I haven’t been writing on here much. As is clear.
I’m trying to figure out how to evolve this blog. It has a clear association for me to a really really tough year, and a load of stuff that is very personal. And I’ve been having pull back moments, moments of feeling uncomfortable and nervous about how much I share here. Wondering if this should become something more akin to a photography blog, a food blog, a “this is stuff I like, but nothing about me” blog.
Hence the silence.
It’s a thinking kind of silence.
If you know the answer, by all means, tell me.
To LA I went. For a weekend with these girls.
That was all I did when I was there.
We decided to visit our future home of Malibu.
It was chilly, but it is the beach after all… Sarah got in the spirit.
And then we jumped around.
Here’s Jodi’s attempt.
Arathi was, I hate to say it, the worst jumper.
I haven’t been feeling much writing inspiration these days. I think, in part, it is my brain buzzing around in other places, other aspects of my life, and it’s left not much bandwidth for thoughtful reflection. (She says, as if this blog is always full of thoughtful reflection.)
But here’s the most exciting update…
We have our tickets to Europe.
In our 10+ years together, Dan and I have never taken a big trip, just for the sake of taking one. In our oh-so-practical way, we’ve tagged trips onto family time or weddings or moves. We are finally taking our heads out of the sand (the nice way to say that) and spending some money and taking a trip just to spend time together and explore and get away.
We went round and round about where. We talked about Buenos Aires, Greece, Morocco, Asia. But there is some whimsy and romance to Paris that we didn’t want to miss. And something about flying in somewhere else and making our way there. A Cali-hipster (not eat-pray-love) pilgrimage of sorts. So we picked Barcelona and will go up the coast and then train-ride our way to Paris. I imagine bread and cool mornings and shopping and musical numbers and Gene Kelly. Raising children on An American in Paris turns out to be expensive later in life.
So while this moment of life is shining, there are two people in my thoughts right now, battling their own battles, but with so much positivity and radiance, you’d think they were going to Paris too.
So to Betsy. And to Jay. You are both on my mind and I’m sending you love and healing (can that be sent by thought? I’m trying my hardest).
And to those caring for them and showering them with love (Betsy, Margaret, Mary, Rob), I’m praying for some calm and peace and happiness for you as well.
It’s corny, but those two folks really are the people who remind you to embrace and run at and occasionally run into life. It should be fun as often as possible, yes?
So to Paris I go.
In searching random design sites, I came across this.
I am grateful for slower days. We don’t have all that many at work. I enjoy not being in meetings back to back all day.
I am grateful for Shiloe and huevos rancheros for lunch and SUN.FREAKING.SHINE.
I am grateful for my writing group which resumes tonight.
Someone at work finally got me on Instagram. Look out, world.
I enjoy Tylenol PM for a full nights rest.
Excited for LA, Alaska and Paris, the castle in Calistoga and for Dan’s show this weekend.
Trying to find a house. What a crazy, exhausting process, but I’m damn grateful for our realtor.
Grateful to Natalie for introducing me to CELEBRITY AUTOBIOGRAPHY, a show that Dan and I went to last weekend. Celebrities reading from celebrity autobiographies. My heart went back to high school for just a moment when Luke Perry walked on stage. And Rachel Dratch is my new hero.
How’s that for a random post? Eh?
I’ll aim for something more cohesive next time.
Berkeley marina with tea and muffins on a Saturday morning.
My parents’ neighbor is a photographer. She actually took the photos at our wedding.
Her name is Kay Walsh. Look her up!
This year, as a Christmas gift, she came by to take photos of our family. All things considered, I think they came out quite normal although you could tell that Kay was slightly baffled when we requested an American Gothic shot and one where we stood in a boat with life vests.
Remember when I was posting about our odd holidays? This could be part four.
PS. The last photo is my favorite.
(Dan thought it was hilarious that I didn’t turn my rake over. I was trying to be original.)
And then we have… Coldplay.
For work, we’re bringing in photos of ourselves from bygone years.
I’m not sure that I actually made these glitter wings myself, but I guarantee that I requested, in a very bossy way, that someone make them.
She also sent this gem.
I believe that I am sporting a flower and ribbon crown/veil with a blouse and a bathing suit.
Style. Always had it.
This isn’t an anniversary of anything or a significant day. Or even a particularly significant photo, really.
But I just came across it and I love it and I thought I’d share.
That is my uncle Thom and aunt Mabry with my mom and dad. I believe that my mom is pregnant with me in the photo.
So I guess, actually, that this is somewhat significant. It was taken about 31 years ago.
Years ago, my dad always used to tell us to make him something for Christmas and I always believed that that was his nice way of saying, “Look, you can’t afford anything better.” The older I get, the more I appreciate the homemade things, the things that are messy and imperfect but made by someone you love and thereby as perfect as can be.
Each Christmas Eve, we exchange poems. This one was from Kim, a poem called THE FIRST DREAM by Billy Collins.
The Wind is ghosting around the house tonight
and as I lean against the door of sleep
I begin to think about the first person to dream,
how quiet he must have seemed the next morning
as the others stood around the fire
draped in the skins of animals
talking to each other only in vowels,
for this was long before the invention of consonants.
He might have gone off by himself to sit
on a rock and look into the mist of a lake
as he tried to tell himself what had happened,
how he had gone somewhere without going,
how he had put his arms around the neck
of a beast that the others could touch
only after they had killed it with stones,
how he felt its breath on his bare neck.
Then again, the first dream could have come
to a woman, though she would behave,
I suppose, much the same way,
moving off by herself to be alone near water,
except that the curve of her young shoulders
and the tilt of her downcast head
would make her appear to be terribly alone,
and if you were there to notice this,
you might have gone down as the first person
to ever fall in love with the sadness of another.
Then, on Christmas day, my dad gives everyone ornaments.
They go well with his gifts from previous years.
I gave everyone photos, like this:
My cousin Nick made sculptures.
My cousin Mark did the same.
And Robert made absolutely amazing desserts.
It’s amazing how precious it all seems now.
Which didn’t stop us, in any way, from eating those pastries. Nor will it stop someone in the family from re-gifting one of those sculptures back to its maker next year. But for now… precious.
…everyone, for your sweet emails and wishes.
Feeling like a lucky b’day girl.