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this parenting gig isn’t for the weak of heart

August 31, 2010 in out and about | 4 comments

Because watching my Lulu go off to school in my last post wasn’t enough…

This weekend Chris and I brought H to NYU.

I started writing a maudlin post with lots of wrenching details like the sight of H’s boxers intermingled with the family laundry for the last time, and the sorrow of shopping at Whole Foods without buying his peanut butter Clif bars. But it was just too much. Too personal, too close.

I will say this. That last hug is as hard as you imagine it will be. But it helps when you start to let go, and he just keeps holding on. I can still feel his arms around me, squeezing me back. I’m hanging on to that.

It’s also no slight solace that technology makes the world so much smaller these days. My boy may be 3,000 miles away, but we’ve talked, texted and emailed. This afternoon I reminded him to eat his fruits and veggies.

His dorm is on 10th and Broadway in New York City. Think of that! He has a world of excitement waiting right outside his elevator door. I’m hanging on to that too.

doesn't everyone have a dorm at 10th and broadway?

For now, I try not to cry every time I walk past his empty bedroom. I told Mr. T to expect extra hugs from me because I can’t give them to H. And I’m trying to busy myself with other projects.

I’ve got a big one planned. Right here! Tomorrow! A big ol’ month-long project that requires audience participation. So come on back, my friends, and keep me from drowning in my own salty puddle of tears. I know you’re good for that.

such grand plans

July 8, 2010 in out and about | 18 comments

I had such grand plans.

Plans to post from each new place we visited on our trip. (But we didn’t always have internet. And three of us with computers had to share we one Northern European adapter. Plus, there wasn’t always time for blog posts: we were on vacation.)

I had plans to keep a journal as we traveled. (When the kids were younger, we all kept great travel journals. We’d sit in cafés in Paris and write in our journals and glue in empty sugar packets. The kids drew pictures of Picasso’s art, and I listed the meals we ate. But somehow it was harder this time, keeping an eighteen-year-old and a fourteen-year-old and an eight-year-old happy all at once. We didn’t do a lot of lingering in cafés–unless there happened to be free Wi-Fi, in which case everyone was happy to linger. The ever-resourceful Lulu did, however, manage to keep a journal with admirable diligence on this trip.)

I had plans to–at the very least–jot down notes as we went. I’ve always appreciated Pico Iyer’s advice that one ought to write down first impressions of a place right away, while everything seems new. (Did I do it? Nope. And I call myself a writer. Sheesh.)

We’ve been home for a week. I had big plans of catching up, posting about the places I hadn’t blogged about yet: Ribe, Denmark; Munich; Salzburg. (But two days after we got home–when Mr. T was still jet-lagged enough to wake up every night at 2:00 a.m. and stay up the rest of the night playing–we left again, for a long holiday weekend at the lake with family. Which was relaxing and all, but it didn’t leave me any time to catch up in this space.)

The trouble with grand plans is that they freeze you up, and make it impossible to accomplish anything. I wasn’t sure how to catch up here. Should I post about the places I hadn’t written about yet; should I post about traveling with kids in general? Should I write about how this trip was bittersweet–the last before H. goes to college, and the first in which he’d have preferred to be home with his friends rather than traveling with us?

I finally decided to stop planning this post and to just write it. Plow forward with a few highlights of the rest of the trip as they come to me, before I forget them–since I didn’t take Pico’s advice when I should have.

So, random highlights from the rest of the trip:

Making dinner in our little kitchen nook, in our bed & breakfast in Ribe, Denmark, with nothing more than a tiny toasting grill. Open-faced sandwiches, green salad and Greek salad. Not very Scandinavian of us–but we were craving veggies. * Eating it in the gorgeous courtyard garden, which we could only get to by walking out our small front door, going down the cobble-stoned street and around the corner, and through a fence. We finally hit on the idea of passing our plates out the bathroom window.

Visiting the original Legoland in Billund, Denmark and being just as amazed that so many kids in one place could have blond hair as we were with the Lego models of the world’s cities. And amazed too at the fact that Ben and Jerry’s is a big hit in Scandinavia. There’s something funny about hearing Scandinavians order Cherry Garcia * Being in Ribe for their midsummer celebration, which involves having everyone in town follow a woman dressed as a witch alongside the river, as the sun begins begins to set at 9:30 p.m., while local children dressed in old-fashioned rags berate her in Danish, and then everyone gathers to sing a song about some fellow named Sankte Hans, and watches a scarecrow-replica of the witch lady get shot down a zipline across the river into a great bonfire (and, apparently, as the old lore dictates, back to Germany.)

Re-watching The Darjeeling Limited with Chris and H on H’s computer before our own sleeper train overnight to Germany. Sweet lime, anyone? * Finding out, on said sleeper train, that sleeper train compartments sleep six, while we are a family of five. Which meant, of course, that someone (who came to be known as The Stranger) would be joining us to sleep. This freaked the kids utterly out. Turns out that The Stranger didn’t board the train until 12:30 a.m., after we had already gone to bed. Although I did mumble a little awkward hi in the dark as he stowed his backpack under my bunk. He climbed up the ladder and on to his upper bunk, and then disembarked before the kids woke up. Although I woke up when he left. And couldn’t help singing to myself lines from the old Supertramp song: Goodbye stranger, it’s been nice… * Drinking 1-liter large steins in a Munich beer garden, and watching the locals carefully salt and then eat heaping plates of shaved white radishes. Next time I’m trying those.

Commenting on a few favorite blogs in the Apple store in Munich as Chris waited in a very long line to buy an iPad cover. * Seeing the beautiful sanctuaries built in recent years at the concentration camp at Dachau, to promote peace and healing.

Watching Lulu try on dirndls. She decided not to buy one, but not until the salesgirl had tied at least fifteen different-colored silk aprons around Lulu’s waist, one after the other, searching for the perfect shade. * Seeing the German team win their World Cup game against England in a beer garden, and then watching the Muncheners take over a wide boulevard to parade and party and celebrate.

Discovering that the laundry room in our hotel had a vending machine with giant bottles of cold bubble water for 80 euro cents. There was a heat wave in Munich, and we couldn’t get enough of that cold, cheap bubble water. The machine also sold big bottles of beer for one euro each! * Taking Mr. T to the modern art museum on Sunday morning while the older kids slept.

Leaving H behind with a high school friend who’s in Munich for the summer, while the other four of us took the two-hour train ride to Salzburg, Austria for the Sound of Music tour. (Lulu’s choice.) Saw many of the film’s sites while our tour guide charmed us with his sounds-exactly-like-Arnold-Schwarzenegger accent and his lederhosen. I wish you could hear how he said streudel. Sht-ryoo-del. * Taking a break from the Von Trapp sites for an exhilarating summer luge ride down a mountainside metal chute.

Finding out, for the 11-hour plane ride home, that the plane had been overbooked, and we’d been bumped up to business class. Private compartments, seats that reclined to beds, chilled silverware and food that actually tasted good. What a way to end a trip.

And so ends a trip which began as yet another grand plan. I’ll never forget the sunny hej hej we got from all the Stockholmers (it means hello and sounds like hey hey) and I’ll never forget the young Munchener who teased us when he thought we were English, after the Germans beat the English soccer team. We talked to him for a minute amidst the celebratory crowds and he whispered confessionally to Chris, “We’re a new generation. Not for Hitler.” It surprised us. We thought he knew that we knew that–that we’ve known it for decades.

No matter how carefully you plan a trip, you never know quite what will happen, or what will stay with you in the end. Which is one of the very best parts of traveling.

Koor-ben-haun

June 29, 2010 in out and about | 11 comments

Sort of how it sounds when the locals pronounce København. Known to us as Copenhagen.

Luckily almost everyone in Copenhagen speaks English, because all of our combined understanding of Spanish, French and Italian helped us not a whit in Scandinavia. People spoke Swedish or Danish around us, and we couldn’t snatch out even a word here or there. And somehow, Danish seemed even trickier to interpret than Swedish. Chris joked that it seems to work sort of like this: whenever there is a letter l followed by a vowel in a word, you just throw in the syllable “huven”. There seem to be lots of extra syllables going on in those words.

But the kids figured out the word for hot dog pretty fast. Pølse. There are carts everywhere, and the quality (so this veggie-head hears) is much better than your typical American dog. They stuff them into a bun with a hole down the middle.

We stayed in a very cool apartment. Renting apartments is generally much cheaper than staying in hotels when traveling, and the internet makes them easy to find. Works out great with kids, because you get a kitchen–and sometimes even a tiny washing machine.

We watched the crown princess of Sweden marry her beloved on television. It was fun to think that just days before we’d walked very near to where they were. My favorite part: when they answered the do you take this man/woman question with ja! Somehow that cracked Lulu and me up.

I took a photo of my new Swedish clogs in the reflection of our Danish refrigerator.

We saw all the classic Copenhagen sites. The harbor.

The statue of Hans Christian Andersen. (The ever-popular-with-tourists Little Mermaid statue has swum off to China for the summer.)

Hippie-haven Christiania. Reminded us an awful lot of Telegraph Avenue, back in Berkeley.

Tivoli gardens. Rides to make teenagers happy, and gardens to please a mama. Beautiful.

We walked and walked. Saw interesting public art.

And more captivating gardens.

And pretty jars in a coffee shop. It took fifteen minutes to get our lattes. And they cost six or seven bucks, when converted to dollars! But at least the shelves were stunning while we waited.

The National Museum of Denmark was wonderful. It had one of the most amazing children’s areas I’ve ever seen in a museum, with big plastic medieval meats and viking costumes.

We also enjoyed the English language tour at the Museum of Danish Resistance, which tells the story of Denmark during World War II. Fascinating stuff–now we need to go home and watch Flame and Citron, a Danish film about two actual resistance fighters, which came out a few years back.

Since I didn’t eat pølse, I dug into sandwiches. I love all the dark, hearty, seedy bread in northern Europe! Accompanied by a beer, of course.

Chris and I walked over to the harbor to watch the Danes play Cameroon in the World Cup on a giant screen. Man, those Danes are a patriotic folk. There were red and white flags everywhere.

We were lucky enough to experience what happens when the Danes score a goal. Out comes their inner viking!

It was fun to be there with them. Danny Kaye had it right.

southern sweden

June 25, 2010 in out and about | 7 comments

We only had three days in Stockholm. I wish we’d had more time; it’s a gorgeous city, and there was so much more to see. Someday.

My mother’s grandparents emigrated from Sweden to Minnesota. It was only after I did a little internet research on the family that I learned of the great emigration of Swedes to America during the late 1800′s. One-fifth of the population emigrated to America, many to Minnesota (like my great-grandparents–and the American Girl doll, Kirsten!) Most of those emigrants were from an area in the south central part of Sweden called Smaland.

Most of my ancestors came from Smaland, from small towns near Växjö. These days in Växjö, there’s a museum and research center called Utvandrarnas Hus (House of Emigrants) which focuses on the Swedes who left for America. Unfortunately, it looks like the museum will be closing after this year. We were lucky to find it still open, and stopped by on our way down south.

(Remember how I wrote about white balance in photos a few posts back? Well, the white balance is really off in this photo, which makes it look like a bad Polaroid. But I don’t have access to my photo editing software here, so it will have to do.)

The museum was interesting. You can get a sense of what sort of information they cover on their website. They had a nice area on the renowned Swedish writer Vilhem Moberg–you can also read about him on the museum website. Moberg wrote a series of four novels about the Swedish emigration to America. I’m reading a translation of the first book, The Emigrants; I started it hoping that it would be informative, and didn’t anticipate how much I’d enjoy it. The books were made into a Swedish film with Liv Ullman. It doesn’t seem easy to find, but I’m hoping to see it after I read the book.

We stayed on an island off the coast of mainland Sweden on the Baltic Sea, called Ölund. The king and queen of Sweden have a vacation home there, and there are windmills everywhere.

We stayed at a hostel and working organic farm called Solberga Gård, which means sunny hill farm.

It was beautiful.

I just wanted to take photos the whole time. The main house:

A second guest house, below. The barns and houses in the Swedish countryside are almost all this shade of red. Apparently the original red paint pigment was a byproduct of the mining industry in Sweden. You can read a little about it, and see some other examples on the charming blog red.house

Lulu especially loved the swing.

The Swedes and Danes love their bikes. There are bike riders everywhere, even in the big cities like Stockholm and Copenhagen.

I found more Swedish beehives.

There were organic seedlings for sale.

And purple and white lilac bloomed all over the island. So utterly fragrant–it made me think of what a Swedish grandmother must smell like.

We also visited some fantastic castle ruins on Ölund called Borgholms Slott. There’s a great aerial photo of the castle if you click that link. It was fun to explore the ruins, and there were beautiful views of the Baltic Sea.

I’ve still been struggling to get internet, so I’m behind. Next stop: Copenhagen!

where in the world is wonder farm?

June 20, 2010 in out and about | 10 comments

Can you guess?

And if you haven’t figured it out yet:

I’m a little behind on posting, due to lack of internet connection, and having to take turns with a single power cord adaptor (sharing with teenagers who need their international Facebook fixes!) But I’m hoping to post more photos in the next few days, because everything is so darned beautiful.

Until then, hej då!

over the fence, out of the norm

April 22, 2010 in out and about, the bees | 15 comments

If you’re here via the kind link from heather at Beauty That Moves, welcome! This little blog has never seen such a full house, but there’s plenty of room, so come on in!

Since I left you dangling, or more precisely left myself dangling a few weeks back, on that chain-link fence, I figured that I’d better tell the whole story.

Have you ever immersed yourself in some sort of fringe activity, and met others who partake in the same activity, until over time it seems that what you’re doing is totally normal and mainstream–only to realize later that what your doing is actually still quite fringe-y? (I’m talking about clean and legal activities, mind you.)

I’ve had this experience with homeschooling. I’ve met so many homeschoolers over the course of fourteen years, and I spend so much time with them that I sometimes forget that what we’re doing is seen by many people as rather radical.

Same for beekeeping. I have several beekeeping friends: stefaneener, kristin, susan. I even have a blogging, beekeeping uncle. I sometimes forget that posting a photo of myself climbing as chain link fence in a beesuit to capture a swarm may be seen by others as a little, um, crazy.

But let’s go back to the beginning.

You may remember that in February, I posted about my hive. How I’d opened it up, found the queen, and was excited that as a first-year beekeeper, I’d helped them make it through their first winter. How I had high hopes for honey this year.

Well. Two weeks later I checked again and they were gone. All but a couple of ladies who sat at the front entrance worrying together and wringing their tiny bee hands. Where had they all gone? And why?

I have no idea. This is just what bees do. Sometimes they take off and go. I knew that, but it was still a little heartbreaking to have it happen to me, especially because this was my first colony. I cried, I did. My mom said that maybe it was a way of preparing me for my oldest going off to college in the fall.

She was trying to be helpful, really.

So I left my hive out in the yard, somewhat full of honey, hoping that another colony might just happen by, before the ants snarfed down the honey. And hoping that one of my even crazier beekeeping friends might get a swarm call.

Both Stefaneener and Kristin are on swarm lists. That means that if someone finds a swarm of bees, or a wild hive on their property, they can call my friends. The caller gets free bee swarm removal; my friends get free bees.

Swarming is a natural part of bee life. Sometimes a colony decides that it doesn’t like its real estate and it looks for something better. It may be that the current living space is too small, or maybe it’s gotten a little too hot in there, or….who knows? Sometimes they just decide to move on, and it often happens in the spring.

They fly out together in a big–for lack of a better word–swarm. Eventually they gather in a cluster, often on a tree. They gather protectively around the queen and wait while a few scouts search out better digs.

Colonies are generally quite calm when they’ve swarmed. They have no honey or brood to protect. Which makes them fairly easy to collect.

Or at least this is what Stefaneener told me, when she phoned to tell me that she’d received a swarm call, and would I like to help gather it and keep it for my own?

Why, yes I would, so long as she was with me. Stefaneener knows her stuff. Look at the nutty things she does for bees! This job would be much easier. The most challenging part–it would turn out–would be climbing that chain-link fence. Six times.

The swarm was behind some houses, alongside a creek. The houses ran up against that fence, which was the boundary of an adjoining golf course.

Stefaneener is a good climber. You only need to check out that link of her climbing up that very tall ladder for that swarm, or witness her children owning the monkey bars to understand this. I am not a good climber. I am not terribly athletic in any way. Always the last to get chosen for dodge ball. The only kid I knew who played soccer for eight years and never scored a goal.

I made it up the fence just fine. But once I got to the top, I couldn’t move. My hiking boots wouldn’t fit into the links; I had no toe hold. S., from the far side of the fence, tried to help. “Just swing your leg over.” Easy for you! I finally had her unlace and take off my boot, but then it hurt to put my merely socked foot into the links. I just sat there, forked in the rear by the top of the links, giggling at my ineptitude and feeling helpless.

It’s sort of a blur now, but I think that getting over involved stepping on S.’s back somehow.

I put my boot back on and we trudged through blackberry vines.

Found the swarm.

That’s when I realized that I’d left my gloves in the car.

You know what that meant. Two more trips over the fence. (Sigh.)

Back again, we saw that the swarm was clustered over a mass of branches and vines. We couldn’t simply cut a branch and gently drop it into a box.

(I wish I had a better photo of the cluster. You can sort of see it in the photo above.)

Instead, we shook the branch until some of the bees fell into the box.

We also used our gloved hands to brush them into the box. They didn’t seem to like that much and buzzed about, though not too angrily.

After we’d collected a good part of the swarm into the box, S. decided it might be best to leave them alone until dusk. The rest of the colony would have followed the queen into the box by then.

So, back over the fence we went. (Trip #4, if you’re counting.) I became slightly less inept with each climb.

At 7:00 pm, (after Trip #5) we were back at the swarm. Only to find that every single bee had rejoined the original cluster back in the tree. We must not have moved the queen into the box earlier in the afternoon.

On to Plan B. We had to hack at all the branches and vines with my small pruners (at least I’d remembered them). One branch was quite thick, so S. held the box while I hacked. And hacked.

Finally they were all in. We enclosed the box in a sheet so no strays would nettle me as I drove home on the freeway.

Trip #6 was rather victorious. S. went first, I passed the box over to her and then climbed over myself. I’d like to say I was graceful; at least I can say I was successful.

I dumped the box into my empty hive that night: bees, branches, vines and all. I wanted the bees to have the night to settle in. In the morning, when it was still cold and before they got active, I shook the bees off the branches and that was that. I had a hive again.

I also had a very sore upper body. The results of beekeeping boot camp. For a few days, that soreness reminded me that I’ve now joined the ranks of the slightly crazy.

The girls and their drones seem happy in their new place. There seem to be far more of them than I ever had with my original colony, which I’d bought as a package.

The purple Pride of Madeira is blooming just outside their front door and they’re all over it.

And they got here just in time, just as our ollalieberry bushes began to bloom.

It’s going to be a good year for berries, I think.

Fruits of living on the fringe.

darned homeschooling

April 15, 2010 in homeschooling, out and about | 43 comments

If we hadn’t homeschooled, he probably wouldn’t have developed his passion for filmmaking. He might have, but probably not to this extent. He wouldn’t have had the time to make all those films with his buddy when he was fourteen and fifteen; he wouldn’t have studied Hitchock’s films for months as a homeschooling project; he wouldn’t have spent so much time at the youth filmmaking program which he’s attended for almost three years now.

If we hadn’t homeschooled, we probably wouldn’t have traveled so much. He might not have figured out at such an early age how much he loves cities. It surprised me how much he loved London at nine, Rome at fourteen. And he was awestruck from the moment we dragged our suitcases out of Penn Station in New York City when he was fifteen.

If we hadn’t homeschooled, he might not have developed the notion that you should love what you’re learning. That covering a bunch of subjects to satisfy other people isn’t how you ought to live your life. And he might not have believed that at seventeen you can know yourself, and know what will make you happy.

This kid knows himself. He knows what will make him happy, and he’s gone out there and made it happen.

This past weekend Chris and I took H to a weekend for admitted students at H’s college of choice.

In New York City. That’s about as far across the country as you can get from where we are in California.

But the weekend was thrilling. And the school seems about the most ideal place for H that I can imagine.

Have you ever been to NYU? It sits smack in the middle of Greenwich Village. It isn’t a typical college campus–there are no boundries, or football stadiums or fraternity houses. Classroom buildings are tucked in between thrift shops and falafel joints and subway stations; you know it’s an NYU building when you see the purple flag waving above the entrance. The Tisch film school is right there on Broadway. The school just radiates out from Washington Square, letting all of New York City become its campus.

We got to wander around the Film and Television building, poking our noses into studios and Foley booths and talking to professors. Unlike at other film schools, H will likely take a single general ed course each semester, and the rest will be all film classes, all the time. After two years of high school, H has had it with general ed. He wants to explore what he wants to explore and he wants to do it now.

And the thought of living in New York City thrills him like you would not believe.

So now I have to prepare myself to ship my first baby across the country in September, to live in big, bad NYC. I’m sure it hasn’t hit me how hard it will be to have him so far away, to see him so rarely. And I would probably be a puddle of tears and panic right now–if I weren’t so dang excited for him.

If we hadn’t homeschooled, he might never have gotten the notion to study filmmaking in New York City. But he did, and in a few months he’ll be leaving. Darned homeschooling. It creates independent kids who know what they want out of life.

Consider yourself warned.

retreat

February 2, 2010 in celebrations and traditions, out and about | 26 comments

This weekend, Lulu and I went on retreat with our mother-daughter group, to the hostel in Point Reyes.

It was a glorious weekend.

The eight pairs of mothers and daughters formed from our homeschooling support group, back when the girls were eleven and twelve. A few of the girls have left the larger group to attend school, but our monthly meetings have helped us maintain our friendships.

We meet each month and explore different topics related to girls and growing up. This last year the girls decided that they wanted our meetings to be less structured and more fun–more of an opportunity for us mamas and our daughters to simply enjoy each other’s company.

We started planning the retreat almost a year-and-a-half ago. And was it easy to find a whole weekend in which sixteen busy mothers and daughters could get away? Nope. The organizing got so frustrating that we almost gave up.

I’m so glad we didn’t. We had such a wonderful weekend. The moms made breakfast on Saturday morning, and the girls cooked a fabulous pasta dinner. Weeks of rain magically cleared away on Saturday, and we had a gorgeous afternoon on the beach. The girls had a few (secret) activities and ceremonies planned, and there were giggles and shrieks and solemnity in equal measure as they were carried out.

Despite all of our scheduling difficulties, we had somehow managed to unknowingly schedule the trip during a full moon. On Saturday night the mothers planned a special full-moon ceremony for the girls. I hesitate to divulge too much, but at the same time, if sharing a bit of what we did might encourage other mothers to get a group like this together for their own girls, and to consider planning a special coming-of-age ceremony for them, I think it’s worth it.

Our ceremony involved having the girls take a one-mile hike in the dark, alone. They followed a trail we had marked earlier in the day. They didn’t bring flashlights–although the moon was so brilliant that they didn’t need them. Each girl began her hike a few minutes apart from the other girls. Each of us mothers were stationed along the trail, waiting with a flickering tea light. As each girl approached us in turn, we shared something we wanted to offer her as she journeys into womanhood: a poem, a story, a bit of insight. At the end of the trail, the girls met up and walked back to the trailhead together, where we mothers had gathered, waiting for them.

The ceremony turned out to be far more moving than I could have imagined. Waiting on the trail, the only sounds were frogs singing, a creek rippling and the waves of the Pacific. Then slowly the sound of footsteps approaching in the gravel would build, and a girl would appear in the dark, to hear your words and receive your hug. And then she would walk on and there would be silence again and in time more footsteps would come. After the last girl left me, I just stayed in my spot, watching the clouds shroud and then reveal the moon, basking in how grateful I felt to be in the presence of some absolutely lovely young women.

As we ate breakfast in the hostel kitchen on Sunday morning, another hostel visitor commented on how special it was that our girls, at fourteen and fifteen, seemed so happy to spend time with their mothers.

“They’re beautiful girls,” he said.

And they are beautiful. Inside and out. I’m still buzzing with how good it felt to take a weekend to celebrate that.

a zaballos brothers production

November 14, 2009 in creativity, lens looking, out and about | 14 comments

H and Mr. T worked on a film together last weekend. Only unlike the Coens, this pair has one brother who directs, and one who acts.

H has been filming Mr. T as long as he’s been playing around with movie cameras. A brother almost ten years younger makes good fodder for a teenage filmmaker. Especially when that younger brother is willing to do almost anything: being the candy-loving superhero Super T, a slightly insane Pirate Ninja Man, a very young James Bond. (H was inspired early on by Robert Rodriguez after reading Rebel Without a Crew. Have you seen Rodriguez’ short student film “Bedhead“, featuring his younger siblings?)

This latest project was H’s first serious collaboration with his brother. The original idea for this film started brewing after H visited the odd local spot referred to as the Albany Bulb. The link takes you to an article from the San Francisco Chronicle, which begins:

“It’s a little spit of land jutting out into the San Francisco Bay from Albany on the eastern shore. Boasting a world-class view of the Golden Gate bridge and spectacular sunsets, the Bulb was originally a dump, covered over with dirt and then by vegetation. Deemed toxic, and neglected for many years, this unwanted trash heap was claimed by kindred spirits; fellow outcasts like homeless people and artists and finally, dog-walkers who could let their canine charges run wild.”

Everywhere on the The Bulb, you’ll find art. A giant driftwood dragon, an amphitheater made from junk, the heart-shaped “Castle” created from concrete and shopping cart parts.

When H saw the Castle, a story began to collect, about a young boy who lives on an island, alone, making a home in the Castle and gazing across the water at the skyline of San Francisco. H saw it as a wordless film, without much explanatory narrative. A film that could capitalize on the wildly disparate images of the Bulb: nature and garbage, sunsets and art crafted from cast-offs. A place that somehow conveys both hopefulness and hopelessness.

And of course, H had the perfect actor in mind.

I was a little worried about that. It was one thing to have H and Mr. T collaborate on home-spun projects together. But this would be made with H’s film program. His instructor from the program would be there. Even more of a concern: the program had been gifted with some actual 16 mm film, and H’s project was to be shot on it. Because shooting on film is so different from shooting on digital, they would hire a cinematographer to work with H. And they couldn’t afford lots of extra shots; the film was too precious.

It would be one very long day’s shoot. And I had no idea how Mr. T would hold up.

Turns out, he’s a pro. A pro with a bit of attitude. He didn’t like rehearsing shots. H would tell him what he wanted, and when they filmed the digital rehearsal (to record the sound), Mr. T would do some half-hearted little pantomime. But as soon as the film camera rolled (and you can hear film rolling in a camera), T would nail just what H asked for. Usually on the first shot.

Of course, he had no lines, which helped.

Chris and I were there for the day, from 8:00 am to 5:30, to serve as child wranglers and food fetchers. But I didn’t have a lot to do. Other than a little bit of costume-fixing, a good deal of knitting, and a good deal of watching my boys.

A film shoot can be about as exciting as watching bread dough rise. It’s slow and tedious and often eye-crossingly boring. But what amazes me is that H, a kid I would never describe as patient, loves every minute of it. He has such a strong vision of what he wants for each shot, and he’s willing to do what it takes to get it.

On Thursday, H left for Los Angeles for a field trip with his film program. One of their destinations is FotoKem , the largest film processing lab on the west coast. They’ll have a tour, they’ll have their film processed. Then, according to H’s film project director, “we’ll have a chance to screen our 16mm film in an in-house theater specifically for watching ‘dailies’. They’ll be sitting in seats previously occupied by Scorsese, Coppola, etc.”

It’s an amazing opportunity.

When I asked H why shooting on film is such a big deal, he got up out of his chair and started pacing around the kitchen, he was so excited. “It’s just gonna look so good!” But shooting on film is nerve-wracking too: H won’t know how his footage came out until he sees it screened in that theater. I can’t wait to find out.

The lab will transfer the film to digital. Then when H gets home, he’ll begin editing.

I have no doubt that H will find work in the film industry, someday, somewhere. But Mr. T as an actor? Who knows? Waiting to see H’s film develop is nothing compared to waiting to see this wacky kid develop. If Mr. T does decide to continue acting, if one day some cheesy Barbara Walters special wants vintage footage, we’ll have lots of good stuff to offer. Footage lovingly filmed by his brother.

atwitter: september

September 28, 2009 in atwitter, books, from the kitchen, homeschooling, makin' stuff, out and about, writing | 14 comments

A blogging mama meet-up. A while back I wrote about meeting some blogging friends in person for the first time. Well, we did it again, but this time there were seven of us. The photo above is what Mr. T came up with when I asked him to use my camera to take a picture of us lined-up mamas. That’s the back of my head–guess the boy likes close-ups. Tara.mama.wendy’s Finn got a much better one. Maya of Urban Organica did a fun write-up of the day. And Amy of Diary of a Domestic Animal wrote a musing that made me teary. I’m still amazed at how you can find kindred souls via computers. And I’m still feeling the magic of the day.

making mozzarella. Ever since reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, I’ve wanted to try making my own fresh mozzarella. I finally got a cheesemaking kit, and have made two batches. I’m still learning and tweaking, but it’s been fun! Good, local organic milk seems to be key. I’ve used full-fat milk in both batches, but I’m going to try lowfat for my next batch; the locally-made mozzarella that I like tastes like it’s from part-skim milk. And while our tomatoes haven’t gone gangbusters this year–note to self: plant favas and amend soil–we’ve had a steady stream. Perfect with homemade mozz.

new books. Spunk and Bite: A Writer’s Guide to Bold, Contemporary Style, by Arthur Plotnik is very naughtily tempting me away from my essayist for this month, M.F.K Fisher. The book was recommended by my writing friend Carolyn, after reading my E.B. White post, and the comments on Strunk and White’s Elements of Style. Spunk and Bite is the antidote to all the confining rules of Strunk and White. Here’s a quote, showing Plotnik’s response to a quote by White: “Stick to the standard, White decreed, because ‘by the time this paragraph sees print, uptight, ripoff, rap, dude, vibe, copout, and funky will be the words of yesteryear’. That was some thirty years ago–and, dude, those words are still very much around.” Funny. The whole book is written with that kind of wit. Good writing advice that takes its own advice.

making kombucha. Now I’m really going to be accused of going off the deep end of the earth mama pool. But I’ve developed a craving for the stuff. I’ve always been a vinegar fiend, and kombucha is vinegary, fizzy and thirst-quenching. Plus there are lots of purported health benefits, which you can read about online, or in books like Nourishing Traditions. But at $3 and up per bottle, I thought I’d try to make my own. You need a kombucha “mother” to start a batch, which means you need a friend with a working batch, or you can buy one (fairly expensively) online. I’m trying to start my own mother, using a store-bought bottle and this recipe from Paprika. I started mine on 8/25, and it’s just about ready for brewing a first batch. Of course, I think it’s developed especially well over the last few days, because my jar got a new cover. Isn’t it exquisite? It was crocheted by Molly, using thread from her husband’s grandmother. Looking at every tiny stitch in its pattern, I’m awed by the artistry and the fact that it’s been gifted to me. It’s really far too beautiful to be on a jar of kombucha; look at how pretty it looks on Molly’s pitcher. Then again, I kinda like having it over my pet project. Like I told Molly, it’s sorta perfect, resting over something that’s alive and growing and changing–like friendship.

knitting progress. This one’s coming along much faster than my sweater coat. One sleeve almost finished, one more to go. It’s in linen and cotton–perfect for the Indian summer weather we’re having, and I want to wear it now! My version is a bastardization of two patterns. Details here for you Ravelers.

So tell me, what has you all atwitter?

how to set a house on fire

September 1, 2009 in creativity, homeschooling, out and about | 18 comments

A titillating post title (but perhaps an inappropriate one given the number of wildfires tearing through California right now.)

I’m using it because it’s the title of H’s latest film. It screened at the SF Museum of Modern Art last night. It was part of a selection of youth films which are being released on a companion disc with the latest issue of Big Bell, a local literary magazine.

going to the moma

I will probably get in trouble for posting about it, once H finds out. And he will find out, because he googles his film titles on a regular basis, to see what’s happening with them. That’s how he found out that one of them had been screened in places as far-flung as Syracuse and Denver and Weeneebeg, Canada.

I’m going to risk his wrath because I’m proud of him. He screened a film at the MOMA!

How to Set a House on Fire is H’s adaptation of a short story. H decided to go with an adaptation for this film because he wanted to focus on the cinematography, which is his particular passion. It was filmed mostly by lantern-light, around the time of the summer equinox (which Chris would translate as “very late at night” because he helped H on this film and it took a lot of waiting for it to get dark enough.)

(Edited: This post originally had a link to H’s film. I removed it, as H didn’t love the idea that anyone Googling the title of his film got directed straight to his mama’s little blog. If you’d like to see the film yourself, simply do a search of this post’s title on youtube.)

When H decided to go to school last year as a high school junior, I felt somewhat like a failure as a homeschooler. It wasn’t a choice his homeschooling friends had made, and I wondered if I could have done something to prevent it. But one of my firmest homeschooling beliefs is that learning should be directed by the kids. It must be meaningful to them. If H wanted to go to school–and he was 16 and old enough to make such a decision–then, ultimately, one of the most homeschoolish things I could do was support his decision.

And despite so many things that I don’t like about school–how H gets little say in his education, that there’s so much busy-work, that his schoolwork is directed from the outside rather than being fueled from within–I can reconcile myself with it because H is happy. And because he has his filmmaking.

In H’s filmmaking life, he’s still working like a homeschooler. He’s directing (literally and figuratively) what he wants. He’s pushing himself in new ways constantly. He’s making things happen through the sheer force of his vision and his dedication. (I would love to link the program that’s helping H with all of this. But he forbade me to link to it, not wanting Mama to show up on blog searches, which I probably will in this case anyway. If you’re curious about the program, ask me!)

There’s more than one way to set a house on fire. You could start with a match. Or you could make sure the inhabitants of that house are rubbing their creativity and inspiration together often enough to set things smoldering. And then you’ll have a different sort of fire.

we camped

August 21, 2009 in out and about | 15 comments

The older two didn’t want to go. And there were a few meltdowns along the way. But it’s hard to ignore the magic of pines and a pristine lake beneath a mountain that almost doesn’t look real; family games by lantern-light with oldies on the radio; hot dinners from a dutch oven set in the coals; and comics or a new novel devoured in a hammock.

Those older two even admitted it: they had fun.

friends, virtual and tangible

August 10, 2009 in out and about | 13 comments

I’ve met not one, but two blogging friends in person in the past week.

When I tell this to my other, non-blogging friends, they nod their heads politely but with a definite air of disbelief. Meeting people I’ve encountered on the internet? How desperate can I be?

But meeting like-minded folks in person isn’t always easy. If you go into any given crowd and do like Anne of Green Gables, searching for a kindred spirit, it’s a crapshoot. Will there be someone kindred in that particular crowd? And if there is, will you recognize him or her, and will you start up just the right conversation that will make you know you were right? Maybe.

But with blogs your crowd is as big as the world. And you can lurk around in that crowd, eavesdropping on people and getting to know them slowly. If a blogger turns out to be not quite your type, you just quietly quit showing up. On the other hand, it’s easy to find people who share your interests. First I might lurk around on homeschooling blogs, and those lead me to homeschoolers who like to knit, and those lead me to homeschoolers who like to knit and also like to take photos, and those lead me to homeschoolers who like to knit and take photos and plant kitchen gardens…

Kindred spirits!

So last week Tara of tara.mama.wendy and I finally met up with our boys at Adventure Playground in Berkeley.

Magical place, magical afternoon. We had so much fun talking that I sat in the sun without sunscreen, and that’s saying something. We talked about homeschooling and about photography and about little boys who like to play with guns. Tara was as sunny as her Flickr photos and I felt like I’d known her for years.

This weekend I headed over to the HSC homeschool conference. I’ve gone to this conference for years, but this was the first time in a long time that most of my homeschooling buddies weren’t there. Their kids are graduating from homeschooling; they’re moving on. My own H wasn’t there–he’s not a homeschooler any more. There was just a tiny handful of us from our support group and on Friday night I was sad. But Saturday morning there was an email from Molly of A Foothill Home Companion. She was coming down for the day. Could we meet up?

Why, yes we could! We could even share a pizza and a couple of beers as the sun went down. I felt pretty lucky to be able to chat with Molly. Anyone who reads her blog knows how vibrant and creative and generous she is. In person, even more so–plus, I got to hear her laugh. It completely turned around the conference for me, made it something new.

Wish I’d taken a picture.

As we talked, Lulu came off and on, and sat by my side. After we saw Molly off, Lulu walked with me back to our hotel room. “She seems like someone you’d like,” she said.

Smart girl.

week of writing, take 2

July 16, 2009 in out and about, writing | 6 comments

Hard as it is for me to believe, it’s been almost a year since I started this blog. I got it up and running last July, when all three of my kids were at various sleepover camps or daycamps for a week. I called it my week of “writing” because although I’d hoped to write a lot that week, that’s not what happened. Instead I discovered how utterly complicated it is to start up a self-hosted blog.

So I’m trying again. Having a week to write is a bit paralyzing. Where to start? What to work on? I have a handful of essays that I need to throw back out to the rejection merry-go-round. Those need cover letters, as well as rewriting and re-formatting, depending on the publication. It’s time-consuming. I have an essay I’ve been working on, about helping H with his junior term paper for English, that I’d like to finish. I have my workshop to prepare for the HSC homeschooling conference in Sacramento in August. And while that isn’t writing, per se, the topic of the workshop, Nurturing Young Writers, is just what I’m focusing on with my book idea.

A few of you have asked me about that book. I haven’t gotten to the actual writing yet, but I’ve been taking pages and pages of notes, and playing with ideas for format. It’s a writing conundrum: you don’t want to start before you have an idea where you’re going, but you don’t want to wait too long to start either, because so much unfolds during the writing process.

I’m also considering how I might share bits of book draft here with you, as I work on it. When I’ve written here about my kids’ experiences with writing and reading, I’ve gotten the most interesting, curious, discussion-provoking comments. It seems that many of you like to discuss this stuff!

In the meanwhile, I’m here alone, writing. Which is unthinkably wonderful. But I do miss my kids.

Mr. T is attending a day camp this week, up in the redwoods. It’s an old-fashioned hike, build-stick-forts, and sing-camp-songs kind of camp, not one of those schoolish-classes-held-in-the-summer-months-under-the-guise-of-a-camp kind of camps. He comes home looking like this:

Tired and dirty. Which is a good day of camp, in my book.

Lulu is at a sleep-away camp with her cousin for a week. I miss her every morning when I don’t get my usual good morning, Mama hug, and when the kitchen is quiet because she isn’t following me around, telling me her plans a handful of times each day. But we’ll be picking her up on Saturday. Not too far off.

H, though. He’s gone for a month. How did I agree to that? On Saturday, Chris and I drove him down to southern California, to Cal Arts in Valencia. He’s attending Inner Spark, which is a summer school for the arts, for high-school-aged kids. He got accepted into the film program, and it seems like an incredible opportunity. Which, of course, is why I agreed to let them have my kid for a month. (If you live in California, and have a teen especially interested in the arts–music, theater, dance, creative writing, visual arts, animation or filmmaking–do check out the program. It’s partially funded by the state of California, so the tuition is reasonable, and what they offer seems quite amazing. I’ll have to share some of H’s experiences here in another post. A friend of a friend whose daughters attended said it “changed their lives.”)

Knowing H will be gone so long makes me miss him so much it hurts. And I mean that literally. When I walk by his room I feel a small hollowness inside. It’s especially hard because this seems like a trial run for a little more than a year from now, when he’ll be leaving for college. How did his childhood go so fast?

I suppose the hollow feeling comes from part of my heart being in Valencia.

But in the meanwhile, we can talk on the phone, and email, and we’ve even set up Skype for videochats, so his little brother can grace him with goofy faces. And in between, I’m here alone, writing. Which reminds me that I should sign off now, and get to some of those plans…

things to do at a lake

July 6, 2009 in celebrations and traditions, out and about | 4 comments

Fish with a cousin.

Kayak.

Learn to drive a boat from your grandfather.

Swim with your siblings.

Be patriotic, even in the act of climbing up a ladder.

Show your dancer’s training while taking a dive.

Take a big jump, and fling your little brother into the air.

Watch fireworks from a boat.

I’ll be back soon with a wordier post. Just thought I’d pop in, so you didn’t lose me altogether to the glories of summer. Hope you had a fabulous 4th.

frog egg afternoon

June 10, 2009 in homeschooling, learning, out and about | 8 comments

I got the idea in my head that Mr. T and I needed to raise tadpoles this summer. It’s something we’ve never done before. I was already thinking about it when Lori of In Heywood’s Meadow wrote about her son finding frogs’ eggs and raising tadpoles. She recommended the book Pets In a Jar: Collecting and Caring for Small Wild Animals by Seymour Simon, which we handily found at our library. Armed with the proper know-how, we set out to a local small pond where I’d years ago seen frog eggs.

We didn’t find any eggs in the first pond, so we moved on to a second, and lo and behold I saw a jelly-like cluster right off. We scooped it into a jar and studied it.

I’m not entirely sure these are frogs’ eggs. It’s definitely a cluster of some sort of egg. The dark bits you see are actually algae; I don’t see the dark spot in the egg that frogs’ eggs are supposed to have, but perhaps these were freshly laid and the dark area is still quite small.

Mr. T enjoyed the egg cluster, but he was much more interested in the small creature we’d inadvertently captured along with it.

We identified it as a backswimmer in our little pond guide.

Mr. T wanted to keep it, until we read that backswimmers like to eat tadpoles.

We brought the cluster home, where we’ll keep our eyes on it and see what happens next.

Being at the pond with Mr. T was a little bittersweet for me. Call me slow, but I’m finally starting to realize that once kids like my older two reach teenage-hood, they prefer to learn on their own. I’m sure that’s not true of all teens, all the time–but for the most part, my older kids aren’t so interested in exploring parks with me. Can you imagine: thirteen and seventeen-year-olds would rather hang out with friends than go to a park with their mother? Shocking! But Mr. T is still happy to explore ponds with me for an afternoon, to stalk frogs’ eggs, to read field guides. I know these times together are fleeting, so I’m relishing them like the last bites of a pint of ice cream. I’m scraping the bottom of the carton with my spoon, and I’m not going to miss a drop.

I’ll keep you posted on our mystery egg cluster.

atwitter: april

April 30, 2009 in atwitter, books, learning, makin' stuff, out and about, the bees | 3 comments

A few more things that have me all atwitter these days.

the girls have arrived! We picked up our package of bees on Saturday, and introduced them to their hive that afternoon.

There are so many of them–approximately 10,000 at this point! I love to sit near the hive, on the terrace wall that Chris built, watching them come and go. I’m dying to get in there to see if they’re making comb, to see if the queen is laying, but we’re giving them their privacy for a week or so.

Surely bees don’t care if their hive is cute, but since this one sits in our front yard, I care. So it’s painted to match the house, with a totally unnecessary-but-adorable-anyway pitched copper roof. (Please disregard that temporarily unpainted stripe of a shim. You know I’m detail-crazed enough to be bothered by such a thing.)

bee art. Lulu, Mr. T and I sketched bees last week.

Then the kids became inspired to make a collage of bee art, which they later abandoned, but we did carve some rubber stamps.

Now Lulu’s thinking about making bee-themed greeting cards to sell at our Homeschool Fair in a few weeks. She spent all morning searching out bee poetry online–for lines for the cards–and I showed her some of Sylvia Plath’s bee poems. Plath wrote those poems upon keeping bees of her own for the first time, and when I read them a few years ago, I knew I’d have bees of my own someday.

learning about japan. We went to the Kabuki Theater in San Francisco’s Japantown on Monday, to see a San Francisco International Film Festival showing of Battle for Terra. (A perfect film for Mr. T as it tells the story of life on another planet which is invaded by earthlings. The planet, Terra, and its creatures are beautifully animated. The film’s director spoke afterwards, and it was fascinating to hear about his original ideas for the film, and how they developed over time.) Anyway, in addition to the film being wonderful, the location was ideal, as we’re just beginning a study of Japan.

We had a Japanese bento lunch.

We visited the Peace Pagoda.

We went to the Kinokuniya bookstore. I’d never been to one of these Japanese bookstores before–so big, so fab! There are books in Japanese, of course, but also many in English. They also have lots of those great little items that only the Japanese design, like Piperoid robot kits made up of paper rolls which are cut apart and assembled.

Mr. T put together both Goriborg and Dr. Penk with a fair amount of help from me.

The trouble is, of course, that he wants to play with them, which only makes their feet fall off.

I always hear knitters rave about Japanese knitting books. (I just listened to the Knitting Japanese episode on Stash and Burn.) Looking through that section in the store, I came across a few books by a young Japanese woman named Ayano Uchida. Despite the English titles and a few giggle-inducing, roughly translated English headings here and there, the books are otherwise written in Japanese, so I have no idea what they say. But they’re filled with photos of the author’s quirky, layered style, and I couldn’t resist buying one called Favorite Style for Four Seasons.

“Why would you buy that?” Lulu asked, offended at my foolishness. “You can’t even read it!” I’m not quite sure why I bought it, except that I find the photographs charming. I think I find them even more charming for the fact that I don’t know what the writing says, which means I get to use my imagination. (I’m linking to Amazon’s Japanese page, in case you want to “Look Inside” the book. I haven’t been linking to Amazon these days, which you may have noticed–the reason for which is a blog post for another day. Go indie bookstores!)

Oh goodie–now it’s time for you to tell me what has you all atwitter…

going to the getty, everybody…

April 21, 2009 in books, out and about | 8 comments

We’re back from our Los Angeles trip, only to find the weather even more beautiful up north. A spring heat wave has rolled into California, which made it pretty easy to spend the entire weekend in the garden. I have lots of catching up to do this year, after nearly neglecting the yard last summer, when it was buried in scaffolding and all the complications of a major home construction project. I spent most of this weekend out there, and we ate dinner outside on both Saturday and Sunday. Ah, spring.

snow pea blossom

We had a few more fabulous days in Los Angeles. Took a tour of USC, including the new School of Cinematic Arts, built courtesy of a $175 million dollar donation from George Lucas. The outside of the building is just stunning; the inside, with all the makings of an actual Hollywood studio, is enough to give a film-loving 16-year-old serious college-lust.

Wish him lots of luck and scholarships when he applies in December.

We also spent time at The Getty Center, one of my favorite places in Los Angeles.

I admit to enjoying the buildings and the gardens perhaps more then the art itself. I’m not sure how J. Paul Getty would feel about that. I’ve been reading Joan Didion for My Year of Excellent Essayists project–what a joy it is to read her words–and in her essay, “The Getty”, she writes, “He refused to pay for any ‘tinted-glass-and-stainless-steel-monstrosity’.” The travertine stone used in the Getty is a far cry from stainless steel; still it’s a very modern structure. It was built after Getty died–who knows what he would have thought.

The gardens are gorgeous, and always make me want to get back into my own yard. I love those oversized allium.

Last time we were in Los Angeles, we visited The Getty Villa, which was the original site of the Getty Museum. A few years ago it was completely refurbished, and it too is amazing. It’s modeled after a Roman Villa, complete with open-air courtyards. If you’ve ever studied the Romans and the Greeks with your kids, the museum is a particular treat. Both museums have nice education rooms for families.

Oh, and did I mention that both are free?

If you’re considering going to the Getty Center, you must read Going to the Getty by J. Otto Seibold and Vivian Walsh. (Whenever I see the book I have to sing the title to the tune of the Rolling Stone’s version of “Going to a Go-Go.” I was careful to only sing it quietly as we took the tram up to the museum.) The book is a little wacky, very informative, and illustrated by one of our favorite kid book artists. Very fun.

City of Angels is another great book about Los Angeles, illustrated by Elisa Kleven, who also did the art in The City by the Bay. Lots of info about places to visit, plus detailed, whimsical pictures.

It was fun to be away together for a few days. I was little sad to see Chris off to work, and H off to school yesterday. But the So Cal weather here the past few days is making it seem a little like it’s still vacation.

la la land

April 14, 2009 in out and about | 6 comments

We’re in Los Angeles, to visit colleges with H.

We’re hanging out at the beach.

And doing all the touristy stuff.

And being silly.

It’s kinda fun, visiting places from my college days. Even though that was ages ago, some spots are still the same.

Tomorrow, USC’s film school.

atwitter: december

December 30, 2008 in atwitter, books, celebrations and traditions, out and about | 6 comments

What a wonderful lull of a week it is, this last week of December. The to-do list is in the recycling bin, and in between loads of laundry and putting away gifts, there’s time to just hang out and play. A few things making me happy right now:

The Christmas tree is still lit. ’Cause it’s not just a day–it’s a season. There’s still some glitter in the air.

Time to play with my camera. Taking photos of food is almost as fun as eating it. That was our monkey pull-apart bread on Christmas morning. Made by Lulu and H. Yum!

H is on break from school. And was even willing to hike with Mr. T and me yesterday. And while I’m a bit envious of all the white Christmases I’m seeing out there in Blogland–even in Portland!–living in California does have its perks.

New music. If you know my sweetie, you know how he prides himself on staying hip to new music. Well, each Christmas my dad does his darndest to surprise us with some music that will impress even Chris with its sheer hipness. (Now, I love my dad, but I wouldn’t exactly call him hip. His little secret is NPR’s All Songs Considered lists.) This year he gave us Fleet Foxes and Bon Iver. Pretty cool music coming from a 70-year old. Good tunes for thinking and puttering.

Making bubbly water. Yes, we are a simple people here on the wonderfarm. Making our own “bubble water” makes for big entertainment. You see, in addition to great music, my parents also gifted us with a soda carbonator. Oh, we’re having fun with this one! And this is another meager attempt to prove our hipness: the latest trend in Bay Area restaurants is doing away with bottled water. Because it’s wasteful. Restaurants are offering their own chilled and filtered water, both still and fizzy. When Chris and I ate lunch at El Dorado Kitchen on our anniversary trip to the wine country and were served some free bubbly water, we admired their snazzy glass water bottles with clamp-on lids. And shopping the next day, we found some of our own:

I’m hesitant to admit how much I love serving chilled water from these bottles. And I just found some red ones online! So we’ll have blue for flat water; red for fizzy. Yes, I know: I’m a geek.

New books. When Chris realized he hadn’t got his book-loving wife a book for Christmas, he promised a trip to Diesel. We went, and I found–oops!–two books. The River Cottage Family Cookbook and this one:

That’s Custom Knits, by Wendy Bernard. How is it that I hadn’t even heard of this book? It’s full of knitting-in-one piece projects! Lots of recommendations for adapting patterns to your liking! Great schematics! I won’t put an exclamation mark on the fact that many sweaters are modeled with bathing suits–silliness. But I’m having a good time perusing and dreaming. The Jane (Ravelry link) sweater is calling to me–but without that ribbon bisecting the bustline. Who needs a bisected bust?

So, how are you entertaining yourselves this week? (Chris, that’s your cue to finally leave a comment. Something like: Well, I’m toiling away at the office so my lovely family can stay home and have all the fun.)

lessons learned on a homeschool camping trip

September 29, 2008 in homeschooling, out and about | 3 comments

even cheese-grating can be fun, when you do it with friends.
a six-year-old can subsist on little more than quesadillas and marshmallows for three days.
when a camping coordinator reads the “camping guidelines” aloud during dinner, including the guideline about adults modeling responsible alcohol use, she is bound to have a bottle of beer in her hand.
if you tell a group of five to eight-year-olds that they can “fight” with kindling sticks only if they do so in slow motion, they may surprise you by following your instructions.
if you tell your twelve-year-old that she must sleep in your family tent, rather than in a tent full of other twelve and thirteen-year-olds, there will be some wrath to deal with at bedtime.
you can knit complicated lace patterns while supervising your six-year-old in the Santa Cruz surf.
older teens who have spent previous camping trips hiding out in the farthest reaches of campsites may suddenly spend stretches of time alongside the adults, seeming to enjoy themselves.
if you put out an expensive hunk of Humboldt Fog truffle-laced goat cheese for your co-chefs to enjoy, an eight-year-old with a sophisticated palate will snarf half the thing down before you notice what is happening.
on the other hand, if you leave out a bag of grated jack while making an aforementioned quesadilla, a far-less-sophisticated adult may approach, stick his dirty camping hands into your cheese and do some snarfing of his own.
homeschooling mothers outfitted with headlamps will continue knitting long past dark.
homeschooling fathers outfitted with guitars and a trumpet, plus one talented 17-year-old with a mandolin, can lead one heck of a hootenanny.
if a park ranger approaches on Thursday night to complain about the noise generated by a group of adults talking quietly around a campfire, he will be nowhere to be found on Saturday night during said hootenanny, even considering said trumpet.
despite what naysayers may say, eighteen hearts of romaine does not make too much caesar salad for sixty-one hungry campers.
you can make a pretty tasty lasagna with a cast iron dutch oven and a bag of briquettes.
despite the all the shopping and packing beforehand, and the unpacking and laundering after, the trip will be worth it. And then some.

we *heart* camping

queremos a frida

September 12, 2008 in creativity, learning, out and about | 2 comments

When I told Lulu to smile, she said, “No, I’m Frida” (who never smiled in her self-portraits.)

The other day, Lulu, Mr. T and I went to see the Frida Kahlo exhibit at the MOMA in San Francisco. If you’re local and you haven’t seen it, it closes on September 28, so vaya! It’s a big show, with room after room of Kahlo’s work. It’s stunning stuff, and I think all those self-portraits make it compelling for young viewers. (Although there are a handful of disturbing pieces of suicide, murder and miscarriage, with plenty of bloody veins. Mr. T. didn’t seem too bothered by those, although after glancing at one he said, “I don’t want to look at that anymore” and wisely moved on to the next.)

The show was crowded, even on a Tuesday morning. Mr. T couldn’t see the first painting through the crowd when we entered; when he finally got a glimpse and recognized it as the Luther Burbank portrait we’d seen in this book, he pulled on my hand and called, “Look, Mama, look, there it is!” which drew smiles from several nearby onlookers.

Then he floored me by looking at every single painting in the exhibit. Of course, he bounced and bobbed precariously over the wire that guarded each painting as he talked about what he saw. He recognized Diego Rivera in several paintings, and he talked about what different images might mean and also Kahlo’s use of color. (I can’t believe what he’s learned from that Creativity Express program.) Lulu floated around on her own, looking and sketching.

Mr. T spent a good three minutes studying Moses. This is a mural-like painting, supposedly based on Kahlo’s reading of Sigmund Freud. Mr. T spotted the guy with the thunderbolts in the upper right corner and said, “Hey, that’s Zeus.” Then he noticed Ra and said, “I think this painting is about gods.” We talked about the painting for another few minutes. Then he said, “I think I’m done here,” and proceeded to act as you would expect a six-year-old in a museum to act, whining about being bored and hungry and wanting to leave right now.

I’ve always been fascinated to watch my kids’ interests unfold. H was always captivated by sculpture and three-dimensional models; Lulu could sit through a ballet at two. Mr. T seems to have a thing for art, and I’m paying attention. He easily spends an hour each day drawing, a little here, a little there. He doesn’t care much about the product, or having people appreciate what he’s done. For him, it’s all about the process–when he draws he’s in his own world, quietly narrating what he puts to the page.

When he was five, he announced to us over pizza and a big glass of root beer, “Drawing is my life.” Maybe that’s a line to go in the bio at his first gallery show someday. Or maybe it will be something we’ll laugh about, when he turns out to be a car salesman or a stand-up comic.

Another good reason to visit modern art museums: the fantastic photo ops.

A couple of other good Frida books: Frida and Artists in their Time: Frida Kahlo (the second goes into nice depth for older kids.) I never did see the film Frida, but now I’m looking forward to it.

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