Maker Faire 2010

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

C

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...

All I Got Was A Rock

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!

Musée Mécanique

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.