Mindless Meanderings of a Middle-Aged Maniac

Semper Fideles

2011-10-16T19:33:00.000-07:00

I wrote this entry one year ago in anticipation of my housemate taking his pets with him when he and his girlfriend moved down to So Cal to be closer to his ailing mother. It has been in my drafts, waiting for that fateful day when he returned to take them with him after they had settled into their new place... and that has not come to pass. Rather than let this languish in my drafts or delete it, I thought I'd post it now, in honor of MY dog.
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It seems that the cold has arrived with the month of November, a chill which didn't exist just a few days ago. While I sit at my desk, my housemate's dog lies at my feet, protecting me from the cold and anything else that may threaten me.

Piglette has been with us since September 2007, when my housemate adopted her from WKODIT (What Kind of Dog Is That?) rescue. Having been through at least two homes and a kennel, she was a tad uncertain and insecure her first months here. Being left alone made her nervous, as did bringing her anywhere in the car.

When she decided that she was in a stable place and wouldn't be abandoned again, she blossomed, and has returned more love and faithfulness than she has ever received. She is always at my side, always happy just to be near me, always protective, always wanting just to make me happy.

That's the wonderful thing about dogs -- you can always count on them to be there for you through thick and thin, to lift your spirits when you feel down, to be your faithful companion. Dogs do not know the effort you make to spend real time with them, but they always value and appreciate the time you set aside to spend with them as though they do know. People are more like cats, they tend to come and go as the mood or opportunity suits them.

Piglette is technically my housemate's dog, but she and I have formed a strong bond in the last three years. I tend to be the one who feeds her and cleans up after her, and she usually sleeps with me. So, I anticipate that when my housemate and his girlfriend move to Southern California in the next few months that giving up my faithful companion will be difficult, if not heartbreaking, for both of us. How do you take a dog that has been abandoned multiple times from the only consistent home it has known and not expect it to feel abandoned once again? And how do you abandon the most faithful, consistent companion you have ever known?

Cruising

2011-08-27T02:08:00.000-07:00

Juneau at dusk

August 2011

I'm back from the Alaskan cruise! I enjoyed the time with my family (and thanks, dad, for paying my way so I could go) on the Norwegian Pearl, which my father booked through Costco (yes, the discount warehouse people).Alaska is, indeed, the breathtaking natural wonder that everyone raves about. As it turns out, however, I am not a cruise person.

I had never been on a cruise before. I'm not much of a structured vacationer or touring type. I amble into town, rent an apartment or check into a cheap hotel, unpack my bags, and settle into base camp, taking day excursions at my leisure.

Cruises are relatively structured. Although good food is available 24 hours per day, the best food is served at set hours, and every time you walk into one of the dining rooms, they immediately spray you with hand sanitizer. Activities and use of facilities are also limited to certain times. Plus, you can't just leave town at will. If you get antsy, you can either jump into freezing, deep water or wait until the ship reaches a port... which brings up ports.

Glacier Bay, reversal print

At each port, you have 8 to 10 hours to do everything you want to do in that area. Pre-planning and prioritizing are essential. Although the largest cities in Alaska are still relatively small towns, they still have more than 10 hours' worth of wilderness, quaint town experiences, and museums I'd like to see. Plus, there isn't much opportunity to interact with the locals to get advice, other than the tour guides.

The typical port call goes something like this... everyone rushes off the boat to find their scheduled tour or transport. During the day, you rush from place to place, listening to tour guides, snapping photos, buying trinkets. At the end of it all, the tour drops you exhausted at the docks, just in time to crawl back on the boat before it leaves you behind. My sister and her husband, both flight attendants, are accustomed to, and I think very much enjoy, the frenetic pace.

Mendenhall Glacier
The highlights? Our tour guide in Skagway, Klondike Kevin, takes groups of 6 to 10 and will personalize your tour to your wants. He hasn't done anything with his web site, but we booked him through Dyea Dave, who takes larger groups. The crew on the ship made the renewal of vows by my sister and her husband a special day. And we saw a lot of animals, which I hope to cover in a separate entry.

I needed a vacation after my vacation! Actually, in spite of the crew's best efforts to wipe out every viri and bacteria on the ship, I managed to come down with a sore throat and the sniffles on the last day, just in time to meet my boyfriend in Seattle and spend a couple days with him there.

Stages

2011-07-25T00:26:00.000-07:00


Nasturtium, 2011

"It was drilled into me that anything less than winning was failure. In the impressionable way of sons, I did not consider this rhetorically; I took him at his word... when I noticed that this deity who asked only for perfection was himself less than perfect... I wasn't able to shrug it off. I was consumed instead by a blinding rage. The revelation that he was merely human, and frightfully so, was beyond my power to forgive."

Jon Krakauer

Into the Wild

This passage of Jon Krakauer's made little, if any, impression on me when I originally read his chronicle of a young man's foray into the Alaska wilderness that resulted in his death. But when I happened upon it again as I was thumbing through a few weeks ago, it stayed with me.

Hollyhock, June 2011

As a child of parents who instilled the values of hard work, education and more hard work in me at a young age, I have struggled with similar resentments and feelings of inadequacy at different points in my life. When I wailed "This is boring!" they reminded me that I chose to view whatever it was as boring, and instead of expecting my surroundings to fully nourish me with no effort on my part, I should see the potential in my surroundings.

In the moment, the speeches that my parents referred to as constructive criticism seemed more like nagging diatribe. But as I move somewhat less than gracefully through my midlife, I now understand how my parents expected a lot of me because they cared. I can even see how they were often correct, and realize that, yes, our situations are largely what we make of them. The past few years have been tough. But through those times I managed to realize how lucky I am in many ways. Most people who have the floor drop out from under them professionally don't have the family support structure I do, although I know that some people do choose not to turn to their families for support.

I've also realized that no matter how far I fall, I still have something to give, and there is always someone in greater need than I am. For me right now, that means donating my time, rather than money, but time is a precious commodity and cannot be regained once it passes.

Speaking of time, next week I will be spending it with my family on a cruise ship. My sister and her husband will be renewing their wedding vows. Internet access on the ship is extremely expensive, so I will be leaving the virtual world behind for a week and a half. I think it will be good for me. I hope that all my friends, online and in-person, have the opportunity to spend real time with those they care about the most.

Note: photos in this entry were taken with my new camera, a Samsung HZ30W. My boyfriend gave it to me when I lost my trusty Canon PowerShot. A few weeks after receiving the new camera, I was cleaning my closet, and felt something hard under a pile of t-shirts. It was my Canon. Go figure.

Tearing Asunder

2011-04-30T18:09:00.000-07:00

anywhere i go you go, my dear
and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling

from: I Carry Your Heart With Me

- E.E. Cummings -

It has been said that 50% of all marriages in the U.S. end in divorce. I have never been married, and I come from parents whose marriage ended when my mother died in my father's arms, a victim of a sudden, but thankfully, relatively painless heart attack. But I can see how people who once felt they had an infinite amount of love to offer each-other can grow apart.

Some are able to make the transition gracefully, and move on without carrying the bitterness that can weigh down one's whole being. Some are not so graceful, and leave one or both participants with deeper scars than the events leading to the divorce. I have managed to avoid being caught up in the tide of angst of the latter type... until now... and only by virtue of having rented a room to one of the participants.

Walking into the café where I've bought my coffee beans for over 20 years this afternoon, I was told by the soon-to-be-ex wife of my renter that she "ain't sellin' [me] sh*t". I could understand the hostility if I'd been the lover of her soon-to-be-ex husband, and of course I would not have had the gall to walk into her domain if I were, but somehow, I thought the landlord would be safe from the ire!

Luckily, I can buy coffee elsewhere, but their family and friends are not so lucky. As I contemplate the stanza above from E.E. Cummings, I realize that the greater amount of equity people share, the more connected their lives remain even after warm feelings pass away. Two people who cared for each-other enough to marry and raise two children together are unable to keep a personal dispute between the two of them. Everyone close to them will be forced to take sides if this attitude prevails, and the whole family, not just the marriage, will be broken. It saddens me that partners who worked together for so long cannot find it within themselves to make one last push to work together to smooth the end of one era and move on to happier futures.

After a Long Break

2011-01-19T03:48:00.000-08:00

I believe that this is the longest break from blogging I have ever taken. For the first time in several years, I've had nothing to share with the world. We're already a few weeks into it (and it's early for the lunar version), but happy new year!

When I last posted in December, I was painting. I painted the bedroom my housemate vacated, and while I was at it, the main bathroom. Both rooms were in dire need of love. I'm eying the kitchen now, although that really needs much more than just paint.

The room, painted and ready for an occupant

My grandfather planted the Meyer lemons outside the window nearly 60 years ago

I have been hoping to find a new housemate through friends, but no one wants to live in the boring 'burbs! I'm contemplating craigslist, although I have bad luck with craigslist, so I'm putting that off for as long as possible.

Fresh paint in the bathroom, too.

Yes, that's doggie shampoo, it's too cold this time of year to bathe Piglet outside!

I'm still technically jobless, but I had a few interviews, which is an improvement over the big, fat nothing I was getting before. I picked up some part-time temporary admin work just to get by for the next few months, while giving me time to keep searching for something longer-term. I still dream of turning ideas into things that work, and for the right idea, I'd go just about anywhere.

In my spare time, I've become more active with the grassroots animal welfare group I've volunteered with since 2003. Instead of volunteering at the program level, I am now helping with their first-ever formal Development plan. Given my work experience, the fact that I have done some nonprofit development work, and the fact that it can be difficult to find volunteers for the less-fun background work (most volunteers want, understandably, to be hands-on with the animals) I think that is where my efforts will make the biggest difference.

Somewhere in the fray, I was asked to sit on the Board. I wasn't thrilled about taking on that responsibility, particularly since fundraising is already demanding, especially at the volunteer level. But I am not good at saying no, so I was voted on last week. I am already preparing my letter that states my intention to step down at the end of my term.

Confession: philanthropically speaking, education is my true passion. While I support animal welfare, environmental and social justice causes, I truly believe that education is the key, that an educated population is aware of its faults and has the tools to fix them. I hope one day to devote time to educational issues, but I haven't yet found where someone with my skill set can work most effectively in that arena. If anyone has ideas on that front, I'm all ears (or eyes, in this case).

Shinnen Akemashite Omedetou Gozaimasu

2010-12-10T15:12:00.000-08:00

The new year (oshogatsu) is particularly important in the Japanese tradition. It represents the chance for a fresh start, with proper preparation, of course. December is spent in purification, cleaning house (osoji), both literally and figuatively, in order to begin the new year with a clean slate, decorating with pine and bamboo kadomatsu for good luck, and sending New Year's postcards (nengajo).

For those interested in learning more about oshogatsu in general, the Japanese American National Museum has a good, but concise description. Wikipedia also has an overview. I could have sworn I wrote a more comprehensive blog entry about oshogatsu a few years ago, but I can't find it!

Kinpira, gobo (burdock root) and carrot

I julienne them with a knife, because food processors make the pieces too small

The final days of the year are spent cooking food with special significance with regard to health, longevity, prosperity and fertility (osechi) so the first few days of the new year can be spent with family. Some descriptions of osechi can be found at bento.com or norecipes.com and Yuka Yamaguchi also has a few recipes on her blog. Even though I can buy osechi at the local Japanese grocer, I still make my own. Since this is the only tradition I really observe, I figure I should do it correctly. Plus, the stuff is expensive!

Nishime in one of Grandma's Imari dishes

Includes renkon (lotus root), gobo (burdock root),

takenoko (bamboo shoot), konnyaku (potato starch)

As you know, this year, actually the last two years, have not been the best, financially, socially, emotionally. I even lost a cherished friend, who brought only kindness to the table when all I brought was drama. I knew I was being unreasonable, but couldn't help myself. It is in my nature to push those I care about away from me and completely alienate them. I wrote recently about how people move in and out of our lives, but what I didn't mention is that those who leave due to our own foolishness hurt the most.

The last two years I've strayed from the tradition of opening my house during Oshogatsu. Maybe beginning the year on the wrong foot jinxed me. On top of that, one month after the current year began I turned 43 and thus began the 44th year of my life. 4 is bad luck in Asian cultures that have been influenced by the Chinese, because it is a homophone for death. 44 must be doubly bad.

As December ticks down to the new year I hope to begin it on the right foot, just in case. I am currently making much-needed repairs on the house, organizing bills to be paid before year's end, gathering my house cleaning supplies, prepping my cookware and shopping lists, and making sure the tv works for my grousing dad, so that I can start the year with a clean slate and focus on spending time with my family and closest friends during Oshogatsu. And of course, as a hedge, one month later, I'll be beginning the 45th year here.

An Honest Scrap

2010-12-08T22:02:00.000-08:00

It has been awhile since Olivia, that Rebel with a Blog, gifted me with the:

I am touched that she thought of me, and at the same time, at a bit of a loss for words. It's funny how easy it is to bare all in a standard blog post, but when someone asks you to share ten things about yourself, thoughts elude. I believe I am to reveal ten things about myself...

1. I am naturally right-side dominant, but functionally ambidextrous because I'm lazy. When I was little I used whichever hand was closest to whatever I wanted to use. Okay, I still do that.

2. My parents taught me too well the lesson that the only one I can truly depend on through thick and thin is myself, so I often self-fulfill that prophecy. My close friends are those who have seen me at my worst and still stayed around to support me. There are very few of them. In fact, I can count them on one hand and still have fingers left over. That's how bad I am.

3. I have battled low self-esteem for as long as I can remember. Oddly enough, I also have high self-efficacy. This means that I don't think very much of myself in spite of the fact that I am confident in my ability to accomplish things. Yes, I think there's some relation between this and #2, too.

4. I am often lonely, even when surrounded by people.

5. I am painfully shy, and when I walk into a room full of complete strangers I have to force myself to smile and mingle. Sometimes I even feel that way when I walk into a room full of people I know. I usually seek out other people who look uncomfortable, too.

6. My grandparents' house overflows with family treasures and good memories, but I've always been happiest when I lived away from home in uncluttered surroundings.

7. I used to dream about climbing K2 when I was younger, but the older I get the more averse I become to cold weather.

8. The best moments of my life have occured when I shared the gift of time with someone special. Nothing elaborate, maybe a simple meal, some walking, and a lot of conversation.

9. I always fall hardest for men I can't have. See #2 and 3.

10. I'm not a big eater, but I do appreciate good food. If I only eat half my meal but carefully store the leftovers, it means I really enjoyed it. If I generously share the bulk of my meal with my dog, I wasn't such a big fan.

I am supposed to pass the award on, however, I have such a limited number of people I follow that I'd be passing awards to the same people over and over and everyone would hate me. So instead I will say please feel free to peruse my reading list. Everyone there posts content that I enjoy in one form or another -- they are there for good reason.

Time Lost and Found

2010-10-25T18:56:00.000-07:00

Scrounging around my grandparent's hall closet in search of something usable as a salt cellar, I was overwhelmed by the dust and pet fur that had worked its way into every nook and cranny. I pulled everything out, running a rag over each item, and vacuumed the shelves. The difficulty came in putting everything back, as the "stuff" somehow expanded as it sat in the hall, even after throwing away odd bits and pieces. However, I did rediscover two art deco clocks I cycled back into usage.

This Telechron 4H55 desk clock, c. 1930s - 40s, was one of several my grandmother kept on her desk. It now has pride of place on top of one of the bookshelves in my office, which used to be her office.

The Seth Thomas Romance E868-000 was my grandfather's alarm clock. It now sits on a chest of drawers in my bedroom.

I have a newfound appreciation for these objects, their simple, clean lines, their mass, the materials and workmanship that went into them, even the mechanical sound of the gears. Things just aren't made that well anymore, a drawback of progress. Plastics and mass production may have enabled people from all socioeconomic backgrounds to fill their homes with more items, but they also created a disposable society. Our possessions are no longer meaningful and are thrown away and replaced with alarming frequency.

And so it is in other aspects of our lives. Like mass production, television and social networking have cheapened our relationships. We no longer engage in meaningful discourse that encourages us to think, we broadcast short, evocative blurbs that arouse strong emotions and hinder our ability to form cogent thoughts. Everything flows smoothly enough until someone disagrees, then all civility disappears in the barrage of blazing generalities. We feel extremely entitled and forcefully assert our liberties. But we have forgotten that with freedom comes responsibility: assuring you do not impinge on someone else's freedom; taking the time to truly listen to others respectfully, as you wish others would listen to you; basing an opinion on more than just a cursory look...

Courtesy isn't the only interpersonal casualty of the times, loyalty is as well. The ability to easily collect 1,568 friends has made them just as disposable as that one dollar colander. The trivial comments of a friend made today soon meld into the sea of inanity and she or he is soon forgotten.

It makes me more than a little sad that we have forsaken quality for quantity in so many aspects of our lives, particularly since the limited time each of us has to accomplish what we were meant to do in our lifetimes is so precious.

And for those who made it all the way through this post without falling asleep and are wondering about the salt holder, I found a small, lidded condiment dish that should do the trick!

After Dark Explorations

2010-10-11T19:18:00.000-07:00

I may be out of paid employment, but I'm keeping busy volunteering in non-profit development, writing grants and organizing fundraising events for the Homeless Cat Network, an all-volunteer cat rescue group. But even unemployed volunteers need an occasional break. Last week's entertainment was an evening at the Exploratorium, a hands-on science museum.

The Explo organizes After Dark, a monthly adult-oriented after-hours program. The series is well-planned and executed, with themed exhibits, films, lectures and artwork interspersed between the regular exhibits. And yes, there are two or three cash bars brought in specifically for the events. This month's theme was Alternative Energy Exploration, and featured alternatives in transportation, agriculture, and energy generation.

The SOHH Project, a "pedal-powered vehicle with motor assist," was conceived of by an 8th grader (and his father). The batteries can be charged via a solar panel on a sunny day or standard household 110v current on less-sunny days.

My photo does not do the cycle justice, so please visit the project website for the full story and more photos. I also visited the Flying Pig, which had been built on a Super Beetle chassis, and two modified Miatas, which were near and dear to my heart because I own a Miata (unmodifed, though). I will grant that plug-in sustainability is ultimately affected by the fuel source of the power plant, but hope in the long-run the utilities will move to more sustainable options and we will become more judicious in our consumption.

Going off the grid, I stopped by the Bamboo Bike Studio exhibit. They sell kits and help you build your own bamboo-framed push bike. The bamboo does look very nice (sorry, I didn't get a photo). It's a bit out of my budget right now, though. Plus, I tend to leave my bike out in the rain, something that my chromaly frame handles very well.

On the agricultural side, Kijiji Grows is an aquaponics consultancy based in Oakland, California. Aquaponics differs from hydroponics in that it is nearly a permaculture system. It includes an aquacultural element that requires you to feed the fish, so the loop is not entirely closed. After running by the plant roots, the water cycles into a fish pond, and then through a filtration system containing bacteria which convert the fish waste into usable components for the plants.

Halfway through the event I queued up to sample sweetwater oysters from Hog Island oyster farm. I'm not normally a huge oyster fan. I don't dislike them, but I don't go out of my way to eat them. The sweetwaters are relatively small, with a mild, almost sweet, taste and silky texture. I found myself wanting a nice, crisp Sauvignon Blanc or Sémillon with them, and I'm not typically a white wine drinker, either.

The night's speakers included lectures on Hydrogen and Wind energy, as well as a hands-on presentation of solar, wind, and hydro electricity generation. Unfortunately, I cannot recall what this man is demonstrating. I had to order my drink early on so I could drive home later and I hit this lecture at my high point. My apologies!

The only disappointment was an issue beyond the museum's control. Solar Sunflowers, designed by Poetic Kinetics and managed by Black Rock Solar, were inoperative. The designers and/or project managers couldn't deliver a working product on schedule, and could barely manage to assemble the defective colossi they brought. They were still nice to look at as static sculptures but didn't really fit into the evening's theme that way.

All in all, it was a nice 4 hour diversion while I took a break from fundraiser preparations. As I headed home to resume my work, I saw several people strolling the path across from the Palace of Fine Arts, which is beautifully lit at night, enjoying the relatively balmy autumn evening. I only wish I could have taken more time to take a better photo of it...

Looking Back

2010-10-04T03:24:00.000-07:00

Piglet and Steven head south

Le cerveau est contrariant. Il oublie bien trop vite ce qu'on a besoin de se souvenir et ne se souvient que trop bien ce qu'on a besoin d'oublier.

The brain is a contrarian. It forgets all too quickly what we need to remember and remembers all too well what we need to forget.

I began blogging 5 years ago to work my way through my midlife crisis and attempt to find myself. I can now honestly say I am still lost! But I learned a little about myself.

Nasturtium in my garden
September 2010

My midlife crisis has been backward. Just as everyone in my peer group is becoming unsettled and breaking from obligations, I long for something or someone to call home. Many of my peers, recently divorced and/or with children old enough to spread their own wings, are reasserting their independence. I, who have been fiercely independent my whole life, never married, no kids, now yearn for a solid anchor point. Unfortunately, I still make the same mistakes: I fall hardest for the unattainable, and I think that will always be the case. The heart wants what it wants and mine always seems to want the impossible.

I've always been an oddball, though, so it should be no surprise that my midlife crisis is also atypical. Not that I didn't have fun. Even I did Burning Man in the late 1980s. But it was different then, smaller, full of creative flow, special. Now it's a professionally managed event, a spectacle for the masses that throng to it now. Too many people for me.

Japanese Iris in my garden

September 2010

So now I seek stability, but it eludes, even with regard to simple things. I will soon lose my faithful, ever-vigilant companion. My housemate is moving to Southern California, so of course, Piglet will join him sometime in the coming months. I will miss them both, but mostly I'll miss my quadripedal companion who accompanies me everywhere within walking distance.

I dread finding a new housemate. My previous housemate told me after he moved in that he couldn't pay rent, then stayed 3 years on the vague promise that he would pay his debt in full when he found work. I also worked my last job for free for a year on the vague promise my pay would be backfilled if/when the company received funding. As my financial situation descends into desperation, I hope to break free of being a sucker. But even more, I don't want to take advantage of others' kindness and fail to pay obligations I may accrue. I fear becoming my ex roommate more than I fear remaining a pushover.

As I type this in the wee hours of a sleepless night, the first winds of autumn are rattling my windows and shaking my trees and they sound fairly strong. They remind me that my neighbor's walnut tree, which is slowly dying, is leaning precariously over my garage. Maybe this is a good week to prune it back...

Change of Season

2010-09-25T02:05:00.000-07:00

As the cooler-than-usual summer drew to a close, I took stock of the oddities that happened in the garden this year and realized I'd missed showing one of the most stomach-turning phenomena...

I don't know what that is on the ends of my Amish Paste tomatoes, but those white splotches appeared on a quarter of the fruits. I closely scrutinized each one I picked, and if there was even the smallest hint of a white spot, it did not go into my little veggie basket. If anyone knows what those splotches are and how to prevent them (and whether they'll spread to my other tomatoes -- so far, no), let me know!

I made up for low yields this year with sheer numbers. I have eight tomato plants, four of which have produced, two which never grew larger than a foot tall, but bore a handful of fruit each, one that volunteered itself mid-spring and is just now fruiting, and one that popped out of the ground late spring and probably will not fruit. In the past, I dried excess tomatoes in my oven on low heat. This year, I managed to burn not just one, but two huge batches...

Somehow, they don't look quite as burnt in the photo, but believe me, they are chestnut-colored and bitter. I keep them on the counter and try one every day, hoping that either they will mellow or my taste buds will acclimate to the flavor. So far, no luck. In the upper right corner of the photo is the new batch I sliced open tonight. I'll try bringing them outside in the morning to put them out in the sun. We'll see what happens...

Now, as summer has turned to autumn on the calendar, the temperatures have risen, granting us a quick Indian Summer before the shorter days bring on the cooler air. I've saved tomato, cucumber, bean and zucchini seeds, planted garlic bulblets, onion, fennel and lettuce seeds, and the chard has reseeded itself again. I'm contemplating planting broccoli and cauliflower soon.

I am also thinking of more indoor pursuits. This Wednesday, a friend had tickets to the opening night of Molière's Scapin, playing at American Conservatory Theater, and I had the good fortune of being the one he took to see it. The human mannequin in this photo was performing outside the theater as we entered.

I am not sure whether she was hired by ACT or if she was a street performer. My friend works for a local museum and the tickets were comps from his job, so we sat up in the nosebleed section, the lobby portion of which has a great view down the stairs.

And the play? Scapin is a comedy with a fairly foreseeable plot twist that focuses on witty dialog. This production was well acted with a fair amount of improvisation. An enjoyable way to spend the evening indoors.

Happy autumn!

Touched

2010-09-12T01:00:00.000-07:00

Life passing by

Waiting for the train

28 August 2010

A countless number of people touch our lives. Some stay with us 'til the end. And some remain only for a moment. I admit to being sentimental and clinging to those whose time to move on has come.

The internet has made it possible for so many more people to touch us than before. Thanks to email and blogging, those I never would have met otherwise have touched my life. As with those I've known face-to-face, some of those relationships have endured and some have waned. And as with those I've known face-to-face, each of those relationships has helped me learn and grow.

Maintaining life

bees collect pollen

on Cirsium vulgare (Onopordum acanthium?)

Canal du juoy, Metz, France, July 2009

But the internet also makes it too easy to maintain those bonds that beg to be liberated. By virtue of status updates and tweets, we maintain tenuous ties indefinitely, and with more people. In one trivial entry of 150 characters or fewer, we keep the lines of communication open with hundreds of people, at least superficially.

But even as I yearn for those communications to be more profound, they can only remain shallow. Even though I know it is better to let go and focus on those who are present or otherwise make real time for me or who have something deeper to offer, I fail to find the strength to turn away completely. And so I continue entering 150 characters or fewer in a vain attempt to make something out of nothing.

Random Tomatoes

2010-09-06T01:26:00.000-07:00

Oh, the seduction of ripe, juicy tomatoes! Unfortunately, this year's plants have been stunted by the cooler-than-usual weather and the fruits refuse to ripen. Even the Red Siberian plant, which is supposed to be suited to cooler climes, is dinky and only bore a handful of wimpy-looking fruits. The Amish paste plant did grow, but there are white spots on a lot of the fruits which seem to rot before they have a chance to ripen.

Although meager, the tomatoes have been interesting. I grew Stupice for the first time this year, and a significant number either look like two smooshed together or they have a nose. They average about an inch in diameter, but have a "tomatoey" paste tomato taste.

For years, I only grew Little Yellow Pear (yellow, pear-shaped cherry tomato) and San Marzano (paste tomato), saving the seeds from year to year. This year, San Marzano refused to germinate, but two 'Pears survived, yielding fruits about twice as large as usual. One day, I noticed the tops looked like they were turning pinkish instead of their typical yellow. Thinking it was just dirt, I forgot about them. Several days later, it was obvious they were turning red, but were still half yellow-ish green and I picked two to photograph! Since the photograph, they have ripened to full-on red and taste like paste tomatoes. I saved the seeds to see how they turn out next year if I can get them to sprout.

The volunteer tomato turned out to be a cluster tomato, and I had another two spring out of the ground in random places this summer. I'm hoping the weather will stay warm late in the year so I can see what kind of tomatoes they are!

Other than tomatoes, I collected some seeds from the chard and planted seeds of great northern beans, fennel, onion and random salad greens in random places around the garden and promptly forgot where I planted things. Amidst a patch of mâche, I tugged on what I thought was a blade of grass and accidentally pulled out a little garlic bulblet I'd planted for chives. I tried to stick it back into the ground, but I mangled it in the process. Luckily, I have more.

A San Mateo Parking Enforcement Worker

2010-08-23T00:40:00.000-07:00

zoomed through a stop sign, narrowly missing my dog and me, because he apparently thought we weren't ambling through the crosswalk fast enough. Where are they recruiting from these days?!? Sorry, I just had to vent.

Now thinking happy thoughts, such as playing with Piglet at the dog park a few weeks ago. Behind her is another border collie mix, Tess. Piglet and Tess had the same stance, tracked the ball the same way, and ran the same patterns when running after the balls we threw for them, like shadows of one another.

One of the things I miss about Metz are dinners with Annelise and Arnaud, who gave me cooking lessons in exchange for English conversation. Last week, I decided to continue to learn to cook here at home, and joined a cooking group. I went to my first event with them, a potluck, last weekend.

I was salad. I mixed salad greens with nasturtium petals and blackberries from the garden and crumbled feta cheese over it, then toasted pine nuts, and made a blackberry vinaigrette. When I arrived at the party, I realized I'd forgotten the pine nuts! Luckily, no one noticed there was something missing other than myself.

Since this blog entry has no general theme other than randomness, I'll mention here that I went roller skating for the first time in over 20 years last night to celebrate the birthday of a friend of a friend of a friend. I was never much of a skater and last night was no exception, as I tottered out onto the floor, my feet ready to slip out from under me any second. But the people were fun, the music funky and I only fell once! My back is a little sore today, though. Unfortunately, I forgot my camera, so all I have is this one grossly underexposed camera phone shot.

Summer Festivals

2010-08-10T00:49:00.000-07:00

During the summer months, the churches in my parents' sect of Buddhism (Jodo Shinshu, a form of Mahayana Buddhism) hold fundraising festivals that they also use as an opportunity to share a bit of Buddhist/Shinto and Japanese culture with the local communities. Each weekend, a different church in the area holds its festival. Last weekend, my father and I headed South to Palo Alto for one of these festivals.

The church has its own adult taiko group, primarily women! June (foreground) and my father have been friends since childhood.

Dad and I actually went to the festival to watch his friend (right) play the shakuhachi, a flute made from bamboo. The woman on the left is playing a shamisen, a two-stringed instrument traditionally played by geisha.

Dad's friend played with three koto players. A koto is like a horizontal harp, but each string has a movable bridge, which tunes the string. Any time a key change is made, each string needs to be retuned to the new key... no mid-song key changes for this instrument!

There were also ikebana (flower arrangements) and suiseki (rocks) displayed. Natural displays in Japanese art are typically abstractions of other natural scenes. In Japanese gardens and ikebana, things that are higher tend to represent the skies (clouds, sun, moon, treetops), while lower elements represent terrestrial elements (animals, minerals). I have no idea what this particular arrangement represents, though!

Suiseki are rocks that can represent a whole scene, a mountain, a tree, anything that it may resemble. What do you think this rock might represent? The person who found it saw a flower, specifically a chrysanthemum (which has relevance in Jodo Shinshu Buddhism, although I can't remember exactly what!), but maybe you see something else in it.

In almost all Japanese arts, students may eventually go through what is essentially a certification process in order to be able to teach. When they pass this process, they also receive a "name" that they use in relation to the practice of that art. For many of these arts, the students must still travel to Japan to receive their name.

I had hoped to show stunning photos of the garden by now, but to be perfectly honest, the garden is languishing. Other than the blackberries, the plants just aren't flowering and fruiting as prolifically this year, and I wonder if something changed in my soil or if its the uncharacteristically cool summer we've had, or...

Blogging Awards

2010-08-04T04:39:00.000-07:00

Assorted vegetables from my garden

(the water was "dyed" by the bougainvillea)

July 2010

In January, Gelisa gave me a Blogger Appreciation Award, an award that bloggers pass on to other bloggers. The process allows people to connect to new people, and to find out a little more about their current contacts through their reading interests and a stipulation that the bloggers granting the award tell a few (actually seven) facts about themselves.

By coincidence, I expressed appreciation last week for several blogs I read, and then, Linda also passed on two blogging awards to me.

And with that, I figured I should at the very least make an effort to thank them. You met Linda in my last entry, but not Gelisa. Gelisa is an accountant, musician, mother, wife whose break with her mother's family sometimes haunts her. While her primary blog is in French, she also keeps a blog in English, which she updates a bit less frequently. Many thanks to both Linda and Gelisa, who not only thought of me, but also took the time to continue the chain.

As for the award, I'm going to take the lazy way out and confer it upon those I mentioned last week, and leave it up to them as to whether they choose to pass it on to others. And seven facts about me...

1. I am my mother's daughter and at my best somewhere between 5 in the evening and 4 in the morning. Needless to say, I hate mornings. I keep a notepad next to my bed, because I will invariably wake up in the middle of the night with a possible solution to some problem or some item I need to add to my list of tasks.

2. I work too much. Maybe it comes from my parents, who practically lived at their pharmacy, maybe it's because I began working for them as soon as I was old enough to wield a dust cloth without breaking anything too precious. I have been known to put in more hours on the job (in the office and at home) than most people and still be focused enough to be highly productive. The downside is that my identity is tied to my job, and now that I'm unemployed, I feel like a non-entity. I am nothing.

3. I'm a loner, and yet constantly lonely, even when with people. Try to figure that one out!

4. I lack self esteem and most of the time, I don't like myself. In spite of having been a high achiever, I have never been happy with what I've done or who I am. I'm incredibly insecure and have been known to push away those I care about the most in fear of being hurt.

5. I am one of the few middle-aged people on this earth who has never been married, never had children and never planned for either. I would love to be able to share my life with someone, but I'm not an easy person to live with, probably due to that self esteem thing, so I will probably spend the rest of my days alone, as well.

6. I dream about improving educational systems in underserved areas, which is a monumental task that I don't think I'm up to. People like to scapegoat the teachers in those schools, but the problem is way beyond a few bad teachers. It is a system set up so that more resources are diverted to compliance issues and administration than to direct student services, and home situations that often discourage scholarship and discipline. How do we combat that?

7. One of my big worries is the constant, gradual stripping away of citizens' rights and increasing dominance by an elite few. The powers that be use crises, our own prejudices and partisanship, and even our need to be entertained to accomplish that, and we are falling for it hook, line and sinker. In a visually oriented world, we are most fascinated by those who speak passionately, using catch phrases and sound bites that don't add up to a logical conclusion but stir up strong emotional reactions. Somewhere in there, we forgot how to think for ourselves. And "they" are using this to their advantage, as well.

That's me. And that's seven. Please do take a look at my last entry and visit the blogs there. Actually, take a little time to peruse my reading list. Everyone there is there for a reason.

On a Lighter Note...

2010-07-22T01:41:00.000-07:00

After the last bummer of an entry, I'm moving to something lighter. With 4+ years of blogging under my belt, I'm always disappointed to discover my writing skills haven't improved! Granted, blogging for me was never an exercise in writing so much as self-discovery to help me through my midlife crisis, which, oddly enough, is still going strong. But since these sites allow picture uploads, I can make up for my lack of writing skill with bad photography! And so, I've decided to make this entry a pictorial dedication to a few fellow bloggers I've connected with here...

I admit it, a giant photo of her Stuart Weitzman pumps first attracted me to Middle Aged Woman Blogging. [EDIT: I also like her Kickin' Ass and Taking Names... tagline!] Although our lives have been nothing alike, I feel as though we share some of those growing pains brought on by midlife. In honor of MAWB, not the highest or most expensive pair of heels I own, but the red patent...

Red pumps, 2008 (please excuse my worn out floor)

I found Wander to the Wayside while searching gardening enthusiasts... and discovered a person of substance. If you read nothing else on her blog, check out the series she wrote about discovering her biological mother through the records from the orphanage where she lived several months as an infant. In honor of Linda, I snapped this courgette blossom from my garden. The seedling appeared in my compost one day, and is from a light green zucchini I bought at the farmer's market. Funny, I usually cook zucchini seeds and all...

Squash blossom, July 2010

Confession: Elizabeth is a friend of one of my exes, so I didn't meet her through blogging. But she is a talented designer and free spirit, who has been known to drop everything, move to a new place AND not just survive, but thrive. I always enjoy her photos of her travels, even the ones of familiar sites, because she always has an interesting perspective. My regret with this photo is that it isn't very creative. On the few occasions I leave my house to have a drink, I go to the Uptown. It's low-key and I like the details in the bar, the egg(?) strip along the top, the Corinthian columns, the pipe cleaner men lined up along the top and the old-time pharmacy drawer pulls.

The Uptown, June 2009

An Englishman in Southern Germany will always hold a special place in my heart. When I wanted to "see" what life is like where he lives, he introduced me to photoblogs and Phonecam 365, the photoblog of an Englishman in Saarland, and the first blog I "followed" on Blogger. AB likes rusty metal and shows the mundane in unique perspectives. My housemate welded together this now rusty stove from scrap metal while he lived in a shipping container in a welding yard. It was his lifeline in the winter, and now it enjoys its retirement as conversation piece and occasional s'mores heater. I dedicate this photo to both AB and my Lobo, wherever he is now.

Woodstove pieced together from scrap metal, July 2010

(yes, my house really is THAT yellow)

Blackandwhiteandcolours is another photo blog from Southern Germany, with a twist. Martina combines her photos, usually black and white, although she throws in a colour shot here and there, with a quote from a book or story she is currently reading. I've seen snails in a few of her photos, these two (and the bug with them) are from my garden. Alas, I don't have a matching quote, so I'll pick something from my current read... "Merriweather was the King of the Game, the Liar's Poker champion of the Salomon Brothers trading floor." Liar's Poker by Michael Lewis.

Garden snails, July 2010

Tim visited my blog first, so I visited his blog, Catnip, an amalgam of fiction, poetry and commentary, quid pro quo. He's a Renaissance man and hard to define in one photo, but he recently posted photos of his cats and dog. I thought about posting yet another Piglet photo, but instead, I'm going to toot my own horn and post stellar sea lions recently used on the Schmapp tourism guide (one of hundreds, uncompensated, so not much of an honor). It should be the first photo to appear in the upper right box and if you click on the photo, it takes you to my Flickr account, where they found the photo.

Stellar Sea Lions, Pier 39 San Francisco, August 2009

This post is not exhaustive of my reading list, and I had more blogs in mind, but the length of this post is becoming a bit unwieldy, I'm running out of photos, it's 1:30 at night, AND I have to remember to visit everyone I mentioned to let them know I have something for them. Perhaps I'll find the energy to continue on another post...

[EDIT: another confession... I've been trending toward crazy lately with wild mood swings, and in the process, even though I've been trying to keep away from everyone, have managed to alienate a few people who are dear to me. If any of those people happen by this blog, I'm sorry. Life in general is so uncertain right now. Not an excuse, but an attempt at an explanation.]

Vicious Cycle

2010-07-18T19:41:00.000-07:00

Warning: this blog topic is heavy! If you want to avoid that, here is the latest on the garden -- I put a planting strip between the brick seating area and fence and threw in some Great Northern beans to grow something there until I have more permanent plants. Plus once the beans are done I can turn them into the soil for fertilizer!

For the permanent plantings, I took cuttings of Salvia elegans (nice in salads if you can get over the fuzziness, good flash fried, not so great dried), Salvia officinalis, Lavandula dentata (currently dying), Melissa officinalis (dead as a doornail, probably good, since it can be invasive) and Rosmarinus officinalis (still green but not rooting, I think I need a greener cut).

Things in containers keep the dog from digging...

Quercus agrifolia bark, Laurus nobilis, Mentha piperita and bbq tools!

- end of garden talk, heavy stuff starts below -

I read a blog yesterday that showed a video of a Black Panther (edit: New Black Panther Party head Samir Shabazz) promoting violence against white people. For the most part, the comments about the video were a combination of knee-jerk defensive reaction and "hate in any form is wrong" response. One person gave the "what would happen if a white man were promoting violence against African Americans" line, which I have to say grates on my nerves.

To me, those who ask that question are on par with those who are openly hateful. From my perspective, that question was originally coined in order to incite strong emotions and perpetuate the cycle of ignorance and hate. It's insidious, asked as though it were an innocent enough query, when it will most likely elicit a strong emotional response. So the one who perpetuates it either intends to foster ill feelings or did not take the time to take a breath and think about what the question really asks.

If we take a step back and think objectively about the question, we would see that people generally act consistently with their beliefs. Those who are sympathetic or are maneuvered into sympathy by a charismatic speaker will agree. Those who disagree will either take a stand or walk (or run, depending on the situation) away. Unless he were particularly captivating, the white man would have the same fate as that Black Panther: his rant might be passed around the internet for awhile to stimulate gut reactions one way or another and then he'd fade into obscurity when the next loudmouth appeared.

By the way, I have to point out that people generally promote their views in locations where they are most likely to have a sympathetic audience. I seriously doubt I will ever see a Klansman spouting his spin in Watts, or a Black Panther pontificating his position in Westwood.

So where do you weigh in on my interpretation? Do you think I'm off base or missing some sort of critical information? Is there some reason to my view, or...?

* * * * *
Edit: I have mentioned this elsewhere, and on thinking about it, I think it's relevant to this entry.

I have been in a situation, as mentioned by the commenter, where the tables were turned, when my date (who was white) and I were singled out by skinheads. The responses of passersby were exactly the same as those in the video I saw. While some people looked at us sympathetically (and yes, some looked at us with derision, emboldened by the power granted by the skinheads), everyone rushed by as quickly as possible. NO ONE took the initiative to voice a dissenting opinion. Nor would I expect them to do so: face-to-face, people in the process of spewing venom are frightening.

Now that I think about it, I've also been shoved in a bar from behind by an angry drunk man (who was later outside the bar beating his girlfriend who told me to mind my own business when I asked if she needed help) and punched from behind by another angry man on speed. No one helped me in those cases, either, so maybe it's just me! On the bright side, I have learned pretty handily to be my own knight in shining armour since I can be reasonably sure that chivalry has gone the way of the dodo.

Random Ramblings

2010-07-06T02:44:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the rat, er, pig race!

San Mateo County Fair, June 2010

My thoughts meander lately. Like so many others, I find myself contemplating the BP oil spill, and how far-reaching its effects will be. As the oil and the chemicals that have been dumped into the Gulf to try and contain the oil dissipate into parts unknown, we can't even guess what will happen because nothing to this scale has ever happened before.

I ponder how our legislators continue to pass bills that, little by little, revoke the freedom that this country was founded on and impose more of the obligations on us that were the basis of revolt against King George in establishing such freedom. And how the administrative branch, little by little, exerts more and more of its executive power over us. And how our judiciary supports these actions. And I worry about the future of my nieces and nephews.

I have also been thinking about sport. I was surprised when French striker Nicolas Anelka was publicly vilified for profane team room talk. The French Football Federation not only demanded a public apology for what should have been a private issue, they barely batted an eye at the fact that someone sneaked a microphone into their meeting. In my books, this situation is tantamount to someone breaching a confidentiality agreement. While the public berated Anelka for being a bad role model to their children, they were essentially implying to their children that while it isn't okay to cuss, it is okay to spy on private communications.

Cliff House from the street

San Francisco, July 2010

And I have been thinking about the Cliff House, one of the best places to watch the sun set in San Francisco. After taking a friend for drinks there last November, I promised not to go back until I returned with him. I only go to the Cliff House once every few years, so the promise wasn't all that farfetched considering my friend lives in France and his financial situation is about as good as mine. But with the pledge pronounced, I think of it much more than I normally would. And so as I drove home from visiting friends one night, I passed by and took a quick photo. This is not its best side. As its name suggests, the Cliff House sits quite dramatically atop the cliffs over Ocean Beach. But it was dark and cold, and I didn't have a jacket, so I stole a quick snap of the entrance from my car on the street.

pain au chocolat de Crêpe et Brioche, lavande de mon jardin
June 2010
Most of all, I have been thinking about pastry. A farmer's market started in downtown San Mateo this spring. It's walking distance from the house, so I can walk Piglet and buy produce in one trip. The first week, I noticed the stand from Crêpe and Brioche Bakery, and was excited, because I like their pain au chocolat. The second week, he sold out before I arrived. I pouted. The third week, I was there 15 minutes before opening and grumpy, but I got my pastry. The next week, I woke up late! I tumbled out of bed and ran as fast as I could, Piglet pulling me along, ecstatic at being able to jog. I arrived, sweating, and dry heaving. He saw me and picked up a bag he had set aside for me. He is my new best friend, and I don't even know his name.

Piglet plays in the water, Aug 2009

Just so you know that my Piglet is a dog!

Boxwood Blues

2010-06-25T22:06:00.000-07:00

After bricking in more of the seating area, and plotting where I want my herbs to go, I noticed that the boxwood hedge around the holly needed pruning, and took out my trusty bypass clippers and started whacking at it. Then I noticed that all the gunk that I'd just let drop down into the hedge through the years had settled into the nooks and crannies to rot.

Ooh, bonus compost! I grabbed a rake and began shaking the hedge to make it drop all the decomposed matter to the bottom, where I worked it into the surrounding soil around the pavers, which needs amending, so I can plant ground cover. With the detritus removed, all the dead limbs on the interior of the hedge stood out like sore thumbs.

Out came the hand pruners! And away went the dead limbs. A large pile of prunings began forming under the hedge. I should have stopped there, but I noticed that a lot of branches were crossed and trying to grow around each-other and thought "well, that can't be good for them!"

So then I pruned off crossing branches, and grabbed the loppers for the larger limbs. The result up-close was a nice, airy space for new growth to come in. Except, of course, two problems:

1) I'd gotten the itch to prune in summer, rather than dormant season, so conditions aren't ideal for the hedge to recover from the shock. This summer has been relatively cool, so I'm hoping that won't be much of a problem.

2) When I took a step back to get the big picture, I realized I'd pruned big, fat holes into the hedge. It's hideous! Where this last photo shows empty space, there used to be a carpet of leaves. Now it looks like the bad haircut mama gave you and sent you to school with, so the other kids could laugh mercilessly at you.

It took a few hours, plus 3 different types of cutting implements, a rake, and a shovel (to work the compost into the soil) to ruin a boxwood that my grandfather took years to shape and train. Defeated, I turned toward the house, looked up and noticed the cedar bonsai also had decomposing material stuck in its branches. I grabbed the rake and shook out as much as possible, and realized that it, too, was in dire need of pruning...

We Skipped Right Through Spring

2010-06-13T01:14:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago, at the end of May, the rain and cold made one last blast through the Bay Area. Usually by then, the fireplace has been long cleared of the winter's ashes, but at that point, I built one last fire. I definitely prefer being warm. I'm miserable in the cold. I'm even wretchedly cold when I walk into an air conditioned room in the middle of summer! And speaking of that sunny season, last week, we went straight to it from winter.

My vegetable garden, slow to start due to the long cold snap (and I planted late because I hate grubbing in the garden when it's cold and wet, see previous paragraph), initially breathed a sigh of relief, then wilted a little with the sudden rush of heat! I planted beans on April Fool's day (photo above right), and am so glad I took photos, because the subsequent rains washed out all my handwritten tags (I thought Sharpies were waterproof!) that tell me which variety I planted where. Two months later, the poles are filled with vines (left).

I didn't plant as much as I have in the past, but I have been busy otherwise in the garden, hacking at weeds in the middle yard between the main house and the original house (which is now a giant storage shed), breaking up the hard clay, and laying bricks for a seating area and a little strip of soil (behind the grill) for plants next to the fence. I'm thinking herbs in front with Solanum Jasminoides climbing the fence behind. The seating area will be tested tomorrow (today? Sunday) afternoon, when I have my first guests since I returned home from France almost a year ago. It still needs a lot of work, but I'm making progress, little by little.

Where Life is Led

2010-06-04T20:47:00.000-07:00

Another Jam at Eve's, May 2010
One of my online contacts recently wrote a blog entry about love letters. Every line written to her had been in electronic format, and she longed for the shared tactility of a written letter. We have moved from valuing the tangible to preferring the convience of some vague series of electronic signals that don't use perceptible physical space. Cash may be king, but electronic transfers negate the need for a receipt, or direct human interaction.

Accidental Exposure, May 2010

As I read about "sweet notes crammed with inside jokes, long letters filled with promises of things to come and messages short on punctuation but long on thought" written to her at different stages, I was struck by the fact that I have no such collection, virtual or solid. No one has ever composed promise-filled sweet nothings just for me. It made me a little sad.

Deep Thought, March 2010

Much of that reality is due to my own choices. I am a workaholic, and when not working, I am a recluse. I socialize, but rarely go beyond the superficial. I fall for men who are, ultimately, unavailable to me. All this largely because as much as I want to be able to trust in someone else, fundamentally I believe that the only person I can truly rely on is myself. I've created a world that is less secure, and more lonely, than the one I had planned. But since it's the only world I know, I would be hard pressed to create a new one.

Maker Faire 2010

2010-05-24T22:19:00.000-07:00

If it weren't for a chance meeting with an old instructor, I'd say that the $25 entry for the Maker Faire may be better spent elsewhere if you're middle-aged and have neither children nor the patience to learn to knit, sew or do other crafty/hobby things. It IS interesting, even educational, but the price is steep, considering a fifth of our workforce isn't working.

Typewriter Person, May 2010

(this was underexposed, hence the graininess)

Maker Faire is amalgam of hands-on arts-and-crafts and do-it-yourself exhibits, tech demonstrations, tech art, and a carnival area organized by Make Magazine. I went to see the human-powered carvinal rides made by Cyclecide, which I enjoy because they are so unlike the passive experience of standard rides. They encourage, and in fact require, active participation, because they won't budge unless people actually exert energy to make them go! My personal favorite is the merry-go-round, because it involves kids screaming "pedal faster, dad!!!" at the guys in the center who look like they might keel over any second...

On to the chance meeting. I was walking down an aisle and saw a man at an exhibit with a name tag that said "Ron." I gaped at him, thinking "I know him!" Given my blatant stare, he easily caught me looking and asked if I wanted to play with the electronics he had on display. That's when I recognized the voice. "Aren't you Ron H***?!? I took your Conceptual Physics class at SFSU!" He looked a little frightened at that point, so I assured him I loved his class -- Ron gave fun demonstrations during lectures and handed out tickets for the Laserium at the Morrison Planetarium to students who did well, or who whined loudly, as I did.

Ron and Me, May 2010

Confession: I actually groused to his brother, who exercised at the gym where I worked nights after attending classes in the morning and track practice in the afternoon, because I was too chicken to complain in person. Ron has been associated with a science museum called The Exploratorium forever. The Explo is a definite must-see for Bay Area visitors and residents alike, as I believe it was the first of its kind.

Colorful Calliope Player

One last distant memory. Back in the day, Doggie Diner was the place to go late at night, not because the food was good, but because it was cheap and open late. The heads from the restaurant sign show up at these festivals, and yes, they were at the Maker Faire. Good times...

Peace and Quiet

2010-05-15T01:31:00.000-07:00

Madame A. Meilland a.k.a. Peace, Gloria Dei, and Gioia

was the first rose to bloom in my garden this year

About 20 years ago, I decided my grandparents' house needed roses. I plunked 6 rose bushes into the ground way at the back of the rear garden, and lovingly cared for them for a good five or ten years before I lost interest. Besides, they were well-established by then and needed relatively little care.

Last spring, I lost one (either Heaven or Fragrant Cloud, I always confuse them) to ground compaction, and then I lost Queen Elizabeth this winter, likely for the same reason. You can see her brown carcass in the left background of the photo, I left her there in case she magically springs back to life. I was devastated. Roses were the first plants that brought me out to the garden and sparked something of an interest in grubbing in the dirt! So now I'm giving love to the four I have left.

My roses usually start budding in late January or early February, but with the freakishly cold storms this year, they held off until March or April. Finally, two weeks ago, Mme Meilland busted open a bud! I ran out to take a photo before the rains came again. I'm so glad I took that shot, because it rained that night, and while the bud still bloomed last week, it looked a little water logged.

Madame Meilland was developed in France by Francis Meilland between 1935 to 1939, not a good time to be a new cultivar in France! Meilland was able to send cuttings to friends in Germany, Turkey, the United States and Italy just before the Germans invaded. Mme Meilland was released in the U.S. at the Pacific Rose Society's spring show under the trade name Peace on 29 April 1945, the day Berlin fell, by Conard-Pyle Co. And on 8 May the same year, each of the 49 delegates at the inaugural meeting of the United Nations in San Francisco received a Peace rose with the note:

“We hope the ‘Peace’ rose will influence men’s thoughts for everlasting world peace.”

Obviously, it hasn't had much influence on that front, but Madame A. Meilland is one of the most popular cultivars in home gardens, and one of my favorites, along with Taboo, which is still alive and well in my garden (yay!) and Queen Elizabeth (heavy sigh). Given the record number of natural, and not-so-natural disasters recently, let's hope that this late spring brings us all a little Peace and respite.

The Great Sofa Experiment 2010

2010-05-02T20:04:00.000-07:00

People have been complaining about my father's sofa for years. When you sit, you sink almost to the floor and good luck standing back up! It never bothered him until he had problems getting up from a nap one day, so he wandered aimlessly in a store for a few minutes and left because no one came to help him. I told him I could probably reupholster it, but no guarantees. He gave the go-ahead and I stripped that puppy down. Here it is mid-strip.

I began the re-covering process from the ground up, reinforcing the springs from underneath with webbing, and re-tying them. This was the easy part for me, because nothing on the inside has to look pretty.

Here it is reinforced and ready to be padded and covered. So far, so good, but from this point, I was regretting not taking better notes when I took that upholstery class.

I blind-stitched the front on first. Except I couldn't remember EXACTLY how to blind stitch, so it was more like visible stitching. Luckily, that portion is covered by the cushions! Then I did the inside of the arms and inside of the back. You can't exactly tell from this photo, but the back is lumpy. Oops.

I put on the front of the arms next, then when I tried to do the outside of the arms, discovered about 3/4 of the way through the process why there is a specific order to do these things in. Off came the outside and fronts of the arms. And back on they went, outsides first, then the fronts. After that, finishing the back was easy.

But I still had to make the cushion cases. I started one evening, measuring and cutting the pieces, starting to sew that night, but the thread kept breaking. I cleaned and oiled the sewing machine, checked the needle, put the piece in, and was halfway down the seam before I realized the thread had broken again! Frustrated, I completely changed the thread ... and was fine. The other thread was too old. I finished the case, measured it, and realized I'd allowed too much for the seams (which is better than not leaving enough, but still a pain). I had to rip it apart, cut it down and start over. Somewhere around 5:00am, I headed to bed. I followed that same process for the other two, but finally finished. I stuffed the cushions, stuck them on the sofa ... and somehow they were still too large! There was no way I was going to do them over AGAIN, so it will stay this way...

Well, that was March and April for me. How was yours?

It's National Poetry Month!

2010-04-21T15:19:00.000-07:00

Statue on the Moselle

Metz 2009

Alas, I'm no poet, and have nothing of my own to offer, so I must steal from someone else. It is spring, at least according to the calendar -- I jinxed myself with that last post and the creeping cold, driving rain, and wild winds have returned -- and thoughts turn to what else other than love? Who could be better than a Latin lover? And which Latin lover could be better than Pablo Neruda during the Matilde era?

Neruda's third and final wife, Matilde Urrutia, was his muse for his 100 Sonnets, and also the love poems in Captain's Verses, and Bacarole. When I read his sonnets for her, I can almost imagine that I am a woman who inspires and fosters greatness in the man she loves, that I am someone in whom someone else sees something so special that he is motivated just by her essence. In real life, though, I'm not muse material. I'm far too much of a cynic to inspire anyone to anything even resembling greatness!

Sonnet XVII from 100 Love Sonnets

I do not love you as if you were a salt rose, or topaz
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
So I love you because I know no other way than this:

where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

My comprehension of the Spanish language is horrible, but if you read his original writing out loud, the words flow more lyrically than the English translation...

No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio
o flecha de claveles que propagan eñ fuego:
te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.

Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva
dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores,
y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo
el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra.

Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde,
te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo:
así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera,

Sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres,
tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía,
tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueño.

Spring May Have Sprung!

2010-04-19T04:26:00.000-07:00

I am cautiously happy to say that the weather seems to be turning warm and sunny and I can finally work in my garden. Cautious because we've had several false starts this year. Below is my "before" photo. Yes, it looks like this every spring -- my compost pile is 6 x 10 x 4 feet. Every year. It will be bigger this year, because I haven't been as good about tending the garden in the last two years with all the country hopping and haven't grown vegetables in 4 years.

One afternoon in mid-March, I cleared about 500 square feet of weeds for vegetables with the help of a rake, a mattock and a quart of lemonade my housemate made from the meyer lemons in the front garden. I also started seeds for tomatoes, basil and cucumbers. That night, the cold and rain returned with a vengeance and continued for the rest of the month, with a day or so let-up here and there. In the meantime, the cherry and paste tomato seeds sprouted unwillingly, angry that I'd forced them out into the cold. The Siberian tomatoes, which are supposed to do well in cooler climes never bothered to sprout at all! The cucumbers were decimated by snails the minute they sprouted. And apparently, the basil pot had coriander seeds in it!

See the seedlings above? This photo was taken 13 days ago. They still look like this, except there are fewer of them, because they hate me for drenching them in torrential rain and freezing them in polar winds. Luckily, I bought seedlings ready to plant from the nursery as insurance and plunked them into the ground, along with various bean, chile and corn seeds, on the first of April, one of the nice days. Below is Piglet standing next to the little chicken wire fence we put up to keep her and other miscellaneous critters from trampling and digging. In the foreground are beets and garlic my housemate planted last fall, and swiss chard that has volunteered itself for the last 15 years. I only bought swiss chard seeds once, but it's reseeded itself every year since then.

We have had four straight days of clear, warm weather and among the new weeds that sprouted during the last rain onslaught, I saw little bean sprouts! I am so glad that bean seeds are fairly hardy. These pole beans are an Italian variety that have a red pod when they go to seed. The bush beans have sprouted, but don't look quite as vigorous. No sign of the corn or chile, I think they might require another insurance run to the nursery for seedlings.

It feels good to be grubbing around the garden again. I seem to feel more "connected" with the food I eat when I've had a hand in being responsible for at least part of it. And I have to say although I enjoy the sorbet I made from strawberries I got from the farmer's market (red), I prefer the one I made from my oranges and meyer lemons (yellow).

Speaking of having a hand in growing food, my housemate is talking about chickens for fresh eggs. He got the idea because the neighbors have hens. I think that's too much like work! Has anyone here raised chickens?

A Bittersweet Time of the Year

2010-04-04T05:37:00.000-07:00

Rue Lafayette, Metz, France

April 2009

Last year during Easter weekend, I was discovering the hard way that in France, retailers actually close during holidays, rather than having huge sales, which can be a problem when you have just arrived from another country to attempt to live there. You can read about this adventure in the first entries in my Metz Memories blog.

In retrospect, I doomed myself to failure before I left home. I had no job offer, no real strategy for job hunting or even an idea of how to go about job hunting in France, and I was going to a relatively small city (with relatively few jobs). But I was in love and sure I could make things work by sheer will.

Four months later, I headed back home to California with my tail between my legs. No job. No prospects. And still in love, but not so sure about the relationship.

For those of you who have known Lobo online, you know that he can speak intelligently about socio-political issues, modern art, and jazz and can be funny, flirty and clever. He is not good at talking about his feelings, however, and I am not good at figuring out non-verbal cues. I was not in Metz long when I began to feel that everything had come from my own enthusiasm and I had projected my feelings onto Lobo just because I'd wanted it to be that way. Although he finally told me what I had so desperately needed to hear from him, the timing was such that I wasn't sure whether he was telling me how he actually felt or saying what I wanted to hear so I wouldn't feel a complete fool.

So here I am one year after the biggest risk I have ever taken in my life. In a direct sense, I lost big in that I failed in reaching my two main goals of that journey -- some kind of meaningful work and a solid relationship with someone I care about -- and my self-esteem took a beating.

But indirectly, I made unforeseen gains. I discovered I can actually start fresh in a new place without knowing anyone, and that I am capable of meeting new people and making new friends. I did not stretch those bounds when I lived in Bristol, because I was so focused on work -- I regret not getting out more and being more people-oriented in England. Okay, I also did one of the stupidest things I've ever done in my life and got into a car with a complete stranger who I suspect was cruising for prostitutes and let him buy me dinner.

I am feeling a bit nostalgic tonight (actually, this morning, as it is 5:00 am, but I haven't slept yet, so to me it's still night) about this whole adventure. A little sad, because of the lack of success in my mission and also going back to France to live is out of the realm of possibility for me right now, and I really do like it there. But I also feel fortunate in that I did grow from the experience, I have good friends and a loving family who have been there to support me, and I also made some good friends during my journey -- I love all of you. And I still love you, Lobo. I always will.

Waiting for Spring to Arrive in Full Force

2010-04-01T02:22:00.000-07:00

Usually by now, the rainy season is over and the temperatures have begun to rise, but this year, the skies have remained grey and the rain (here, and snow in the mountains) continues to fall. I can't complain too much, since California is in perpetual drought. A certain resident of Germany also reminded me that it never gets truly cold where I am, although I challenge him to come to San Francisco on a foggy night. The air temperature is not as cold as Germany in winter, but the moisture in the air drives the chill into your body

All this said, we have had a few beautiful days so far, and being unemployed, I was able to be outside to take a few photos, when I haven't been toiling in the vegetable garden, in the house with spring cleaning, or at my father's reupholstering his sofa. Since I've been completely uninspired with regard to blogging, I thought I'd share a few of these photos.

Ranunculus in a border in front of a house along Palm Avenue.

This street has a lot of arts & crafts style homes, mostly California bungalows and Mission Revival.

A good example of one of the Bungalows on Palm Avenue.

It seems like any remodeling done has stayed pretty true to form.
Craftsman Perspective has information on the Arts & Crafts Movement
About.Com has some examples of common Arts & Crafts styles

Landscaping at the local public golf course.

Left, a pond facing a fairway.

Right, a nandina plant outside the restaurant.

I hope to have photos of my gardens and my father's sofa project up soon. Maybe I will feel inspired to write something in connection with those photos...

All I Got Was A Rock

2010-03-10T20:12:00.000-08:00

I turned 43 last month, a fact that is completely irrelevant to this post other than the company I kept on the day the meter flipped. I stopped celebrating birthdays years ago, when they began to be more of a source of stress than of joy, and this year would continue that trend. I planned to walk on the beach, contemplating life, the world, and other oddball thoughts that popped into my brain.

And then, one of my friends stopped by with a gift. I should mention that we're friends because he's been a good friend to me. I'm a lousy friend: I don't call; I don't write; I forget birthdays and anniversaries; I'm a hermit. He's one of the few who has stuck around in spite of my flakiness. I don't say this enough to those few, but I love them and appreciate all the little things they do for me even though I'm too much of a dolt to always acknowledge it. Okay, time to get off this tangent! My friend had the day off work, so he joined me on my little beach excursion.

As we sauntered along the sandy shore, we came upon cement piers rising out of the sand. 25 years ago, these columns penetrated what had been solid ground at the time. Now, the pounding surf along the California coast has eroded away that soil, leaving only the columns and what's left of the building on top of them teetering on the edge of the jagged cliffs that are still disintegrating into the Pacific.

My friend with his (son's) hunk of clay

February 2010

My friend walked up to touch the crumbling ground under the columns, and a fairly large chunk of clay came off in his hands. He left it on the beach as we continued on our way out, but on the way back, he picked it up again, thinking it would be a fun toy for his youngest child, who was learning about soil and rocks in school. It was a bit on the heavy side, slightly awkward to hold, and a bit messy, but he carried it along the beach, and managed to keep hold of it as we scrambled back up the cliffs to the car. The next week, he reported that his son had a ball turning that lump of clay into dust and mud. An act of love from father to son.

It was a touching experience for me. And it evoked a memory from my childhood about another rock.

I was with my parents on a fishing trip to the Smith River in Oregon. The walk from our campsite to the river was fairly long, over rocky, unstable terrain. On that particular day, I was with my mother. As we walked to the river, she spotted a rock with a slightly different texture than the others. At 9 inches long, 6 inches wide and 15 pounds, it was not exactly a light load for a 5'3" woman carrying fishing tackle. But mom fell in love with that hunk of granite, so she picked it up and lugged it with her to every fishing spot that day.

While navigating over the rock field back to the campsite at the end of the day, mom's strength finally gave out. The rock was heavy. And with all her fishing tackle, it was also awkward to keep hold of. And now, I have to admit I'm an even worse daughter than I am a friend. I wasn't much help. Okay, I wasn't any help. In fact, at that point, I was probably whining about being tired and hungry and wasn't about to help carry either her gear or the rock. Yes, I was the dreaded spoiled brat, and to this day my only regrets in life have revolved around not being the daughter I should have been. Reluctantly, mom set her rock down, hoping she might remember where it was, but doubtful she'd be able to find that particular rock again in the vast open sea of rocks. She was disappointed, to say the least.

Piglet and my mom's rock
March 2010

We returned to the campsite sans rock, and mom started dinner, still a little sad about her rock. Half an hour later, dad returned from his own day of fishing.

"Hey, look at this rock I found!"

There in his arms, was mom's rock.

Who can say whether he happened to pick up the same rock purely by chance, or if there had been some sort of "psychic" connection between my parents. But I do know that the chances of two people walking the same route over a large stone field, and picking out the same rock in a sea of rocks are pretty slim. 30 years later, in my not-completely-objective memory, I'd like to believe my parents did have some sort of spiritual connection and his choice of bringing that stone back was an act of love from husband to wife. In my delusional memory, I'd like to believe my dad's act absolved me of my brattiness that day, but that's probably stretching it!

Transitional Season

2010-02-23T04:59:00.000-08:00

The San Francisco Bay Area is in the midst of deciding whether spring should arrive or not. Bone chilling storms during which I huddle by the fire cursing my leaky windows have been alternating with seductively mild days that entice me to leave my house without a jacket.

Last Monday was one of the pleasant days and by luck, a holiday here. I hiked Mount Tamalpais wearing just a t-shirt over my hiking pants. It is still early enough in the season to see waterfalls throughout the state's green spaces and the day was beautiful. See the blue sky in the photo at left?

On Saturday I hiked at Castle Rock and the weather had turned again. Drizzly, cold, low visibility. I was chilled to the bone and wet to boot! But I have to admit the mist does look quite dramatic.

After Castle Rock, we headed out to the coast to try to catch a glimpse of an elephant seal at Año Nuevo and almost ran into one sleeping on the beach (left). I didn't notice the scratches on her back until I looked at the photos. I hope she wasn't hurt! Elephant seals may seem awkward, but they are fast and can be aggressive. I admit I was too chicken to walk around to take a photo of her from the front. Now that we got to see one seal, though, we hope to return to the preserve in the next few weeks before they return to sea.

And I hope to see the signs of spring popping out at me more frequently in the coming weeks. I plan to take a little stroll to the nursery around the corner to ogle vegetable seeds and seedlings. I cooked beets and chard and had radishes from the garden yesterday and I'm inspired to be more attentive to the garden this year.

February

2010-02-18T02:41:00.000-08:00

My mom's tree, San Mateo, CA

4 Feb 2010

Two weeks ago, Piglet and I visited the flowering cherry my family planted at the local park in memory of my mother. It was a chilly day (for the Bay Area) and overcast, but the tree was just pushing out its first buds of the season (top photo). On Monday, I went hiking on Mount Tamalpais in Marin with a few friends. It is an ideal time of the year to see waterfalls along the trails, and we were also lucky enough to see the first flowers of spring in bloom, white lilies (bottom photo).

During a particularly bleak year, when the humbling and numbing experience of searching for work in a market where there is seemingly none leaves in its wake the hopeless feeling of being unproductive, unneeded, even unwanted, the first signs of renewal are especially comforting. Perhaps there is some glimmer of hope for the future.

During my search for employment or some untapped niche to fill, I am also taking time to pay attention to my long-neglected household duties (repairs I can't really afford now that I'm not working, grossly overgrown garden), and contemplating finding some good cause to support. I'd thought about going to battle with the health care industry and Congress over the insurance industry's death grip on what is a failing system, at least from the consumer point of view, but that is a war I can't win and could possibly work against me in ways I can't even imagine at this point. If anyone has a good idea, let me know...

The first lilies of the year on Mt Tamalpais

15 Feb 2010

"Malou" by Zaz Chalumeau

2010-02-06T01:39:00.000-08:00

I met Zaz, a writer from Lorraine, at the writing salon l'Eté du Livre in Metz last June, when I bought her book "Mémoires d'un Labrador". I'm still reading this story (yes, I read slowly ... and extremely slowly in French), and I find it to be a heartwarming story from the point of view of a dog.

Zaz has just released her latest novel, Malou, the self-published sequel to La Lavandière d'Igney. The saga follows a family over the course of a century, and I believe Malou is the second of four volumes. If you're a Francophone, feel free to order her books directly from her. Zaz's blog can be found at http://zazecritoire.unblog.fr/.

To Reach the Impossible...

2010-01-17T22:56:00.000-08:00

San Francisco - Oakland Bay Bridge

From my Phonecam, January 2010

... is impossible. And yet that which I always want most is that which will always be far beyond my grasp. I would like to think that I use those wants to strive to do more and better things and that I take time to appreciate and enjoy each small progress. But I fear it is more a manifestation of some deep self loathing. Rather than striving for the achievable, I choose the unattainable, providing fodder for the argument of why I am a failure. That end goal will always be there to taunt me with what can never be.

Due in part to the faltering economy and in part to bad decisions stemming from poor judgement and unreasonable goals, I am in a bit of a downward spiral at the moment. I have been running away from my problems by spending more time online, but it is time to start turning things around by doing what I always do in times of crisis: taking a step away from everyone and everything and into myself -- my violin, my guitar, my housemate's drums, my brain -- so I can regroup, assess my situation and dig myself out. I am not sure what I will find on the other side, but I know that I need to get through on my own. The difference this time is that I wish I did have someone to lean on. I hope that during my search within myself I do not lose what means the most to me.

More Dreams

2010-01-11T21:38:00.000-08:00

Ocean Beach, San Francisco, CA

November 2009

Two and a half years ago, I could only remember two dreams I'd had in my lifetime. Now, I have two more to add to the list. Considering my past blissful ignorance of my dreams, to begin remembering them now is unsettling. Even more disturbing is that the last two dreams occurred within two months of each-other.

Other people seem to be able to remember a chain of events in their dreams, but all I have is a quick snapshot. In the first dream, I am on the beach with my friend, and we are running hand-in-hand away from something. In the second, the same friend and I are again on a beach, but this time, he is carrying me and I am crying, not because of him, but because of some other unexplained thing.

I could only conclude that since I have suddenly remembered two dreams that my subconscious wants me to deal with something pressing, so I summoned my google-fu (thanks, Martina, it's a good word!) and found dreammoods.com. Looking up the recalled elements of the dreams in the Dream Dictionary, I have come up with my own simplified amateur assessment of myself...

I'm avoiding a decision and I feel I am burdening someone, which has created negative emotions in me that I repress when I am awake. And I am anxious about losing touch with my friend who possesses some quality that I covet, maybe because it will be key to overcoming my indecision.

... my dreams have pretty much stated the obvious, since I have been avoiding job hunting and therefore made myself a burden on my father, who should be enjoying his retirement instead of worrying over whether his kid is going to make it through life okay. All I can say about this is that it was a good way to waste a few hours of looking for work!

Once in a Blue Moon

2010-01-01T22:31:00.000-08:00

New Year's Eve Blue Moon

31 December 2009

2009 ended in the Bay Area with a blue moon obscured by clouds. After sitting in the cold for a half hour waiting for a chance to capture the moon in all its glory, I gave up, shot what you see here, went inside to warm up, and rang in the new year quietly with traditional noodles, the dog, the cats, Iron Man, and my phone vibrating with a happy new year email from my friend.

My first thoughts of the new year were relatively frivolous. I contemplated the advantage of being compared with Pepper Potts, rather than the Eve Teschmacher (from Superman) moniker bestowed on me by my boss (he gets to be called Doctor Evil). First, I love alliteration! Second, as a villain, Teschmacher is restricted to life underground, while Potts enjoys a relatively normal life. And of course, given that I am the most poorly paid person in comparison to others who do what I do (in his defense, he gave me a chance to manipulate numbers because he could see I was good with them when no one else would hire me because I had no finance/accounting background other than a few classes), I am envious that Tony pays Pepper well enough that she can afford to drive one of those sexy little Audi TT roadsters and well, I really love sexy little roadsters, although I'm more of a Porsche fan. Yes, my midlife crisis is still in full swing.

Another Year Flies By

2009-12-22T16:27:00.000-08:00

Burlingame, CA
August 2008

Last August, I stared out my office window across the San Francisco bay and saw infinity, a future full of endless possibilities. What I wanted was attainable, or so I thought.

This year, the office belongs to a different company, the future is hazy at best. And what I want ... well ... what do I want? Whatever it is, it lurks, just beyond sight, beyond my grasp.

Somewhere in the past year or two, I forgot more than once that what I desire is not as important as the path I take. As I finish out this year, two things weigh on my mind: whether I made the right decisions; and whether I will be able to find my way again, or if it will just become easier to compromise.

In this final week of 2009, I want to take the opportunity to wish all my friends and family a happy, healthy 2010.

It never rains in Southern California

2009-12-14T03:06:00.000-08:00

A Mother's Hands

Long Beach, December 2009

Or so they say. But the dark grey sky over Long Beach turned into a giant, cold, shower stall Saturday morning, as I arrived at my destination. Walking into the building, I saw people filing into a room at the end of the hall. I signed the guest book, turned to follow the others. She was at the door, hugging everyone as they entered. And then it was my turn.

"I'm glad you made it."

"There is no way I would miss this. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Long Day for Grandma
Long Beach, December 2009

Similar stops with her husband, sister, mother, in-laws, before taking a seat. Her mother walked to the front, put a hand on the tiny creme-coloured box, not much larger than a shoe box, closed her eyes, and put her head down. They say there is nothing more difficult than having to bury your own child. In that moment, I could see that burying a grandchild is just as painful. This particular grandchild never had the opportunity to breathe even the smoggy Southern California air. And this particular grandmother came within a hair of losing one of her children at the same time. In delivering her stillborn child, an infection traveled up the umbilical cord, sending her into septic shock, and she battled for her life for almost a week before the doctors finally cleared her to return home, 40 years to the day that she had been born herself.

The moisture absorbed by our clothes and hair in the 30 seconds it took us to get from the building to the car was enough to fog up the windows, even with the defroster running full blast. Large drops continued to fall. At the cemetery, we ran for the shelter of the canopy set up for us, huddling with the others. The burial service began, and suddenly, the rain stopped. Above us, a small slit appeared between the clouds. A slender shaft of light reached down. As we said farewell to Genevieve, we all imagined that particular ray of sunshine had come for her, to carry her to her next destination.

A Hiatus

2009-12-08T16:54:00.000-08:00

I have just received some sad news and need to disappear for a bit. I will catch up with everyone when I return.

Je viens d'avoir des nouvelles tristes. Je visiterai tout le monde quand je reviens.

Bisous.

Scarred by a Yard of Chard

2009-12-01T22:58:00.000-08:00

Chard in the Yard

December 2009
Ten years ago, I scattered half a packet of Swiss Chard seeds in my vegetable garden. Long after the other fruits and vegetables had given up and died off, and I had tired of eating anything green or tending the garden, the chard was still growing. And then it bolted (sent out seed heads)!

Lazy gardener that I am, the stuff reseeded every year. This year, almost the entire 50 x 50 foot plot was choked with chard, hollyhocks, grasses and weeds. During spring and summer, my housemate chopped everything down. He cultivated a patch, built a fence around it, and planted beets, turnips and garlic (too late in the season for anything else). A few weeks later, he noticed some beets had sprouted in places he hadn't sown seeds. That's when he discovered that beet and chard seedlings look a lot alike.

I picked some today and sautéed them with onion, julienned ginger and red pepper, then added sesame seeds and a dash of maple syrup toward the end of cooking. Served with udon noodles with butter and curry, it made a simple, light dinner.

So ... what's on your dinner table?

Giving Thanks

2009-11-25T01:38:00.000-08:00

Montara, CA

February 2007

The path ahead is uncertain and unstable,

but I continue.

The situation I desire is improbable,

but I wait for it.

Through everything, only one person is there

to pick up the pieces when I fail.

I don't always agree with you.

And no one else can piss me off like you,

but you've always been there when I needed you.

Thanks, dad.

p.s.: I will deny this tomorrow.

Fiction as Reality

2009-11-16T04:21:00.000-08:00

«L'espace m'a happé dans ses contours sans fin.»
"Space has caught me in its endless contours."
- Mabrouck Rachedi -
Photo: Ryder Park, San Mateo, California, October 2009

I have been re-reading "A Writer's Reality," Mario Vargas Llosa's autobiography, mainly an essay on his thought processes during the writing of his novels. Llosa speaks of two types of fiction, ideological fiction, an inverse to objective reality, and literary fiction, the product of the writer. As I ponder the former, I think that perhaps fiction and reality can be the same, changeable depending upon perspective.

correction: objective reality and ideological fiction are not so much inverses as they are points of comparison. Ideological fiction is what one perceives as seen through one's own ideologies.

In some cases, fact and fiction seem pretty clear. Llosa marvels at how intellectuals (he limits his scope to those in Latin America) have contributed to intolerance as he describes the civil war of Canudos, where soldiers of the newly formed republic of Brasíl, achieved through a joint effort by the military and intellectuals, crushed a rebellion in Canudos, a village in a remote area of Bahía. The republic leaders assumed that exiled monarchists had conspired with the English to create the rebellion. So strong was this belief that reporter Euclides da Cunha confirmed this belief from the front lines. Da Cunha truly believed that he saw blonde haired English officers among the rebels.

After every rebel had been slaughtered and every building in Canudos razed by the Brazilian army, it was discovered that, in fact, the rebels were entirely made up of a rag-tag band of illiterate peasants, stirred up into a frenzy by fanatical catholic priests to drive out those foreign invaders who must have come from the Devil himself. The priests were anti-republic, but the peasants themselves had no knowledge of it. Both sides had allowed their beliefs to filter what they saw. So the members of the republic saw a conspiracy cooked up by the English and the old regime, and the peasants saw evil. Da Cunha's book, "Os Sertões", is a "personal and national self-criticism" of this event.

I-beam, San Mateo, California, October 2009

But most situations are not so cut and dry, and the lines between fiction and reality are often blurry. Proponents of different socio-economic systems claim their own system is the ideal and that others are flawed and/or evil. They are all correct ... and they are all wrong. All systems have strengths and weaknesses and the right fit for one group of people may not be the best for another. Two fighting people each believe the other is the instigator. Again, the way in which events unfolded can make both correct. There seems no clear distinction between an idealized fiction and the truth with situations such as these, because either argument could be valid.

How do you feel? Is the difference between fantasy and reality black and white, or are there shades of grey?

Spare a Penny for the Guy?

2009-11-06T01:40:00.000-08:00

Guy waits for the inevitable.

I read an article yesterday mentioning that Guy Fawkes celebrations in Britain are down, mainly due to a shift in focus to Halloween...

http://www.reuters.com/article/lifestyleMolt/idUSTRE5A43XE20091105

I felt for the Gunpowder Plot conspirator, whose life ended with several days of torture, hanging, and being cut up into pieces. Or at least for the 400+ year old tradition (longer if you consider the practice is based on even older autumn bonfire traditions) of burning his effigy and setting off fireworks every 5th of November. So when I woke up today, I decided to keep the tradition alive here in California, where it actually isn't a tradition!

Alas, there are ordinances in my city against open fires and fireworks, so Guy would burn in my fireplace. I raided my woodpile and grabbed dead leaves from my neighbor's dracaena to bind twig arms and legs onto a log body. I stuck a printed picture of Guy's face onto the body, which I doused in charcoal lighting fluid for good measure. The result (above) looks more like the Burning Man than any effigy of Guy Fawkes I've seen, but my building skills have never been good and I had work to do, so that was as good as it would get. A bit embarrassed at my handiwork, Guy went straight into the fireplace, rather than being paraded down the street.

This Guy's on Fire!

Later in the evening, I set a match to the kindling underneath, and WHOOSH, the whole pile burst into flames and shot up Guy's body, as the lighter fluid in it combusted! I grabbed my camera and tried to snap a photo while he still had a face, but it was too late. His face was vaporized, his body completely engulfed (right).

Who knew the lighter fluid would catch so quickly? It's been sitting in my yard for years, is missing its stopper, and has been rained on.

This burning of the Guy is in honor of Lobo, who is English, but never partook in these juvenile pursuits when he was a pup.

Halloween 2009

2009-11-02T03:20:00.000-08:00

Back in the day, children dressed up in costumes and knocked on doors begging for candy. Now what do they do? Two years in a row, not a single trick or treater! I had no definite plans myself, so no costume, but I went to a rent party for my housemate's friend, who was evicted recently.

Banjo player. An accordion player also played on this stage.

I can't remember the name of this band, but I like them

because the drummer reminds me of a good friend.

My friend has no tramp stamps and is a better drummer, though.

Projection screen, people,

and the Extra Action Band

The candy lady takes a break.

Eric Besson in the News

2009-10-31T05:03:00.000-07:00

Versailles, July 2009

For once, it isn't the US taking heat for its immigration practices. French Immigration Minister, Eric Besson, is making waves. Mr. Besson argues for enforcing French identity and history on immigrants, which to him, according to the news reports, seems to mean Christianity, the French language, and the lack of burkas. The issues of diversity and freedom versus homogeneity and integration are, indeed, a hotbed of debate in many countries, as we hammer out what it means to be a nation, and what individual expression and cultural identity are, in a transnational world.

Defining ourselves, individually and collectively, is perhaps not so simple. Taking a long-term, objective look at humans, we see that as a species, we are not quite as heterogeneous as we would think and that as "nations," we are not quite as unique as we would like to believe! We all share the same gene sequences which make us Homo sapiens sapiens, yet those sequences that make up individual traits have done a heck of a lot of traveling through the millenia.

Human history consists of groups branching out all over the globe, with some populations invading other populations to control their resources. Gene pools were separated enough for characteristics to differentiate between regions, but also intermixed enough to keep gene pools fresh. In Europe, there are quite a few shared lineages -- the Romans were everywhere! And the reach of the Normans and the Moors was nothing to sneeze at, either.

In any given region, people develop not just genetic traits, but also cultural ones. As "outsiders" migrated in and out and administrative rule changed hands, some customs were lost in the shuffle, while new ones were created. But many have persisted for generations and evolved with the influx of new ideas, regardless of who was in charge and what those rulers chose to call their territory. Even in a country as young as the US, we have developed regional customs and traditions, separate from those of the nation as a whole.

My First Quiche, June 2009

Within the current borders of France, where Besson is attempting to define a singular identity, there are still localized languages, customs and cuisines (granted, most of those languages are dying quickly) that existed before France was France, or before those regions were part of France. Take quiche. We think of it as French, but some have argued that it is German: Lorraine (née Lotharingia) was a part of Germany, or what we now consider Germany, when it was developed; and the word quiche has a Germanic (as opposed to Latin) derivation -- from Küche, a diminutive of Kuchen (cake). And populations in the Alps, Pyrenees and along the Mediterranean share more cultural heritage with others in their respective areas that happen to be across modern day borders than they do with current countrymen from other départements.

It would be difficult to justify banning an article of clothing based on it not being a part of a culture without likewise banning others. If France bans burkas based on that reasoning, they'd also have to ban caftans, kimonos, kilts, hula skirts, cowboy hats, Bermuda shorts... Granted, kimonos wouldn't be a problem, since Japanese women have replaced them with Chanel and Vuitton.

Speaking of kimonos, 50 years after women in my family burned theirs attempting to fit in and be more American, the soon-to-be stepmother of the man I was dating shelled out a fortune for a Japanese wedding kimono to wear at her own wedding because it was unique and exotic for her, a fashion statement. I wonder if women will be doing the same with burkas 50 years from now.

Kidding aside, how far should a government go in suppressing personal choices and compelling uniformity, particularly one that spans so many subcultures? I think we all agree that actions that adversely affect others, such as stealing or physically harming someone, should be controlled, although there is often disagreement with regard to the how, but beyond that, I'm interested in knowing what you think...

Au Marché

2009-10-25T04:07:00.000-07:00

Ah, nuts!
Francesca's Organic/Bio Nuts

Now that I'm home, I buy produce at the farmers' market on Saturday mornings (there are others on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, as well) something I rarely did in the past. I miss Metz much more than I missed Bristol, perhaps because I met more people in France than in England (go figure, my spoken French is horrible and English is my mother tongue). This ritual is similar to my Saturday mornings there, maybe that is why I have latched onto it.

The mushroom lady...
Sorry, I don't have a business name for her!

American farmers' markets are different than French braderies. They are almost exclusively produce, agricultural products, and food, while the marchés also have household and personal care items and clothing. I outfitted my apartment in Metz during one frantic morning at the marché. I had the bad sense to move into town on Easter weekend, and as I found out, unfortunately for me, Europeans actually take holidays off, they don't use them as opportunities to shop (or hold) holiday sales!

Free samples from Swank Farms,
Organic/Bio produce

Then there are the samples. Many vendors here set out sample plates. French vendors will give you a sample taste if you ask, but they don't generally set out a whole spread. I think there are actually people who come to the farmers' market with the intent of making a meal of the freebies!

This week, I picked up some chanterelles to put in a crème sauce I saw on Les Cuisines de Garance, except I added a dash of the pasta water, which contained vegetable stock. Crème sauces tend to be a little heavy for my taste, and the stock lightened it up and added a subtle complexity without overpowering the mushrooms.

Bon weekend!

More Information: Pacific Coast Farmers' Market Association

Of Virtue and Vice

2009-10-12T23:42:00.000-07:00

Japanese Tea Garden
San Mateo, CA USA
20090702

No one is perfect. But people seem to be judged based on what seems to be one-sided recognition of either one's improprieties or virtues. As I scroll through the blogs and news stories in my feed reader, I see people either completely condemning others for their faults or idolizing them for their proprieties:

- the Dalai Lama associated with Nazis and is a potential despot and therefore lacks all credibility;

- the Dalai Lama brings messages of peace and hope and should be put on a pedestal as a perfect example of wisdom and compassion;

- Mother Theresa brought health care to thousands in need and should be put on a pedestal as an example of selflessness;

- Mother Theresa inflated her numbers to make herself look better and flew first class on interviews, so none of her achievements should count.

I like to think the truth lies somewhere between these extremes, that we all have our vices as well as our virtues and that too much or too little of either is not a good thing. I have found at least one person who agrees. In a recent blog entry, writer Isabel Chalumeau opines that rather than being completely blackballed for fleeing his statutory rape sentence or having his crime completely forgiven because of his cinematographic genius, Roman Polansky's work as a filmmaker should continue to be respected while he is still held responsible for his crime. Sounds reasonable to me, but it seems like most people seem to fall on the extremes with regard to their opinions of him.

In my current bathroom read, The Book of Vices: A Collection of Classic Immoral Tales, editor Robert Hutchinson argues that vice and virtue are both important, and that Aristotle had stressed the importance of moderation, not too much of one or the other. But in this day and age, we are pressured to at least seem perfect, and he points out that the world has only seemingly become too virtuous, when, in fact, we have become the opposite. Humans "have a singular talent for elevating their basest impulses into lofty virtues; and the most craven acts of self-interest are almost always cloaked in the silken robes of noble intentions." We do nice things not out of kindness, but because we are forced to do them. I would add that we also attempt to justify our misdeeds by turning them into acts of selflessness or by reasoning that we were forced into them by others.

The majority of us are spared the burden of having our whole being judged on the sum of our good deeds or our misdeeds, but many of us are. I wonder ... at what point do one's transgressions make one irredeemable, and at what point do one's good deeds make one untouchable? And why do so many in the spotlight seem to fall into both categories? Is it really all about sensationalism and ratings?

Passion

2009-10-07T00:25:00.000-07:00

This past spring, I bought a book from a young author while browsing through a book fair in Metz. At the time, he mentioned the possibility of attending a workshop in Iowa this summer. By chance, I asked him last week if he had attended the workshop. He told me that he had, indeed, made it to Iowa, was in fact, still there, and would be making a side trip to San Francisco the next day. He would have one day free, during which we planned to pass some time together.

Early (for me) last Friday morning, I hopped into my midlife crisis convertible and drove up to Union Square. I parked, walked down the street and saw the Saint Francis, and the Sir Francis Drake hotels ... and realized that all I remembered about his hotel was that "Francis" was one of the words in it! I sort of recalled when I first found out where he was staying that I pictured a beefeater-style doorman, so I took a chance on Sir Francis. Luckily, my recollection was correct! A minute or two after I sat down in the lobby, Mabrouck walked out.

This spider was obviously on acid. Sutro Baths, San Francisco.

Mabrouck is fascinating. He gave up the (relative) security of a career in finance to pursue his passion as a writer. He didn't just continue his day job while he wrote in his spare time, he completely quit his job to write. He has since published one essay and two novels, one of which was in the works for filming when budget cuts in French public television ended production.

I'm in the process of reading his second novel, le Petit Malik. It is a funny story about a boy growing up in a banlieu, but there are also bittersweet elements to it. Mabrouck himself grew up in a banlieu (the French equivalent of an American inner city area, except they tend to be on the outskirts of the city -- the term can be confusing, because the literal translation is suburb), and when his first novel, le Poids d'une Âme (the Weight of a Soul) was published, he was asked if someone had ghost written the book for him. Ouch! I can say that in my communications with him that he is well-spoken, well-written and sharp as a tack. Plus, he not only understands, but puts up with, my horrible French.

Above: a long exposure on the dish of the Giant Camera Obscura, a giant pinhole camera.

The camera sports a rotating lens that gives a 360 degree view of the area.

The image is projected onto a concave dish.

I am always in awe of people who are so focused, so sure of what they want. My best friend in Metz was similarly captivated by his work. He had dropped out of University to work to support his family when his daughter was born and began working as a vendor, traveling to the braderies around northern France. I asked if he planned to return to the University. He said no, that he had found happiness in what he was doing. And there was a contentment in his stature, a certain indescribable fire in his eyes when he was spinning his pitch. On the Saturdays he worked the braderie in Metz, I would pass by just to watch him work. To watch someone with such ardor for what he or she does is intoxicating to the observer as well.

I do not recall ever being so enraptured by my work or hobbies. Most of my decisions have been logic-driven, rather than those of the heart. Perhaps that is one reason why I am so fascinated by people with such strong passion.

Above: sunset over the Pacific Ocean, Ocean Beach, San Francisco

EDIT: I spelled Mabrouck's last name wrong in my comment. It is Rachedi, not Rached.
His blog address ...
http://www.metrofrance.com/MTE_CP/blogs/nouvelleracaillefrancaise/

Ten Days

2009-10-01T22:05:00.000-07:00

Ten days of sponge baths, washing a sink full of dishes with a liter and a half of water (it can be done, if you do it in the right order), and carting drinking water in my miniscule Mazda MX-5 from my father's house, which I admit, is better than having to walk with buckets of water from the town well. I realize now just how much I have taken indoor plumbing for granted.

The plumber who said "no job is too small!" was supposed to drill a hole under the sidewalk for us so we could upgrade our water service to a larger diameter. He never showed up and never returned our calls. I'm writing a bad review for him on Yelp! I helped dig the trenches a little, but mostly I sat around whining pitifully while my housemate did everything.

Finally, yesterday afternoon, we held our breath as he turned the water back on, and ... no water spurted from anywhere it wasn't supposed to be spurting! He went through the house opening all the taps, and everything worked fine. After ten days of dreaming about being able to launder my clothes and take a luxurious, steamy shower, I was so relieved and happy that I took a two hour nap!

We are still waiting for the city's inspector to come out tomorrow and sign off, and there is a chance he will make us sink everything down deeper (we're short a few inches in spots), but the hard work is essentially done, and my housemate saved me a few thousand dollars by doing the entire job himself. I don't know what I would have done without him.

Photo: The labrador retriever in Piglet comes out when I turn on the hose. She loves to jump in the stream and stick her face in it!

Time

2009-09-29T22:59:00.000-07:00

"... the greatest gift someone can give me, is the gift of their time."

The above statement was made by Cassandra Ross, one of my social networking contacts. Its simple truth touched me deeply and stirred bittersweet emotions within me: melancholy and hope; turmoil and peace. Time is the most precious commodity in our lives, because once it has passed, we can never get it back. And so, the amount of time one invests in another is a clue to one's regard for the other.

How often do we give more time to someone than they are willing to give back?
How many minutes do we waste in dwelling on time lost?

Halcyon Days

2009-09-27T00:37:00.000-07:00

I remember when I could sit in the shade of my orange tree, engrossed in a book, sipping iced coffee and crunching on almonds, while the dog patrolled the yard and one of the cats curled beneath my legs, secure in the knowledge that if I happened to spill on myself, as is often the case, I could rinse my clothes in the sink and hop in the shower, and the incident would quickly be just a memory. My security was compromised in the wee hours last Sunday (see last week's post), when my water line burst. No running water for me for awhile!

While awaiting the return of my housemate, I showered at my father's house and toted jugs of water from his place to mine. My housemate finally arrived late Wednesday night and began digging Thursday in the hole I'd started, when he hit a huge mass of roots from the yew tree, which emitted a metal-sounding ping when he hit them. Those puppies were wrapped around the service line connecting the house to the water company's feed, and they were holding on for dear life so tightly, they broke through. A good two meters of the iron pipe were badly corroded.

He spent a day figuring out where everything runs. The feed originally went under the foundation, where it was embedded in a concrete slab under the house and virtually untraceable. Panic! And then, he found the feed was diverted to another, easily accessible point, probably due to a previous failure in the line that fed my back house (which was never restored). We will be replacing the entire line with copper pipe from the service point to the point where the line enters the house.

I helped dig the trench yesterday, a total of 8 meters in length, although we need to hire someone to drill out the last meter and a half under the sidewalk. That will happen Monday. In the meantime, the housemate will begin measuring, cutting and sweating pipe for the sections he can complete before then, and installing a pressure regulator.

I am still getting drinking water from dad, but the housemate rigged up a temporary spigot in the garden for everything else. At some point, I, the woman who, by choice, used to trudge into the middle of nowhere for days on end without a bath, whimpered about feeling like my house had become a third world country, because I had to bathe using a squeezable water bottle, which was very unsatisfying. And because I lost one kg for not eating because washing dishes is now an ordeal. I got no sympathy. Heavy sigh.

Hopefully, everything will be finished sometime Tuesday, and I will be able to return to my post under the tree, spilling on myself with abandon, and this whole plumbing issue will be a faint memory ... until I receive the bills!

Labor Day, 2009, a bit belated

2009-09-25T01:22:00.000-07:00

The US recognizes the worker on the first Monday of September. Many people take advantage of the long weekend by taking a short trip. Some recognize the winding down of the warm season by heading outdoors and barbecuing. And still others, in what could be considered an anti-labor gesture, shop the Labor Day sales (someone has to work those sales).

I went for option #2. My housemate and I drove up to Petaluma in my midlife crisis convertible to spend the day with friends and eat food cooked in the great outdoors. I brought corn, and my housemate baked the loaf of bread in the photo on the left. He attributes its odd shape to having to rise during the hour drive up to Petaluma.

I saw these fungi at right on a tree stump behind the grill. I briefly contemplated tossing them on the grill, but I know absolutely nothing about mycology, and for now at least, am happy to be alive and healthy.

As I reflect on the meaning of the day, I also ponder the future of the worker. The "stimulus" provided by the US government served to allow recipient companies the cash flow to be able to make massive layoffs in order to preserve the bottom line, which boosted the market a bit and allowed executives to receive bonuses. Those who have benefited from the "stimulus," the executives and investors, are the ones who least needed help.

No one sees any of that money trickling down to the (former) workers any time soon. The vast majority of people, even those with jobs, have had to curb their spending. It is seemingly a Catch-22. We stop spending because our dollars are devaluing rapidly, but the economy relies on spending. When revenues are down, companies look to cut their largest expense. And particularly when you take into account employer taxes, workers' comp insurance and benefits packages, that expense is Human Resources, so in a sense, we are cutting our own throats. As it turns out, the mass consumerism we all bemoan was keeping us afloat, in a sense.

It has been speculated that these spending habits may persist for a considerable amount of time, so I imagine that out of necessity, the economic model will have to change, as well. How, I don't know. Will the government ease regulations or their enforcement? Will boards of directors revisit executive compensation or even their own remuneration? Will the displaced workers form new types of businesses, or will they choose to revolt? I guess we will find out in the months to come.

Surprise!

2009-09-20T20:35:00.000-07:00

Sometime during the wee hours this morning, a sudden, muffled pop emitted from somewhere outside. My housemate's dog erupted into a barrage of barking and thunderous foot thumping, as she jumped off my bed where she'd been sound asleep a moment before, and raced through the house. I probably should have gotten up to investigate, but I figured if it were any type of animal intrusion (including human), she would have already scared it off. Anything else could wait until morning.
Sometime around 9:30, I rolled out of bed, shuffled through the house, picked up pet bowls, dumped them into the sink, and opened the tap to refill them. A thin line of clear liquid trickled out. I opened the tap more, but got nothing resembling more flow. The bowls filled painfully slowly. After I shut the tap, I heard the sound of water running through pipes somewhere. "Drip system must be on and sprung a leak."

I finished watering and feeding the housemate's and my fuzzy quadripeds, and shuffled out the front door to check the drip system. Two men walking by started waving and saying something in Spanish. I hadn't had coffee yet, so I could only look stupidly. My foot was suddenly cold and I realized they were trying to tell me my yard was flooded. Water was cascading down the planter box.
I turned off the drip system, but the river that was my planter continued to flow. I ran back into the house, tracking in mud, water, pine needles, filled both Brita (water filter) dispensers, threw on shorts and a shirt, grabbed the shutoff key to the water line, and ran back outside to shut down the water feed to my house.

The leak was somewhere behind a yew tree and next to a Meyer lemon bush next to the porch, the most difficult place to reach! The distance between the house (right) and yew (left) is about .75m. Out of the photo, about a meter beyond the lemon is another lemon. To get to the leak, I had to prune back the yew branches, then squeeze myself and my tools between the yew and lemons.

The water had been pooled between lemon and yew, so I began digging there, but when I turned the feed back on to retest, water was coming from the corner formed by the foundation and the porch. Even worse! My housemate is a welder, and is pretty sure he can fix it (he's in Sacramento with his girlfriend for the weekend), but I was seriously contemplating calling a plumber. Then I remembered I'd have to dump a few investments to pay a plumber and they charge extra for Sunday calls! I continued digging. I began a trench next to the porch (the red brick), but it was too narrow, and too cramped, and it could only be about a hand wide without interfering with the lemon's roots. The lemon had to go.

Seven hours later, I had:
1. Made it through the day on a double espresso, an iced coffee, an almond-rum croissant, some almonds and crackers with peanut butter, and a lot of water. I carefully avoided anything with too much fiber or lactose, so I wouldn't have to flush the toilet.
2. Dug up and re-potted the lemon. Sort of. I threw some soil around the roots, but not enough to cover them all, and I had no water for it. I'll probably lose it.
3. Tried to look in the crawlspace under the house to see if water had gotten there and if the pipe might be accessible from there, but the crawlspace entrance is on the opposite side of the house, and spider webs covered the portal. I decided to wait until my housemate gets home to do that.

4. Widened my trench, and dug about a meter down without seeing or feeling anything resembling a pipe.

I gave up for the day and headed to my father's house for a shower and to steal several containers of water from him. Well, I know what I'm doing tomorrow...

Pier 39

2009-09-16T02:02:00.000-07:00

My stroll with my niece along the Embarcadero to Fisherman's Wharf included Pier 39. The pier was converted into a shopping center in 1978.

This Coca Cola sign was not at the shopping center, but across the Embarcadero a few blocks up. It has been there for as long as I can remember, and has been weather beaten and rusty for a long time, as well. Maybe it was made to look like that! There are two stages for performers and musicians within the complex. Admission is usually free, although the performers do work for tips. One of the biggest attractions along the pier, though, was an accident!

In 1990, sea lions began camping out on the docks. Look at them, they're so cute and docile ... not! Boat owners could not get to their vessels -- the sea lions weighed down the floating docks and chased away anyone brave enough to walk out onto them! I remember the sea lions were originally considered a nuisance and plans were underway to chase them off. But then the boisterous pinnipeds began to attract crowds. And those crowds brought business to the restaurants and stores in the shopping center. So new docks were installed and the boats were relocated. The sea lions still attract a large crowd (caveat if you plan on visiting: the smell is quite strong), and they are the only performers that are completely free to see!

Fisherman's Wharf

2009-09-12T09:09:00.000-07:00

Although San Francisco's Fisherman's Wharf was built around commercial fishing, most people think of it in terms of the kitschy tourist attractions which exist today -- oddball museums, chain restaurants, souvenir shops, and street artists and performers, such as Michael Lee (right), who does impersonations. When Michael started talking to us, my niece kept walking, eyes focused straight ahead of her, trying to ignore him, but I made her stop and be social. Michael likes to drink coffee in North Beach on his days off, and has lived in Germany, where he has a son.

I actually buy dungeness crab live off the boats at Pillar Point Harbor in Half Moon Bay, but no wharf visit is complete without a stroll past the crab pots on Pier 47. Dungeness crab is slightly sweet, delicious eaten plain. I usually serve it in cioppino, an Italian-style fish stew, with sourdough bread. We saw these guys piled up after being boiled, waiting to be someone's dinner.

Small Kindnesses

2009-09-09T01:14:00.000-07:00

I have been fortunate to have two kindnesses bestowed on me in a short time frame, both of which came at low points for me.

Not all was perfect in Metz. My boyfriend and I didn't see each-other as often as we would have liked and the days we spent together were often cut short. Combine that with my inability to find work, and I had quite a few low days. One day, Mickaël brought me roses his aunt had picked. Both had gone out of their way (their days are mentally and physically demanding, and often long) to pick and bring the flowers. It was a beautiful gift, given with no expectation other than the wish to make me happy, plus, it was a low day, and it had been awhile since someone made an extra effort to make me feel special. I cried. I pressed two of them for easy transport home to California.

The rest of the flowers have been dried, and are currently in a town in the French Alps, near Geneva, with the bestower of the second kindness. Didier is one of my oldest friends. I have not seen him in over 20 years, but he is storing four boxes totaling four square meters and 20 kg of my junk for me (his mother has a large home). I was at another low, and feeling stressed about having to move back home and he swooped in, my knight in shining armour, to help an old friend in distress.

Right, one of my final views of Paris on this trip, from Gare de l'Est. Across the street at l'Ecu (on the right), my new favorite Parisian waiter, Chris, works breakfast. Okay, technically, he isn't Parisian, he's English. If Chris worked at l'Insulaire, my favorite restaurant (thanks to my sister for bringing me there), that would be the perfect combination for me.

Musée Mécanique

2009-09-03T00:56:00.000-07:00

When she was small, I used to take my niece to the Cliff House at the North end of Ocean Beach in San Francisco. We'd head downstairs to a dark room off the terrace and throw a quarter into the box in front of the 8 foot tall doll with red, curly hair. The giant's upper body would start moving, and hideous cackles and laughs issued from somewhere in her depths. My niece and every other kid under the age of seven within view would begin to cry! Laughing Sal had been terrifying children since her days across the street at the Playland amusement park, and when it closed, she found a home with Edward Zelinsky's collection of coin-operated mechanical creations.

We'd head across the terrace to the giant Camera Obscura after leaving the musée, and inside the giant pinhole camera, we'd watch the waves of ocean beach projected onto a white disc before going back out to explore the remains of the old Sutro Baths. If it was late enough in the day, we'd have a snack at the Cliff House and watch the sun set over the Pacific Ocean. Alas, that routine is now broken up

Several years ago, the Cliff House renovated and recreated itself as a stark art deco building, and the musée was kicked out of its home. It found a new space on Fisherman's Wharf, a better location for foot traffic. When my niece, who is now a married woman, and I went by recently, we were not as impressed. The space is brighter, cleaner and has higher ceilings. But without the dark, closed-in feel, it lost a little of its charm for me. Even Sal seems a bit less imposing! I still enjoy the machines, though, and more likely than not, I'll be back.

Sunset, San Francisco Bay, 28 August 2009

2009-08-30T02:22:00.000-07:00

As I finish dinner with my family at a restaurant along the Bay Trail in Burlingame, California, I watch the last rays of the day's light sinking into the horizon. When we walk outside, I pull my camera out and set it on a sign post for stability to catch those beams before they are completely absorbed by the earth. Evening flights are taking off and landing at San Francisco airport, just north of where I am standing and the lights in the distance are beginning to twinkle on. I snap a few, close my eyes and allow myself the luxury of imagining that he miraculously has been able to come here and enjoy this moment with me. I brush away the tears before turning around to head back toward my family.

My Apple!

2009-08-27T08:00:00.000-07:00

The apples from the tree my grandfather planted in his (now my) back garden were kind of a dull, mottled red. Not the prettiest of fruits. But wow, they were juicy, shot through with sugary veins, the flesh firm and crunchy. Perfect for eating right off the tree, and for baking, as well.

Several years ago, my father announced that the tree was diseased and had it cut down. On the bright side, it gave a little plum seedling that had appeared a few years earlier in its shadow the opportunity to grow. But there would be no more apples. Maybe it was dad's way of telling me he didn't want any more of my apple sauce!

The next year, another seedling appeared, almost in the grave of the original apple tree. With smooth bark, and large green leaves, it looked suspiciously like an apple tree, so I let it grow. This year, small, whitish-pinkish blossoms appeared, again, a lot like apple blossoms. And last week, a tiny little green nub appeared high on one of the top branches!

The little apple is already beginning to take shape and color and has grown considerably in one week. It is difficult to tell at this point, whether it sprouted from fruit that dropped from the original tree, or one that fell out of the compost pile, but I plan to cover it with netting before it ripens too much, so I can "test" it properly.

The Mess that is my Garden

2009-08-26T18:45:00.000-07:00

I mentioned mounting a 20 foot tall ladder to prune a bonsai on Martina's page, and failed to mention it was not the kind that is confined to a small container! This tree takes up half my front garden, is unfortunate enough to have to depend on me, and therefore has not been pruned for over three years! Originally, my grandfather shaped it into neat ovals, which are indistinguishable, now. Those branches shooting straight up? Not supposed to be there. Some are already over three centimeters in diameter, too large for my loppers. I have to use a hand saw to remove them.

For two days, I have been chipping away at the overgrowth with bypass hedge trimmers, loppers and the hand saw. The photo at left shows how far I got ... not very!

As I look at the photos, I want to try to preserve some of the randomness and airiness of the overgrown look. In a traditional garden, trees are shaped to represent the sky, and I want my clouds a bit less compact and controlled than my grandfather had them (sorry, grandpa!).

Summer Reading

2009-08-20T21:42:00.000-07:00

I was in the town of Nancy one Saturday, and happened upon a used bookstore. I love used books. The worn pages, the musty smell, sometimes with a note inside the front cover, sometimes something clever in a margin. And I love used bookstores, because the people working in them tend to be a tad more passionate about their merchandise than clerks in other retail establishments.

I walked in and headed straight for the sale bin. Smack dab in front was Patrick Süskind's Perfume! My boyfriend had mentioned it a long time ago, and it is also the favorite book of my best friend in Metz, so it had been on my shopping list. I snapped it up.

That night, I discovered it would be an almost impossible read for me. Much of the vocabulary was beyond my comprehension. I had to first read a sentence for gist, translate the words I didn't know, reread it, then read the whole paragraph again after following that sequence for every sentence ... and then re-translate some of the words I'd forgotten! After one hour, I had read and understood five paragraphs.

But what a sensual five paragraphs! Laden with nouns and adjectives, I could smell 18th century Paris from the safety of my 20th century Metz apartment! I was excited! And disappointed, as I knew I would have to read the English version to fully understand it.

As I prepared to move back to California, I discovered a new used bookstore had opened in my hometown a few doors down from what used to be my parent's pharmacy. My first week back, I walked into B Street Books. The man behind the counter asked if he could help me find anything.

"I'm looking for Patrick Süskind's Perfume."

And a voice behind one of the shelves said "It just so happens I have a copy of it in my hand!"

Well, that was easy! My French is better now, so I am reading a paragraph in French first, then reading the English version to see what I missed and using the French-English dictionary for the words I can't figure out. The going is still slow, but it is a little faster than before. I wonder what everyone else is reading this summer...

What would you do?

2009-07-20T01:55:00.000-07:00

I am supposed to be packing this week, but my last entry spawned so many interesting answers ... and new questions for me. Yes, I know the hypothetical is always much safer than reality, so they do not always line up, but today I ask you to sit in a quiet place and close your eyes...

Imagine yourself in the security of your own home, when the doorbell rings. A uniformed officer hands you a paper and tells you that you have ten days to put everything you want to take with you into two suitcases and report to a relocation center, where you will be processed, then taken to a holding center for an indefinite amount of time. When you ask what you have done, the reply is not anything you have done, but rather a characteristic such as your hair color, or perhaps your political affiliation. When you ask about your job, home and possessions, you are told that dealing with those is your own business.

Tell me what would go on in your head. What would your initial reaction be? What would you ultimately do? What range of feelings do you think you would experience?

Conversely, if you were not a member of this group that was to be taken away, what do you think would you do? If you were walking down the street and ran into someone you knew who was a member of this group, what would you do? What if it were someone you didn't know?

Here is my answer ...

I have always been a vocal defender of rights ... as long as they are not my own ... and I think that in a case like this, I would probably follow suit.

I am ashamed to admit that if the powers that be came for me, I believe my docile genes would win out over my rebellious upbringing. And though I think I would initially be indignant, and I believe every fiber of my being would be screaming "injustice!" I think ultimately, I would end up following the decree to the letter and going quietly.

Conversely, if I were not in the target group, I think I would be much more vocal about fighting such a decision... and I would like to think that nothing would change with my perception of or how I treated others in that group. For me, it has always been much easier to fight for what I believe in if I think I am defending someone else other than myself, even if, ultimately, their freedom is also mine.

Expressions

2009-07-19T10:30:00.000-07:00

From gang symbols and rebellious teenage statements, to doodles and elaborate artwork, graffiti is everywhere. Just as varied as the content, are the reactions to it ... blight on humanity, sign of declining neighborhoods, defacement of property, art, socio-political statement, any combination of those.

Police Everywhere Justice Nowhere is in a tunnel by Fort de Bellecroix. I thought it a fitting description of our post-9/11 world. Governments have taken our freedoms and privacy under the guise of security. But we are no safer than before, although considerably more impinged upon, inconveniences paid for by our taxes.

This green guy looks more innocuous than the statements above, and is one of a series painted on the flower boxes on a bridge over the Digue de la Pucelle here in Metz. They seem to be sanctioned by the city, since all the boxes seem to have been painted by the same person.

Not graffiti, but I saw this display in someone's yard as I was walking down the street. I find this still life of children's toys and garden gnomes odd, creepy and fascinating. Did an adult set these up, or did a child create his or her own little world?

I often wonder how others feel about expressions, sanctioned or taboo. In a recent blog entry, Zaz discusses her dilemma with Freedom of Expression. As a writer, self expression is important for her, but as a mother, she found it impossible to defend a rapper who had been banned from a music festival for lyrics that were racist, misogynistic, and violent.

On the other hand, another friend of mine, who is a father, told me he is against censure because it gives more power to the target group. To wit, I believe that the rapper in question had a surge in downloads of his work since that date.

I am not a parent. Nor does my livelihood depend on artistic expression. But I am a member of an ethnic group that has faced socio-political discrimination. I am inclined to agree that censure tends to grant power to the target, and often forces the movement underground, where it is more difficult to track. In this respect, I would much rather have someone's feelings out in the open.

I had a student who was a self-described racist, due to growing up in a small town with limited exposure to many ethnic groups, and prison time, where racist tendencies are reinforced due to the way inmates group themselves. After her release, she forced herself to deal with her issues, and did that very much out in the open. I spent many evenings after class discussing her progress with her. I appreciated her candor and efforts to overcome her issues. It was important that she express how she felt and why, no matter how ugly those feelings were, in order to work through them. Interestingly, I was disappointed by other peoples' reactions when I described her and her efforts. People I had thought were open-minded were quick to condemn her, completely overlooking her background and the fact that she was working hard to evolve her way of thinking. I did not see the same efforts from them.

I would love to hear how others feel about the freedom of expression, artistic, social, political or otherwise. My door is always open.

Tthis is my final weekend in Metz for most likely a long time. There are so many things I still want to see and experience here, but I am out of time on this run. And as luck would have it, I'm fighting off a cold and feeling a little run-down, so I stayed relatively close to the apartment and packed a few items this weekend, rather than go anywhere interesting.

Packing Up

2009-07-16T08:00:00.000-07:00

I'm in the midst of packing and figuring out what to do with what I've packed. The process is a bit more complicated than last year, since I actually had to buy housewares when I arrived. I have two weeks to move out of my apartment, and am not sure yet whether I will try to ship my things home, pay excess baggage to take them on the plane (possibly the cheapest solution, although a pain, since I plan to travel a bit before I leave and I'd have to tote them everywhere), or give them away to my neighbors or the next tenant of this apartment. I think I am probably agonizing over this more than I should, but I am a worrier by nature, so I guess I am just doing what comes naturally to me.

I did make time Tuesday night to join the festivities for the Féte Nationale/quatorze juillet (we call it Bastille Day in the US, probably to distinguish it from the national holidays of other countries). I took some photos of the fireworks (above) and carnival rides (left), and since I was out, took the opportunity to snap other sites around town I have been meaning to shooot at night, including Temple Neuf, which I had photographed during the day when I first arrived. I don't have a tripod, and was using a long exposure time, so it was difficult to get a good shot, but I actually like the way that shaky shot turned out!

On a bittersweet note, I found a store here that sells my favorite Single Malt, Benromach Peat Smoke. Back home, I have to drive ten miles to the Wine Globe to get it (I can also order it from the web, but I am an immediate want kind of shopper). Here, I take a 15 minute walk to the town center. I bought a bottle this week, and am debating cracking it open before I pack it up (I cannot polish off a bottle in two weeks). Too bad I have to leave...

... and something to look forward to when I get home: a used bookstore has opened in downtown San Mateo, which is walking distance from my house. Back before the chain bookstores, sometime in the 1980's, I spent countless happy hours perusing books and newspapers from around the world at the Central Park Bookstore/Café while I sipped my favorite drink at the time, a double mocha with soy milk (I'm asian -- if I use real milk, everyone is miserable). Unfortunately, the building owner refused to renew the lease when it came up, and there has not been a decent bookstore in the area since then, and it has been at least 15 years since it closed. It is not quite the same, as I believe the new store lacks the café and newspapers, and my drink has changed to a shot of espresso with a spoonful of honey (or maple syrup, if I'm home) and a little rice milk on the days my stomach acid is making me unhappy, but I am looking forward to the books! I hope they have a copy of Perfume, by Patrick Süskind. I have the French version, but the vocabulary is too advanced for me to read with any decent comprehension.

Bingo

2009-06-29T07:30:00.000-07:00

Every summer, every temple in my parent's sect (jodo shinshu, an offshoot of Pure Land Buddhism, I personally do not identify with a sect) has a fundraising bazaar, with the bazaars staggered throughout the summer so members can support each-other's churches. The main attractions of these fundraisers are the food which is lovingly prepared by church members, catching up with people you haven't seen since last summer... and, of course, Bingo, the fundraising staple of all religious groups in the US.

The bazaar for my parents' temple was this weekend, so I spent the last two evenings gorging on sushi, udon (noodles), yaki soba (more noodles), chicken teriyaki, imagawayaki (photo, front left) and kuri manju (photo, front right). The last two items on this list are forms of Wagashi, a lightly sweet confection traditionally served with green tea. Wikipedia has a description and photos of wagashi, and Benkyodo has photos of the varieties of manju that they sell, if you are interested in learning more about it.

Tonight I attended with my father, and we played Bingo for a solid hour and a half. It was cash bingo all night, with an occasional "second chance," where play continued after the cash winner banked out and the consolation prize was a bag of groceries. No cash for me (and anyway, it would have gone to my dad, since he actually paid for my games), but my father and I both won a bag of consolation groceries at the same time. Those are my groceries behind the plates. Sorry about the messy counter and the bowl of compost in the background -- sometimes I'm a little lazy! I can use the rice oil and shoyu (soy sauce), and the ramen noodles and instant miso soup will go into the pile with the Costco ramen from 6 months ago for those days I'm too lazy to cook. And the flavored seaweed in the red-topped containers is good for snacking. The individually wrapped marshmallows, however...

The last time I bought marshmallows was a little after my housemate moved in. In the backyard, he set up a woodstove he had made from leftover welding yard parts and I wanted to make s'mores with it. We sat in the dark yard sipping beer and toasting marshmallows on skewers, had two s'mores each, and got sick from the sugar. A few marshmallows were sacrificed to the fire, just to watch them puff up and burn. The rest of the bag sat in the cupboard until the contents fused together and we tossed them. Given the rate at which marshmallows are consumed here, I think it would take more than ten years to finish these off. The scary thing is that since they are individually wrapped, they would probably last that long! I am debating tossing them now, or a few years from now when I happen upon them again.

And again...

2009-05-23T09:50:00.000-07:00

... I am having internet problems! They are not as bad this time, as my USB modem works with my work computer. But last night, for whatever reason, it decided to stop working with my personal computer. The modem disconnected itself, just as I was responding to a message, and when I tried to reconnect, the terminal software crashed. I rebooted the computer, but the software keeps crashing. I even tried trashing the software and reinstalling to no avail. Maybe there's an obscure script somewhere I forgot to trash that is the cause. Arrgh!

If it weren't for the fact that I have 10 years of Quicken transactions and 15 years of Illustrator and Photoshop files on my Mac, I would likely have left my notebook at home and just brought my work computer here, but I still need it for those. I just upgraded the memory and hard drive in an attempt to make it last a few years longer, but I think I'll need to buy a new one once I have a stable income again. It might be having problems with the modem software because it is "technically" not compatible with it, even though it did work for awhile.

Just down the street from my apartment, the European Cup of Racewalking starts at 8:00 tomorrow morning, and goes until evening. I am debating whether I want to check it out. It is a major event, and will probably be good publicity for the town, and possibly generate revenues. Racewalking is also governed by the same bodies as Athletics (track & field), so if there is any chance that I will run into someone I know here, this will be it. I have been out of it so long, though, that there are not many involved in the sport who would remember me at all, and the chances any of them would be at this event would be pretty slim. I also have to admit that racewalking looks awkward to me. Maybe I'll just take a quick peek in the morning and then hunt for Fort Queuleu.

Whirlwind

2009-03-25T14:30:00.000-07:00

The first days of spring have been mild and bright, but with a biting chill that picks up in the evenings. I haven't actually been out much to experience either, but I hear that's what the weather's like here!

My sister sent my flight itinerary a few days ago, and I leave next Thursday for Miami, where I'll spend a few days with her and her husband, and the following Monday, I'm scheduled to fly into Charles de Gaulle. After that, I am not so certain! My inamorato was going to try to look at apartments for me this week, but if he can't do it, I guess that will be the first item on my agenda. And then? Last year's move was work-related. This year, the company I work for is operating on fumes, my current work for them uncompensated, and during a severe recession, I am intentionally heading to a country where work visas for foreigners are almost impossible to attain in good years. At least the food and wine are good where I'm going!

I've been packing, repacking, taking care of last-minute paperwork and backing up and transferring files, giving as much attention as I can to my little midget cat, and handling last-minute house issues. Big headache. I'm zapped and need a little "down" time, so here I am!

On a contact's page, I mentioned one of the Asian countries rewriting its constitution from scratch, and couldn't remember which one! Bhutan is/was converting from Monarchy to a two-party democracy, but I think they've already put it in place:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/4385649.stm

But perhaps I was thinking of Nepal...
http://southasiarev.wordpress.com/2009/02/28/maoists-prepare-draft-of-new-constitution-in-nepal/
http://www.upiasia.com/Human_Rights/2008/10/15/new_constitution_alone_cannot_reform_nepal/6636/

Urgh. My brain is fried already. Back to backing up!

Non Sequitur

2009-03-14T12:20:00.000-07:00

A comment on a contact's page triggered a strange memory from my childhood the other day. I don't remember the page, or the comment, but I remember thinking it was odd, because the comment had no relation to the memory! I had forgotten all about it, but now that I remember it, the details are vivid!

I was 6 or 7 years old, and at my friend, Donna's (not her real name) house, playing some childhood game of which I can't remember. It was nearing time for me to leave, and as I stood up, she pushed me back down, pinned me to the bed and told me she wasn't finished playing and that I couldn't go.

I blinked a few times, absorbing what she'd said, wondering how in the world she'd think I'd still want to play with her at that point. And then, my upbringing kicked in. I was going to be late getting home, and being a typical Asian American child at that point, I was much more afraid of what my parents would do if I were late than anything Donna could have done to me (sick puppies that we are). I said "If you don't let me up, I'll be late, my parents will ground me, and then I won't be able to play with you anyway!"

It was Donna's turn to blink. I think she was dumbfounded that I was just as whacked as she was! She got up, nodded and somewhat halfheartedly followed me to the front door, where she found her nerve again and hissed "you better not tell anyone what happened!"

I was six, of course I was going to tell! I ran down the block to my house, threw open the door, and announced: "she is crazy and I am never going back there!"

My mom looked at me: "what?"

"She pushed me, pinned me down and told me I had to stay there!"

At this point, I expected my mom to tell me everything was okay, Donna was bad, and I didn't have to play with her anymore. To my surprise, she said "Donna has it hard, Tracey, you should show a little tolerance."

"WHAT?!?!? Did you hear me? She PUSHED me and PINNED ME DOWN! She's crazy!"

"Her parents abandoned her and her grandmother is raising her as best she can all by herself. She is probably confused and lonely. Try to see things from her point of view."

"But Mom, she ..."

"Donna does not know how to express herself very well. You need to show her how to act properly!"

I was pretty sure at that point my mom was nuts, too. But she was the mother and I had to obey. Mom also made me play with the girl who had bladder control issues until the age of 9 or so, although even then, I was a clean freak and it made me squeamish to even be near her. In retrospect, I have to admit my mom was right. Donna seemed to be okay after that. She probably expected me to abandon her, as her parents had, and when I didn't, perhaps it planted the idea somewhere inside her that maybe she wasn't such a bad kid.

The effect of my mom's empathy for others on me, however, is still working itself out. I still have a difficult time distinguishing between the ideas of treating people well and allowing them to take advantage of me. As a result, I have had a few stalkers (some scary, some not), I allowed someone to freeload off me for years, and I dated a few mentally abusive men because they were outcasts and I felt sorry for them. But I think I am getting better.

The little cement bear in the photo has been in my grandparent's garden ever since I can remember (his nose broke off when I scared a raccoon off my porch, and the raccoon knocked him down in his haste to get away from the screaming human -- I never did find his nose). For thirty years, I thought the bulbs sticking out center front were his feet. And then one of my friends pointed out that no, those were testicles, and his feet were to the side of his testicles. I wonder if my grandparents knew that...

Ego stroking

2009-02-18T16:00:00.000-08:00

I have seen a lot of blogs and profiles lately, where the main topic seems to be how unintelligent everyone is (the writers of said entries excepted, of course). There is always some excuse, such as the inability to find intelligent discourse, or the world is going to hell in a handbasket and no one can see it but me. But in their essence, these posts are thinly veiled attempts at self-aggrandisement.

If you really wanted to find others to engage in what you think is perspicacious dialog, seeking out those with whom you feel an affinity and interacting with them is a much better tack than loudly proclaiming your superiority and alienating innocent bystanders.

Likewise, if you really cared about making the world a better place, you would find your niche and make your difference within your capacity, rather than belittling others. Yes, some people have made their mark through verbal or written expression. But they did not inspire others by displaying distaste for them, and they did not spur people into action through gross generalizations.

I have no idea why I took the time to write this. I log onto these sites to escape and relax! Some discussions I participate in can be of a serious note, but they are not generally related to the stress-inducing aspects of my offline life. So... by and large, I do not read posts that are generally derogatory. I have just happened by more of them lately for some reason and it bothers me that so many people feel the need to inflate their own sense of self worth by denigrating others.

An Egg

2009-01-29T18:45:00.000-08:00

I boiled an egg. It stood on the table in its little cup, accompanying the toast and coffee. I sat before it and smashed the edge of my spoon into its side. Clumsy fingers pried shell from membrane, but little chunks of soft, white flesh pulled away with the hard covering. The result, a pitted oval.

I remembered sitting across from him. His dexterous digits extracted a perfectly peeled product, shiny and smooth. Ah yes, his hands! Hands that could pull me roughly to him in his strong embrace. And then stroke as gently as a summer breeze whispering through petals.

How I yearn to feel those hands again.

Catching Up

2009-01-24T17:00:00.000-08:00

I seem to have nothing to write that even I am interested in reading these days! But my schedule has been otherwise full, so perhaps that's why.

The TEFL certificate is progressing more slowly than I would like. It's boring! And the site contains grammatical errors and ambiguous instructions (interesting, given they're trying to teach me to teach English). I'm still plugging away at French and German on Livemocha, too, where ahtapot has been correcting my homework. I'm grateful he found me, because he gives much better feedback than anyone else so far. Unfortunately, I am at a plateau with vocabulary. I can't seem to retain new words as well as I did before, and I still screw up the prepositions. Arrgh.

Other than that, in the past week, I've:

- Watched my cousin's husband perform standup. He had been doing more corporate gigs, but they're cutting down on the live entertainment these days, so he's back in the clubs.

- Listened to my dad's golfing buddy play the drums. He plays jazz fusion, which has complex jazz rhythms combined with asian melodies, or asian rhythms combined with jazz melodies, and a considerable amount of contrasting counterpoint, plus some traditional instrumentation... not always easy to follow. All the musicians playing that night were incredible, though.

- Visited with an aunt and uncle who came up from So Cal last weekend. My aunt was giving one of my cousins a hard time about his sister not holding her own financially and sponging off him when I arrived with Piglet. I let Piglet loose, and she created enough excitement that my aunt let my cousin off the hook for awhile.

- Watched Harold and Maude at the Castro Theater. Bud Cort was there and did a Q&A after the show. There was also a heckler who made a few rude comments and let out some annoying whistles. He shut up when people yelled at him, though. As soon as the lights came up, the SFPD hauled him out, which was a complete overreaction on the part of the management. First, no one from the theater came in to intervene first, they just sent the police in right away. Second, he'd already calmed down by the time they showed up. Third, you couldn't hear a word Bud Cort said, because they were still dealing with the guy several minutes later. I lost a lot of respect for the Castro Theater management.

- Watched my Fuji finePix 6800Zoom die when I whipped it out the other day. I polled a few friends about replacement possibilities, then headed to Circuit City. I bought a Canon PowerShot SX110 IS, which is smaller, lighter, allows more control, and takes standard AA batteries. It is also made of cheap plastic -- I predict it won't last nearly as long as the old Fuji. I should return my dad's D50 now...

More activity in one week than I've had the last month. No wonder I'm a little sick tonight! I'm trying to keep up with everyone, though.

Lobo will be surprised when he wakes up

2009-01-10T18:15:00.000-08:00

Somewhere in Germany, a man slumbers. Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, in the San Francisco Bay Area, the woman who gets to snuggle with him once every few months strolls into her local nail salon on a whim. Kim, her manicurist, looks puzzled: you're not due for another week or two! But the little Japanese woman looks instead to the retired RF Engineer in the barber chair and inquires of her: "Tammy, I need an 8 inch ponytail for this charity. Do you have time to cut my hair?" She hands Tammy a page with donation requirements, and replaces her in the chair.

My hair before cutting ->

It's been two and a half years since my last donation, which went to Locks of Love. Most of you know Sheila recently donated hers, reminding me it was about that time. I usually wait longer, but it seems to be growing more slowly this time, and Señor Inglés likes my hair long. I opted to do it now, while it has some time to grow before I see Lobo, and for donating it to Pantene Beautiful Lengths instead, which accepts 8 inches instead of 10 (thanks for the idea, Sheila!).

Tammy pulled my hair back, measured and said "in order to get 8 inches of usable ponytail, I have to cut 14 inches from the full length." Jennifer, the owner (and Tammy's daughter in law), said something in Vietnamese, which from the tone was something like "you're wrong," then in English mentioned another client who'd come in to do the same thing. My hair was pretty damaged, and had been layered, so Tammy had a point. I let her take the longer amount, which ended up being 15 inches.

<- My 15 inch ponytail

I have much less hair than I when I left the house this afternoon, and it's shorter than I would like, but it will grow. I think this will be my final donation. It takes so long to grow, and having it so long is a pain. This is my fifth submission, four more than most others who donate hair give, so I feel okay about ending that cycle.

The excitement over, I sat down to my LiveMocha and TEFL accounts. I have been buckling down on the TEFL certification (I'm doing it through i-to-i) and new language acquisition, and researching labor markets and issues, which is why I haven't been here as much (and my house is messy, my checkbook not balanced...). After a few minutes, I realized my neck was cold! My hair no longer wraps itself around me to keep me warm.

Learning German with my short hair ->

For those of you into learning languages, LiveMocha is based on the Rosetta Stone platform. They show pictures and text and play audio of terms and sentences related to the pictures, then do a series of text and autio-based repetition exercises, a sort of combination between the Direct and Lexical methods. Like Rosetta Stone, the first things you learn are words and sentences you are not likely to use regularly (the woman is fat -- yes, that's an actual sentence they used). Their reasoning is you learn the way a child first learning language does. Where that method fails is it doesn't take into account adults have a knowledge bank (developed neural pathways) for language babies don't. I use it to supplement the other methods I'm using, which teach more practical terminology. Oh, and the chat function is annoying. Right when I'm concentrating on my lesson, a window pops up, telling me some guy (it's never a woman) wants to chat.

The Bane of my Existence

2008-12-25T19:45:00.000-08:00

Deep orange, lustrous, slick, sometimes hard, sometimes pulpy, cloyingly sweet when ripe, astringently tannic when green. Persimmons.

The Fuyu (above), round and firm, is the type most commonly found in American markets. It can be eaten in bites, or sliced and used in salads or as garnish.

The ovoid Hachiya (left) is edible when it is soft and pulpy and therefore completely unsuitable for market bins. The texture can be off-putting, but if you freeze and eat them with a spoon (and throw in a little whiskey), it's not too bad.

I abhorred persimmons as a kid, and even now won't go out of my way to eat them, so of course I inherited not just one, but two large trees, one of each kind. Every year, friends and family members receive both the fresh fruits, and those my father dries, so most of the fruits are given away or consumed by the birds and I never really give them much thought. This year, for the first time, I actually noticed how pretty they actually are, and took some photos today.

Every autumn, both trees sag under the weight of the maturing fruit, and the delicate branches need to be propped up so they don't break. As the weather cools and the leaves drop, the fruits ripen on bare limbs. On the stark branches, the contrast of orange against the blue sky is brilliant on a sunny day. And on a gray day, the flash of brightness can be a welcome reminder that clear skies will return.

Winter Rituals

2008-12-16T15:00:00.000-08:00

I spend much of this time of year cleaning house -- literally and figuratively. I've written about cultural new year traditions I follow -- cleaning house, paying bills and opening my house for oshogatsu. All this serves to begin the year with a clean slate (no clutter, no obligations) and open heart.

This is also the time I reflect on my life, and decide what non-domestic clutter belongs in my past as well. Letting go of feelings, issues, people is never easy, no matter how much you dread them or know how bad for you they are. I admit I tend to hold onto emotional baggage much longer than I should and often allow negative influences to drag me down far enough to chip away at my well-being.

Most of you know I am taking "cleaning house" to a new level this year, and leaving family, friends, home and possessions to live in a different country. I gave up my spring teaching load at City College, a job I have held continuously, albeit part-time, since I finished grad school. Granted, as backup, I have not given up my fall classes, but I am going without my teaching salary for nine months minimum. I'd like to think I'll stay in touch with everyone at home, but I know some people will move out of my life. I don't know who yet, but I hope I will remain in their hearts as they will in mine.

In opposition to losing touch, I recently spoke with one of my oldest friends. I met Didier the summer of my twentieth year meandering down the bank of the Truckee River. He was a drifter who stayed in a country long enough to save money to move to the next. I had never left the US. I was a "type A" person, worried about my future and security. He had faith things would work out in the end. He passed on a scholarship to MIT to travel the world. I clung to academia as though it were gold. Polar opposites. We spent the summer together, and from him I learned about passion, anger, love, hate, courage, fear, and how to let go and follow my heart a tad more and my head a bit less. Since then, we've written irregularly, but we have kept in touch, and he moved back to his home town of Cluses, in the French Alps.

When I was in Paris last month, I called. Unfortunately, I didn't call until I was there and he couldn't take time off work. He offered to spend the weekend showing me around Geneva, but I was leaving Saturday morning and could only delay my departure one day without having to scramble to find a substitute for my Monday class. It felt good to talk to him, though, and since I will be relatively close this spring, I will make it a point to visit.

The next few months will be full, as I learn German, review French and Japanese, get a TEFL certificate (I hope to teach English until I find something more stable), research employment agencies, jobs and potential employers, and pare down my life to the essentials. We will see how things pan out when I leave my pets, possessions and home in Steve's care and head to Germany with everything I can carry in two suitcases to do the legwork on finding a job.

I'm Off!

2008-11-21T16:45:00.000-08:00

I didn't realize the value of time until recently. Between my day job, teaching at night, brushing up on my French, trying to learn German, and trying to find time to job hunt, free time has become a scarce commodity... and sleep a luxury item! My schedule is beginning to take its toll, as I've had a hard time concentrating the last month or so and am perpetually exhausted!

I look forward to my upcoming vacation much more than any other. For the first time, I actually need the break away from work, which is an odd feeling for me. And because I haven't seen him in four months, I covet the few days I'll have with Lobo. No amount of electronic communication can replace the experience of seeing expression and body language, hearing vocal intonations, and feeling someone's warmth and substance when interacting in person.

Given my need to separate myself from my routine, it is somewhat ironic I have chosen to vacation in one of the two cities in which my boss spends the bulk of his time. Luckily, I know the names of the places he frequents and can avoid them. In some ways, it's good to be the bean counter.

I haven't been online much lately, and will likely be on even less this week, if at all, but I hope to post photos at some point (unless they are all bad). Well, my plane leaves tomorrow afternoon and I'm not finished packing!

My Home

2008-11-08T17:15:00.000-08:00

In 1950, there were relatively few neighborhoods in San Mateo where people of Japanese ethnicity could buy a house and feel relatively at home. My paternal grandparents bought a lot in the older section of town, an area that was, and still is, populated largely by ethnic minorities. People abandon this neighborhood when they can, but I am reluctant to give up something my grandparents worked so hard to turn into a home.

My grandfather, a gardener, initially built a tiny, 2-bedroom house with a friend of his, where my grandparents and father stayed until the main house was built. This house still stands, and you can see one side of it next to the orange tree on the lower right. It now holds mementos and tools, and occasionally my car.

The fireplace in the photo is in my living room. It wasn't used much before I moved in and I had to have quite a bit of work done on it to get it into safe, working condition. This photo contains other photos of several family members, and I think it will be one that will keep me company when I am homesick.

Steven will stay and take care of the house and the animals we've accumulated. My financial situation is uncertain, so I may not be able to return as often as I'd like. It's good to have someone I trust to take care of everything. In writing this, I am faced with those nearest and dearest to me -- animals (bipedal and quadripedal), plants and inanimate objects I won't see regularly for awhile, possibly years -- and I feel a tad sentimental. But pushing myself out of my comfort zone, and immersing myself in more of the world before I am too old to do so are high on my priority list. Leaving home is something I need to do.

Not that I don't have insecurities, the major one being I don't have a job yet. There is the very real possibility I won't find one. I haven't picked a good time to look for work! I could try to find some unfilled niche and create my own job...

And there's Lobo. Being separated by so much time and distance is stressful. The possibility that he changes his mind about me, I don't live up to his memory or expectations of me, or we ultimately want different and non-complementary things from our relationship is always in the back of my mind.

A couple of years ago, I wrote about the uncertainty I was feeling in hitting middle age, although much of my insecurity couldn't be attributed to middle age so much as carryover from an insecure youth. Since then, my midlife experiences have fostered much in the way of personal growth, some painful and some pleasurable. I think the next year or two will continue that trend. I am hopeful it will involve more pleasure than pain, but knowing how life works, am prepared for the reverse.

Enchanted's New Quiz

2008-10-30T08:59:00.000-07:00

1. Do you like blue cheese? Yes
2. Have you ever smoked? Not habitually, but tried a few times
3. Do you own a gun?
- Do water cannons count?
4. What flavor Kool-Aid was your favorite? Possibly Cherry?
5. Do you get nervous before doctor appointments?
- No. Never had health problems (knock on wood)
6. What do you think of hot dogs?
- They taste weird and the texture is odd, but I'll eat chicken & turkey dogs.
7. Favorite Christmas film(s)? Bad Santa!
8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? coffee or tea
9. Can you do push ups?
- It would look bad if the PE teacher couldn't do push ups
10. What's your favorite piece of jewelry? Black pearl pendant
11. Favorite hobby?
- I don't think I can narrow it down to one.
12. Do you have A.D.D.? No
13. What's one trait you dislike about yourself?
- I don't give up, even when I should
14. Middle name: yes
15. Name thoughts at this exact moment?
- I need to sleep more hours at night
16. Name drinks you regularly drink?
- Tea, coffee, hot cocoa and water
17. Current worry?
- Not being able to find a job (relatively) close to my boyfriend
18. Current hate right now?
- Organ meats (probably why I don't like hot dogs) and okra
19. Favorite place to be?
- Snuggled up in bed on clean sheet day!
20. How did you bring in the new year?
- Most likely, one of my friends had a party.
21. Where would you like to go?
- Prague, Great Wall, the Karakoram Range, Macchu Picchu... so many places!
23. Do you own slippers?
- Several pair, and I wear them, too, because I'm always cold!
24. What shirt are you wearing?
- Exercise bra top with two sweatshirts over it
25. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets?
- I've never tried, but I think they'd be too cold.
26. Can you whistle?
- Only by sticking my fingers in my mouth
27. Favorite color? Violet
28. Would you be a pirate?
- No - I couldn't live on a crowded boat
- Plus, I'm not really good at robbing and killing people in that fashion
29. What songs do you sing in the shower?
- Old Michael Jackson songs
30. What's in your pocket right now? - Lint
31. Last thing that made you laugh? - My housemate
32. What vehicle do you drive?
- 2003 5-speed Mazda MX-5 Miata (used to be called EOS in Japan)
33. Worst injury you've ever had?
- Possibly when I snapped my left fibula in the caves at Pinnacles monument
I had to crawl out of the cave with my then-11 year old nieces crying
and then hop up a flight of stairs so I could get to a place where the rangers
could put me on a stretcher and carry me down the hill
34. Do you love where you live? - Yes
35. How many TVs do you have in your house?
- 1? I have none, and I *think* my housemate has 1
36. Who is your loudest friend?
- Greg has a pretty voluminous voice
- We frequent Peninsula Coffee Roaster
37. Do you have any pets? - yes
38. Does someone have a crush on you?
- I'm too ornery and ugly
39. Your favorite book(s)?
Mario Vargas Llosa's older books, Surely You're Joking Mr Feynman,
Snow Falling on Cedars (no, I didn't see the film)...
40. Do you collect anything? - I try not to
41. Favorite Sports Team?
- Nope. I know, you'd think a PE teacher & former coach would be a big sports fan.
42. What song do you want played at your funeral?
My niece has instructions to scatter my ashes at several places around the world,
but I don't plan on having any kind of formal service.

Carnivora Canidae Canis Lupis

2008-10-21T19:50:00.000-07:00

Surely, someone describing himself as the Big Bad Wolf in search of Red Riding Hood has much to hide and can only be trouble! Best to steer clear. No problem, I'm a pro at avoidance. Besides, he is on the other side of the world.

A comment here, a chat there. Then I am a one hour flight away, at least for two months. More chats. Hints of intelligence, depth, a few shared interests, and suddenly, I'm on that one hour flight. I have a name and one photograph. No backup plan. Not doing well at steering clear. What am I doing?!?

You are taller than I imagined! The lump in my throat restricts my breathing. I change my mind. You haven't seen me and are facing the other way. I can still turn tail. My mouth betrays my escape and says hello before my brain can stop it.

Now it's too late. I am locked in for the weekend. Two weeks later, I lock myself in for another weekend. The events are a blur, but I see you with clarity. Clear, expressive, eyes that are kind one minute, and mischievous the next. A somewhat serious set to your mouth that softens when we are alone. The dimples that form as you laugh when you try to teach me to say "ich spreiche" and I fail miserably.

I return home reluctant to give up the happiness that has evaded me for so many years so soon. Plans to move halfway around the world take shape. They had been in the works before, but now they are much more appealing. Except they won't bear fruit for at least five months. A short visit at the four month mark provides some consolation.

Until then, you are again on the other side of the globe. I wonder whether I will be enough reason for you to end your search... and hope someone else won't in the meantime.

It's Fleet Week

2008-10-10T11:33:00.000-07:00

Sitting in my office yesterday, trying to close out the third quarter nine days after it ends (my bosses have no sense of how much time it takes to collect all the data -- and they work on cash rather than accrual basis). Outside my window, four blue streaks overtake a commercial jet in the SFO landing pattern, making it look like it's suspended in place in midair. The Blue Angels are in town.

They must have touched down and taken right off again, because they circled back into the landing pattern again not long after. I have to admit, they are not all that interesting to me. Given that their sole purpose is to be a recruiting tool for the Navy and Marines (even though they are mainly seen as an entertainment group), I'm not their target audience, anyway -- I'm middle-aged, female and have poor eyesight. Oh, and sonic booms hurt my ears.

I kind of wonder what percentage of Navy and Marine recruits join up because of the Blue Angels' influence. Realistically, the chances of making the 6-man squad, or even the 110-man support crew, are pretty low. Maybe the alternative of serving on ships isn't all that bad.

Another Quiz from Raven...

2008-10-02T02:53:00.000-07:00

1. If you could live at any time in history, when would it be?
Right now (I'm too fond of indoor plumbing and electricity)

2. If you were asked to do so, would you sing in public?
I already have

3. What are you passionate about? Education and intelligent city planning
What really moves you? Beethoven's Eroica, when well-played

4. If you won the lottery, how would you spend the money?
I'm not much of a spender. I'd probably stick the bulk of it in my investment portfolio, donate some to organizations I support and finish some repairs and upgrades on my house I've been putting off. Of course, if I only won fifty dollars, I guess I'd buy myself a tank of gas!

5. What is the craziest thing you've ever done?
Traveled on a whim to a country where I couldn't speak the language to meet a complete stranger without a backup plan in case things went badly. I am about to leave everything behind and move a continent and an ocean away from my home in part to be closer this stranger.

6. If you were throwing a party for five famous people, alive or dead...who would you invite?
I don't know! Maybe Richard Feynman.

7. If time and money were no object, to what causes would you dedicate your efforts?
Probably the same ones I'm already involved in: OneBrick; Homeless Cat Network; Audubon.

8. What is your favorite comfort food meal?
Dungeness crab cioppino

9. If you could pick one talent that you don't already have, what would it be?
I don't know!

10. If you could spend a whole day doing exactly as you wished with no demands and no responsibilities,and no limits what would you do?
Only one? I'd put the top down on my car, drive out to the coast and have breakfast at Ketch Joanne's at Pillar Point Harbor (the food is so-so, but it's just a comfortable place). From there, I'd walk down Highway 1 to the beach and continue down the beach for a bit. On the way back, I'd stop to watch the surfers at surfer beach (its 'real' name is something else, but I can't remember it). Then I'd walk out on Johnson's pier and visit Captain Dan on the Seabird and buy a crab or two from him, stop at the fish market to pick up some mussels, stop at the farm stands to pick up vegetables, go home to make cioppino, and eat it with warm sourdough. Maybe I'll do that this weekend...

Firsts - from the Raven Lady

2008-10-01T06:46:00.000-07:00

I was going to post my answers in the comments, but it took up too much space!

1. Who was your FIRST prom date? Pedram Aram. He was on the track team with me and held (possibly still holds) the national record in the 1500m run in Iran.

2. Do you still talk to your FIRST love? Only one person has ever made me do really stupid things, and until recently, I thought of him as my only love. Now I'm not so sure -- that might have been infatuation that lasted a lot longer than it should have. We haven't communicated since I told him I met someone I think could be very special to me and I wanted to give that relationship a chance to work, about two months ago.

3.What was your FIRST alcoholic drink? Wine coolers? Ahh... the eighties!

4. Who was your first kiss? Chris Freshour. I think I was eight, but it was actually just a peck. I don't remember my first REAL kiss, so it must have been bad!

5. Who was the FIRST person to tell you they loved you? David (we were engaged)

6. Who is the FIRST person you thought of this morning? My current paramour. He is my first thought, my last though and most of the thoughts in between. Makes it hard to focus on my work!

7. Who was your FIRST grade teacher? Ms. Butler, maybe?

8. Whose heart did you break for the FIRST time? Quite possibly David

9. Who was your FIRST best friend and are you still friends with them? Jill, no.

10. What was your FIRST sport played? basketball on the street. soccer was my first organized sport.

11. Where was your FIRST sleep over? Jill's, San Mateo, 4th Grade. And since Raven mentioned her first adult sleepover, I think mine was in San Francisco with Paul.

12. Who was the FIRST person you talked to today? I was chatting on IM with Lobo when it became today, but the first person I actually spoke with after waking up was Jon at the coffee shop.

13. Whose wedding were you in for the FIRST time? Possibly my friend Tracy's in New Jersey.

14. What was the FIRST thing you did this morning? Kissed the desktop picture on my notebook -- a photo of mi novio. I know, corny.

15. What was the FIRST concert you ever went to? hmm.... thinking....

16. FIRST tattoo or piercing? NONE! I'm the only person left with no ink and no added holes.

17. FIRST foreign country you went to for vacation? Japan, if you count the races I ran there. If not, then I think either El Salvador or French Polynesia.

18. What was your FIRST run in with the law? Moving violation, most likely.

19. When was your FIRST detention? Nerdy kids who play the violin don't get detention.

20. What was the FIRST state you lived in? California

21. Who was the FIRST person to break your heart? I was pretty hurt when David (not the one I was engaged to) broke up with me, but I don't know that we had enough invested in the relationship at the time to qualify as a heartbreak.

22. Who was your FIRST roommate? I had 5 housemates my first year of grad school - Elaine, Leah, Michelle, Vicky and Jo.

23. Where did you go on your FIRST roller coaster ride? Santa Cruz maybe?

Education

2008-09-30T09:30:00.000-07:00

One of my students (I'll call her Rachel) told me of a friend of hers with whom she took a class. Although her friend understood the subject matter, English was not her first language, and her work was consistently downgraded for spelling and grammatical errors. Rachel helped her friend by proofreading and correcting those errors and her friend's grades and English skills improved. Rachel mentioned how she felt downgrading those errors was unfair, since her friend knew the material. I felt otherwise, though. Her friend was not failing the course, her work just wasn't receiving outstanding marks. I think that is fair.

I think Rachel, like many students these days, blurred the lines between passable and outstanding work. For whatever reason, people seem to feel entitled to be credited with outstanding work when the work they're doing is really just satisfactory. Maybe I'm contributing to that by adding the "just" to satisfactory. Most people are "average." There is nothing wrong with that, but for whatever reason, it's seen as substandard when it really is the standard.

Rachel's friend's work was good, but not great, because she couldn't communicate well in the language in which the course was taught. She wasn't failing, she just didn't receive superior marks. There is nothing wrong with that! If anything, we need to see this not as a barrier to a degree, but as an opportunity to learn and improve in the language of choice.

...By the way, if there are any current students who happen by this posting, I highly recommend having friends and family proofread your work before submitting it, and try NOT to have the same proofreader every time. Sometimes it's easier for others to catch small errors, and sometimes others can give you a perspective you may not have thought of...

Within the educational system, the value of the degrees we confer is lessened when we pass people just for enrolling in our classes. I admit, this is a blurry line, and some happy medium between one extreme of teaching to overly rigid standards to the detriment of all else and the other of not having a consistent set of criteria to judge progress has yet to be found. But it seems as though the value of our degrees is already compromised. I taught a computer skills course a few years back, and when we covered formulas in Excel, I had to give a basic Algebra lesson for the younger students. The older students may have been a bit rusty, but it came back to them much more quickly when I said "Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally."

In terms of the individual, when we award students grades they haven't earned, we really do them no favors. In a sense, we are setting them up for failure at the next step or perhaps beyond. I would much rather have someone repeat a course than send them on ill-equipped for what comes next.

All this said, I really don't know what the solution is. I know a lot of primary and secondary level teachers who are dedicated professionals saddled with overly crowded classrooms and not enough resources to do seemingly small things like make a few photocopies for their students. The masses seem to want to place all the blame for the system's shortcomings onto them. Yes, there are a few bad eggs, but those exist in pretty much all professions. But a lot of the problems lie in the dense and inefficient administrative/bureaucratic structures created by a bunch of separate laws implemented by tacking their requirements on wherever they may sort of fit, rather than something created as an integrated system.

My lunch break is over -- gotta go!

I Forgot Dogs are Predators

2008-09-16T18:48:00.000-07:00

Many years ago I had a Sheltie mix named Moonshine. Shelties were originally bred as herding dogs, and therefore tend to be high-strung and can have a fairly strong predatory instinct. Unfortunately, the inclination to hunt was very strong in Moonshine, and from what I can remember, she killed several rats, two opossums, one bird, one skunk... and one cat.

It was a hot, sunny July afternoon and I had most the windows and doors open to let air circulate through the house. I was inside and realized I hadn't heard Moonshine in awhile. Shelties are also notoriously yappy -- when my niece was very young, she thought the dog's name was "Shut Up Moonshine" -- so it was unusual not to hear her barking. I walked out the the back porch, and looked into the yard. Moonshine had a gray cat pinned down with one paw while fighting with another.

In my most authoritative voice, I yelled "Moonshine, off!" and took off down the stairs. She completely ignored me, grabbed the cat she had pinned by the throat, and began shaking her head viciously back and forth. The cat yowled as it was jerked off the ground, its cries mingling with the dog's low growl. And then, in the few seconds it took me to run across the yard, it was suddenly silent. The other cat took off across the yard and safely over the fence to my neighbor's yard. My stomach turned as I scruffed the dog and yanked her up onto her hind legs. The cat, still in her mouth, was horribly limp.

"Drop it!!!" My voice was way too high pitched to sound anything resembling alpha, I was so grief stricken. She clamped her mouth down tightly and growled. I had to pry her jaws open to make her drop her prey, a skinny, unkempt, probably feral, young cat/old kitten, somewhere around a year old. All I could do for several minutes was sit there, sobbing uncontrollably while the dog paced in front of me. It was the first time I had ever witnessed one animal intentionally kill another in person, and while I could intellectualize the whole predator/prey relationship before that day, I was completely unprepared for the brutality of the act of killing itself.

I hadn't thought about that incident for several years until last night. I was in my home officesitting at my desk. Piglet was lying on the floor next to me, and my cat, Mini, was on her perch in the corner across the room. Piglet is part Border Collie, another herding breed, and Mini is a nervous cat, deathly afraid of dogs. The cat hisses at the dog, who barks at her, and if the dog comes too close for comfort, the cat bolts, the worst possible thing to do with a border collie, because it will always give chase.

Last night, for some reason, the back and forth was worse than usual, and the two constantly eyed each-other. Three or four times, Piglet stood up, barking at Mini. Three or four times, I turned to Piglet, yelled "Leave It!" in the lowest voice I could muster. Three or four times, the dog lay back down at my feet, still staring at the cat.

Piglet jumped up one more time, but this time she growled low in her throat and her bark was lower and hoarser than previously. She lunged across the room. I pushed back from my desk and followed, again yelling "Leave It!" And like Moonshine that July day, Piglet ignored me. And again, in a very un-alpha way, I screamed "Piglet, no!!!"

Mini panicked, and jumped down to a lower shelf on her perch in an attempt to make a run for it. Piglet, attracted to the movement, reached out a paw, swiped Mini off her perch, and pinned her to the ground. Just as Piglet lowered her head to pick up the cat, I scruffed her. I managed to pull her head back several inches, but a 70 pound border collie is considerably stronger than a 30 pound sheltie. Piglet dragged me forward a bit as she lowered her head again. I reached out with my other arm, locking it under her neck, paying no heed to Mini's slashing claws. I jerked my arm, pulling Piglet back, then rolled her onto her back and growled as deeply as I could and yelled "Leave It!!!" I also threw in a "Bad Dog!" which I feel bad about, although I don't think Piglet understands English that well. Steven locked Piglet in a room for about an hour, and we ignored her. She seems to know what she did wrong.

As I type this entry, I am at my desk in my home office. Piglet, who has been relatively subdued, and even apologetic, since I came home from work, is lying at my feet. Mini is on her perch in the corner across the room. So far tonight, there has been no stare-down, no barking or hissing, and no fight to break up. I am grateful for this temporary reprieve, but am worried about this situation in the long-term.

Comfort Food

2008-09-14T19:06:00.000-07:00

One thing I missed this summer was the ability to obtain a variety of super-fresh produce and specialty grocery items anywhere other than two hours away at the London farmer's markets. The produce can be explained by the fact that California's climate supports a plethora of fruits and vegetables and it's also easy to transport goods from elsewhere. I can't explain the specialty items, though. Bristol is a fairly large port city, so "exotic" items should be readily accessible. Perhaps I didn't explore the right places. I did find out about a local organic market the week before I left, and I'm disappointed I didn't have the chance to explore it.

I also missed being able to cook in my kitchen on my stove with my cooking paraphernalia (we used whatever was at the house we leased in Bristol). For those of you who are snickering because you know Steve does most of the cooking at home, yes, I do cook and I can cook fairly well.

On my first opportunity after arriving home, I high-tailed it to the Japanese market a few blocks from my house to buy ingredients for making oden, a stew, and chawan mushi, a savory custard. I made the stock (or dashi) first, a deceptively simple task. It is quick and easy to make from scratch, but also easily ruined if you don't pay attention. Good dashi has the faintest tint, a subtly earthy scent and an equally subtle, but rich flavor. This batch was not my best, but it was close, and worlds better than the instant version that is mixed with water.

I moved on to prepping the ingredients, enjoying the weight and feel of the well-balanced Wüsthof chef's knife inherited from my grandmother, and the precision of the sashimi knife (also inherited) my grandparents brought from Japan (carbon steel, a pain to care for, but worth the effort). I even appreciated my faithful wood cutting board, which is still in pristine condition for the most part, because it's hand washed and oiled regularly.

As I reached for the age (pron. ah' geh), a spongy fried form of tofu, I realized it, and Piglet, were missing. Arrggghh!!! I ran to the living room and there on the back porch was the dog, swallowing her prize and attempting to look innocent. Easy come, easy go, I guess. I headed back to the kitchen, grabbed two more age sheets from the freezer and cut them into manageable pieces.

While the stew simmered and the custard steamed, I picked a few lemons from my trees to squeeze on my jicama and little yellow pear tomatoes (it didn't fit with the rest of the meal, but I was in the mood for it). My grandfather planted Meyer lemons long before they were popular. Until recently, most of the people taking the fruits were my neighbors, which is okay, because I can't use them all and I live in a working class neighborhood, where sharing is always appreciated. In the last 10 years, people from "good" neighborhoods who wanted free Meyers began stealing them, so I stripped them of their loot and chased them off, because they could afford them. Yeah, I'm mean.

Back inside, I pulled the custard from the steamer, plated the stew and salad, and sat down with a bottle of nigori sake to wash it down. As usual, Steve drank most of the bottle, I just drank enough for moral support. I savored the warm, soft custard, filled with bits of shiitake, chicken, carrot and shallots - it is one of my favorite comfort foods.

After we ate, Steve came into my room holding the leftover konyaku, a yam cake with an unusual texture that is an acquired taste for most people. I had used it in the oden. He asked "hey, are you missing this?"

"Umm, I don't think so, but I haven't been back in the kitchen."

"Well, Piglet had it in her little corner. I don't think she liked it though, because it's still intact."

I guess she hasn't acquired the taste for it yet.

Home Again

2008-09-08T18:51:00.000-07:00

A month has passed since my return home, and my last entry. Settling back in has been difficult. I am suddenly not as comfortable at home, and I long to immerse myself in new experiences, meet new people, and explore new places.

On a happy note, my housemate started a new job as Technical Director at a local arts organization. I took him out for a drink last week to celebrate at a local dive bar, where the bartender poured a fairly generous shot of Jack for me, which I drank on an empty stomach (that's the recently-poured shot in the photo -- good thing I didn't order a double!). I was soon plastered, and completely oblivious to the conversation around me. Steven had to drive home.

My company is closing the Bay Area office at the end of October, and I will probably work from home until I finish teaching in Mid-December. And then? I have the option of moving first to the UK, and then possibly Paris with this company. But I am restless, and in a way I want to test myself. I am beginning a search for a new job in Europe to see what comes up.

And I have to admit I want to be closer to someone I think has the potential to be very special to me. A frightening prospect, considering we've only spent a total of one week together and I'm basing my opinion of him on a "gut" feeling. But the heart wants what it wants, and I need to follow where it leads, so I won't have regrets later.

I sent a "hey, I'm looking for a job far away from home and need suggestions" message to a third of the people in my address book Saturday night. So far, I received many words of encouragement, a few suggestions and an outright offer of help from a college friend who now works near Nürnberg, Germany. I may have a bunch of visa/work permit questions for him!

Journey Home

2008-08-17T11:34:00.000-07:00

Six forty five in the morning. Pete was cheerful and on time, as usual. He put my bags in the car and whisked me to the bus station downtown. Pete and I were both musicians and athletes in former lives, so we always had a lot to talk about. He was my favorite taxi driver in Bristol (actually, it was a tie between him and Rachel, but I'd already said thank you and good-bye to her), and I was happy to have a chance to chat with him one last time. Pete schlepped my bags into the station for me, gave me a big hug and drove off into the sunrise.

The bus ride, wait in the airport and successive flight all went thankfully smoothly. I was headed home, a place that had always been my sanctuary. And yet, my return was somewhat bittersweet. The Airbus carrying me homeward was also taking me farther away from the place where I not only found happiness and contentment, but also put me out of my element just enough to make me want to experience more.

Steven was waiting at arrivals in SFO, and drove me home in my broken-down 1985 Honda CRX he's been using (left). We drove up to an overgrown garden full of weeds (below), and I cursed the gardeners who deserted me last winter without notice. As we walked up to the house, I heard a thundering noise and high-pitched whine inside. I braced myself, opened the door, and held onto the stair rails for dear life when two gigantic paws thumped my chest, a large black head butted mine and a big, red tongue slashed across my face.

"Sit, Piglet!"

Piglet sat for half a second, ran in circles, whining the whole time, then started jumping again. She can be a little excitable sometimes. All the animals, except my Mini cat, who ran away while I was gone, all seemed happy to see me. Mini always waited for me in her corner perch in my office every night, and now she's gone. I'm devastated.

I picked up the neighborhood newsletter. The last large undeveloped plot of land in town is being developed! Arrggghhh! Yes, the Bay Area has housing issues due to a growing population (which irks me because population growth is the problem, not lack of housing), but town councils everywhere are rubber-stamping poorly planned developments because all they see are dollar signs. In the meantime, they are not planning for things like efficient transportation for the masses of people who will be living here or the education of their children. I'm disheartened. Before I left home, I'd put an effort into speaking out about development issues through several neighborhood groups, and I feel like those efforts were useless. I think a lot of the residents here feel that way now.

Steve barbecued that night. As we ate, he kept asking if I was okay. Even after I insisted I was just tired from the long day of travel, he looked worried. In the coming week, three other people kept asking the same question. It was too difficult to tell them how my life at home is missing something, so I pleaded jet lag and made an effort to seem happier.

I created ltljpnzgrl on 360 as a way to work through uncertainties I faced in hitting my midlife crisis, many of which were insecurities carried over from my youth (I migrated to Multiply because of the interesting people I met). Those insecurities led to many bad decisions as a young woman, and almost as many regrets.

It seems I'm still in flux and still working through issues, although I had moments this summer that allowed me to forget them. I discovered that when I was out of my comfort zone in a completely new environment, I felt alive again, and eager to face what lay ahead, rather than dwell on mistakes of the past. In coming home, I regressed somewhat. I want that good feeling back. I think it is time for me to make major changes in my life. I just need a plan...

Leaving town

2008-07-28T14:34:00.000-07:00

It's 1:00 am. The evening rain cooled the heavy summer air to a comfortable level. Yes, the temperatures finally rose here in my final week or so in this island nation.

What will happen to the ficus I found near-dead in the garage when I arrived? I pulled it out, threw some coffee grounds and water on it, pruned it back, and watched as tiny green dots appeared on the brown twigs one morning. In a few more days, they evolved into slivers, then tiny spears and finally, full-fledged leaves unfurled in the sunlight. With no one to care for it, the tree I've come to regard as mine will probably dry out again and die.

Not one to leave behind a mess, I cleaned the house and did my laundry this weekend. Sorting through my clothing, a familiar scent wafted off my sundress. I closed my eyes, brought it to my face, inhaling deeply and saw a grassy hill under a clear sky, a quiet inn tucked away in the hills, fragrant herbs surrounded by vineyards, eyes that at times seemed clear blue, others stormy gray, but always full of expression and passion. I felt the warmth of a summer evening along the Mediterranean, the cool kiss of mountain air as I gazed out an open window into the darkness, the reassuring hand that steadied me on cobbles slicked by rain, the warm embrace that made everything else in the world cease to exist for me, if only for awhile. Not wanting to lose those moments, I decided not to wash that dress.

And the job? I hadn't accomplished what I'd hoped I would this summer, but my goals diverged from those of my boss. My time was consumed by odd jobs and errands that took precedence. My brain is atrophying due to lack of challenging stimulation.

This summer I learned not to trust people who possess an overbearing sense of entitlement, and to trust my instincts when I sense something isn't quite right about a situation, things I already "knew," but hadn't really experienced. A painful lesson I am still working through.

This summer I learned to feel. For the first time ever, I didn't analyze the life out of a situation, I just let myself live in the moment and opened myself to whatever feelings flowed through me. For the first time ever, I felt deep passion and attachment at a level of which I didn't think I was capable. And for the first time ever, I understand deep in my heart the meaning of the adage 'tis better to have loved and lost... even though I'm desperately fighting the 'lost' part.

Just a mindless meandering

2008-07-12T00:48:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been so inspired by someone that they brought out qualities in you that you never knew you had and made it possible for you to try things you never thought you would?

Have you ever been so infatuated that you seriously contemplated throwing all caution to the wind and doing things you would normally consider to be stupid... and possibly did some of those things?

Have you ever been so obsessed that one person or thing has dominated your every waking (and sleeping) thought?

And have you ever cried yourself to sleep because you knew that one of the best things to ever stumble into your life would pass back out again far too soon?

My name

2008-06-27T22:37:00.000-07:00

Three out of four of my grandparents were from Japan (the fourth was born in California, but she's also of Japanese heritage). When I was born, my parents, apparently in a fit of cruelty, named me Tracey, a name of Celtic origin, which means "warrior like." Why was that cruel? One could say my mom rued the day she named me, because I've always been an argumentative pain in the ass, but no, it's weirder than that.

In Japanese, there is neither a "TR" sound nor a "SEE" sound. Only one out of three of my grandparents could pronounce my name (my maternal grandfather had passed years before I was born)! The closest approximation of my name my maternal grandmother (and several other immigrant relatives) could do was based on the Japanese syllables for: tsu - re - i - shi, which came out sounding something like "Tsreish" or "Tsreishee" (hence, Rei, one of many nicknames I've used through the years).

Not that I don't like my name, but you'd think my parents would have named me something my relatives could pronounce, like Tara or Sara.

Relaxing in Bath

2008-06-23T11:25:00.000-07:00

Last week, my boss yelled at me for not going out more and having fun while I'm in the UK. Then he assigned a bunch of menial, time-consuming tasks that guaranteed I'd be working long hours and would therefore be too tired to go out and have fun for at least a couple weeks.

When the weekend rolled around, I worked half a day Saturday to catch up on routine menial tasks, then headed to the mall for a coffee grinder, french press and a couple usb broadband modems. I spent the night trying to get one of the modems to work with my Mac -- the sales guy said the new dongles don't require Mac users to download drivers... then sold me one of the old modems that require it. AND the files on Three's UK website were either not working or obsolete. The tech support person told me to download the files on the Ireland website, then call back to obtain a code I'd need for installation. Programmers like making life difficult for Mac users.

I made it a point to try and relax on Sunday. I slept in until 8:00, ground the coffee beans I'd brought from home, made coffee, and actually sat down to drink it and eat a bowl of cereal. I headed to Bath, wandered the streets a bit (I did the tour of the Roman baths the last time I was there), then signed on for the 2 hour spa package at Thermae Spa.

I changed, slipped into the pool, let the current carry me around, and thought about the tasks I need to do this week and the order in which I'd do them. I realized I was thinking about work and tried to clear my mind and let it wander. It meandered to my bank account and credit card transactions and how I need to check those to make sure everything is okay, because I have the wrong version of Quicken installed on my notebook and can't download that information. Damn, that's not a good line of thought, either!

Okay, maybe it's because I have to work too hard to stay afloat in the water. I headed upstairs and walked into the Lavender steam room. Lavender's supposed to be calming. I thought about how my job evolved into mostly unchallenging menial tasks and started to reevaluate my future. While I do need to think about my path, it's also not something I should think of when I'm trying to relax. Damn again. I tried sitting, lying, deep breathing, but my brain wouldn't stop, and then I noticed others were looking at me strangely and scooting away from me. I headed to the changing rooms, showered, dressed and was out of there with a half hour yet to go on my package.

On the streets again, this time in search of food, which allowed me to divert my attention for a time. I had dinner at a little vegetarian restaurant, then headed back to the train station, stopping in a bookstore on the way to buy a book on English architectural styles to read while waiting for my train. Even though I couldn't relax much, at least I was tense in a beautiful town.

Oh, I did treat the interns to dinner at the Bradley Stoke pub last Thursday. They had bungee jumping for 50 pounds a pop. I wasn't about to spend that much money to jump, but it was fun to watch.

No longer homeless

2008-06-15T03:47:00.000-07:00

We did the quickest move into a house ever, in spite of a lot of weird barriers to entry. Our UK subsidiary has only existed since last November and has no credit history, so we spent Wednesday complaining over having to pay the whole six month's rent up-front, which we ended up agreeing to anyway. The landlord's agent says we move in when the payment clears his account and he has at least an electronic version of a signed contract in hand. So we wire payment Thursday and email the signed contract. On Friday he says he can't get the person who does the walkthrough until the following Monday. I'm lousy at negotiating, so I hand the phone to our COO who tells him to call the walkthrough person and ask if she'll meet us on Saturday. They go back and forth, the agent offers to return our money, the COO tells him he should, and then... the agent calls the woman and she agrees to meet us.

Saturday afternoon rolls around, and the COO and his lady friend spent the day loading our luggage into the car, taking me shopping for supplies... and she loaned us sheets and towels (I'm trying to think of a nice gift for her). We meet the woman at the house, and she's in a foul mood. She rushes us, she's rude. Obviously, we ruined her Saturday.

And... the house hadn't been cleaned! The refrigerator had brown sticky stuff on top of it, and mildew inside, and there was mildew in the clothes washer, the grass needed cutting, a moulding strip was loose, mildew and soap scum in the bathrooms... that's me in the photo writing down everything that hadn't been fixed or cleaned. I already look exhausted!

The interns were in London yesterday, which is good, because they would have been in the way once the COO & his friend left. I scrubbed the kitchen ceiling to floor, cleaned out the clothes washer (the COO cleaned the refrigerator for me), washed every dish, utensil, and cooking tool, scrubbed the bathrooms, and finally made dinner sometime between midnight and 1am. It's still a nice place, though. I've never lived anywhere with a conservatory.

I still need internet access. The COO suggested a USB mobile broadband device made by Three. I'll check for them at retail stores nearby. Apparently, it works anywhere in Europe. Not that it matters. It's Sunday and I'm in the office working on payables and payroll. I'm the only one in the building. Big difference from back home. It's not unusual for someone to be in the office at night or on weekends there, but here it's like a vacuum on weekends and after 4:30 or 5:00 during the week. Maybe being here for two months will be a good influence on me, because I work way too many hours.

Okay, I've rambled... sorry!

Still in a hotel

2008-06-10T11:49:00.000-07:00

... but at least it's closer to the office, and the rooms are in slightly better condition! It still takes two buses to get to and from work, though. We should be in more stable accommodations by next week.

The downside? The wireless network here sucks! When I walked into the lobby, a bunch of people were huddled over their laptops. The signal out there is the strongest. It took over an hour to send a file to my boss from my room last night, because my connection kept dropping. My room is just off the lobby, though, so I now have the garbage bin propping the door open, and I've scooted myself as close as I can to the door (I'd already changed into my pj's when I thought about going into the lobby, and I thought it might be in ad form to pad out there in flops and nightshirt). Not pretty, but it works. Better an inconvenient connection than the strong connection that didn't work correctly at the Hyatt.

I'm in Bristol

2008-06-06T15:35:00.000-07:00

The redeye from Miami to London was thankfully not full, so I wasn't boxed into my seat, and my arrival in London Tuesday morning was uneventful -- wait for interns to arrive, wait for CEO to pick us up and take us to Bristol, check out office, check into hotel, eat dinner, zonk out.

My week was dedicated to finding housing. I thought the US had a lot of extraneous fees! For each application, we pay a credit check fee of at least 205 pounds, which we can't apply to other applications or dispute if it doesn't come out in our favor! Then there's a Council Tax, which tacks on another several hundred pounds to our monthly fees. Plus, the office is in Aztec West business park in North Bristol, too far from City Center, where housing suitable for our situation is abundant (commute would suck), so pickings are slim. In the meantime, 'home' is the Premier Inn Filton. No frills, but it's clean and the staff have been friendly.

So far, I like the office at Aztec West. The property management staff are friendly and helpful whenever I bombard them with questions. I share an office with the two interns, which is a nice change from Burlingame, where I sit in a huge suite by myself (our lease there is up in December and we'll downsize then). The COO took that photo of me today. If I'd known he was doing it, I would have made an effort to not look so goofy, but what the heck. The original he sent was a 1.3M file and when I opened the email, all I saw were wrinkles and age spots... aaahhhh!

No big plans for fun yet, although my friend is coming out from London in the morning. She's looking at one house with me and then we're heading to a pub. Well, I guess the pub part is fun!

Miami

2008-06-05T13:54:00.000-07:00

Well, I survived 3.5 days in Miami with my family and my niece's wedding! I arrived disgustingly early Friday morning so I wouldn't miss the rehearsal dinner that night. When I walked into the Hyatt Regency Coral Gables somewhere around 6:30am, plunked down 4 huge bags filled with 2 months of junk, and started sifting through them and muttering to myself so I could drop off my bags and find somewhere to work until check-in time, the clerk very graciously allowed me to check in early, probably so he could get the muttering street urchin out of his lobby!

I walked into my room, a suite that does double duty as a conference conversion and was hit with a slight mildewy smell, probably due to the fact the bathroom fan was broken and I was in a hot, humid state. But I was exhausted and didn't care, so I climbed into the Murphy bed and zonked out for an hour or two. I worked a few hours that day and took the afternoon off to do the family thing, and then went to the rehearsal dinner that night.

Saturday I just relaxed and went for a little run, lifted some weights, got my nails done... and discovered my internet connection didn't work correctly -- I could send and receive plain text, but not hypertext. I spent over an hour on the phone with the hotel's computer support company, who concluded that everything was right on their side and the issue had to be my Macintosh. So I thought okay fine, I have to transmit paystubs anyway, I'll just use my Windows machine... except of course, it had the same problem! When I tried to get the support people back on the phone, they were gone for the day. Evil jerks.

My job on the day of the wedding was to keep my sister from stressing too much, because when she did, it stressed my niece. So I tried to keep things light and keep my sister distracted and help out when I could.

After hair and makeup, I looked at my niece and for the first time realized just how much like my sister she looked! My sister also had her hair done, pulled back into a loose bun that made her look like an asian Eva Peron. That's my sister and niece in the photo. My niece normally looks more like her biodad in terms of individual features. Go figure.

The ceremony was refreshingly short and the reception generous with the booze. It was fun! I met my niece's oboe teacher, snapped candid photos, did a little drunken dancing and of course, spent quality time with family, including my other niece I only see maybe once every few years (she lives in Puerto Rico and has a small child).

My flight from Miami to London wasn't until Monday evening, so I spent the day with family again. This time they wanted to take a bus tour of Miami and boat tour of "Millionaire Row," neither of which were really on my list of things I wanted to do before I die, but spending as much time as possible with family was, so I tagged along.

The tour people let us out of the bus in Little Havana and I ran away from the tour group to use the restroom at the McDonalds, then continued down the street to a little tienda to buy candy to bring on the plane with me. On the way back to the bus, a man on the street called me 'chinita,' and I gave my usual response to that remark, 'yo soy japonesa,' and the next thing I knew, the guy was walking back to the bus with me! His name is Santos, he's from Cuba and he thinks either Japanese women or my hair is pretty, or possibly both. That's about all I could get from the Spanish I know.

Our shuttle driver, Alfredo, dropped me off at a local hotel with a free shuttle to the airport (the Hyatt didn't have a free shuttle). Alfredo rocks! And the security people at MIA rock! Wow, they are so much nicer than the security people at SFO! Everyone was friendly and courteous, and because their attitude put the passengers at ease, they were also very efficient. Security agents at other airports should be trained by the folks at MIA.

Quick Update

2008-06-03T11:34:00.000-07:00

I didn't have http access in Miami, and I'm paying something like 8 gbp per hour for access here in the hotel in Bristol. So... will catch up with everyone when I'm no longer homeless and have a reliable connection, or maybe if I have time during the work day this week!

Remembering

2008-05-23T20:46:00.000-07:00

This coming Monday is Memorial Day in the US, a day commemorating those who died in our nation's service. It usually takes the form of decorating the graves of those who died at war.

This morning I heard a story on NPR (National Public Radio, which isn't TRULY public, because they can receive large sums of money from private sponsors, but since they're non-profit they can call the sponsors "donors") about a man whose father took the time to remember people who had made a significant impact on his own life. This was back in the day of canned coffee, and during the year, he would accumulate his empty cans in his garage and as the day approached, he'd decorate the cans and fill them with silk flowers. On Memorial Day, he visited the graves of these people, many of whom no longer had friends or relatives alive to visit, and cleaned the graves, leaving one of the decorated cans at each.

After hearing this story, I thought about the people who have come in and out of my life, each leaving their mark, some large, some small, some full of joy, some pain, some I think of often, others not at all. While not everyone has made a huge impact on me, they've all been significant to me in their own way.

But what I took away from my ruminations is that I need to focus on appreciating people while they are still in my life and letting go of those who have moved on. Sometimes I wallow in regret, fret over situations beyond my control and care about the well-being of those who don't care about me a little too much.

Killing Time

2008-05-22T20:35:00.000-07:00

It's half past midnight and I'm waiting for one am so I can call customer service for our payroll service in the UK. It's the UK version of the payroll service we use for our US payroll, except US customer service runs 24 hours. The UK people are usually more polite and helpful, though, so there's tradeoff to the convenience of being able to call any time. I think I prefer having to stay up into what is the middle of the night for me so I can speak with a courteous person over being able to call a surly person any time.

Less than 50 miles south of me a fire raged today, burning 3,000 acres. When things like this happen, I remember to be grateful for my health, family and friends. I'm even grateful to be fortunate enough to have mementos and possessions that are safe and sound, but at the same time I'm reminded that when it's all said and done, the relationships and bonds I form with others are much more important than clinging to material items.

Mindless meanderings

2008-02-13T07:30:00.000-08:00

I borrowed a book from a friend a few years ago. It's a book about Japanese Americans during WWII, and his wife is also Japanese American, so they thought I would enjoy the book, and I did... except I haven't seen them since! So I've had this book sitting in my bedroom in its little bag, gathering dust, and I haven't contacted them to return it because I forgot I had it for about a year, and I was too chicken to contact them at that point!

By coincidence, a mutual friend came online the other night on IM (who I also haven't seen in a few years), and he offered to return the book for me! So I arranged to meet him in Palo Alto last night for coffee after work. As usual, I tried cramming a bunch of small tasks in at the last minute, and left my office in a rush, leaving the lights on. As I drove out of the parking lot, I looked up and saw the interior of my office, and realized for the first time that the glass I thought was one-way... wasn't!

For the most part, this is okay, because I typically just sit in there typing anyway, and it's on the 4th floor of the building, so it's not like people walking by can just look in and see everything. Except there's only one locker room in the building that's shared by everyone, so I change in my office when I go jogging or ride the bike, and I tend to change close to the window, because I keep my shoes on the ledge and my clothes under the window so I can lay them out on the heating/air conditioning unit. Plus, it's been relatively dark outside this time of the year, so the lighting has been relatively brighter inside. I never closed the blinds before, because I thought the glass was one-way. And now I know pretty much anyone walking or driving by on the street, or the trail across the street, can see me if they look up. I'm such a dope! Who knows what else I've done while standing in the window... I could have been there picking my teeth or something.