Gunboats & Gratitude

For Chad

Tue, 15 Jan 2013 08:30:12 -0800

From the Presidio in San Francisco, walking around on a break...

Mon, 14 Jan 2013 20:20:00 -0800

From the Presidio in San Francisco, walking around on a break from a work offsite. Does work make me think of death? I’m only just now wondering about the psychology.

It's my party

Wed, 09 Jan 2013 09:35:00 -0800

It is, in fact.

Today is my birthday and I am infinitely wiser at 32 than 31. I’m almost sure of it.

I am grateful for the magic of the internet that keeps this blog afloat when I do not, for the family that keeps me afloat when I do not. For the new additions to my life, the new people who keep it interesting, who make me feel loved and challenged. Grateful to have known the people I lost, those who filled up my life, my thoughts, my heart and whose absence will always hurt a tiny bit. Trying to let you go without letting you go.

Grateful for this house, the literal and the familial, that keeps me sheltered and warm. Grateful for Paris, quite grateful for Angelina’s hot chocolate, the book Game Change, which is like crack, grateful to learn that To Kill a Mockingbird (the book) and The Godfather (a little known indie) stand up after all these years.

Grateful for the slow shifting landscape under my feet as I think about where I’m going the next year, the next five, the next ten.

I enjoy getting older. I feel better at 32 than I did at 22, which feels like the right direction. Trying to keep it going that way.

Cheers.

Photo

Wed, 09 Jan 2013 08:30:33 -0800

Tarp surfing. Number five.

Tue, 08 Jan 2013 08:30:31 -0800

Tarp surfing. Number five.

Tarp surfing. Numbers two to four.

Mon, 07 Jan 2013 08:30:28 -0800

Tarp surfing. Numbers two to four.

Tarp surfing. Number one.

Sun, 06 Jan 2013 22:26:26 -0800

Tarp surfing. Number one.

A poem for the day

Wed, 29 Aug 2012 14:47:00 -0700

They used to say we’re living on borrowed
time but even when young I wondered
who loaned it to us? In 1948 one grandpa
died stretched tight in a misty oxygen tent,
his four sons gathered, his papery hand
grasping mine. Only a week before, we were fishing.
Now the four sons have all run out of borrowed time
while I’m alive wondering whom I owe
for this indisputable gift of existence.
Of course time is running out. It always
has been a creek heading east, the freight
of water with its surprising heaviness
following the slant of the land, its destiny.
What is lovelier than a creek or riverine thicket?
Say it is an unknown benefactor who gave us
birds and Mozart, the mystery of trees and water
and all living things borrowing time.
Would I still love the creek if I lasted forever?

“Debtors” by Jim Harrison, from Songs of Unreason

Finding a home

Wed, 08 Aug 2012 09:55:43 -0700

This has been the focus of the last… nine months? That feels long.

The process of finding a home in the Bay Area is especially challenging, I’ve found. Nine months of open houses every Sunday. Nine months of debating, driving back to homes at all hours of the day to see how the sunlight is, how the neighborhood is, what’s the school situation, is there public transit, what is that crack in the foundation, the neighbor is staring at us and, oh yeah, he’s a registered sex offender. Nine months of offers that were too low, of being outbid by 50K (really), of getting counteroffers where they want us to go up 20K, of losing the house, losing another house and then another.

Nine months of craving a space of our own. Of wanting a washing machine more than world peace.

I am afraid to write this down, to commit it to paper(ish), but we may have found our home.

So please cross your fingers hard, knock on something wooden and wish us well as we hurtle (or hurdle, if we’re in a Olympic frame of mind) off this cliff. In 30 days, if all goes well, I’ll post a picture. I promise you now that even a picture of this home will look broke, exhausted, terrified and happy.

Once a day

Thu, 26 Jul 2012 17:44:18 -0700

That title refers to nothing except that I’m looking at vitamins and “once a day” is certainly not the frequency with which I post here.

Ironic titles may be a strange way to step back in.

I’ll consider it again before I publish.

So hi.

I took a many month break from this, didn’t I? I’m not promising, internet (mom), that the break is done but I’m wading back in.

I wasn’t kidding about what I wrote in that last post: this forum has a lot of baggage for me. Aunt passing, personal crisis stuff, job craziness. But I’ve been thinking about writing the past couple days, thinking about starting up again, because I actually do like it quite a bit.

I’ve been writing other things. Rambling paragraphs of prose, for instance. I use that word with the clear understanding that it makes you think Shakespeare but you should be thinking Clifford the Big Red Dog.

I’ve been writing outlines of stories that change with alarming frequency. The character is a mercenary! The character is now a one armed girl! The mercenary IS a one armed girl! I dunno! Actually, in truth, the character is usually me, barely disguised by age or gender or hairstyle.

Anyway, all this other writing makes me miss this. Because I get this. I just write what I think. What could be easier? Now writing what other people think? That is freaking hard.

So I shall try to come back a bit. Slowly, timidly, probably infrequently. I am reminded, by doing this, to take pictures and remember stories and see the good when it’s hard to see.

I’ll aim for that. Probably just not every day.

What to do, what to do

Mon, 09 Apr 2012 17:47:24 -0700

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.

Friend pilgrimage

Wed, 29 Feb 2012 20:50:28 -0800

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.

First. Big. Trip. Together.

Tue, 21 Feb 2012 10:53:06 -0800

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.

Stream of consciousness...

Thu, 09 Feb 2012 14:17:59 -0800

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.

Sat, 04 Feb 2012 10:17:30 -0800

Berkeley marina with tea and muffins on a Saturday morning.

The family that rakes together...

Mon, 23 Jan 2012 08:30:06 -0800

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.

Sparkle wings

Sun, 22 Jan 2012 18:47:27 -0800

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.

Thanks, Mom.

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...

Tue, 10 Jan 2012 18:42:36 -0800

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.

Odd holidays, part 3

Tue, 10 Jan 2012 08:30:00 -0800

Homemade gifts.

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.

Thank you...

Mon, 09 Jan 2012 18:23:18 -0800

…everyone, for your sweet emails and wishes.

Feeling like a lucky b’day girl.