Tomorrow, Daniel flies back to Skidmore College, and Ned is with Geoff this week, so I will come back to an empty nest for Labor Day weekend. Both Colleen and Betsy left posts foreshadowing empty nests, and I ended up with one part-time and prematurely because of the divorce. It is always a shock to find the house empty. Mimi and I are planning our annual pesto fest, which will keep me busy. We usually make 20 to 30 sixteen-ounce containers of pesto concentrate for the freezer. I have eaten pesto at her house during lab parties; mine gets consumed at LAN parties and swim team potlucks.
LAN parties are local area network parties. We have a cluster of six or seven old computers in the basement, a mix of pcs and Macs. I bought this house partly because of the basement for LAN parties. I finished it (nothing fancy, just tile floor, paint, futons, area rugs) and we bought a bunch of inflatable air mattresses. Once or twice a month, we have from 6 to 10 kids for a sleepover party and they stay up all night playing Starcraft and Warcraft and wreaking havoc and mayhem in cyberspace. It is more civilized than it sounds; I feed them a formal dinner and make them sit down at the table with my blue and white china. Favorites are salmon and pesto, pork tenderloin and pesto, grilled chicken and pesto, or just pesto....And then there is usually french toast and bacon and eggs and banana muffins for breakfast.
Surprisingly, it does not disrupt my sleep. I wander between time zones so much I am pretty flexible, and I have a strong sense that this is a precious time for kids. High school and college go so fast, and these friendships and good times make for strong and lasting memories. And if they are in the basement, I know where they are and what they are doing. They don't seem to mind if I wander down and do laundry at 3 am. I will miss the LAN parties when they are finally over, but I expect we will keep having them even after Ned goes to college, since Daniel has used them to have reunions with high school friends when he comes home.
Last year, Terry and I spent Labor Day weekend with Allison, Jess and their many wonderful friends camping in Mendocino. The pictures Ali posted do not do the whole scene justice. Jess has built a campground that winds in and out of the woods and up hills, with a tree house, and gas stove, and outdoor shower in the middle of it. There are wonderful communal meals and good conversation. In exactly the spot Ali shows in the picture, we watched something miraculous last year. Flight after flight of red-winged black birds, from 20 to 100 in a flock, circled around the lake and landed in the reeds to spend the night. We watched, mesmerized, and tried to keep count. By the time it was over, there were easily a couple thousand birds making a holy racket until the sun went down. I would love to be there this weekend, but Terry needs a little more healing time before we can camp again, and I need to be with Daniel until he leaves.
Love, Lisa
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Happy Katrina Day
Two years ago today, New Orleans was flooded and the government was shamed. Our house survived and many others did, but much of the City was ruined....
Here's an excerpt from Garrison's Keillors Writer's Almanac (© 2007 American Public Media 480 Cedar Street, Saint Paul, MN USA 55101):
It was on this day in 2005 that Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast near New Orleans. Before it reached land, it was the strongest hurricane ever measured in the Gulf of Mexico, with winds of up to 175 miles per hour. But by the time it hit New Orleans on this day, it had lost some of its strength. The wind damage was much worse in parts of Mississippi. Early on, most people thought New Orleans had dodged the bullet.
But two reporters from the New Orleans Times-Picayune newspaper got a tip that there might be a leak in one of the levees, so they rode bikes out to the levee of the 17th Street canal. They never even made it to the levee. One of the main streets on their route was filled with rushing water, more than seven feet deep, and it was rolling south toward the rest of the city. More than 80 percent of the city was eventually flooded, about 140 square miles, which is seven times the size of Manhattan. The water rose higher than 14 feet in some places.
All communication in the city began to break down. The 911 operators had evacuated, and so people calling 911 just reached an answering machine. Eventually there was no power, no phone service, no cell phones. Many of the police officers in the city abandoned their posts and just tried to save themselves. The local prison was evacuated, and several prisoners escaped. National Guard troops didn't arrive until the fourth day of the disaster.
Many of the journalists at The Times-Picayune slept in their office building the first night after the hurricane, and they realized the following morning that they had to evacuate or they'd be stranded. A total of 240 employees and some family members piled into all the newspaper delivery trucks available, and they drove out of the city.
The staff of The Times-Picayune had to evacuate their building, but the editor Jim Amoss was determined to keep publishing the newspaper even if only on the Internet, so a small group of journalists stayed behind in the city to cover what was going on. By September 1, the newspaper had begun printing the paper again, and they delivered it free to shelters and hotels around the city. On Friday, September 2, reporters brought copies of the newspaper to the Convention Center, where many people had been living for days. Witnesses said that the people at the Convention Center wept at the sight of their hometown newspaper. Reporters then began distributing the paper to refugees and relief workers throughout the city, and residents of the city were overwhelmed by emotion when the newspaper arrived on their doorstep. The Times-Picayune eventually won two Pulitzer Prizes for its Hurricane Katrina coverage, including a gold medal for meritorious public service.
Many books have since been written about the disaster, including The Great Deluge: Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans, and the Mississippi Gulf Coast by Douglas Brinkley, Breach of Faith: Hurricane Katrina and the Near Death of a Great American City by Jed Horn, and Come Hell or High Water: Hurricane Katrina and the Color of Disaster by Michael Eric Dyson. But one of the most personal books to come out of the disaster is the collection of columns by the Times-Picayune writer Chris Rose, called One Dead in Attic.
Panola Street right after the hurricane:
Here's an excerpt from Garrison's Keillors Writer's Almanac (© 2007 American Public Media 480 Cedar Street, Saint Paul, MN USA 55101):
It was on this day in 2005 that Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast near New Orleans. Before it reached land, it was the strongest hurricane ever measured in the Gulf of Mexico, with winds of up to 175 miles per hour. But by the time it hit New Orleans on this day, it had lost some of its strength. The wind damage was much worse in parts of Mississippi. Early on, most people thought New Orleans had dodged the bullet.
But two reporters from the New Orleans Times-Picayune newspaper got a tip that there might be a leak in one of the levees, so they rode bikes out to the levee of the 17th Street canal. They never even made it to the levee. One of the main streets on their route was filled with rushing water, more than seven feet deep, and it was rolling south toward the rest of the city. More than 80 percent of the city was eventually flooded, about 140 square miles, which is seven times the size of Manhattan. The water rose higher than 14 feet in some places.
All communication in the city began to break down. The 911 operators had evacuated, and so people calling 911 just reached an answering machine. Eventually there was no power, no phone service, no cell phones. Many of the police officers in the city abandoned their posts and just tried to save themselves. The local prison was evacuated, and several prisoners escaped. National Guard troops didn't arrive until the fourth day of the disaster.
Many of the journalists at The Times-Picayune slept in their office building the first night after the hurricane, and they realized the following morning that they had to evacuate or they'd be stranded. A total of 240 employees and some family members piled into all the newspaper delivery trucks available, and they drove out of the city.
The staff of The Times-Picayune had to evacuate their building, but the editor Jim Amoss was determined to keep publishing the newspaper even if only on the Internet, so a small group of journalists stayed behind in the city to cover what was going on. By September 1, the newspaper had begun printing the paper again, and they delivered it free to shelters and hotels around the city. On Friday, September 2, reporters brought copies of the newspaper to the Convention Center, where many people had been living for days. Witnesses said that the people at the Convention Center wept at the sight of their hometown newspaper. Reporters then began distributing the paper to refugees and relief workers throughout the city, and residents of the city were overwhelmed by emotion when the newspaper arrived on their doorstep. The Times-Picayune eventually won two Pulitzer Prizes for its Hurricane Katrina coverage, including a gold medal for meritorious public service.
Many books have since been written about the disaster, including The Great Deluge: Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans, and the Mississippi Gulf Coast by Douglas Brinkley, Breach of Faith: Hurricane Katrina and the Near Death of a Great American City by Jed Horn, and Come Hell or High Water: Hurricane Katrina and the Color of Disaster by Michael Eric Dyson. But one of the most personal books to come out of the disaster is the collection of columns by the Times-Picayune writer Chris Rose, called One Dead in Attic.
Panola Street right after the hurricane:
Monday, August 27, 2007
Last, but not least
OK, I just figured this out, I think. (I'm quite the procrastinator.) Now I'm going to play with fonts and color.
I'm finishing up summer. My next seasonal job (Salish Sea Expeditions) kicks in 9/4, the same day schools start around here. Therefore, I've got a deadline to finish everything I said I'd do this summer.
Thanks for setting this blog thing up. Your pictures are great, Allison. I made an appointment with Beth on Wednesday to help me dump pics from my digital into the computer and play around with editing. Our family is in the throws of switching to a new computer and have two computers and two keyboards (and soon two printers) set up on this tiny desk. Very cozy.
I'm planning the east coast college tour with Beth and eric. End of Sept. Boston to NY/Princeton. We're done with the CA tour and will save the WA tour for day trips after I'm finished with Salish. (Cecilia, I'll be contacting you soon)
More later. It's 11:45 PM and I'm going to bed.
love,
Betsy
I'm finishing up summer. My next seasonal job (Salish Sea Expeditions) kicks in 9/4, the same day schools start around here. Therefore, I've got a deadline to finish everything I said I'd do this summer.
Thanks for setting this blog thing up. Your pictures are great, Allison. I made an appointment with Beth on Wednesday to help me dump pics from my digital into the computer and play around with editing. Our family is in the throws of switching to a new computer and have two computers and two keyboards (and soon two printers) set up on this tiny desk. Very cozy.
I'm planning the east coast college tour with Beth and eric. End of Sept. Boston to NY/Princeton. We're done with the CA tour and will save the WA tour for day trips after I'm finished with Salish. (Cecilia, I'll be contacting you soon)
More later. It's 11:45 PM and I'm going to bed.
love,
Betsy
New Orleans Panola Street House
The far left is our kitchen during Jack's birthday (he's the old guy with his back to you)...I think he was 85 or 86 then. And that's Paula Chance from Atlanta, a regular with us in New Orleans and whom you will meet and love as we all do. We sit at that bar a lot.The closer image is a old shot of the dining room in New Orleans...I'm just searching for what I've got on the computer. We have a lot more art up now.
I have a few shots of the front of the house right after Katrina but they are on my other blog which I'll try and link to this one...(see interesting links)
More to follow! (Here's NPR right after Katrina using the house!)
Summer in Mendocino County/Laytonville
Here's Robbie (in green dress), Marie (with her red pony tail) and I sipping champagne at our property in Mendocino...we're up on the road watching the guys play frisbee golf. To our right is the lake. I'll try and find some more photos but happened to have this one handy. This was last Labor Day....I'll find some of the New Orleans house...al
On Crack and other stories
Sorry was absent, work has been crazy. Last week sent off a 25 page legal argument regarding pollock fishing in Alaska (you can't believe the regulations). This week I am doing a similar dissertation to try and talk redevelopment in doing the right thing for my client, Leola King, an 84 year old black woman who was one of the first nightclub owners (and one of the most successful AND the only woman) in the Fillmore District in San Francisco in the 1950's. Redevelopment took 11 of her properties by eminent domain and gave her nothing, zippo. She has a certificate of convenience that's it...which means that if she doesn't get a property within a year (when the official close the redevelopment region) she's hosed.
She is one of my heroes as I have been researching this area for over a year now for my next book. Just like me (hence "on crack" following on Vicky's fairly accurate blogerization) to have the ideal client walk in after all the research to walk me through my next book. She gave me a photo of herself with Josephine Baker from the 50's in her club. It is my proudest possession (next to my Nolan Ryan shrine).
I spent the weekend working in the office, on my book or reorganizing my closet so I feel I can spent a minute or two on the blog. I'm meeting my Dad and Susie for lunch on a layover on their trip to Europe.
So I have a good story for you -- this will be quick. The other night, Jess and I are down at the Argus, which is our local, and we're talking with Applejack, a older blues player who hangs out there when he isn't on the road here or in Europe. He's a lovely fellow, has stayed in our house in New Orleans, etc. Anyway, he introduces me to a young cartoonist, Jose Ruiz, who has recently published a comic book, working on a movies, etc. I find out with probing questions that he is "homeless" or rather living off the largess of his friends. I rememeber doing that myself in North Beach in San Francisco, in between jobs, trying to write, having my infrastructure go to hell several times. So I drag him home (up the hill actually) and put him in our upstairs room that is being renovated but not right at the moment, but a temporary respite. Of course, then his girlfriend breaks up with him (although he seems to have lots of girlfriends) and this week he's spending a week in Austin, Texas (where he's from) doing some kind of drawings for Willie Nelson.
"Clear Cut" (the first book) is coming along. I think the first 100 pages are done essentially and I need to work on the last 100 hundred, smooth them out, finish a sub plot, and then edit. I am hoping I can do a lot this coming weekend as we're camping up in Mendocino -- no phones, emails, bullshit, just oxygen and lots of wine.
Don't forget you can put up interesting links, add photos and other kinds of content to the blog so add some pics!
She is one of my heroes as I have been researching this area for over a year now for my next book. Just like me (hence "on crack" following on Vicky's fairly accurate blogerization) to have the ideal client walk in after all the research to walk me through my next book. She gave me a photo of herself with Josephine Baker from the 50's in her club. It is my proudest possession (next to my Nolan Ryan shrine).
I spent the weekend working in the office, on my book or reorganizing my closet so I feel I can spent a minute or two on the blog. I'm meeting my Dad and Susie for lunch on a layover on their trip to Europe.
So I have a good story for you -- this will be quick. The other night, Jess and I are down at the Argus, which is our local, and we're talking with Applejack, a older blues player who hangs out there when he isn't on the road here or in Europe. He's a lovely fellow, has stayed in our house in New Orleans, etc. Anyway, he introduces me to a young cartoonist, Jose Ruiz, who has recently published a comic book, working on a movies, etc. I find out with probing questions that he is "homeless" or rather living off the largess of his friends. I rememeber doing that myself in North Beach in San Francisco, in between jobs, trying to write, having my infrastructure go to hell several times. So I drag him home (up the hill actually) and put him in our upstairs room that is being renovated but not right at the moment, but a temporary respite. Of course, then his girlfriend breaks up with him (although he seems to have lots of girlfriends) and this week he's spending a week in Austin, Texas (where he's from) doing some kind of drawings for Willie Nelson.
"Clear Cut" (the first book) is coming along. I think the first 100 pages are done essentially and I need to work on the last 100 hundred, smooth them out, finish a sub plot, and then edit. I am hoping I can do a lot this coming weekend as we're camping up in Mendocino -- no phones, emails, bullshit, just oxygen and lots of wine.
Don't forget you can put up interesting links, add photos and other kinds of content to the blog so add some pics!
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Feeding the Blog
Thought I would check in to see who has been contributing lately and I find, not a soul! Well not so surprising,life is what happens while you should be writing on(in?)the Blog! It is August and I am finally enjoying the summer.John turns 57 (can you believe it?)on Sunday and so this is Birthday weekend. We started celebrating last night with dinner at one of the trendy newish places in Culver City called Ford's Filling Station; it is owned by Harrison Ford's son, I assume funded by DAD! Excellent food and great atmosphere.
I am now headed to play bridge, my latest attempt to keep the brain functioning. John and I are also taking an Excel Program on line though I have no idea how I will put it to use. I keep thinking, without applying for one, a job will pop up in the finance world where they need exactly my skills so I better freshen up the computer ones which were never really honed! The empty nest that awaits me next year needs some feathering!Hope that one of you will touch your keyboard soon and keep this thing from dying out before it has had a chance to live. Please DO Feed the Blog! Love to you all. Colleen
I am now headed to play bridge, my latest attempt to keep the brain functioning. John and I are also taking an Excel Program on line though I have no idea how I will put it to use. I keep thinking, without applying for one, a job will pop up in the finance world where they need exactly my skills so I better freshen up the computer ones which were never really honed! The empty nest that awaits me next year needs some feathering!Hope that one of you will touch your keyboard soon and keep this thing from dying out before it has had a chance to live. Please DO Feed the Blog! Love to you all. Colleen
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
I'm in!
Hi everyone. Here I am, signing in, all gmail'd and accounted for at last. I am sorry I had to miss Seattle - and the guy we were trying to recruit turned us down! More soon. Love to all, Mimi
Back home in Marin
Just got back to Terry and home in Marin. I spent 6 days in Bloomington (leading up to an actual court trial with Geoff over his violations of our decree) with Daniel and Ned and Ned's girlfriend Amanda, and then took the boys to NYC to visit my brother Steve, who lives in the West Village (still unmarried but current girlfriend is a concert violinist and Korean - I don't know whether to be optimistic because she is 15 years younger than him...).
It felt great to be in the city - I had the same experience as Colleen. I love the hum and smell and energy of it, and also the fact that there are so many more out-of-shape people there than in CA. I need my theater fix every 4-6 months; it became my substitute emotional outlet during the 6 years before the divorce. All of us saw Avenue Q, and then the boys saw Blue Man Group (again), while my brother and I went to Gone Missing, a series of monologues about losing things. I remember feeling utterly bereft during the fall of 1976, having lost all of you, and the community we made together. I would have been so much happier had I gone to NYC with Celia, Colleen, and Mimi, or to SF with Ali, but I was a major chicken-shit and chose the coward's way by living with Geoff. I agree with Victoria that Allison has a unique gift for bringing people into community, and that this is the essence of home. And it is hard to make a community of one, which may be why Colleen feels its absence with only her dad in Farmington.
My community in Marin is very narrow, but I have resolved to make it grow. I spend most of my time here in the bedroom or the kitchen (and very happy in both places!). There is Ali within reach, but our mutual schedules are madness, and then I have a growing number of professional contacts. Joe Edelberg is in Berkeley, but I have not contacted him. Terry has few friends, largely because a household with kids and a mom with metastatic breast cancer tends to fold into itself. I am hoping this will change, but his illness this spring postponed it. He is infinitely better, almost completely recovered.
One reason I am reluctant to sell the house in Bloomington is that Mimi and I have built a wonderful community there, with intersecting social circles. It takes time and being open to build it, which means in our all-too-linear lives you can only do it so many times. And that is why I need the one we built at Smith. It sustains me knowing you are all out there.
But does Ali's gift suggests we could get better at it, with practice and will?
It felt great to be in the city - I had the same experience as Colleen. I love the hum and smell and energy of it, and also the fact that there are so many more out-of-shape people there than in CA. I need my theater fix every 4-6 months; it became my substitute emotional outlet during the 6 years before the divorce. All of us saw Avenue Q, and then the boys saw Blue Man Group (again), while my brother and I went to Gone Missing, a series of monologues about losing things. I remember feeling utterly bereft during the fall of 1976, having lost all of you, and the community we made together. I would have been so much happier had I gone to NYC with Celia, Colleen, and Mimi, or to SF with Ali, but I was a major chicken-shit and chose the coward's way by living with Geoff. I agree with Victoria that Allison has a unique gift for bringing people into community, and that this is the essence of home. And it is hard to make a community of one, which may be why Colleen feels its absence with only her dad in Farmington.
My community in Marin is very narrow, but I have resolved to make it grow. I spend most of my time here in the bedroom or the kitchen (and very happy in both places!). There is Ali within reach, but our mutual schedules are madness, and then I have a growing number of professional contacts. Joe Edelberg is in Berkeley, but I have not contacted him. Terry has few friends, largely because a household with kids and a mom with metastatic breast cancer tends to fold into itself. I am hoping this will change, but his illness this spring postponed it. He is infinitely better, almost completely recovered.
One reason I am reluctant to sell the house in Bloomington is that Mimi and I have built a wonderful community there, with intersecting social circles. It takes time and being open to build it, which means in our all-too-linear lives you can only do it so many times. And that is why I need the one we built at Smith. It sustains me knowing you are all out there.
But does Ali's gift suggests we could get better at it, with practice and will?
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Where are you?
Still waiting fot the remainder of our Eight to weigh in. Finally took to time to sign up, allowing me to stop impersonating Allison.
Friday, August 10, 2007
This is fun!
Hi All
OK I want to go to Seattle NOW! It has been over 100 degrees for days, with no prospect of relief anytime soon. I'm just glad I'm not a landscaper or a construction worker.
I think JK Rowling is a genius. I'm reading the last Harry Potter and my niece Lucy (age 7) is reading the first. How cool is that? Her books are just so imaginative, but I am bummed there will be no more.
I'm sorry I missed Seattle, but I waited too late to book a flight and the best price I could get for a direct flight was $700. I also do not like being stuck on a plane for 5 hours. I know...I'm a wimp. If I'd got going earlier I would have stayed 7-10 days and visited my cousins in Federal Way and Eugene.
I have been very sick from March until May...when you have allergies and don't get your shots, this is what happens. Also my doc (who has allergies & is my age) says this is the worst season he can remember. I am back on track with my treatments. Who doesn't just love getting 2 shots every week? At least I'm a better patient than when I was a kid. I vividly remember trying to jump out of the car to avoid the dreaded shot. How did my mom hold me with one hand and drive with the other?
Hey are we still considering Jazzfest in NOLA? I need to book a room at my exclusive hotel! (This is a joke. I stay with Allison's law school friend Jim. Bert is looking forward to meeting him.) One of Bert's nieces is at Tulane also.
Love to all
OK I want to go to Seattle NOW! It has been over 100 degrees for days, with no prospect of relief anytime soon. I'm just glad I'm not a landscaper or a construction worker.
I think JK Rowling is a genius. I'm reading the last Harry Potter and my niece Lucy (age 7) is reading the first. How cool is that? Her books are just so imaginative, but I am bummed there will be no more.
I'm sorry I missed Seattle, but I waited too late to book a flight and the best price I could get for a direct flight was $700. I also do not like being stuck on a plane for 5 hours. I know...I'm a wimp. If I'd got going earlier I would have stayed 7-10 days and visited my cousins in Federal Way and Eugene.
I have been very sick from March until May...when you have allergies and don't get your shots, this is what happens. Also my doc (who has allergies & is my age) says this is the worst season he can remember. I am back on track with my treatments. Who doesn't just love getting 2 shots every week? At least I'm a better patient than when I was a kid. I vividly remember trying to jump out of the car to avoid the dreaded shot. How did my mom hold me with one hand and drive with the other?
Hey are we still considering Jazzfest in NOLA? I need to book a room at my exclusive hotel! (This is a joke. I stay with Allison's law school friend Jim. Bert is looking forward to meeting him.) One of Bert's nieces is at Tulane also.
Love to all
Home is where the heart is.
From Victoria:
Love the blog. This is a first for me.
I've been ruminating on what is "home" to me. The word creates images that go out around in me in concentric circles. Fasten your seatbelts. I'm overcaffeinated this morning. And my homelife has recently exploded in petty drama. So I will retreat into the intellectual candy of self-expression.
My little housewife mind first darts to a vision of "Casa del Humphrey" here in Jupiter - a hip-roofed ranch house with palm trees where I have professionally nested and nurtured my brood (with varying degrees of success) for the last 9 years. It's the current and comfortable container of all of our stuff and experiences, still warm with every day life because at least half of us still live here. Right now for me "home" is this living thing still in process; a collection of familiar junk and activities that we have more or less mastered, but not finished with (I know. I know. Never end a sentence with a preposition).
The next circle out is South Florida, which has ostensibly been my home for 27 years...yipes! But, like Lisa, in my heart I consider myself something other than where I live; something other than a "Floridian" (or, for those that missed it, "Flor-idiot"). I am, yes, fluent in South Florida culture and geography. Every single relative who I hold dear lives here. I have taught myself to exploit those things here that I enjoy (beach walks, kayaking, waterside restaurants playing Calypso tunes). But though I have lived here exactly half of my entire life, my being grates against what I perceive as a subtropical sprawl that I will never truly embrace. I love my in-laws, who have welcomed and sustained me through mucho crappo over the years. And I love my local friends ferociously. But even so, I have bluffed to my sons, usually after some domestic mexican standoff, by saying, "If anything ever happened to your father I would so be out of here!". I cannot find complete comfort here... can't make peace with the pace and the population density. The air is too thick, too hot. And I resent the fact that civilization repeats itself every half mile up I-95 from Miami to Jacksonville with an intense, cheek-by-jowl arrangement of Taco Bells, bigbox stores, gas stations and look-alike stucco homes - all glued together by one apparently seamless base of concrete. It is indeed home. But it's also not home.
However, whatever might be the ideal "home" outside of Florida defies definition for me. I have lived so many places before here. In fantasy it would be a place without any of the negatives above. But I haven't found that Shangri-La of temperate perfection yet.
The next home-ish circle out from me is wherever I feel seen, connected and safe. That would include all the familiar roads already traveled; the old friends (like some dear and affirming Smith women) and places lived. It is also found within the familiarity of the various languages I have learned to speak. I speak "church" (I am absolutely fluent in both Catholic and Protestant by now). I speak "family" ("Oh, and you have raised how many kids?"...that's like parlez-vous-Francais? to an expectant mother or a granny). Having had lousy social skills when I was younger I now endeavor to make conversational homes with people wherever I go. When we were in Seattle (Lisa, Mimi and Cindy, you so missed a great time) I was so struck and impressed anew by Allison's gift for engaging anybody and everybody she meets. She does what I would like to do....but she does it like she's on crack.
Allison has this rare and adept gift of making a home, or connection, with everybody she meets. She approaches some guy selling paintings at Pike Place Market. She asks a question or two; makes a appreciative comment. And, like the lighting-quick learner that she is, she immediately demonstrates some understanding and value of that soul...."Hey, girls, this is Tony, he's from San Francisco, like me. Looks at this painting..."...And in the process she makes older-than-Allison Tony feel like he's not just a good painter, or a fellow San Franciscan, but some sort of watercolor "stud" in front of her four appreciative friends. It's easy to feel at home with somebody who treats you like that. And then Tony will share back, and connect, and then Allison made a sort of home with him.
Oh yeah, I've ranged too far. But I had fun making the term walk on all fours.
I guess home is where the heart is.
Love the blog. This is a first for me.
I've been ruminating on what is "home" to me. The word creates images that go out around in me in concentric circles. Fasten your seatbelts. I'm overcaffeinated this morning. And my homelife has recently exploded in petty drama. So I will retreat into the intellectual candy of self-expression.
My little housewife mind first darts to a vision of "Casa del Humphrey" here in Jupiter - a hip-roofed ranch house with palm trees where I have professionally nested and nurtured my brood (with varying degrees of success) for the last 9 years. It's the current and comfortable container of all of our stuff and experiences, still warm with every day life because at least half of us still live here. Right now for me "home" is this living thing still in process; a collection of familiar junk and activities that we have more or less mastered, but not finished with (I know. I know. Never end a sentence with a preposition).
The next circle out is South Florida, which has ostensibly been my home for 27 years...yipes! But, like Lisa, in my heart I consider myself something other than where I live; something other than a "Floridian" (or, for those that missed it, "Flor-idiot"). I am, yes, fluent in South Florida culture and geography. Every single relative who I hold dear lives here. I have taught myself to exploit those things here that I enjoy (beach walks, kayaking, waterside restaurants playing Calypso tunes). But though I have lived here exactly half of my entire life, my being grates against what I perceive as a subtropical sprawl that I will never truly embrace. I love my in-laws, who have welcomed and sustained me through mucho crappo over the years. And I love my local friends ferociously. But even so, I have bluffed to my sons, usually after some domestic mexican standoff, by saying, "If anything ever happened to your father I would so be out of here!". I cannot find complete comfort here... can't make peace with the pace and the population density. The air is too thick, too hot. And I resent the fact that civilization repeats itself every half mile up I-95 from Miami to Jacksonville with an intense, cheek-by-jowl arrangement of Taco Bells, bigbox stores, gas stations and look-alike stucco homes - all glued together by one apparently seamless base of concrete. It is indeed home. But it's also not home.
However, whatever might be the ideal "home" outside of Florida defies definition for me. I have lived so many places before here. In fantasy it would be a place without any of the negatives above. But I haven't found that Shangri-La of temperate perfection yet.
The next home-ish circle out from me is wherever I feel seen, connected and safe. That would include all the familiar roads already traveled; the old friends (like some dear and affirming Smith women) and places lived. It is also found within the familiarity of the various languages I have learned to speak. I speak "church" (I am absolutely fluent in both Catholic and Protestant by now). I speak "family" ("Oh, and you have raised how many kids?"...that's like parlez-vous-Francais? to an expectant mother or a granny). Having had lousy social skills when I was younger I now endeavor to make conversational homes with people wherever I go. When we were in Seattle (Lisa, Mimi and Cindy, you so missed a great time) I was so struck and impressed anew by Allison's gift for engaging anybody and everybody she meets. She does what I would like to do....but she does it like she's on crack.
Allison has this rare and adept gift of making a home, or connection, with everybody she meets. She approaches some guy selling paintings at Pike Place Market. She asks a question or two; makes a appreciative comment. And, like the lighting-quick learner that she is, she immediately demonstrates some understanding and value of that soul...."Hey, girls, this is Tony, he's from San Francisco, like me. Looks at this painting..."...And in the process she makes older-than-Allison Tony feel like he's not just a good painter, or a fellow San Franciscan, but some sort of watercolor "stud" in front of her four appreciative friends. It's easy to feel at home with somebody who treats you like that. And then Tony will share back, and connect, and then Allison made a sort of home with him.
Oh yeah, I've ranged too far. But I had fun making the term walk on all fours.
I guess home is where the heart is.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Home At Last
Seems that a lot has been going on while I (Colleen) have been away from my computer. Congrats Allison on setting up the Blog. We have come a long way! I assume this posting will show from Allison as I used her info to get in. Will try soon to set up my own account.
I haven't calculated the exact number of days but the reality is I have been on the road most of the summer. Stimulating and fun to see all but creating great havoc in terms of getting the bills paid and reading my email. Yes, I know I should travel with my handy, dandy iBook (remember, most of you were here when I got it and Lisa and Mimi created the slide show of US in at our first reunion?) but trying to travel without checking baggage and getting through Security is enough trouble! Besides there is no internet service at HOME in Farmington or Cape Cod.
Speaking of Home, as you all have been in your postings, I have given it a lot of thought lately. Unlike Allison, I am not sure I even feel at home anymore in the house I grew up in. It is so different with my Dad there alone. Mom is nearby but their lives are so altered and it is so difficult to figure out how to help. I loved being in NYC for the couple of days I spent helping Kristin get settled in her new apartment! I still feel so AT HOME pounding the pavement there! Finally though, returning to Pacific Palisades is home; as they say home is where the heart is but Lisa, you are right about the conflict that exists between what Californians say and what they do. They may own a Prius; but it is in addition to multiple other gas hogs!
I haven't calculated the exact number of days but the reality is I have been on the road most of the summer. Stimulating and fun to see all but creating great havoc in terms of getting the bills paid and reading my email. Yes, I know I should travel with my handy, dandy iBook (remember, most of you were here when I got it and Lisa and Mimi created the slide show of US in at our first reunion?) but trying to travel without checking baggage and getting through Security is enough trouble! Besides there is no internet service at HOME in Farmington or Cape Cod.
Speaking of Home, as you all have been in your postings, I have given it a lot of thought lately. Unlike Allison, I am not sure I even feel at home anymore in the house I grew up in. It is so different with my Dad there alone. Mom is nearby but their lives are so altered and it is so difficult to figure out how to help. I loved being in NYC for the couple of days I spent helping Kristin get settled in her new apartment! I still feel so AT HOME pounding the pavement there! Finally though, returning to Pacific Palisades is home; as they say home is where the heart is but Lisa, you are right about the conflict that exists between what Californians say and what they do. They may own a Prius; but it is in addition to multiple other gas hogs!
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Left Coast
I have to agree with Lisa that although I lived on the East Coast for 7 years, I was never anything but a West coast girl...either up North or Northern California...ocean was just on the wrong side back East.
But at what point do you "attach" to something that is your home? I was thinking of this with various trips to Seattle (not just ours but again this week) and thinking of Tacome/Seattle as "home" where I was formed. I left at 15...you'd think I'd reattach to something, and I have to SF, but the nostaligia I felt in Seattle was interesting to me.
But it's a sense of home for all of us to be together as well, a sense of being understood (why you like to be where you are familiar), of knowing where you are, who you are and what to expect.
(We need some ph0tos)
But at what point do you "attach" to something that is your home? I was thinking of this with various trips to Seattle (not just ours but again this week) and thinking of Tacome/Seattle as "home" where I was formed. I left at 15...you'd think I'd reattach to something, and I have to SF, but the nostaligia I felt in Seattle was interesting to me.
But it's a sense of home for all of us to be together as well, a sense of being understood (why you like to be where you are familiar), of knowing where you are, who you are and what to expect.
(We need some ph0tos)
Once a New Yorker...
We have been having an online exchange about cool (and a little pricier than the CVS variety) flip-flops, an innovation like many moving from west to east. It hit a nerve; we live in different places and the prevailing winds over time cause us to bend in different directions. I will always be a New Yorker: I came of age there and my extended family is there. I migrate back to the theater and shop for deep discounts, but living in the rural Midwest for 18 years has also made its mark.
I read a letter to the editor in the NYT this morning from a new Stanford Phd who just moved from Palo Alto to Bloomington to teach here in the religious studies department. He was reacting to a NYT piece on Silicon Valley millionaires who feel poor by comparison to others in their community. He observed that by moving here, he and his wife suddenly felt not just economically secure, but even privileged. The income distribution here is a very shallow curve. I have been commuting to California and hope eventually to call it home, but I cannot get used to the differences and paradoxes. In Marin, people are green and left, but consume like crazy and yell at you in traffic. What is the impact of how, and where, we choose to live?
I have decided to keep my house in Bloomington as a refuge in my old age (Eight Post Ninety).
I read a letter to the editor in the NYT this morning from a new Stanford Phd who just moved from Palo Alto to Bloomington to teach here in the religious studies department. He was reacting to a NYT piece on Silicon Valley millionaires who feel poor by comparison to others in their community. He observed that by moving here, he and his wife suddenly felt not just economically secure, but even privileged. The income distribution here is a very shallow curve. I have been commuting to California and hope eventually to call it home, but I cannot get used to the differences and paradoxes. In Marin, people are green and left, but consume like crazy and yell at you in traffic. What is the impact of how, and where, we choose to live?
I have decided to keep my house in Bloomington as a refuge in my old age (Eight Post Ninety).
First Post
Eight women stayed friends for thirty five years, long enough to learn what a "blog" was and to start one. This is our first entry.
We will amuse each other but we will also impart some of the collectively 400 years of experience we contain within our group. No small task.
We have just come off of our third reunion in four years...five of us made to Seattle to Eulalie ("Betsy") Sullivan's, for a (second) Harry Potter mad evening, some local theatre and lots of salmon; we pet Rachel the pig at Pike's Place, viewed art, made art and our skin benefited from the lovely mist of Seattle.
I'm the ice breaker so fitting I should start it out, but I am very dependent upon the others for carry through so here it goes. best, Ms. Allison
We will amuse each other but we will also impart some of the collectively 400 years of experience we contain within our group. No small task.
We have just come off of our third reunion in four years...five of us made to Seattle to Eulalie ("Betsy") Sullivan's, for a (second) Harry Potter mad evening, some local theatre and lots of salmon; we pet Rachel the pig at Pike's Place, viewed art, made art and our skin benefited from the lovely mist of Seattle.
I'm the ice breaker so fitting I should start it out, but I am very dependent upon the others for carry through so here it goes. best, Ms. Allison
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