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flew down to so cal and back with no drugs/alcohol. normally i need something to handle flying without hyperventilating/panicking (even though i've flown many times in my life). occasionally, when there is no turbulence, and i am able to focus on the beautiful views, i do not totally freak out. i do love seeing my home from above. i love that the island of alameda can be so easily seen as a whole. it's graspable (both from above and on foot/bike). i see the green park street bridge, and from there can figure out what the other visible main streets are and where my house is.
after flying over alameda, we passed over the golden gate, which looked like a bright toy bridge against the blue. and then water and more water and the blinding sun casting a gigantic gold circle on the water. and then some rows of curvy clouds lined up seemingly evenly spaced, like a letter written in cloud instead of ink. i got lost in the incredible beauty of the earth, instead of in thinking about how insane it is to be up so high. was still completely exhausted by managing the anxiety though.
at my parents' i sat in the sun on the front steps in the mornings. it was strange and still without any dogs around. first time ever in my life that my parents have been without dogs. no one running up to wipe their shaggy sandy schnauzer beards on me.
saw two of my long time/lifelong friends and then back up to my insistent lap cat, PL. a short but sweet trip.
the scoreboard from our very complicated work dessert contest judging. yours truly won for the second year! (i, of course, did not score my own dessert.) we even had a monitor to make sure our scoring was fair. serious business.
(just realized after titling this post that i may have been channeling cookie monster with that blue outfit.)
i'm feeling very festive and cozy these days. looking forward to sharing glögg, cookies and games with some friends this weekend.
recently i read the book stoner (name of main character, not about about an mj smoker) by john williams. stoner's responses to events/people in his life are frustrating, but the often sad story is beautifully succinctly written. somehow this excerpt, and thinking about willingness in particular, helped me in my seemingly never ending (or my gradual and recurring) letting go:
In his extreme youth Stoner had thought of love as an absolute state of being in which, if one were lucky, one might find access. In his maturity he had decided it was the heaven of a false religion, toward which one ought to gaze with an amused disbelief, a greatly familiar contempt, and an embarrassed nostalgia.
Now in his middle age he began to know that it was neither a state of
grace nor an illusion; he saw it as a human act of becoming, a condition
that was invented and modified moment by moment and day by day, by the
will and the intelligence and the heart.
wispy clouded, sweets-filled, a fika mamma
the glögg is made, the tree is trimmed, the candles burning and the rain falling (finally).
pb and chocolate cookies
ebelskiver with apricot jam inside
chocolate macaron (not homemade, from feel good bakery—they were out of pistachio)
me wanting you (extra slow version compared to album)
get rhythm (young and slight johnny)
nights are getting colder, even if the days can still be bright blue and sunshine-y with pink flowers.
the covers are piling like snow drifts, but cozy.
soon it will be time to light candles, including this sweet beeswax hive one from bubble farm soap co.
fascination ends
(with cute new basket, perfect for plant transport)
i rode leisurely along the perimeter of alameda island today—about 15 miles. perfect weather for it—warm with a breeze. i lazed around on my favorite bench on the east end of the island. then biked along the sandy bay path, to the naval base, down spirits alley. along the estuary, i read a plaque about the old shipyard, the largest on the pacific coast when it opened. at one point, i think it said 8,000 people were employed by the shipyard. and then when it reopened around WWII, 4 or 5,000 people worked there. also rode over the rails that were part of the original transcontinental railroad, whose end stop briefly was alameda. history!
i like this stanza in particular of the song guldlock by eva dahlgren (though the whole song is one of my favorites of hers):
kom vildvind med rosenkind
en kort stund var bara min
så lovar jag
innan du ber
att ge dig frid
doesn't sound as good in english:
come wild wind with rosy cheek
a short time was only mine
then i promise
before you ask
to give you peace
pinky leon oks the crate.
i like all colors, but maroon is one of my least favorites. but the amaranth flowers in our back yard are so pretty, especially in the evening sun. check out this one purpley-maroon one. i'm seeing maroon anew.
feels a bit like fall today—the light and air and the apples and pears at the farmers market. i'm ready for fall colors.
though today i'm traveling up to summery weather (80 degrees) for a barn dance at a farm! time to dust off the uncomfortable cowboy boots, which will likely be cast aside for dancing.
i'm really not rose crazy. there are just so many all over alameda.
blue, a poem by may swenson (pretty bold and sneaky)
beauties from 2014, 2000-ish, and 1974 i think
i love these photos of my mom and her sisters (and mormor in bottom one, standing in the middle).
i like any photos where one sees a family (and styles) change (and in some ways stay the same) over time. and as an only child i'm fascinated by siblings in general.
it's amusing to me that my mom is in blue in the top two photos and her sisters in neutrals (with ulrika wearing most black and kata wearing most light in both). mette is escaping comparison in the top two by not being present in the middle photo. she is on the far left in the bottom photo.
your words settled into my stomach, a protective lining for growing hope. now, gritty sand.
collecting/believing
words has always been problematic for me. as i grow older, i trust words
less and less, but i still love them. the intention. their shapes and
sounds. how they roll in the mouth, hang on the tongue. rarely accurate,
but always striving.
candy
striped neon hot and burning the soles of my feet tar stink scarves
trailing the wind flags fluttering eyelids too thin skin wrinkled by
smiling squinting hand to block the sun how bright how bright a flame
people want to be near and capture and stare
a little bit of a large chunk removed from a letter. not sure why i want to put it here when i did not keep it there. maybe because i'm more removed now.
after attending a great new to me yoga class today, i noticed that local alameda soap makers, bubble farm soap co, will be opening up a little shop in alameda in the fall. inspiring. i love the idea of making something useful and beautiful, that relies on/supports nature (bees!) in the process. and they get to bring their products to all sorts of cool local stores, like favorites of mine, alameda natural grocery and redux, and to tattoo parlors (the salve!) and acupuncturist offices. i really like their soaps; the ones i've tried (milk and honey and oatmeal honey) are not scented with oils, and they feel soft. i think i will try the mint scented one next. can't wait to visit their shop (which already looks cute—above) when it opens.
alameda is barely an island; it's that close to oakland. it only became an island in 1902, when a canal was dredged between oakland and alameda. alameda is very short spanning north-south and longer east-west-wise. from east to west, several streets run through most of the island, including the bicycle boulevard, pacific ave. not very trafficked by cars, pacific has always been a favorite of mine to walk and bike. it leads to the farmers' market on saturdays. part-way down is the purple victorian on the corner, with the dogs that hang out in the bay window. it leads to my house from the ferry terminal on the days i make the extra time to take the ferry and bicycle from SF, instead of the bus. and, it led to her house.
it used to be that she lived on one end of pacific and i on the other. (it is probably still that way.) that strip of street between us became the site of many strong emotions for me. in the beginning, excitement, nerves, fear, desire. and i rode my bicycle letting go and trying to let go of my fears. open. singing to calm myself. later, on early mornings when i went home to feed pinky leon before scrambling to work, almost no one stirred on pacific, except sleepy dog walkers sometimes wishing good mornings. the air sparkly with dawn light. happy, happy.
i rode down it when we first met in the middle, at a bar. nerve wracked, but also with a what the hell attitude, for once. at some point, i rode down it late at night, fast, fast, full of love, the street dark and empty until a small old car thumping music drove past, and a guy yelled "i love you!" at me. is it that obvious, even in the dark? i wondered. elation. another time in the late afternoon heading her way, three kids ran in front of my bicycle on purpose, giggling madly as i swerved this way and that and rang my bell to their delight. joy. and then the night i knew i should not be bicycling down pacific. the night i kept thinking i should turn around, that she didn't really want me to come over. sick to my stomach and a need to know why/what was going on. (i will try to forgive you, pacific avenue.) i have ridden down pacific slower and more meandering than i have ever ridden a bicycle, not wanting to go home. and i have ridden faster than i have ever ridden, energy overflowing. i have bicycled down it many times with a huge smile on my face.
lately, there is only so far i will go on pacific. still, it is a good street.
it seems with so few blog readers these days, i am back to writing things that will probably make me cringe...
honey, it's back to long walks around alameda.
back to photos of old cars, old trucks and houses probably.
been listening a lot lately to willie nelson's latest, band of brothers. willie is always a comfort. i thought i left you.
went to bodega bay where it was mostly grey interspersed with the birds memorabilia everywhere we turned.
also lately, here's pinky lookin' good.
and a wildcraft studio school screen print finally framed
reading and enjoying zadie smith's NW.
maybe new love is a bit like travel. your patterns and ways all get disrupted. you wander down strange streets, surrendering to your feet and where they take you. you see/taste/hear things from a different perspective. the simplest activities become adventures. and scenes that you might consider troublesome if you lived in that country, you see with a curious eye and an open heart. or you might quickly look past/disregard troubling scenes; they are totally inconsequential in comparison to the lush and varied and surprising and amazing surroundings! the warmth of the local people. all that smiling. you might find yourself smiling all the time too. people seem to find you more approachable than they do at home, something about the way you carry yourself: the openness, the smiling, the happiness.
and then when you return home (even unexpectedly), although you loved that other place and how it made you feel, even if you had imagined possibly moving there for a very long time, you are a little relieved too. all that shifting inside and constant sensory overload was also somewhat stressful. you sleep much better at home. and your home looks different now too. you have a new appreciation for certain aspects of it. some forgiveness and some tenderness. but you would like to retain some of the openness/willingness. and when the relief wears off, you will have to try not to think too much about that place that won't become another home. definitely throw out the extra toothbrush, to start.
this one (same god) was one of my favorites from yesterday's show under the big trees.
i've seen sean hayes since 1998, the year i moved to san francisco. many, many, many a time over the years, but yesterday was the first time in a good while, and much needed. such a calming relaxed graceful flow to that kid. groovy. full of music and poetry. and always different. and funny.
the first time i saw/heard him, he was playing in the bar at the fillmore. my girlfriend at the time and he were friends, and we went to hear him instead of whoever the band was that was playing the main stage that night. we sat right in front of sean at a table for two. a few other people were scattered about, not paying much attention. i remember it seeming like a show just for us. i was so caught off guard by the voice that came from the thin man sitting before us. vulnerable and raw and soulful and resonant and soothing. i was immediately completely drawn in. over the years, it's come to seem right that that voice comes out of him, though there is still surprise too every time. my breath catches, and then i settle in.
in the peaceful back yard at julie's tea
lime pie
DIY pride flair
back in 2008, i stumbled across a long table winding around dolores park. i didn't realize at the time that it was an outstanding in the field table, but i knew i wanted to sit at a table like that, set in a beautiful spot. i learned about oitf soon after that, and in 2010, sarah rubens let me include two of her oitf photos in from orchards, fields, and gardens.
this past weekend, six years later, i finally ate scrumptious food at one of those long tables at capay organic farm under the old oaks with one of my favorite people and friend of 35 years, laurel. what a treat!
good views of late: angel island and napa
more weekend adventures with good food/picnics, bicycling, friends and nature/views please.
listening to frazey ford. i like you better
above from jen and bob's thrifted-gifted-traded-scavenged-pilfered-hand-built yard. a magical ever-changing piece of sf bayview heaven, complete with chickens, cats, ol' dixieloo dog, a night warming chiminea, heart shaped stone collection, driftwood reminders, and succulent color bursts. and soon to sport a handmade pizza oven (built with clay gleaned from a friend's land).
we were there for jen's ceramic bead class. we shaped, jen fired, we glazed, and jen will fire. can't wait to see what the finished beads look like.
mati and heather and i rode our bikes to/from class along the embarcadero. (we realized that we were a bicycle-beading gang and hooted/rang our bike bells accordingly!) we passed this urban beauty and topped the day off with some ice cream from mr. and mrs. miscellaneous. mmm.
thx jen and bead gang for a fun day.
i finally signed up to be a friendly visitor to a senior again. i don't know what took me so long.
above is julia, one of the liveliest people i've known.
my recollection of her after she died in 2004.
i'm just remembering that at first julia was going to name this dog melba (after the toast).
for someone who is atrocious at letting go (and should revisit mindfulness/meditation), maybe trying to let go of someone three times shortly after meeting them is good practice.
today i rode on central avenue to the eastern end of alameda, past east shore drive onto this short sandy spit lined with gnarly trees, up to a single bench looking over the water. as i sat there, planes were taking off from oakland airport, the oakland coliseum announcer's words were carrying across the water, and the fountain in the neighboring yard was trickling. sun soft breeze blended all the sounds into one sleepy song. egrets (i think that's what they were) flapped in place like pinwheels flashing, or like crazy winged daytime stars, before dropping to the water.
back yard strawberry harvest / beet salad / street cat / crazy flower / cooling
dance party: do it again
the elusive neighborhood leopard let me pet her today. she moves so fast, it's very hard to take a photo of her. she is tiny but sturdy and slightly plump. she knows what she wants.
spring is the best. alameda trees.
on repeat: like real people do
and more jasmine stealing
and peanut butter chocolate cookies
spring arrived early this year again—magnolias in bloom, green budding, flowering happening all over, insects buzzing, birds flitting.
pretty old things in alameda
today i passed alameda's oldest house, designed (in gothic revival style) in new york and shipped here to be assembled in 1854. it contains california redwood planks. (there was a plaque explaining.)
valentine red kayak
happy valentine's day ♥ glad alla hjärtans dag
with lucius standing in the middle of wall-to-wall audience, a sweet and quieter end to an all-out smokin' show
condensation chickens
condensation kitchen
bigger
when i can't find him, i look behind the curtain, and usually there i spy his round orange back. he sits (hunched these days, really) on the windowsill taking in the sun; maybe he watches the many squirrels in and out of the oak tree outside, the occasional stray cat, the dogs out for a jaunt.
one pear cider (drunk from a diana fayt-made little chartreuse lined cup) + one second-hand wild patterned dress (traded for books at rocket reuse) = one zippered pouch, one tote, two curtain ties and scraps for quilting.
so many huge, fantastic parks in the bay area
floppy alameda kitty. nice white spot on his cheek.
a gorgeous day at the alameda antique faire, where one can find junk, treasures, and everything in between. one can also find one's friends there, as i did, and as i heard others doing (some via instagram). i bought these champagne glasses, with bases green, purplish and orange-brownish. (påminnar mig om tant brun, tant grön o tant gredelin!) not what i was seeking, but so it goes.
received this beauty by annamaria potamiti for christmas—my third painting of annamaria's. the second one. the first one.
this was one of the first paintings of hers that i saw (and still love) in 2009 on flickr.
lately she's been painting in acrylic and oil. i love the light in this one.
(the gold shoes lasted 1/2 block outside of my house; i realized that a broken ankle would not be an auspicious start to the new year and changed to black and flat.)
