February 2007 Archives

(Or as close as I could get with the limited choices I had available.)

Yes, I admit, I succumbed to the marketing. I don't even watch TV and I still got sucked in! (And being at least tangentially in the field, so to speak, you'd think I'd know better.) But I couldn't help it! I've always had a fondness for the M&M character, from way back in the '80s before they even reinvented the characters and made them such a marketing/licensing phenomenon. Ask anyone who knew me back then--I used to draw an M&M man character all the time. It was like my little signature doodle. So of course when they reinvented and expanded the character story, I kept loving the products. And now, it all comes together for me in the ultimate expression of our times--the ability to make your own personalized M&M avatar. I must admit, it's brilliantly done. And by God I wish I'd thought of it first. Ah well.

Feel free to make your own and send me a link. Because we should all waste our copious spare time being sucked in to clever marketing campaigns for junk food...this is America!

Well, it was a good and busy long weekend (President's Day), but hard to recover from given that there's been something going on every evening. Eli's Exploratorium party was on Sunday (and it went very well overall, considering, though next time it would probably have been easier if we weren't also chaperoning other parents' kids). We got to run around the museum for an hour or so (I feel like I never have enough time or attention to fully experience that place--good thing we live so close and are members…now we just have to take advantage of that). After that we went to the party room for a couple of science activities and some cake and goodie bags, then back out again for some more museum time. Sunday night we went out to dinner with the entire No-Cal Dvorin clan (Chinese food, naturally, since it was Chinese New Year…and Gung Hay Fat Choy to y'all) and stayed up way too late talking with family afterwards. Monday (President's Day) Josh had to work but I stayed home with both kids; it was one of those busy busy stay-at-home mom solo parent days (Josh came home briefly with groceries and then took off again to spend the evening with a friend), full of housework and playdates and craft projects, but satisfying in its own efficiently managed way. Then Monday night it was time for Girlz Gamin' (another night of staying up way too late, but also fun), and Tuesday it was back to work, then out after dinner for a writer's group meeting. Today I had to leave work early so we could go to the first meeting of Eli's new Little League--ok, T-ball--team (please don't mock me for adding yet another thing to our social schedule, we really are doing it for Eli's sake, I swear). I'm sure there will be more Little League stories in the days to come, but tonight's meeting was really just a meet and greet along with a non-subtle arm-twisting to get us parents to volunteer for various team-related duties (yeah right).

Whew! Tonight is the first night I've had time to sit and think about how busy the last few days have been. And frankly, despite the temptation to fill up my "free" time with more of my own ongoing creative projects or vegetative pleasures (not sure which one blogging counts as, if either), I think I should just resist and go to bed. (Which I guess is the supreme vegetative pleasure, come to think of it.)

My Eli is six years old today. Six! And I swear it was only yesterday that he was born, was a nursing infant, was a fractious toddler, was a sunny "class ambassador" at his preschool. Now he's a worldly kindergartner, who has learned to swim, lost his first teeth, and has cracked the code on written language and started to read on his own (I can't tell you how happy that makes his bookworm mama). But he is still so, so sweet, still willing to hold my hand or hug me or sit on my lap (when I let him...he's also darn heavy these days).

Today the sweet birthday boy got to have his favorite breakfast (an Egyptian Eye--a fried egg in the middle of toast) with Daddy and Isaac while I went out for Torah on the Trails and walk with Dri (it was an absolutely perfect spring day today, despite it still being only mid-February: green green hills and wildflowers blooming, 70 degrees with just a tiny fresh breeze). Then I came back and took him to a neighbor's birthday party (where they had a pretty funny magician), but he didn't want to stay long because...wait for it...he wanted to get home to play with his birthday present: a Dungeons & Dragons board game that Daddy had bought for him. Then after a round of that, it was time for the long awaited trip to Toys 'R Us for birthday loot--we had promised him a "whatever you want" trip there since we'd convinced him that his official birthday party should be a "no presents" party (more on this tomorrow after the party itself). Josh stayed home with Isaac so it was just me and Eli...and you know what? It's pretty fun to go to a huge toy store with your kid when you've got plenty of time and a big chunk of money to blow and no agenda beyond "get whatever you want (as long as it doesn't have a zillion little pieces)". We got a medium-sized Star Wars lego set (I wouldn't let him get the enormous, 500 piece ones...that's just a recipe for all kinds of disasters, only some of which involve actual choking hazards to one's brother), two micro-machine pirate ships from Pirates of the Caribbean, a Bionicle, and a small-sized Lego Aqua Raiders set. Clearly it is all about the heavily merchandised/licensed things with lots of tiny plastic pieces when you're six.

After our triumphant return from TRU, we had dinner with Josh's parents (Eli got to choose what he wanted for dinner and unsurprisingly, had macaroni and cheese), and put together the Bionicle before bedtime. Tomorrow morning, before the official birthday party commences, promises to involve lots of building with little plastic bricks. Should be fun.

Happy birthday, my dear eldest boy! I can't wait to see what this next year of life will bring for you...many firsts, perhaps a few lasts, and as always, vast and unconditional love from your mama.

Eli was given a special homework assignment in honor of his upcoming birthday celebration: he had to create an "All About Me" poster that will be hung up in his classroom. It has space for some pictures of "me" and "my family" (which he helped me pick out and print), and spaces in which to write or draw some of his favorite or not so favorite things. I sat him down to start doing the drawing and writing while I gave Isaac a bath--by the time I got back to Eli he was nearly finished. And when he showed me what he'd done, I nearly died of cute overload--so much so that I am now preserving it for posterity, phonetic spellings and all. It's not the same without a visual of the illustrations or the wandery pencil script with frequent erasings (perhaps I'll get that in the morning, perhaps I won't), but for now here is the best description/transcription I can do on the fly.

My name is: Eli.
I am 6 years old.
I was born on 2001 feb 17
I was born in: GreenBraAe, CA

3 Wishes
I wish I cuD Hav $10000 (translation: "I wish I could have a million dollars." To which I replied, "me too, kid.")
And I wish I cuD go DaY EVRY To Scooll (translation: "and I wish I could go every day to school". No, I don't know where this came from. I swear I had nothing to do with it.)
And I wish ThaR Was No MoSTR's in The wrlD I Wish I CuD macK Fres evry Day (translation: "and I wish there was no monsters in the world. I wish I could make friends every day.")

When I grow up I want to be: a JeDi (Well, of course. And you should see the incredibly cute picture that accompanied this, of a big stick figure with a glowy lightsaber standing next to a littler stick figure with a pointy head and red lightsaber.)

My favorite things:
ShabBot. ("Shabbat." Really? I said. Really, he said.)
Pliaying suPris with my bruthr ("Playing 'Surprise' with my brother", a game in which they hide behind things and jump out and chase each other while yelling "surprise!")
Str Wars ("Star Wars")
10ticiis ("10 tickets"--i.e. when they get 10 "good behavior" tickets in school and get a prize of 5 minutes of free play)
gowing to mi cusis Hous! ("going to my cousin's house")

Things I don’t like (all of these were illustrated):
Stoms ("storms" This was a new one to me.)
Hosis onn FiRe ("houses on fire")
BlAK WiDose! ("black widows!")
ScaRy Theegs ("scary things"--this was illustrated by a "fire guy" saying "WA HA HA", a ghost saying "Boo!!" and some other monstery looking things)
VechDbls (can you guess? Sound it out--that's right, "vegetables")

I mean seriously, people. So cute you could die. And now preserved in bloggish amber for all eternity.

Edited to add:

And for what it's worth, here's the picture, don't know if you can actually see the cuteness too well:

Last night the PWG (Petaluma Writer’s Group) gals and I went on a "field trip" to go see a reading by the man I would have to call my favorite poet: Billy Collins. I realize that saying he’s my favorite poet doesn’t mean a whole lot, since I don’t normally read (or write) a lot of poetry. Not for lack of interest, but more for lack of discovery mechanisms--I’m not motivated enough to find it myself, and I don’t have enough (or effective enough) poetry pushers in my life who hand me books or point me at websites and say "here, you just *have* to read this, you’ll love it". (I get a lot of books and music this way, and often what little cinema or TV I watch too.) I guess you could say that poetry’s marketing efforts (now there’s a phrase that seems a bit contradictory) just aren’t reaching me, their potential consumer. I’m sure that lots of other people have delved into the mystery of why poetry as an art form hasn’t achieved the widespread appeal of, say, movies or rock music, so I won’t go any further with that discussion here, except to note that it was both surprising and heartening to us word-nerd types last night to see such a huge and relatively age-diverse audience (probably over 1000 people in the nearly full Wells Fargo Center for the Arts auditorium) turn out for a poetry reading.

Anyway, this particular poet is someone who impressed me so much the first time I heard him (which was, as I recall, on NPR--one of my few consistently good non-friend sources of new media discovery) that I went out to the bookstore and bought his latest book (Picnic, Lightning). I have always had a preference for accessibility in writing of all types--I really believe that everything that you could ever want to communicate artistically or intellectually can and should be done in as accessible (not dumbed-down, but accessible) a way as possible. I especially had a huge issue with the glorification of convoluted, jargon-filled, impenetrable academic writing while I was in grad school (though sadly, as you can no doubt tell from this blog, it has had an irrevocable effect on my own writing style, dammit). And that’s what I (and apparently thousands of other poetry and non-poetry fans) love about Billy (look, even his name is friendly and unthreatening--he’s Billy, not William or even Bill): his poems *are* accessible (or as Billy puts it, hospitable), even by non word-nerds. Like a good host, his poems are gracious and welcoming, charming and thoughtful. You leave each poem marveling at what a good time you had, and hoping you’ll get invited back again soon. He is completely unpretentious--in fact often he is the very opposite: he intentionally pokes (relatively gentle) fun at poetry’s (and poets’) solemnly canonized forms and stereotypical subjects. He is exactly the type of poet that I’d want to be, if I ever start writing poetry more than once or twice a year. Which is why I was willing to take the time and effort to go see him live--and I was not disappointed. Far from it--I was both impressed and inspired. (Not inspired enough to actually write this entry as a poem, mind you, but inspired in that brushing-against-greatness-makes-you-more-creative kind of way.)

For not only are his poems great in and of themselves, they are also immeasurably improved by his wry, measured reading of them. You can tell that he’s been a professor for 30 years--he’s totally comfortable in front of a crowd (contrary to what we think of as a poet’s usual shy and retiring demeanor). He joked, told wonderful off-the-cuff stories about what inspired a particular poem, and answered questions from the audience with such wit and insight, such a flair for improvisation, that you could almost believe the questioners were ringers. I especially liked one comment he made about jealousy (I might have called it envy, but same idea) of other poets’ (or other artists in general) great work being the driving force behind artistic creation. He likened it to a little propeller under the water moving a big ship--you couldn’t see it spinning, but it was driving the whole thing forward. It felt like an intimate performance, despite the 1000+ crowd. (Of course part of this was probably because, due to the connections of uber-usher Suzanne, Rebecca and I had truly awesome seats--Suz sat farther back by herself, and the selfless graciousness of this gesture was much appreciated).

Billy was not only talented as both poet and performer, he was also unbelievably gracious as a person--he stayed around after the reading to sign books and meet fans for at least an hour. The gals and I actually went through the signing line twice--we were amongst the first 10 people in line, and didn’t have the guts to ask for a photo with him at that early stage, so we went and bought some more books and then stood in line again (!) to have him sign those and ask if we could take a picture. (We did this with Anne Lamont too…if I could find the photo link I’d show you. Perhaps over the decades we’ll have enough fangirls-with-authors pictures for a whole photo album.) Even though by the time we reached him that second time, we were nearly the last in line and he’d already been meeting fans for an hour or so, he was still very kind and actually stood up and came around the table so we could have a proper picture with him. Here we are with Billy:

Don’t we all look like excited fangirls?

(Oh and by the way, Rebecca, speaking of inspiration and excited fangirls, don't think I've forgotten: I DARE you to write--and publish--at least 5 poems by Valentine's Day 2008. Official contract to come. Love ya.)

Ok I realize that many (if not all) of my entries have been all sappy grateful-counting-my-blessings goody goody lately but you know what? Tough. It's better than the long bouts of whininess that have more often been the norm here on ye olde Parentheticals (even if the writing is snappier when I'm whining). But if the sappy is getting to you, you might want to skip this next entry.

I just put Eli to bed, and for the first time in literally years, I sang to him. It was his request--brought on, I think, by our discussion about bedtime rituals a few days ago at Sunday School. (The teacher had asked the kids if they had a special song that they heard at bedtime, and Eli raised his hand and said "my mom and dad used to sing a special song to me…but they don't any more." Awww…) So tonight I sang to him--first, the Shema (as suggested by our Sunday School--I'm not used to singing that as a lullaby so it felt a little weird, but I can see how it might be something I could get used to, it's a beautiful melody), and then his special song (which I still sing to Isaac, with appropriate modifications). It's a song I made up and refined during all the long nights of reinforcing baby bedtime routine when Eli was little, and it goes like this:

you are my baby
you are my Eli (when I sing it to Isaac it's "you are my little I")
you are my sweet pea
you are my sunshine

hmm hmm hmm hmmm hmmmm
etc

And as I sang it Eli was just lying peacefully on his pillow, looking at me, looking nowhere in particular, smiling with the joy of having his mama sing him his special song. And I thought to myself (because I was so full up of emotion myself that I had to analyze the moment, break the spell), I never thought I'd get to do this again with Eli…and I know it won't last much longer. But here on the precipice of 6 years old, full of big boy beans and ready to leap into more and more maturity, he still wants his mama to sing to him. And I know that he won't always, that we'll both grow out of it again, and other special bonding rituals will take its place--but oh, these moments of perfect connection, of easy and uncomplicated love…these are exactly the moments that make you realize that being a parent is the best thing on earth. And just how fragile, and heart-filling, and full of blessings life can be.

(Ok, I warned you it was going to be sappy.)

Tonight, just a small thought that's been kicking around in my head since last Friday night's Shabbat dinner: the joy of handmade bread. Let me explain. For the last several months, we have had a "subscription" to our synagogue's challah baking program: a group of people who get together every Thursday to bake challahs (both for subscribers and for giveaway to congregants in need). They call it the "Mitzvah Kitchen". (I really want to find a way to be involved in that group at some point--but that's another story.)

Now every Shabbat, instead of buying a store-made challah (which are perfectly delicious, consistently light and fluffy and yummy), we have a hand-made challah. They're really different--still delicious, but heavier, denser, and somehow more real. I can taste all the ingredients more clearly, the flour and the egg and the salt. Some weeks the challah is better than others--a better balance of ingredients, cooked just the right amount of time, or shaped in a better braid. But what I really enjoy is that every time, it tastes handmade. I don't know how else to describe it. Eating it, I can feel that someone put love and effort and the work of their hands into it. I don't feel that way about the store bought challah (I don't even know if it's made by person or by machine). And feeling that, tasting that, makes it easier to be grateful, to actually feel the blessing in my mouth and my memory that bread should be. Eating is praying. Cool!

Struggling to find the time/motivation to blog, even in what I promise myself only have to be small dollops. I think this is partly because I've been pouring a lot of energy into writing the novel lately (and thus the blog as writing outlet is somewhat superfluous), and partly because, well, something's gotta give in the busybusy life. But that being said, here's today's dollop, which started out being small but grew more generous in its portion size as I went along.

So a few days ago we finally had our new stained glass windows delivered. I don't think I actually blogged about this before (other than in maybe a brief passing reference). Josh and I had run across Peter and Nancy Zajda of Zajda Glass Studios in Soquel at an art festival last summer, and were struck by some of the abstract, Eichler-esque samples they had in their booth. We talked with Nancy and really liked the feel of their work and their process. In typical J&J fashion, we decided that this was some sort of serendipitous sign from the universe and that it was finally time to fulfill our dream of having some stained glass made to go in the tall narrow windows on either side of our fireplace. So we began the process of commissioning art. Peter came over to our house and looked at the space we wanted the windows to go, and we looked through his sample book and talked about general themes/visual ideas that we liked. Then he went away and a few months later came back to show us sketches and glass samples. Then a few more months at the end of January, they were ready.

And people, they are gorgeous. GORGEOUS. I mean truly, we have two incredible pieces of art (or should I say Art) in our house now, worthy of any museum. Actually, more like worthy of any cathedral--as Josh put it, we've now transformed our living room into our very own sanctuary. As soon as I can figure out how to take good pictures of them, I'll try to post them here (but stained glass is tough to capture well and I'm certainly not a technically accomplished enough photographer to really know how to do it right).

But while you're waiting let me try to describe them in words that I will tell you now are completely inadequate, because even though I can tell you what they are shaped like, I can't correctly convey the way the different textures and colors harmonize with line, angle, and shapes, or the way the light shining through the glass at various times of day makes them look completely different. I can say that each window is a combination of abstract geometric shapes along with a few recognizable elements: a sun and two floating eyes in one, a moon and several magnolia blossoms in the other. There are a wide variety of textures in the glass of each window; there are pieces with prisms, bubbles, waves, stripes--even little colored square glass "jewels" here and there. Each catches the light differently, activates color and line differently, and helps lead your gaze this way and that. There are also many different colors of glass (textured or not), some opaque, some translucent, some vivid, some subtle. The lead joining the pieces together is shiny silver, and beautifully uniform in width, even at the joins. These windows are a perfect fusion of art and artisanry, of concept and craft. There is so much going on in each window that I will never get tired of looking at them.

I have to say, I really "get" the concept of why it's satisfying being an art patron, in a different way than I think I ever had before (mostly because, let's be realistic, we never have spent this much money on something so purely decorative before and we may never again). It's not just about supporting the artisan (and the art form) with money and the opportunity to make art (though that's part of it, of course); we didn't just go to the store (or the art fair) and buy a beautiful piece that caught our eyes. We participated. These particular pieces would never have come into existence if it weren't for our involvement--they speak directly to/resonate with our own symbolic/artistic voices. I'm not claiming credit for the end work itself, by any means, but I do think we played a crucial part in the initial process of its conceptualization (in a limited, directorial way as opposed to a hands-on, collaborative way). But the real thrill is that we get to keep the end product, to look at it every single day. I feel so, so lucky.