November 2006 Archives

It’s suddenly sliding towards winter here, despite the fact that solstice is still over 3 weeks away. Today for the first time there was ice on the windshield when I got into the car to drive the kids to school and daycare. Driving down the road towards the freeway, the grass of lawns and roadsides was covered with frozen dew where the shadows had not yet lifted. The colors of the tree leaves, so flashy with their reds and yellows two weeks ago, were fading into rusts and ochres. The air had that bright, hard quality that frigid temperature combined with sunshine brings. We could see our breath in steamy wisps as we walked to the car.

I don’t mind winter so much, as long as the weather isn’t storming or flooding or otherwise threatening to disrupt our taken-for-granted routines. Every season has its pleasures and its discontents. It’s the variety that I appreciate—which is why I like these transition times, when one season is leaving and another is coming on. I get tired of the same old, same old by the time each season is nearing its end, and I look forward to the pleasures that the new one promises. (Optimist that I am, I prefer not to dwell on the discontents ahead of time if I don’t have to.) I’m just grateful to live in a climate that doesn’t go to extremes with every season change—it’s pretty balanced here.

That being said, here are a few things that I’m looking forward to in the coming months:

Holiday lights
Fires in the fireplace
Rain on the roof while I’m sleeping in a warm bed
Get togethers with family and friends for the holidays
Holiday food! (black turkey, latkes, cookies, great wine)
Vacation time (pleeeeeeeease let there be no flood this time)
The feeling of a new fresh year, bringing new beginnings
New stained glass windows
My birthday
Eli’s birthday
Longer days and the return of the light

What part of winter do *you* appreciate?

Whew. The previously mentioned holiday hoo-ha has come and gone, at least for this round. Thanksgiving Day was a success--delicious food, happy family time, rituals re-enacted, traditions fulfilled. And speaking of rituals and traditions, it occurred to me that I should actually write down some of the ones our family repeats from year to year. (They seem obvious and a given now, but won't always…and since one of the points of all this bloggulation is to leave a record as I move through these days of my life, I might as well be explicit.) So get ready for detail…here it comes!

Thanksgiving day usually begins fairly early in the morning at my parents' house, with the making of stuffing (in preparation for stuffing the turkey). This year, because of kid wrangling, I didn't make it over to their house in time to help with the stuffing--I got there just as my mom was pouring the last bits of bread cubes into the giant pan full of other goodies (onions, garlic, liverwurst cubes, olives, artichoke hearts, capers, dried apricots, pecans, etc). But I did get to work right away on the next phase, which was cleaning out the turkey and stuffing it, then pouring a good pound or so of melted butter over it in preparation for the every-15-minutes basting process. We took a break for a big family scrambled egg breakfast (my brother and his family were staying at my mom's house this year--in years past they've been at my sister-in-law's family's Thanksgiving, so this was the first year in about a decade or so that my brother's been around for Thanksgiving Day), then more cooking. My 3 year old niece Zinnie helped her Grammy bake the traditional persimmon pudding, while my brother and I took an emergency trip to the store for the one extra egg we needed for the pudding (we'd inadvertently used too many in our scramble). Eli and his cousin Jonah were off entertaining themselves downstairs with TV and coloring and other activities during most of the cooking.

Then when it was Zinnie's nap time, Keri and I took the boys out of the house to a playground (Josh was home with Isaac while Isaac napped and Dave wanted to squeeze some work in while Zinnie napped and Mom and Dad showered and changed). It was another one of those beautiful clear sunny fresh Fall days, and despite a big splinter incident, we had a pretty calm, pleasant time at the playground. The boys are old enough now to not need playground supervision most of the time, so Keri and I just hung out in the sun and chatted and caught up, which was great. Then we rounded up boys and went back to my parents' house.

My mom had already put together the traditional garlic yams (GOD these are good…yams cut in half and slathered with olive oil and cut garlic and baked until soft and carmelized) and her usual inventive greens+fruit+nuts+sprouts salad, so all that remained before people came over was general clean up and the setting out of linens and dishes (we got to use my grandmother's beautiful black and gold egg-shell china, which I inherited after my Poppa died and am coming to treasure despite my initial reaction of "what the hell would I ever do with *that*?"). Then the rest of the guests started to arrive--my aunt and uncle and cousin, Josh's parents, Keri's cousin, a dear family friend. There were casual hors d'oeuvres and champagne to start everything off. As always, everyone hung out in the kitchen or the hallway/entryway between the kitchen and the living room, occasionally circulating over to the living room.

One of the remarkable things about our Thanksgiving is its utter lack of TV (and therefore sports). I love that about events at my parents' house. There's no group of guys watching the game in one room while the women cook in the kitchen; there are no kids watching the Macy's parade. There is only the hanging out and talking, and, of course, the eating (and the talking about the eating). We had 17 people in all (13 adults and 4 kids), so it wasn't a sit-down meal; as most events work out in my parents' house (because their dining room is really only big enough for maybe 10-12 people, even with an extra table added), it was buffet style, where a sumptuous spread is laid out on the dining room table, and people load up plates and find a spot to sit somewhere in the living room, balancing their plates and drinks as best they can on the variety of seating provided.

It is exactly this style of entertaining, with good food and good conversation given pride of place over fancy decorating and formal table etiquette, that I have inherited from my parents. Josh and I are able to throw together a dinner for 10 at a moment's notice, host a backyard barbeque for 20 with ease, or even put together our big Black Turkey holiday party with relatively little angst. We don't do fancy, but we do events easily and well, if I do say so myself. It has always been my goal--and I can see my parents direct influence in this--to have the kind of house where people are always welcome, and where you always get good food, good conversation, and interesting things to look at. Entertaining doesn't stress me out--I've done it enough now that it's like any other skill you've honed through practice: you can always have a better or worse run, but overall you know you won't fail.

Anyway, after dinner was carved (by ninja knife-master Josh) and consumed, the kids helped me whip the cream for dessert (with little Miss Zinnie doing most of the work--the boys got bored after a few turns each and bailed). Then it was time for pumpkin pie and persimmon pudding with humongous blobs of whipped cream on top, and a few petit fours (brought over by latecomers Dri and Jim). Then after that it was time to sit around going "ohhhhh I'm so full" and trying to deal with increasingly cranked out and chaotic kids. We did finally manage to get everyone rounded up and the kids into pajamas and left around 9 (well after kid bedtime), without too much goodbye drama--we knew we'd be seeing everyone again the next day for the traditional day-after-Thanksgiving leftover feast, after all.

Yesterday we got up and out of the house relatively early in the morning to meet up with my brother's family and go to the Dickens Christmas Fair. We stopped at Noah's and had bagel breakfast first, and then went off to the city for a few hours of Christmas-y Victoriana. It would have probably been more fun if Isaac hadn't been all tantrumy and clingy (teething? Constipation? general toddler-ness? Hard to tell) and Eli hadn't been either shy and clingy in the face of all those costumed people or wild and crazy from the mere presence of his cousin. But we did the rounds, saw our faire friends, and generally enjoyed the scene in between kid-wrangling moments.

The kids fell asleep in the car on the way home (thank goodness) but woke up again (bummer) when we stopped at home to pick up a few things before heading back over to my parents' house for Thanksgiving part II. (Isaac remained cranky for the next couple hours, but Eli was happy to be with his cousin so it kind of balanced out.) This was an even bigger event, probably around 20-25 people: the usual gang of my parents' friends (our pseudo-aunts and -uncles from when I was a kid) and some of their kids were there, plus my aunt and uncle and cousin and my brothers' family again, and us. I was greatly distracted with cranky Isaac for much of the evening, but it was still good to see everyone. I am always thankful for this group of extended family and friends--I can't imagine a life without this broad network of people who love me.

I'm getting tired so I won't go into too much detail about today, except to say that I had a quiet morning doing house chores and hanging out with the kids, and then Jonah came over for a quick game of D&D with us this afternoon while Isaac napped (and Zinnie napped back at my parents' house). Then my parents' and Dave, Keri and Zinnie came over and we all had a giant crab-fest dinner (yum). They all left around kid bedtime (but not without having done the dishes first, I love that about them!) and now Josh and are finally having a quiet evening of computer time and reading. Ahhhhh…back to "normal", at least for now. But hoo-ha is on the horizon, so we will enjoy this while we can.

It's Thanksgiving Eve, and I'm sitting here on the couch by myself (Josh is away gaming) blithely ignoring the fact that it's bedtime (especially for those of us who keep only getting 6ish hours of sleep--and interrupted sleep at that--a night for the last few weeks). My pumpkin pies for tomorrow's Thanksgiving get-together (that Eli helped me make) just came out of the oven, and I'm waiting for them to cool down so I can put them in the fridge. The rich autumn smell of them is permeating the house and making everything seem oh so cozy and comforting. The sound of the ocean waves coming through the baby monitor are combining with the hum of the various hibernating living room electronics to create an oddly soothing white noise muzak of sorts. But must. Resist. Vegetative. State.

It's peaceful right now. I'm thankful for that. There's going to be a lot of logistical hurly burly and holiday hoo-ha splatting against the windshield of my speeding life in the near future, starting tomorrow and continuing all weekend long (and off and on until the end of December). Thanksgiving will bring with it the typical mashup of good and maybe not-so-good: traditional guilty food indulgences, (over)abundance of family time, and logistical overwhelm combined with moments of clarity and connection that sparkle like jewels embedded in a muddy creek bottom with the water rushing over them. (Whew, I'm clearly in a massively multi-metaphorical mood right now. And an alliterative one too.)

I know it's going to be a challenge to stay in a good mood and a centered place during this next 6 impacted weeks of holiday craziness. I will try to hang on to this peacefulness, carry around the sensory snapshot of this evening like an amulet against the hoo-ha to come. I will look for the jeweled moments and appreciate them when I find them, and add them to the amulet too. I will gather a whole medicine bag of life's good moments and small kindnesses and dip into it when life gets too overwhelming or the cocoa gets too bleak--but for now I'm writing some basics down so I don't forget.

I'm thankful for all the friends and family who love me, and whom I love.
I'm thankful for small quiet times in my own house doing what I want to do on my own terms.
I'm thankful for (relative) health and well-being.
I'm thankful for the (relative) lack of drama and tragedy in my life right now.
I'm thankful for the awe-inspiring natural beauty all around me in this season, in this place.
I'm thankful for art time, both as audience and creator.
I'm thankful for all the outstandingly good food I get to enjoy.
I'm thankful for being able to sleep through the night (mostly).

Remember this, Self. The Suck-it-Up Olympics are right around the corner and this thankfulness, along with a good strong dose of humor, is what you'll need to not only survive the training, but once again win the gold.

I'm in a particularly reflective and thankful mood today. It's been a wonderful Shabbat so far. Last night we had an enjoyable and relaxing dinner with friends we hadn't seen in awhile, and had one of those evenings where the conversation is interesting and the connection is easy and you say to each other "why don't we do this more often?" This morning it was difficult to get up because I'd gone to bed too late (and been interrupted several times by Eli having bad dreams and other issues in the early morning hours) but once I dragged my sluggish self out of bed, I was able to enjoy some quiet tv and snuggle time with the kids. Then I got Josh up so I could head off to Torah study class, which happened this week to be "Torah on the Trails", where the class goes for a short hike and then has class outdoors and hikes back (yes, I know…so Marin.) For this class we went out to China Camp, which I haven't really explored much except for the time we went camping out there this summer. There were probably about 30 or 40 of us all together, with most everyone older than me and almost no one younger (not that that seemed to matter at all, just an observation).

It turned out to be one of those exquisite fall mornings, where the fog and dew burn off but leave a lovely cool freshness behind, and it's so quiet that you can imagine what the world must have been like before all this pesky civilization got in the way. The Rabbi encouraged us to talk to people we'd never met on the walk out there, and to see if we could find our own "I and Thou" moments on the trail--some sort of deeper connection, either to nature or to people. I was particularly struck by the moss on the trees, and the sunlight slanting in among the groups of trees at interesting angles, but I also enjoyed my conversation with another woman and the Rabbi--we talked about everything from parenting to attending the dying to the difference between moss and lichen. Once we got to our stopping place (a picnic area with benches), we saw two beautiful deer at the edge of the area, and as we all approached they meandered off--I imagined their nonchalant body language saying something like "oh, the humans are here, let's let them do whatever they do and then come back to check out their leave-behinds."

The Torah study session itself was unexpectedly intense--because we were discussing the portion where Abraham buries his wife Sarah, there was a lot of talk about funerals and grieving and Jewish mourning practices. I found myself crying when the Rabbi described the moment during his father's recent funeral where they had to bear, then lower the casket into the ground, and cover it with dirt. I kept thinking of my grandparents, and how their being cremated was not the same as this dramatic, thunderously final return to the earth, and how I wish I could visit them at a gravesite somewhere (an urn niche is just not the same). And of course I thought of my own parents dying (one of my biggest fears), and of what it will be like when my peer group is busy witnessing each other's funerals rather than each other's weddings or birthings. The Rabbi also asked us all to envision our own funerals, and what we imagine the occasion will be like. A lot of people said they wanted a party, a celebration of the person they'd been rather than a bewailing of their passing, and I agree with that--although me being who I am, I hope there's some sort of ritual involved too, something that will help people put things into perspective and maybe even grow a little.

There's something about both tears and deep thoughts like that which put you in a special sort of mood: slowed-down, drained but reflective, a little bit removed from the everyday kind of ostrich-like go-go-go, a little bit more in touch with the things that matter. So when I got home, I realized that I really wanted to go back there to China Camp, but with my family. Josh had to take off to go visit some of his own family, but rather than just slouching around the house (which I was sorely tempted to do), I rallied and made the effort and (after taking care of the appropriate prep work that inevitably accompanies any outing with kids) popped the boys in the car so we could go on our own hike on the trails of China Camp. And I'm so glad I did--we had a truly perfect time. It was relatively close to Isaac's naptime so he was content to just ride in the baby backpack and look around, and Eli was in a great mood. Unlike the last time we tried hiking out there during our camping trip, where he was either tired and cranky or hyper and distracted by his friend, this time he seemed open to and pleased with each bit of nature we stopped to appreciate: trees, butterflies, moss, mushrooms, sticks, hills, creekbed, birds, frogs, and the vast quietness. I really felt close to and connected to Eli--we just had a great time together. We especially both loved a big buckeye tree we found just a few feet off the trail, all by itself, with a long low limb growing right along the ground towards us, and buckeyes scattered all around it on the ground. We each picked up a buckeye (well, Eli picked up two, one still in the pod and one out) to take with us to remember the special tree and our hike out there. Eli also wanted to take a big stick home that he found, and I told him he could as long as he said thank you to the trees for letting him have it, and thank you to God for creating such a beautiful place where we could walk. (I know, a little cheesy, but it seemed right in the moment, surrounded by all that natural gorgeousness and wanting, as a parent, to reinforce a respect and appreciation for nature.)

We actually walked quite a ways (taking rests when we felt like it), all around the loop of trail and back to the car. It probably took us about an hour and a half or so, but it was really a pleasant time. We both agreed we'd do it again soon, since it was so close and so wonderful. And I sincerely hope we do take that time out of our daily chaos again soon--it's a truly vital way to change perspective and remember that the chaos is not all there is. I'm thankful to have had the reminder myself today, and I'm recording it here to help me remember again later.

Yes yes, I'm always tired at the end of the day, and usually by the time the middle of the week rolls around I'm operating on a sleep deficit that's been compounded over several nights. But this story is too good to just let go without preserving it for posterity--especially because it has a happy ending.

So this morning I woke up somewhere around 4am, surfacing out of a jumble of dream to what my confused brain told me was the sound (and smell) of bacon frying. Pop POP pop stzzzz POP pop. And a super strong frying meat smell. At first I just rolled over and went back to sleep, thinking (in my half asleep state) that it was no big deal, it was just Josh frying up bacon for Eli's sandwich tomorrow. (This wasn't totally insane--Josh has been known to stay up until ungodly hours like 4am, and he does sometimes make bacon sandwiches for the kid's lunch.) But I woke up again a few minutes later and this time realized that Josh was lying next to me snoring, so the sound and smell had to be something else. So I poked Josh and said "honey, what's that sound? And that *smell*?"

And I don't know if it was that special I-just-got-woken-up-and-I'm-worried wifely tone of voice or what, but Josh actually woke up right away and literally vaulted out of bed (nearly killing himself tripping over the laundry baskets all over the bedroom floor) to the kitchen, because he realized he'd left a big pot of chicken stock reducing on the stove all night. It had lost all its liquid and the leftover skin and meat was starting to literally fry on the bottom of the pot. Luckily it was on low, so (miracle of miracles) nothing got burned--but whew, that smell! Concentrated eau de schmaltz. It was so overwhelming that it was hard to get back to sleep (even with the fan on--we didn't want to leave a door or window open because it was so cold out and we didn't want to get up a few hours later and have it be freezing in the house). So that, plus the leftover adrenaline, plus general early morning insomnia, meant that I really didn't get a whole lot of sleep last night.

But you know what? It could have been soooo much worse (especially in this all wooden, "12 minute" house we live in), and we are able to laugh about it today. And when Eli asked us this morning "what's that smell?", we were able to look at each other and explain without hesitation: "oh, that's just chicken from last night's dinner." Whew. Lost sleep seems like a small price to pay.

Got back a few hours ago from spending a truly stimulating, inspiring and just plain fun "art weekend" in the city with my mom. We try to do this at least once a year…we've been to Los Angeles, Seattle/Tacoma, Santa Fe, Carmel and San Francisco. We get to visit museums and galleries, eat fabulous food, do a little shopping, and best of all, talk talk talk about art, people, life, and ourselves. This particular weekend went something like this (unfortunately I'm way too tired to give full reviews, so links and a few descriptive adjectives and superlatives will have to suffice--if you're really curious you can view some pictures here).

As we burst out of the rainbow tunnel on our way into the city yesterday, the view was so breathtaking (dramatic clouds and bright sun lighting up the Golden Gate Bridge and the whole bay) that we decided to stop off at the Marin Headlands for a longer look (and a few pictures).

Then, after getting our fill of landscape art, we headed to Sutter Street and to the Museum of Craft + Design, where we saw a truly outstanding one-woman show by Joyce Scott, including many of her signature beaded sculptures. She is truly someone who has done fresh and amazing "fine art" things with a "crafty" medium (yes, these terms are problematic but I'm not about to get into an art vs. craft debate here), and I really admire her. Her subject matter is really interesting too--a lot of pieces that comment in one way or another on race and gender stereotypes. I'm so glad we stumbled upon that show and I *strongly* encourage anyone and everyone to go check it out while it's here.

After spending some quality time there, we went to Hang Art gallery right next door where there were quite a few fabulous things to see, including some really cool resin and canvas paintings by Philippe Gestin (someday, if I ever get some decent photographs of my paintings and get off my lazy artist butt, I'm going to submit them to Hang--I LOVE that gallery). We also went to Katie Koos, which was sort of a cross between a gallery and my mom's store, and did some quick opportunistic shoe and jewelry shopping. After all that fun on Sutter Street we headed to our "special treat" hotel: the W San Francisco. We dumped our luggage and spent some time resting our feet and oohing and ahhing over the spectacular view from our 18th floor room, and then headed out to a fabulous foodie dinner at Hawthorne Lane, just a block away from our hotel. We stumbled back to the hotel, stuffed and happy, some time around 11pm, and spent another hour hanging out, listening to music, talking and reading, and then finally called it a night.

This morning after a leisurely hour or so hanging out in the window seat overlooking our view and talking, we went and had a late and decadent breakfast at the hotel's XYZ restaurant, then went next door to SF MOMA and saw the Anselm Kiefer exhibit. I was really wowed by this exhibit as well--the sheer size and texture of most of his paintings were just incredible. I could have stared at them for hours. Then we reclaimed our car and luggage and drove over to the new De Young Museum, where we had lunch, dallied in the sculpture garden, went up to the top of the tower to drink in the mind-bogglingly gorgeous 360 degree view, and saw the "Quilts of Gee's Bend" exhibit. The quilts were just outstanding--again, I can't even begin to do them justice with a review here, but I will say that I was not only impressed by their actual beauty but by the spirit and the creativity of the women who made them. Again, I strongly recommend checking them out--it's like nothing else you'll ever see.

Then it was home again, home again, jiggedy jig, full of good art, good food, good conversation and a burning desire to get moving on a collaborative art project (which will, unfortunately, have to wait until after the holidays. But at least we're inspired!). I just wish there was more time in my life for all the art I want to make, let alone look at…but you take what you can get and (to paraphrase Gandalf) you do what you can with the time that's been given you.

(This is an entry that's been gumming up the blogworks for approximately 2 weeks now…we'll be back to our regularly scheduled lighthearted Parenthetical life-reporting soon.)

I hate to be all new-agey about this (it makes me feel so…Marin), but I feel like the Universe might possibly be trying to tell me something. The signs are relatively subtle still, and open to misinterpretation--but I'm starting to sense a pattern of some sort and that's what has my sign-from-the-Universe antennae twitching. Let's explore, shall we?

First, let's set the stage: lately I've been feeling a sort of itchy sense of general dissatisfaction with the way I spend my days. It is my general policy to never (ok, rarely) talk about work on this here publicly accessible forum, so I'm not going to go into detail, but I will say this: things have been changing at work, and my sense of personal competence and team spirit have been declining, and feelings of "is this all there is? Am I doing what I'm supposed to be doing, or just killing time?" are nagging at me like some sort of psychic flea bite (you know, the kind that doesn't bug you until you start scratching it, but once you do, you can't stop thinking about it?).

Now, the interesting bit that jumps out at me in what I just wrote is "supposed to". I've often had the fantasy that I'd find myself a calling some day (and I must admit that along with that I have the fear that I got distracted somehow and missed the calling), but as of yet, even though I've had several clues, I haven't been able to be *sure* enough to actually go follow any of those little floaty lights through the dark woods. I know I've written several times before about roads not taken, but since I haven't actually taken any of those roads yet, I still don't know if they're ones I should attempt or not.

Add to all this psychic uncertainty the cold hard financial fact that we're sliding back into debt again, and garnish it with the reality that if anyone is ever going to make any more money (and thereby staunch the flow of debt) in this household, it has to be me. That leaves me with potentially competing pulls: do something more personally fulfilling! Make a bunch more money! I'm just not sure what to do.

There is a temptation to use this itchy feeling as an opportunity to completely reexamine the color of my parachute --after all, why am I doing what I'm doing now, other than convenience or serendipity? I'm not knocking my current career--after all, it worked out fine while I was distracted with bearing and raising children, and I've learned a lot. There are parts that I enjoy, that I'm good at (and parts that I could be a lot better at) but in the end I come back to the reality that it's not something I chose, it's more something I fell into and have happened to stick with for the last 9+ years. Given that, what's my motivation for staying, other than the aforementioned convenience or a generalized fear of change? I'm starting to believe that the Universe is encouraging me to consider a big change in my work life--it's a gentle encouragement for now, but if I ignore it, will it become more blatant and obvious? (Probably…the Universe seems to operate that way, in my rather limited experience.) Sure, I could just go get a new job doing the same old thing, but maybe I need to stretch my horizons, and actually consider that cliché'd idea of "what would you do if you knew you could not fail"? (Or in this case, at least allow myself to think about "what would you do if you knew you could not fail AND you'd eventually find a way to make loads of cash while doing it?")

At this point I'm pretty clear on what my skills are and what I like and don't like to do. Mainly, I enjoy and I'm good with people. I'm good at and I enjoy building relationships, and helping people in some way. I'm good at and I enjoy creating stories and visuals (though I'm woefully undertrained on the visual side). I'm a good teacher and speaker. I want work that has meaning, useful work that ultimately helps other people or the world we live in. I am drawn to the major life events that all humans go through--birth, death, marriage.

So what does this all add up to? What road(s) should I take, or at least consider taking? What path(s) are opening to me, if I just take a closer look? If I choose a new one, will the old one be forever lost to me? Or are all the roads interconnected somehow--new ones, old ones, all woven into some complex map whose grand design can only really be seen from a far distance? I'm trying to release the fear that change and choice always bring with them. Although doors closing provide us the opportunity to see that other doors are opening, I also have to believe that if I choose one door, the others will not be lost to me, and that I can go back if I want or need to--because ultimately, all the roads, and all the doors, are mine to begin with.