meet him.

At first we were disappointed many of us would have to miss the where-its-at live auction in the grand ballroom and instead stand-by to man the silent-auction tables, but I soon realized, in the parlance of great parties, we were the kitchen to the living room: and EVERYONE wants to be in the kitchen. The party raged on in front of our eyes.

I was manning the wine table, where a donor could take home a years worth of vino for the winning bid, when up walked my big-shot: Dan Abrams. None of my friends really knew who the hell he was, but I was instantly giddy and cool all at the same time, or so I thought. I recognized him immediately, those ice blue eyes and that dark brown, perfectly coiffed hair... and, what? No girl on his arm!? I was in like flynn. We small talked and he wrote his bid on the sheet. He lingered a bit longer than necessary and I was sure there was some connection. Unfortunately, he disappeared for the rest of the night, but before he did, he told me a secret: He wasn't going to keep coming around the table to raise his bid, as others would, but he'd be back just before the bidding closed and be the last one to write down his bid and he would most definitely win! I tittered. I laughed. I smiled showing teeth and smirked with closed lips. I put a strand of very short hair behind my ear and probably batted my eyes. I'm in on this secret with Dan Abrams! This dapper man-child who I watch on TV has brought me into his little world! Mostly, I thought to myself, that will be the perfect time to ask him out! Just as he writes down his name and number,
turns to hear that the silent auction is closed
and he's the winner,
he'll be in a jubilant mood,
I'll tap him on the shoulder and,
in my complete confidence,
say,
'why don't we break open the first bottle together to celebrate our cleverness?'
or something just as sly, charming and witty.
It'll be perfect.

And it was, for the most part. He did come round at just-before-closing, sign his name in, give me a wink and woosh, disappeared into the crowd all moving out the front door, onto their next fabulous party somewhere just as cool. I didn't get to tap him on the shoulder. I didn't get to throw out my witty line and show Dan Abrams that his fame didn't intimidate me: I was too hip, too modern not to ask a man out!
But, I did come up with another idea.
With the first case of wine sitting on the table in front of me, knowing it was to be delivered to his home, I quickly jotted a note something to the effect of
'congratulations! your plan worked! why don't we break open the first bottle together to celebrate our cleverness?'
and signed with my name and number.
We each had to clear our table and bring the bid sheet to the volunteers running the cash-out machines. I was overly cheery when I handed over the goods, picturing Dan Abrams opening up my note and dialing my number in the very near future.

About a month or so later, I got a call. This message was on my machine:

Hi, um, hi, I'm a little embarrassed because I don't totally remember meeting you, but you left this note in the wine case I brought home from the auction...and...ha, hee hee, ha, it's funny. I mean, I'm glad you left it. Yeah, um, yeah, um, really glad. And yeah, it would be, um, uh, yeah, it would be fun to go out with you! Yeah, let's open this bottle up together! Ha. Um. Yeah, uh, yeah, um, it's funny, cuz you wrote something about my plan working or it worked or something, um, but um, what did you mean? what worked? ha! um, yeah, right, great, so call me back! My number is, um....

Yeah, it wasn't Dan Abrams.
I don't know who the guy was that actually won the wine that night, but over the next few weeks, it became increasingly clear this wasn't the outcome I had hoped for, as this guy continued to call me demanding a reason why I would leave him this note and and then not call him back.

Oh, Dan Abrams, you missed your chance!
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where NewYork mag sent me this week.

man's best friend, indeed

2011-05-11T06:23:00.000-07:00

The people we've met in the dog park, our dog-people, are turning out to be some of our closest friends. We all find ourselves somewhat surprised about it. But it can't be denied. We spend every morning together. When someone isn't there, he or she is asked after. We know what most everyone does for work, their marital status, and what they do for fun on their weekends. Many of us have been to each other's houses, with the dogs, just to hang out.

From an outsider's view, it might appear curious to see this big group gather in the park, first thing in the AM. We don't move much, so you know we're not exercising. There are no balloons, so it can't be a party. On closer look, one can see we are absolutely surrounded by dogs of all sorts. And perhaps notice that we will then spend the next one to two hours (sunny days and weekends? even longer) talking about life, our dogs, our dogs issues, our dogs achievements, our dogs wants and needs, our dogs pains and moments of joy. We also talk a lot about what our dogs would sound like if they had voices.

When I see videos like this, I know we are not the only ones.

merci, rk: who, i sometimes think, shows me these things just to watch me cry with laughter.

2011-05-10T08:17:00.000-07:00

When I walk into the white room I am alone, but I am alone with my:

body ambition ideas passions

needs memories goals prejudices

distractions fears

These ten items are at the heart of what I am. Whatever I'm going to create will be a reflection of how these have shaped my life, and how I've learned to channel my experiences into them.

The last two -- distractions and fears -- are the dangerous ones.

-twyla tharp,

a good read

shoes, socks, and one hundred million dollars: the usual stuff

2011-05-09T07:54:00.000-07:00

Cliffhanger

Witness

Heat

Body Heat

Valley Girl

Some super cheesy, some super violent, some just super brilliant:
Having television has shown me that, if I have the time, I'll watch almost any movie again.
Of course, there has to be that something there the first time, for it to be a multiple repeat.

All of the above movies I've seen multiple times.

And today, with hours of card folding & button-making in front of me, Cliffhanger is the one I come across out of a long list of free movies on tv (there's this thing called 'on demand' and i'm not really sure how many people have this thing...but we suddenly have it, it's weird).
Every single time I see the opening of Cliffhanger, I sweat.
Really.
My feet even sweat. And I absolutely, positively know what happens.
And, though you probably can't believe it now, watching Sly Stalone as a lead roll is actually pretty great. Not to mention, John Lithgow is truly an incredibly grotesque bad guy.

Witness, the same thing happens. The anxiety of what's going to happen (i KNOW what happens, almost word for word), the intensity of all the twists and turns and almost caught-ness. Plus, the added bonus of remembering a time, before the earring, Harrison Ford was the ultimate: John (heartbeat) Book. The George Clooney of his time.
And don't even think about interrupting me during the barn building scene.

Heat: A ridiculously violent movie. With three great actors, before they became caricatures. Every time I watch it, I cry.

Body Heat stars William Hurt.
Say no more.

And Valley Girl is a staple of my youth.

This is a completely inconclusive list, mind you.

But Just For A Moment

2011-05-07T12:45:00.000-07:00

2011-05-02T07:54:00.000-07:00

Whatever kind of party you're into, there's always more to see in Other People's Lives.
This whole week, parties of all types are being posted as the last evidence.

Fame Becomes Her

2011-04-25T05:59:00.000-07:00

finally, spring has come and that means that one spot of light in the hallway that stella loves to sit in.

and no, that face is not 'the-umbrella-is-stabbing-me' face, it's the 'why'd-you-wake-me' face

Stella and I walked out of the door yesterday morning to the squealing delight of our neighbors. There were yells that sounded like "famous!" and "stars of the internet" and "blog-famy" (okay, i made that last one up). But we both just stared at them blankly. We had no idea what they were talking about.

Apparently, Stella and I were the Sunday stars of a fab local blog, with all things great and small. I won't say which one of us is which.

It's a Family Thing

2011-04-24T04:05:00.000-07:00

Have You Heard, dahhhlings?

2011-04-21T06:37:00.000-07:00

above photo: my grandmother, bobbie & grandfather, gene,

bobbie caught the fish just before they left for home

sisters, my great aunt helen & grandma, bobbie

and i don't know who that cute little doggie is, trying to get the fox

The Sartorialist is having a little photo contest. These two beauties of my Grandma, Grandpa, and Great Aunt Helen haven't even made it on to my own old-photo-obsession-site, but they seemed just right/ripe for this moment.

science is whatever we want it to be

2011-04-20T08:22:00.000-07:00

I've fallen in love.
With a TV show.

I've fallen in love with
very. few. shows.
over the years.

M*A*S*H
Seinfeld
Arrested Development

And now,
30 Rock.

Funny thing is, it wasn't love at first watch.
Maybe I couldn't just jump right in?: I did not understand the Tracy Jordan character. I couldn't really understand any of the relationships. I didn't get the funny, the irony, the constant bits.
But, this is to say, if you don't understand something at first, try, try again.
Or, go back to the beginning and start at season one.
The writing is fantabulous.
And sometimes I only get the joke when it's all over and I laugh and laugh and laugh.
FANtabulous, I say!

And having just been privy to the first few pages of BossyPants, I now have an even bigger crush on Tiny Fey.

S stands for Spirit

2011-04-19T07:41:00.000-07:00

It was my niece's birthday recently.
S. turned 12.

But looong before she turned 12, she was doing things like this:

Pushing harder, to go faster,
flying down hills
only to get to bigger hills
to really fly.
Twice.

And she was also doing things like this:
My nice thrives being between a rock and a hard place ...

and hanging on by a string doesn't seem to bother her one bit!:

Yup, that's her: The one in the green helmet.

The one hanging off the side of a huge cliff.

Long before she was the wise old age of 12.

This kid, this little girl really, has more courage and determination at the age of 12 than I had at 20. My sister often says she's reminded of me when S. does or says something, which thrills me no end. Really? Like me?! In actuality, S. is 10 x more confident than me and 50 x more daring when it comes to outdoor activities.

I think a lot of aunts, and I'll even speak for a few uncles I know, love the idea of a a niece or nephew seeming to be just like them. Maybe we don't exactly hope, for their sake, that they're just like us. We hope they'll get through middle school easier and that they won't fall for that foolish boy in the tenth grade. We hope they're better at math and don't have to deal with all that drama about some interesting fashion choices they make through-out the year.
But now we get to see life through their experiences.
We maybe, for a moment, can even pretend that they are just like us...

S. might be a little like me, I just hope she got the very best parts.

Everythings Coming Up Roses

2011-04-18T10:59:00.000-07:00

llama font.

cuz, why not?

(thanks t)

An Experiment in Wasting Time

2011-04-14T13:08:00.000-07:00

***

Because my sister, L. and I spent a lot of time this past weekend discussing how it's an absolutely futile endeavor, a real waste of time, if you will, to compare yourself to others... I won't bother spending any more time wishing I'd made the above juicy, clever, letterpress pieces. Instead, I will celebrate and glory in the fact that they were made at all and that you can purchase them on etsy.

2011-04-13T15:13:00.000-07:00

** SPRING OPEN STUDIOS **

This Saturday & Sunday, APRIL 16th-17th, from 11 to 6 .

Stop by and see all the artists participating
at Art Explosion: 744 Alabama/ (between 19th & 20th sts)

I'm on the 2nd floor, STUDIO #227,
and i'll be waiting with baited breath...

For more information, and details of all the artists participating, check out Mission Artists United.

As always,
thank you for your tremendous support through the year.
You all rock.

Hey, you got a problem?!

2011-04-12T11:48:00.000-07:00

The genius behind this old-school flow chart was a Mr. HD Stephens, a high school math teacher in the 1960's-70's, leaving to become a computer programmer, then an oil-man. After many years of working for others and figuring out what life brings, he was in his seventies when he created this flow chart.

(courtesy of my dear friend, mrs. easton)

You Say It's Your Birthday, It's My Birthday, Too, yeah...

2011-04-06T06:08:00.000-07:00

We turn not older with years, but newer every day

~ Emily Dickinson

None are so old as those who have outlived enthusiasm

~Henry David Thoreau

Spring is popping out all over around here: the weather, the flowers, the sniffing dogs, the chirping of all sorts of birds. I walk down the street thrilled to be blasting my Aretha Franklin album in my ears, dancing a two-step and smelling the massive waft of fresh-bloomed jasmine all down our block. I'm feeling good. While I'm not particularly enthused about what the passing years have done to my skin, or my knee joints,
or to my memory,
or my hearing....
Well, I make up for it with the idea that with each one of these passing years, I become more myself, the ME me, and am more comfortable than ever with who I ultimately am. When the going is good, you best keep on going...

(and, every year seems good!)

Museum de Toulouse

2011-04-01T07:49:00.000-07:00

New spaces for a new way of looking at relationships between men, nature and environment...

It's obvious from the moment you enter the sliding glass door, this is one hell of a museum.

At every turn, I could not get enough. Each display was beautifully-curated and carefully labeled. There were never ending cases of each topic: Insects, Butterflies, Birds, Ground Animals, Plants, Water Animals, Land Animals, flying things, swimming things, things bigger than life itself!

I never wanted to leave, so I can't wait to return!

RK, Because

2011-03-31T07:51:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's luck,
but
I married a man who can shoot & edit things like this:

And then make things like this:

That inspire things like this:

and this.

2011-03-30T08:25:00.000-07:00

rem·i·nisce/ˌreməˈnis/Verb: Indulge in enjoyable recollection of past events.

Our home-based dig into the past continues, as we attempt to condense, purge, rid ourselves of, and generally re-organize our random files-of-whatever and our boxes-of-this & that in our combined office. It's a huge job and it takes years, as it turns out. We need to ponder, we need to share, we need to reminisce out-loud through every detail. We lived 29 years without each other, there's still some things to cover.

With piles of stuff, comes a gem or two.
Ten years ago, a simple graphic could stop me in my tracks. It's all I needed to start a little card line eventually called 8mm ideas. Little vintage gum wrappers, saved by the bundle, were the front runners in simple graphic design. On the back of each card was the yellowed wrapper that held the gum, totally intact, and my little handstamp ~8mm~ in black ink. And I'm sure the sayings didn't hurt one bit: It's Pink! A Very Delicious Confection! ...peculiar and lasting flavor... the 'glass of lemonade' theory.
These, I found myself sharing, were my very first cards sold in the old French General shop.

What's Your Handle?

2011-03-29T07:39:00.000-07:00

When we were kids, my parents, siblings and I seemed somewhat obsessed with cb radios. It wasn't that I understood the technology any more than I would today. To me, it was the next magic step up from two cans and a string, or a walkie-talkie that let you walk to the end of the street. Our big thrill back in the day, in the back of the VW bus, was the flip sign. And though I can't seem to find an iota of proof that these existed (perhaps my brethren or parents will back me up), a flip sign* was an oval shaped paddle with a handle and pad of paper that had very clear statements or questions: Wave! Where are you going? Haven't I seen you before? (a really funny one on long road trips). We were into the idea of being out there on the open road, everybody going somewhere, getting to the next story. We also watched quite a bit of BJ and The Bear when we could. Trucking seemed as romantic as any world-wide travel.

I'm often incredibly nostalgic for the tiniest thing. So, when I came across these CB calling cards, which I'd never been exposed to before, I nearly shed a tear. Of course truckers, husbands and wifes, had their own calling cards! I knew it! That open road IS as romantic as I'd fantasized! It's so something of the past.
Remember when? Oh, those were the days. Wouldn't it be nice...

*fun fact update: the flip sign did exist! but it's all sold out now.

2011-03-28T08:08:00.000-07:00

For whoever your flock may be...

{ *A Flock of Two* on Radiolab }

(thank you for tuning me in RK)

(photo linked)

i don't mind the rain

2011-03-23T19:07:00.000-07:00

'cuz it brings this:

Ancient Art of Bleu

2011-03-21T14:49:00.000-07:00

I would say 'you have to try it to know it'. Woad is one of those things. It's not something I would have thought could move an entire group of women to unload their luggage of white blouses, jeans, skirts, and even undies all in attempt to dye them blue. Mind you, not just dye them blue. With each item dunked in, you never quite know what will come out of it.

Turns out, dyeing with woad is not really about dyeing at all. You don't have to be a textile fiend, you don't have to love dyeing, and it's not about tie-dye flashbacks. It's about the magic that happens when you get a group of women together in a wide open field or forest, put a big bucket of churning liquid in the middle and not only learn about the ancient art of bleu, you witness it first hand. You watch how each item you delicately lower into "the beast" turns an acid green, an insane yellow and then when you pull it back out into the air, it settles into it's "eponymous French Blue – a rich, soft shade with a touch of grey".

Woad is not just any blue: It's not denim, it's not grover blue, it's not a Rit blue. It's not a chemical, it's not something you can buy in your local Duane Reed or Walgreens. It once was a special combination of a seemingly common weed and men's urine that turned this into one of the most popular dyes in the world, and then it found it's medicinal and healing properties, and now it is an experience that can be had by the lucky few.

Last year, on our annual group trip to France, my sister asked our teacher, Denise if she would come to the states and lead a woad workshop in LA. Denise, the master woad dyer, agreed! In two weeks, we'll be in historical Elysian Park putting our whites into the woad zone.

I suppose I could keep on writing about it, but what's left to tell, the rest of the group adventure, cannot be put into words. One has to experience it. And this year, you don't have to go all the way to France to have a most trans-formative happening, you can sign up for the workshop right here and now. Or, sign up via The Art Of Craft, where all workshops at French General are posted, including the Concertina Workshop I teach on the following Monday. It's gonna be a big weekend!

kiss me, i'm irish

2011-03-17T07:44:00.000-07:00

the chini project: absolutely click here to see all of it!

St Patty's Day was always a huge celebration in our household growing up. Dad would wear a huge green wig and mom would color our milk, pancakes and banana bread green. The infamous shamrock shaped cut-out cookies with perfect butter-cream green frosting would greet me well into my college years. There was ALWAYS a party: I remember the green beer, the plaid suits all the dad's wore, the Malones, the Kennedys, everyone singing irish tunes at the top of their tipsy lungs, the green outfits head-to-toe that none of us would be caught dead without!

Today it's all different, it almost passed without notice, an email here and a phone call there, but the memory still lives on.

And the best part of the day, the jokes from my irish mother, Kick:

Paddy was driving down the street in a sweat because he had an important meeting and couldn't find a parking place. Looking up to heaven he said, 'Lord take pity on me.
If you find me a parking place I will go to Mass every Sunday for the
rest of me life and give up me Irish Whiskey!'

Miraculously, a parking place appeared.

Paddy looked up again and said,
'Never mind, I found one.'

Father Murphy walks into a pub in Donegal, and asks the first man he meets, 'Do you want to go to heaven?'

The man said, 'I do, Father.'

The priest said, 'Then stand over there against the wall.'

Then the priest asked the second man, 'Do you want to go to heaven?'

'Certainly, Father,' the man replied.

'Then stand over there against the wall,' said the priest.

Then Father Murphy walked up to O'Toole and asked, 'Do you want to go to heaven?'

O'Toole said, 'No, I don't Father.'

The priest said, 'I don't believe this, you mean to tell me that when you die you don't want to go to heaven?'

O'Toole said, 'Oh, when I die , yes. I thought you were getting a group together to go right now.'

The Story Behind The Story

2011-03-15T06:26:00.000-07:00

These days, it seems every other week I get lost in the fantasy of selling everything we own, putting the heirlooms in storage, buying one of these

and saying goodbye to the life of day to day. Thus, making day to day a totally unknown kind of day to day. Meeting all new people, having all new adventures, seeing new bands, climbing new mountains, making beautiful, short documentaries, finding more birds, watching Stella run through new fields.

Nothing's making us stay in one place,
there are no limits here but mine.
It's the thought of not having an everyday life,
a daily community to commune with,
the neighbors that are looking out for us like family,
this is what keeps me here.
Why, then, do I constantly wish to run off?

Someday I think, nay, I hope that RK will wake up in the morning, turn to me (and stella, i must admit, who's sleeping there between us) and say

that's it. we're going. it's settled. pack a bag!

but, I know me (and RK knows me waaay too well) and I know I will go through the list of all the reasons it might not work, I will question if we aren't working towards something by staying in one place, I'll wonder if that something isn't the very thing we're not doing, and we'll talk about all the places we'd like to travel to one day and how we'll deck out the inside of an airstream.

As a love letter to RK, my roundabout way of telling him I feel for him, I'm on his side and we most likely will continue this fornever ending discussion/fantasy/bigtalk of becoming true roadsters, I give you: Concertina,

It's a gamble, but there's a place out there, it'll give us an entirely new index to the story of our life, where it is, I'm not sure how we'll decide, but let's get out there, out beyond ideas of right and wrong.

At least that's my story.

I'll be interested in hearing the others at the Accordion Book Workshop I'm teaching in April. It's one of the great things about teaching these workshops, at least a glimpse of everyone's story eventually comes out on the page.

2011-03-14T12:22:00.000-07:00

Uncle Jack: Sendai, Japan

So often we are overwhelmed with our own lives, our own personal crises and damage, that we can't see the forest for the trees.
We've watched so much devastating footage of Japan's disaster quake and tsunami, it's hard to know where to begin.

Find ways.
Whether they be creative, small or big, yesterday or today, reach out and do something that you can do. The above poster can be purchased here for one way to help (thanks d) though I'm sure you can find so many other ways, as well.

stella marie: et alors il se fit un grand calme~

2011-03-13T06:26:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday Stella,

From your humble beginnings as part of the stockton 7,

First Time Beaching

First Time City-ing

One year ago on March 13th, I brought you home and we fell in love with you.
You continue to change our world for the better.

My birthday wish for you would be that everyone could have a Stella in their life.
I think it would help.

sunning

raining

posing

looking

I wanted to write the world's greatest paen to Stella on her birthday,
about how she makes me feel like swooning when she sleeps right up next to me, when she stretches out across my lap, when she comes running towards me with her hair flying & ears flattened, when she makes a little throaty grumble telling me she wants up on my lap, when she ever so slightly runs her tongue over the tip of your nose, when she sits in the sun and lets out her deepest, sweetest sigh. I wanted to write about how, on any given day, you can find myself or RK whispering an explanation of something (the sound of the vacuum cleaner, why she has to get in the bath) in Stella's soft ear and she seems to nod with knowing. I was wishing I had the words to describe her expressions, her lifted ears, her wagging tail, her eyebrows wiggling and the utter joy that these small things bring me.

Turns out, Joy and Wonder wrote it before I did, about her dog -- and thank goodness she did: Dog love at it's finest. It's a wonderful thing.

loving

Woad Weekend Wouldn't Be Woaderful Without A Workshop, too!

2011-03-11T12:56:00.000-08:00

st antonin, france

Getting back on the road again, bringing my ole tool kit and a whole bunch of juicy old paper scraps to lead another workshop.

I'll be back at French General, my home away from home, for the weekend of woad my sister is planning. I SO enjoyed the last two classes we had there, everyone we met for the first time, and everyone we re-visited with, so clearly excited to be a part of this creating/craft movement. I was so impressed by the inspired spirit that pervaded (and i got to meet pam garrison!! artistcrush.) So, on Monday morning April 11th, the day after we dye everything we own woad-blue, and five days after my birthday, I'll be leading Book Making: The Accordian Book*

I'm looking forward to seeing what comes out of everyone's hearts and minds, spills on to the pages, and then lives on in their world.

*Details to be posted soon on French General's Website*

Tricycle Thursday

2011-03-10T10:45:00.000-08:00

Everyday is a good day,

with a bike.

Other people's lives always seem more intriguing.