The Here and Now

I don't think it really occurred to me how much I would long for this place. On arrival, landing softly from the sky, I realized I wanted back in. Sat in traffic, I wistfully wondered (madly texting back home) why we ever left here. Of course I know why, but the overcast sky and the wildly exciting feeling of anticipation seem to mellow each other out and cloud my memory.
"This place" is New York City.
It's no surprise. I think I've clearly stated my case for the big apple over and over. Maybe I've dipped into the comparison convo and San Francisco seemed to come out pretty darn well....but, in the back of my mind, I keep the knowledge. I know what I know, but I live in the here and now.
It makes it all the stranger that when I come here, I stay in my old apartment. I hang out with my old friends. We sit around my old kitchen table. Literally, my old table. And then funny little things happen: Last night when I walked up to the first floor (or ground floor, depending on where you grew up) I saw an old school desk outside the apartment. A little later, S. (who lives here now) asked what I thought about the old desk.
"Well, I used to have the same exact one."
"That's funny," she said, "I picked it up off the sidewalk just outside."
"Yeah, about eight years ago, I did the same exact thing. A high school closed down the street and this thing kept moving around the street until it finally made it's way down here to just outside the apartment. I figured it was determined to make it, so who am I to refuse? and I brought it inside."
It felt like some strange circular karma.
We are so very lucky that S. has stayed on in this apartment. It feels like it's stayed in the family.

The energy here is palpable. It's unstoppable. For some, that is a scary, overwhelming feeling. For me, it just feels like home. Got to hang out with Michele at both the shop and her amazing, incredibly inspiring apartment. Such a great way to start the evening. Earlier in the day, spent some great kickback time at Kelly's studio and walked out with three new hats (only one for me!)courtesy of our good friend John. Felt like old times.

Tonight, as I lay me down to sleep, I listen to the traffic zoom by, the rain pound down and feel the train rumble under the floor....surprisingly, I drift off to sweet dreams, knowing I'll wake up tomorrow morning, walk down to coffee at cafe henri and pretend I live here for just the here and now.

How Can I Keep From Singing?

This coming Saturday I'll be singing in my really, really good friend's wedding. I emphasize the really good part because no one, including me, can believe I'm standing up before 150 or so people and belting out a tune. I'm actually getting a little nervous just writing about it.

The last time I sang in front of a ton of people, I was 18 years old and it was my H.S. graduation. And it wasn't just me, but this really good friend who's getting married and another friend of ours. At 18, I had so much adrenaline running through me, I don't think nerves were a factor. And, at that time, there was probably nothing I wanted more than to sing in front of hundreds of people, especially my classmates.

I was never known as a singer. Hence, many of my friend's reactions when I told them I was singing at this wedding: "It's not that I doubt you can sing, it's just that I had no idea you were a singer." And, really, I'm not. Sure, I like a good tune, and if I'm feeling sorta loose, I might even sing along with my own melody and a set of made up words. But, I'm surely not a "soloist" (as the woman at the church referred to me during my one-hour rehearsal this week).

So, I'm trying to think of anything I can (mind over matter) to calm my nerves before the big moment and look at this as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity (trust me, in my next 40 or so years of life, I don't think anyone will ask me to sing in a church, let alone at their wedding, again). But I am excited to belt out this awesome tune, with no mic in front of me and a beautiful sounding piano accompanying me and I'm determined to have fun with it. Get my Aretha Franklin on. 'Cuz I've only got this once!

I don't know why, but this video made me feel really good and I'm thinking I want to hang on to the image of it's playful, casual but practiced, vibe as I go into my big debut this weekend. Wish me luck!

Magic 8 Ball

This has been a month (and will continue to be the month) of non-stop GO. In fact, as I write this, I should be packing for our weekend away. But, after all this exhausting go, go, go-ness, I thought a good joke could be just the remedy to what ails. This joke comes courtesy of a friend who just visited for a few days from canada (and we had a blast tooting all over this grand city, during the beautiful sunny days we just had); We were in my studio (which is covered in my collection of 8's) and she very slyly said,

What did the zero say to the eight?
I don't know, what did the zero say to the eight?!
"Nice Belt!"

Maybe it says multitudes about me, but it cracked me up. Think about it. You can use it too. And don't be surprised if you hear me pull that out at a party soon.


(above photo from last May Open Studios: these two cuties got hold of my 8's and saw them as masks, of course!)

May they all find peace

(thanks to Jennifer's blog, where I watched this video today)

One of the best little kids that's come thru my public school teaching experience just found out he was being transferred to a different school. It came up right when I sat down next to Emily. She turned to me and said, "My cousin is being transferred to a different school", while her arm was outstretched, pointing towards Edward. But I'd known these kids for two years. We had them during last year's residency, when they were just wee kindergartners. And now, they're big old first graders. And they remembered us so well from last year. It was my first real experience in 'returning'. So, there Edward sat, across the circle from us, totally unaware that Emily was opening Pandora's box. Taylor overheard our conversation, or maybe he heard me screech,"Edward is your COUSIN?" As in, why didn't I know that?, either way, he overheard me and walked up to us and said, "My cousin is in jail." Cue: big, huge, brown eyes and a little bowl haircut staring down at me. The first thing that came out of my mouth (and I'm not saying it was right!) was, "Really? Do you know why?" He shrugged and said, "I don't know..maybe it's cuz she didn't show up to court yesterday." Hmmm, maybe.
After all this revealing, Edward and I make eye contact and I mouth, "You're leaving?" and he nods, so solemnly I wanted to weep.
Class begins and he's really into the story drama we're doing and we're all playing it to the hilt. He's so involved. And I'm aware, so aware, that this is a final impact moment. This could be one of those days that a person remembers, years later, when they're retelling some memory, some recall, from first grade. Damn, I hope it was good.
At the end of class, the kids lined up for recess and started making their way out. Edward was at the back of the line and I leaned over and hugged him and told him how wonderful it was having him in class and what a difference he'd made on all of us these last two years. I didn't expect it, and yet, I guess part of me expected no less, but Edward sobbed and sobbed and sobbed into my shoulder. I just kept repeating, like a mantra: you are a fantastic person, you make a difference, you are a smart, sensitive, important person. I wanted to tattoo it across his forehead: I AM IMPORTANT.
I know, kids transfer schools. It happens. They're forced to. They want to. They have to. But there was something about loosing Edward that seemed almost tragic to me.
So, I've sobbed into my own shoulder and hoped for the very best for him.

Irony & Wine

My friend Danica came over a couple nights ago and we sat around and drank wine and laughed and cried and screamed at similarities and nuances, strengths and insecurities. Then we headed down to this gig--which was an awesome good time. Thanks, T.
We saw a lot of crafters and bloggers and lots of people we didn't know, mixed with some incredibly talented women I was just meeting (the world of blogs, I'm tellin' ya, brings great things to my little world!): Ashley & Molly. Well, technically, Molly and I had met before, and in fact I spent an hour or two at her shop today, messing with her stuff! But, meeting Ashley for the first time was awesome. Especially since she showed up with one of her felt pieces that was to die for! So, for the second time that night, I was with the girls, sitting around drinking wine and laughing, crying and screeching about all the things that came up!
It was a great night and I hope for many more like that...

Written one day at a time

A very interesting, adventurous and really fun friend that I met when I first moved to SF sent a "here's the latest" email to me today (she moved to ny soon after we moved here) and ended it with this poem by Stanley Kunitz that closes:

Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.




(all images from my most recent trip to LA la land: Birdcage at Big Daddy, LA sky, Big Daddy, Driving in LA)

To soothe your aching hearts...

this too shall pass

Built-in Glitches

life is crazy.
if you don't believe me, try living it just a bit more fully.
it doesn't matter what you plan for, what path you're on, there's always a little wild hair/hare (whatever image you relate to) waiting around the next bend to throw a wrench into things. now, this is not in contrast to the before mentioned aura of peace i recently realized in ever-present existence. no, it's all in one with it.
a great line from Eat, Pray, Love: the author is in Rome and pondering an old building thats lived through many lives and she writes: even in the eternal city, one must always be prepared for riotous and endless waves of transformation. A sentence more applicable to life i have yet to read.
life has some major setbacks. all of us, life's characters, can be really disappointing. life is good news and life is bad news. it keeps moving like on a great sea of waves. it never, ever, ever, never, ever, never, ever stays the same.
depending on how you feel about that will probably decide whether you're gonna sink or swim in each situation you're faced with.

watched a dichotomous/strange/perfect film tonight. its his final speech that actually convinced me. talk about life being crazy.

It's a full, full moon

A full moon. A full, harvest moon, ladies and gentlemen. It doesn't get much better than this. The only thing that might have taken the amazing feelings I had while admiring tonight's full moon to a higher level, is to have done it side by side with RK. He loves them full, harvest moons, too. But he's watching this miracle from LA and I'm watching it from Dolores Park in SF.
Maybe it's the warm weather, or maybe it really is the book I'm reading currently (previous post), but my life seems to be heading into this really peaceful place. No, that's not what I mean exactly. I feel more aware, on a bigger-picture level. And it's not that I'm hoping it'll last...it's that I've realized this IS the space I exist in all the time. I just need to open my mind, and my heart and acknowledge the universe and all it's miracles.

thank you universe.

Reading is good for you

I'm reading such a good book right now!
Christina lent it to me and she swore by it. It's not that I don't take recommendations, because the last few great books I've read were recommended to me (this one, this one and this one definitely count--all recommended to me by RK) and I ate them up.

It's always good to have a good book thou. Before Christina lent it to me she said, "do you have time to read a good book?" And she's right to ask. 'Cuz, let's face it, if someone lends you a book and it just sits on your shelf and you never get around to reading it and then you move to another city and put it on a new shelf and realize one day while you're cleaning off your shelves that you've never read that book that someone once lent you and you're about to move again and you decide to drop that book at the thrift store on your way out of town...well...let's just say, it was a wasted lend for sure. I'm of the ilk of reading a good book and lending it to the next friend, in the hopes that they'll lend it to the next friend. And so and so on and so on... Mind you, I've had the conversation with many a soul who knows exactly which book is on their shelf that they did the above scenario with. And they can still feel the sting.

So, I'm only about 70 pages into the book and, already, I'm composing a letter in my head to Miss Gilbert. Telling her how much I love the book, how much I relate to the stories, the feelings, all of it...
And, thinking about writing to her reminds me of a few other authors I've fallen for while reading their book (Brenda Ueland and Jean-Dominique Bauby, to be exact). I had the letters composed and ready to mail when I re-read the backs of the books again and realized that they'd never get my spectacularly composed words praising their genius...because they'd already passed through this life.

I've written to a lot of authors over the years. Starting when I was about ten, I think. And they've all written back to me except for one: Stephen King. And my reaction to that was not cool: I'd written him a letter telling him how I'd read all his books (sometimes more than once) and I just thought he was amazing (I was about 12 or 13 when I did this...but I think I can still be held accountable). Well, he didn't drop even a postcard to me and I guess I got a little peeved and I'd just finished reading Misery, so I sent him a postcard that said, "im your biggest fan." Jeeez, that is hella creepy. I think I'd read one too many of his novels as a kid.
(and if you haven't read his stuff, well, then you're not gonna understand why that was creepy at all!)

But that brings me to an author that did write back, William Wharton. And not only did he write back to my initial letter when I was a teenager and had just gobbled up reading Birdy and Dad, but our correspondence continued for about seven years, thru my college days (at one point he tried to set me up with his very shy son). I even visited him, his wife and said son, on Long Island one summer. It feels like a dream now and I often wonder how they all are. Maybe I'll drop him a letter tomorrow....or, as soon as I finish reading my new book!

Away we go...

It's also strangely difficult to write a post after writing about September 11th, 2001. It's strange to realize that each year you get over it a little quicker or you talk about it less or that it's just another day in 2007 now and you get back to "normal" as quickly as any other day in your present. But you've got to live pushing forward. You can't be stuck in one time. You want to live to the fullest while you're here. So, with the strangeness acknowledged and the desire to feel "normal", I resume with current events (but not without that feeling of a reporter reporting how many people died in Iraq today and then "reporting" on a litter of adorable cats born to an infertile couple in oakland...if you know what I mean)

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!”--Jack Kerouac
I've been in the studio a lot lately and it feels SO good. I'm finally getting used to it as the space I go to to create. It's just taken a while to get over the home-studio concept and treat this outside address as a space I can go to anytime. So, I was there most of the day today (T was hanging out, too, and made some cool new pieces) and then late tonight and plan on being there as much as I can for the next few days straight. I'm currently making a book for a show I'm in that takes place in Madison, WI next month. And I'm la la loving how the book is coming out.

I made these luggage tags recently and am thinking about making more. I still need to make one for the dog & cat carrier.


And I've been on this trip lately of exposing ...exposing deep beliefs, or misconceptions. Trying to show the behind-the-thing-you-think-it-is. You know, sometimes things are they way we think they are and sometimes they're not. This piece is called "That's just because you compare yourself to me"

And, another recent piece.
and away we go!

It's hard to know what to say today. I hadn't planned on writing anything particularly memorable because of the date. But, last month, when I read what my friend, Megan, had written, it did occur to me that we're all still memorializing this date. Subconsciously or not. And then, today, I read Trey's post and I believe he said it perfectly.
I spent the early part of this morning with a friend, lamenting the state of the world and the doofus that is "running" it currently. But, I don't want to go political today, it's not at all what it's about...
what it is about for me is the memory of what started out as one strangely beautiful day in September six years ago: and by 9:03am, how everything would change forever. Of course, I can remember exactly where I was (standing in my kitchen with the refrigerator repair man--commenting on the excessive amount of fire trucks, cops and ambulances speeding down 7th avenue, right outside my window) and what I did (picked up the ringing phone, and heard my sister Kaari telling me to look out the window because a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. I dropped the phone as I saw the second tower explode on impact and ran to each of my neighbors doors, pounding loudly, 'come out! come out!') It's about this vivid memory (that plays over and over sometimes like a nightmare), and the reality that many of my friends survived that day intact and I'm grateful for it. And, I'm more than sorry that so many innocent people of Iraq, today, lo these six years later, are paying for it.

To yu and yu and yu

flickr is a funny little world...not very different from the blog world (which probably isn't that different from facebook, or my space, or friendster...not that I'm really that sure what those are about...who knows thou? someday, perhaps--but i doubt it, cuz my time is pretty well consumed by blogger, with the little bits and crevices of "left over" time filled in by flickr). ANYWAY, as I slowly get into flickr, I'm always kind of shocked to see that someone has viewed my photos, on their own random time, and some have even posted comments. It's the same way on blogger. When someone I don't know posts a comment or writes a post about one of my cards. Yesterday, I logged on to my flickr account and had a message that this fellow flickr-er had included me as one of her "contacts." I immediately jumped to her flickr account and fell in love with her sketchbook sized drawings of outdoor markets and life in a home (and happily used another one of her drawings above from her really fun blog, the title of which I love: Learning Daily) And then I love how reading this person's blog or checking out their flickr info leads you to more and more and more and more and more in this big wide world of the information super highway!

I don't know why I think I'm the only one out there lurking/looking in at everyone else's work and ideas and reading their blogs and admiring their artwork...but sometime it feels like that and, I must admit, I'm so happily surprised when somebody looks back! It feels like an ever growing community of (say it with me) the strangers who are just friends you haven't met yet.

everythings coming up roses

I had some great pick-me-ups this week:
First, my sister sent me a link to a very cool blog that wrote about my cards! I've been spending some serious time on his blog because he's turned me on to so many artists with so much talent...people and ideas you don't see very often.
So, that was very exciting and uplifting.... and then, my friend, Yasmine, called me yesterday: She was in PaperSource looking at cards and she kept lookin' and lookin', and lookin' and lookin' and finally picked up "the only one" she liked and boom! It was one of mine! She gave a little inside cheer and then called to tell me. The news made my heart soar...exactly what I needed, as I head into this month of September with a million things to do for the card bizness.

I also woke up this morning and strapped my ever growing experiement-hair into two above-ear pigtails (i've had extremely short hair since college and, while it may not be considered long to some, for me, this is looooong hair) and giggled to RK that I look just like Penny!


Nothing like a good ole giggle to end your weekend with and start a Monday on, eh?

i slept and dreamed that life was beautiful

I'm not sure it gets much more beautiful than Robert Ryan's work (be sure to click on the images to see them larger).
My sister sent me the link to his website,
which shocked me because I was just about to send it to her!
Turns out, we both saw it on here, another one of our favorite blogs.
Like-minded genius-ocity?
I think so.

You Knew Me When

I can see, as you get older, why the people that have known you longer than others become more and more important. You've done the work--you've revealed a shitload. Can a "new person" really understand all that makes up you? It's less about conceit, as this may begin to sound, but more about self-awareness. How much more you can take.

This very thought occurred to me as a friend mentioned going to therapy and then having her therapist take two months off for the summer. Yeah, that sucks--but it's not a reason to get a new therapist--no way. That sucks, sure, but not as much as it would suck to have to reveal yourself, expose your neuroses from the beginning to a "new person"!

I totally get it. Old friends are really, really important. They allow you to be yourself without any ifs, ands, or butts. They can shelter you from the storm or throw you out to soak up some of the rain and thunder 'cuz they know it's the best thing for you. Or they don't purport to know what's best for you, and sometimes that's whats best. And your criteria for what is an "old friend" may differ from mine. I feel lucky to be able to stretch the definition of "old friend" to just a few years ago, but a connection that expands beyond our calender.

Sounds a bit new-agey, I suppose.



Both images (as well as an entire website full of her amazing art) from this incredible artist Eveline Tarunadjaja.

Mundane Journeys are worth every step

When you go away, to a place that holds so much emotion and ties, it's a nice idea, when you return to wherever it is you went away from in the first place, to renew your sense of love for the place you're in.

So, with lots of love for LA this week, I know I wanna give props to the city I'm in. An easy way to do that is to hop on your bike or get on your feet and start riding, start walking and start looking: at EVERYTHING around you. The smallest, goofiest, clever-est thing can make my heart race and think, 'dang, that is a reason to live here!'

I bought the book, Mundane Journeys, when I first moved to SF a few years ago, but have peeked into it every once in awhile over the years. It's a simple little book, with simple yet profound observations & advice. Here's a good one, this bookstore is a great reason to appreciate this little city...
Walk, bike or public transit to 227 Church at the intersection of Market. Enter Aardvark Books. Immediately to the right is the cash register. I like to ask independent book store cashiers if the store has any books behind the counter that are not for sale. Tell the person behind the counter that you are looking for the book Dou Dou Flies Away. This book is not for sale. Next, venture down the middle aisle until you come to the gardening section on the right. A friend pointed out to me that most of the book covers in the section are appropriately colored green. Look up and to the left and take note of the dried puffer fish hanging above you.


I appropriately flipped to the bookstore journey because I recently took my own, invented, mundane journey. I was in the paint store buying two tins of my favorite colors, and I noticed a little lobby out the back door. I asked the cashier what it was (their lunch room? emergency exit?) and she told me that was the way to the bookstores up stairs. Well, hello! I wasn't going to pass that up...so, I finally found myself in Vallhalla books (which has absolutely NO links or information on line, that I can find, except for a google map--not good.). Joe, the owner, surrounded by a stack of books on every side of his comfortable chair (you'd expect nothing less) and later, moving over to the couch to have some coffee--the couch, also surrounded on all sides with books. But used book owners are my favorite carnys of all. I could spend HOURS talking to them about the state of the world today! How kids don't read anymore! How first editions just feel and smell different. As do signed copies. And books that have dedications written in them by, not even the author, but someone random. In pencil. Yeah, Joe and I had some gooooood conversation. I've gone back there now two times in as many days. Both days, I found books (you know how you "find" things you don't really need?) for other people. Really fantastic gifts, actually.
Anyway, I stood in this bookstore, two floors up from one of the more intense streets in SF, and listened to the smacking, slapping spastic sound of the floor to ceiling metal blinds over the open window....and, Joe? Well, he didn't even seem to notice.
It truly was my own mundane journey.
Good ole San Francisco. I'm back.

kitty cool cats

A while back, I posted about an old cat of ours, Kitty Calahan. And my mom dug up an old photo of that old cat!

And..now....Featuring KITTY******CALAHAN!!!!

The writing on the bottom of the photo says, "kitty callahan Posessed by the devil". That's right! And we call that move he's doing, the drunken sailor.

And then, on this trip to LA, we hung out with two of the coolest cats around: Johnny, lounging in the background and, upfront, it's none other than Boots!

For each era, there is a love

“I learned to drive in order to read Los Angeles in the original” -Reyner Banham, Architecture of Four Ecologies

Reyner Banham(1922-1988) was a prolific architectural critic best known for "Theory and Design in the First Machine Age" (1960) and "Los Angeles: The Architecture of Four Ecologies" (1971). Professor Banham taught at the University of London, SUNY Buffalo and the University of California,Santa Cruz, where he was Chair of the Art History Department.

Reyner Banham was the first critic who loved Los Angeles for what she was. In the course of the love affair he had to let go of nearly everything he brought with him—his academic training, his English upbringing, the ideas of his peers—so that he could accept his beloved for herself: a city of freeways, foothills, beaches and smoggy suburbs, built on mobility and flux by a series of invaders and innovators and populated by the armies they brought in their wake.

In this city on the edge of the western dream, nothing was like what came before. Status was no longer communicated through the construction of stone palaces that looked like they fought every step of the journey over the Rocky Mountains, but rather by freeway access and wacky drive-thrus, light, ventilation, organic design and a sensitivity to a built environment— commercial and architectural innovations which would have been unthinkable anywhere and anytime else.

Gone was the unified vision of a city, and yet there was a method to L.A.'s madness. What Reyner saw was something far more complicated: behind this urban sprawl was a pattern, almost a language, which could not be understood through old modes of architectural and urban criticism, but which had to be viewed through the organic facts of its own ecologies.

Esotouric guides Richard Schave, Nathan Marsak and Kim Cooper all studied under Banham as undergraduates at UCSC, and each was deeply influenced by his work. In Fall 2007, [they] launch "Reyner Banham Loves Los Angeles" in tribute to [their] late professor, who showed [them their] native Southern California through fresh eyes.

--Taken From Esotouric's Website.

You CAN go home again, my mom says so!

I'm just back from a week in LA. I go to LA to hang with family. It's really hard to capture in words how much I revere my family (i've started this post, in my head, on paper, and scratched it out and started again...i want to do it justice).
This was an especially groovy time 'cuz it was Camp G&G: That stands for Camp Gramma and Grampa. My nieces stay at Camp G&G for two weeks. On their own. It's pretty big--on all counts.
So I got to hang with siblings and spouses, mom and dad and nieces. And my Uncle P. He's like this wonderful sage and I love thinking about how he's my mom's brother-- like the way I have these brothers--and they're good friends and their choice of time spent is time spent together.

Whenever my family is around each other, we get melancholy, we know it's gonna have to have an end. Someone will have to get back in their car, or get on a plane...it all amounts to the same thing: leaving each other.


One of the greatest things that went down while I was there: My brother J. built our nieces an amazing fort.

Uncle J. (my brother, as he is to the nieces) brought home tons of cardboard boxes one day and announced, "these are to build a fort!" And a fort was built.

It had separate entrance and exitways, windows cut at the requested height for each niece, and a multitude of items velcroed to the walls (sofia's room had a pack of cards--cuz, it's true, you never know when you might wanna break into a game of old maid or gin-again. And, we did, actually, two or three times) Did I mention how much time we spent hanging out in there? Yes, all of us, at one time or another, got down on all fours and crawled into the cardboard comfort that only a fort can bring. I think it's why my mom agreed to get on in there and play SkipBo with us. Uncle J. had made it so there was so much room, and so much head room, that four of us could get in there at a time. One day SkipBo, the next a nap. Syra decided she'd better keep a schedule of comings and goings. She likes to run a tight ship! So, one pleasant evening I strolled out there with my glass of wine to see whats doing in the fort and that's when I got talked into making a future date at the fort.

"What do you want to come the fort for?" Um, drinks
"And what time did you want to come by?" Um, 6:00pm
"Name?" Molly
"And, finally, who are you bringing with you? You're allowed to bring people." Um, everybody?


During the early mornings, when the sun was just warming up the cardboard, that's when I liked it best. Although, the night both girls decided to sleep outside in the fort (simple but comfortable "beds" were set up in the fort--and the "floors" were carpeted. Uncle J, he's a good finder!), I read them a book until they fell asleep. I turned off the flashlight and listened to them both breathing. It was a really warm night, the doors to the house were open, and I listened to my parents and brother and Uncle P. talking around the kitchen table. Just barely. And I took my time leaving the fort that night. I breathed in the cardboard and I closed my eyes and imagined I was little again...and my parents were young bucks and we're all back before life seemed so complicated and yet so simple it was crazy.


So, while life seems to be passing by like a speeding car, it's good to be able to experience not only the company of kids, but to grab the opportunity to experience being the kid again. But, this time, with all the nostalgia and all the beauty that it holds experiencing it with three generations of family.

This is L.A.

This is the story...
of one girl's view
in a big, sprawling city
with a lot of nooks
and crannies.
truly original repetition
and bright inspiration
it's like going back in time
rising to the hills
a pause where you can take it
all the while, hot, white sun coming down
while you pray to your own kind of god