Canada, I Hardly Knew You

We are back from Canada and man, was I sad to leave.  It was quite a journey to get there--23 hours with all the nutso snow.  I knew that storms were hitting the Northwest, but somehow it didn't click until the pilot reported that we had been circling the Vancouver airport for a 1/2 hour due to it being completely closed and there being no runway.  They cleaned the runway just for us and we all cheered when we landed safely.  

New York had been blissfully unawares of such weather.   Graham and I even had Frida Kahlo margaritas at JFK to celebrate our departure.  I have never been to an airport bar and have made many jokes about drinking in airport bars, but when we glanced at the menu and saw these ladies, well, I felt obliged:
It took a half hour for them to make said Frida Kahlo margaritas, complete with floating unripe raspberries.    What this had to do with Frida, I don't know.  The lesson I learned was that I'd rather make jokes about drinking in airports than actually doing it ever again.  Then again, I should have taken these drinks as a foreshadowing of the night's entertainment.  They showed Mamma Mia! on the flight and I watched it with my mouth ajar thinking that it might be the best worst movie I've seen since Grease 2.  I know, I know--thems BIG WORDS, but I looked at Meryl Streep jumping around in overalls, flailing her hands in the air whether she was singing or not and I thought, there goes one of the finest actresses that ever lived.

I won't go into details as to the insane logistics it took to actually get to Vancouver Island the next day.  Let's just say there were at least 3 cab rides, all leading to either bad news or momentary bad news.  Also, let's say that every person we came into contact with was so helpful and NICE.  Canadians, even when telling you bad news, are the kindest.  And you need kindness when you were supposed to take a puddle jumper, but end up taking a ferry across from the other side of town.  We were supposed to get to the island by 10:00am, but we got there at 3:00pm.  This is what it looked like for the next 4 days:

We arrived to an island that was so buried in snow that when we arrived at my parental people's home we never left again.  Which ended up being fine because there was enough food to kill a horse, books, games, and other such blissful and cozy activities that kept us occupied.  We decorated the tree with my family's old ornaments, oohing and ahhing over the precious objects.  As I unwrapped each object, I couldn't help but thing that our family ornaments of odd food among other things said something about us:
What it is, I am not entirely sure--but we not only have pickles, onions, tomatoes, we have a prized fried egg that was made by my brother 31 years ago when he was in kindergarden.  It has gone near the top of the tree with a certain pride for years.

Christmas was very low key.  We listened to the Queen's Christmas message on the radio and had crackers, which I always love.  Finally, on the last day, the snow stopped enough for me to get SOME nature in.  I was going to (ahem) lose MY SHIT if I didn't get out of the house, what with not having left it for 4 days and the usual family love turning to some nuttiness.  I'd also eaten probably my weight in Nanaimo bars.  Dear me, am I glad that Nanaimo bars are at least 3000 miles away.  I would be as big as a house.  

Pam and I took a walk in the snow to the pond nearby.  It was glorious.  So quiet.  The pond was frozen over and lay shrouded in the mist.  
It was hard to leave for a number of reasons.  Being with family is like a restart button for me.  I felt grounded in a way that I hadn't felt in awhile.  The time went by faster than it ever had.  I didn't feel ready to go home like I sometimes am.  Plus, the journey was long getting there.  It was long going home too.  Not 23 hours long, but long enough.  I still miss them.

The Triumph & Tragedy of Pictionary

Pam and I kicked these guys asses.  The first game was so quick that we had to play another one immediately--it just wasn't fair.  It took us longer, but the girls beat the boys...AGAIN.  I tried to post a short video that Graham took where we all partake in the post game recap, and I share what I think was the decisive moment in our 2nd game, but blogger won't let me.  I think it's the blogging gods way of telling me not to be smug.

Merry Christmas From Our Santa Claus to Yours

It took us 23 hours to get to Vancouver Island and we are happy to be here--snow and all!  May your holiday be merry and bright.

See You Next Year

My cats are still not talking or at least Mama Kitty is not talking to Kingsley.   We are still living in two separate households.  I cannot adequately express to you how much this blows.   Part of the therapy regime is to play with them and the plastic whip called "The Bird."  It works for a bit and then it doesn't.  Kingsley is the Michael Jordan of The Bird.  He gets AIR.  

I am signing off until the New Year.  We need to brace our home for our departure to Canada and possibly brace our cat sitter for our divided home.  I also need to regroup.

In the meantime, please continue to check City & Country which will continue 5 days a week.

Also, say goodbye to Mav.  It's her last day blogging.  Her pictures are beautiful and her blog has been a quiet and inspired place.

Also, if you are looking for cheap art to give for Christmas, might I suggest 20x200?

Also, these truisms inspire me.

Also, happy birthday to Felicia!

Also, happy birthday to Kirstin!

Also, happy birthday to Doris!

Also, I would like to wish my friends and two of my most devoted readers, Sara & Brian, a belated happy anniversary and safe travels as they move from San Francisco to Austin, Texas.  

May we all move to new ground in the New Year.  Happiest of New Years to you all out there.

An Afternoon & Evening Well Spent

Work Holiday Party; Walking through the snow; Dinner & photoboothing with my husband.  Can you dig?

Insert Title Here

Well, well, well...

The gifted and sweet Cassy Lee gave me a Kreativ Blogger Award.  I'd like to thank the Academy!  Or at least Cassy Lee--thank you!

Here's the deal:

1.  Put the logo on your blog. (I checked to see if it came with any corporate sponsorship or product and it does not, so go ahead ad free bloggers!)

2.  Put a link to the person who sent them the award.

3.  Nominate 5 more blogs.

Here are my nominations:

1. Mackville Road for unschooling, knitting & sewing excitement and general excellence.

2.  Felicia Sullivan for good reads & dispatches from a passionate life.

3.  Kai Smart's Moonlit Nothings because she is Tattoo AHTIST.  SO great to watch Kai's passion for art & skin become something so big!

4.  A Foothill Home Companion for burlap bags, chaotic sewing room photographs, and good writing.

5.  Scrumdillydilly for awesome beds, gorgeous color, and an enviable collection of striped socks.

Even without this PRESTIGIOUS award, you all rule.

Bettie Page

Dearest Bettie, Say Hi to Odetta for Me.

I Hope Your Day is Going Better Than Ours

Big Red came to see us again last night for the first time in a very very long time. It was momentarily worse than it's been in a long time too and for the first time he hurt his mother. Now she is wounded, freaked out, and will not get in the cat carrier. I mean, WILL NOT. Whoever said cats were easier than dogs was wrong. DEAD WRONG. We need some help.

Jumping in Art Museums

Probably the best thing I've found in the blogging world in a long time.

Jumping In Art Museums.

Thank you Matt for sending it to me! It makes me HAPPY!

I only wish I'd known about their jumping event at the MoMA on Monday--I would have been there! DANG!

Baby TV

Graham and I went up to the Bronx to meet our newest friend Isaac Charles, who was was born last week to Anne and Matt. We four hovered around watching him sleep for about 3 hours.

It was TRANSFIXING.

I called it "Baby TV." We Could NOT LOOK AWAY.

Could YOU?

A visit to the MoMA

What's a girl to do on a monday morning when you need some juice?  Go to the Museum of Modern Art.  My job gets me into the MoMA for FREEEEEEEEE, so the pressure is off to go and SEE and EXPERIENCE EVERYTHING.  I can come and go as I please.  So I went as I pleased and saw what I pleased.

One of the cool things about doing City & Country is that I now carry my camera everywhere.  It isn't a fancy schmancy camera like many of you out there and the quality of the pictures show this, but in some ways it isn't the point.  I wonder if I would carry the camera everywhere if it wasn't the convenient size of a cassette tape.  It also takes the pressure off of doing it artfully.  All pictures are taken as they come.  New York may be the most photographical place I've lived.

The Whole Life Picture

I discovered that just because I’m an “artist,” that doesn’t mean I don’t have an affection for business, or adoring beautiful clothes. I realized that I was so fixated on creating an image for myself of what I should be that I ignored all the things that make me, well, me. Yes, I read the New Yorker and Granta, but I also devour InStyle and Harper’s Bazaar magazines. Yes, I read Tim O’Brien and Nabokov, but I’ll also read the Tori Spelling memoir.

-Felicia Sullivan "what to do with the rest of your life"

My awesome friend Felicia Sullivan wrote a post on Friday about something that I am VERY passionate about and that I am covering in my book The Artist In the Office:  the REAL and WHOLE picture of our lives.  I call it "The Whole Life Picture"--when we look at the ENTIRE picture of our lives for what we want to do in this life, not just the careerist parts or the artist parts or the money parts--but all of it put together.  

I've spoken before about this subject and how it's very difficult for many of us to even conceive thinking out of the box when it comes to the artist/job life.  So often, the thought about doing art full-time is considered thinking out of the box, but I have come to believe that the image of being an artist full-time is its own kind of box.  It doesn't work for everyone--not because they aren't talented or driven enough, but because there are elements that don't work for them.  In the same vain, so many of us get stuck in the cycle of trying to find our "dream jobs" by looking at industry or money, when we don't look at the very basic elements of our lives and what works for us and what doesn't.  Instead of just thinking what skills do I have, but what do I like being good at?  What do I love to do?  Writing, acting, painting, singing might be one (or more) things that you like to do, but what else?  Do you love organizing or planning?  Do you like talking to people?  Do you like staying up late or get up early?  What do you do anyway?  For example, the number one reason why having a part-time admin job works for me:  I am good at and I like helping people. I thrive at it. It's true that I also thrive when I have a certain amount of structure financially, socially, and time wise.  When left to my own devices, I can tend to isolate.  An admin job keeps me connected to the world, which creates a flow of mental and creative health.  Also, it's work that I don't take home, that doesn't take any of my artistic juices, and doesn't sit in the middle of my life and drain it of energy.  But the number one reason is that I am good at helping people.  I help people 3 days a week and I never thought I'd say this, but it's kind of fulfilling. Not always, but for right now, it's as close as I've ever been.

Felicia's post is a perfect example of how we all keep trying on what we THINK we want in order to find what's truly US.  In order to do that, we have to be willing to look away from the box entirely, which is something that can feel almost impossible or baffling, but is entirely within reach.  Here's a hint: the box is just whatever absolute we have come to believe of ourselves and how life "works."  Ask yourself: How do YOU work?  What makes YOU thrive?  It's different for everyone--but it works.

I Cannot Stop Reading Him

Last year I read my first Kurt Vonnegut book, Slaughterhouse Five, which blew my socks off.  I recently reconnected with an old friend who is a big Vonnegut fan and told him I had finally read Vonnegut and he suggested I read Sirens of Titan.  So I did.  It blew my other pair of socks off.  Then I read Cat's Cradle and then I read Breakfast of Champions and now I am reading Welcome to the Monkeyhouse and I am getting a little worried.  I don't want to stop.  I want to keep going and going and going.  I never want to leave his wild and incredible world--which is our world, but filtered through a brain that seems to me generous, funny, angry, and filled with wonder.   

 When I started reading Slaughterhouse Five this is what I knew of Kurt Vonnegut:

1) he was a favorite writer of many people I knew including my folks Pam and Gary and my pal Sean.

2) He did a cameo in the Rodney Dangerfield opus Back to School.

If someone had told me that his writing had flying saucers in it, I might have not have been as inclined to read him.  Science Fiction has never been my bag.  So you can imagine my surprise when I began reading Slaughterhouse Five, thinking it was entirely about the bombing of Dresden, and a flying saucer showed up.  Call me crazy, but flying saucers are NOT the first image that comes to me when I think of World War II.  Yet, there it is and there I went right up into the flying saucer of Kurt Vonnegut's brain.  

I can't believe there was someone who could write a book about the meaning of life using the metaphors of flying saucers and alien societies and have it not only work, but have it be moving and deep.  It probably doesn't hurt that his writing is that kind of writing that makes good writing look easy.  One of my  favorite descriptions he uses in SF is that he describes that sensation of standing on a lawn at night like "wet salad," which if you've ever stood in grass at night is exactly the way it feels.  

Welcome to the Monkeyhouse consists of short stories, many of them written in the 1950's.  I worried that maybe his shorter pieces wouldn't be as strong as his novels, but they amaze me just as much and maybe have made me hungrier for his work.  Well, luckily, I am only ONE THIRD through his published works.  I still have a good TEN books to get through.  Now, if only I could pace myself.

ODETTA!

I love all kinds of music deeply, but some kinds of music just reach in through your throat and yanks out your heart and stirs something DEEP and OLD within you. Odetta's music is one of those for me. Now, as someone once said, she has crossed the finish line. Odetta, thank you for your bright light--it lit a way for so many people. May you find your own way home now. Traveling mercies.


(Thank you Vitali for this video!)

60 Years Ago Today

60 years ago today my stepfather Gary was born.  And what a sixty years it has been!  

He and my mother married in 1974 on a blond hillside overlooking the commune we all lived on among a rag tag group of people who were trying out an experiment in intentional living.  Although they divorced in 1977, he remained a parent to me throughout my life, joining what could best be called as the experiment in UNINTENTIONAL living--where you start one place and end up living out the outcomes.  In our case, maybe at 25 Gary signed on to marry my mom, but what he got was a lifelong relationship to me.  Will the mysteries of life and all its twist and turns keep us forever guessing!  

Somethings I love about Gary:  

A lifelong audiophile, Gary has always kept the house filled with music.  He is always searching and interested in what music is out there.  As a result, I owe my love of Neil Young and Van Morrison to Gary, as well as my appreciation for Feist and Clap Your Hands Say Yeah.  The latter band is from BROOKLYN for pete's sake and while I live in Brooklyn, I had never heard of them, but Gary in small town Vancouver Island had heard of them and sent them to me for Christmas one year.   Thank goodness!  I love their album!

He loves cooking and food and I can call him up about any cooking question and he will have a barrage of information to give me.   Every week I hear about his latest foray to the butcher and what exciting thing he will be cooking for the week.  I am hoping that weather permits for him to cook the mouth watering barbecue roasted turkey at Christmas.  Oh please oh please oh please.

I keep telling him he should have a blog because then he would have a central spot to showcase and keep all the discoveries he sends people's way through e-mail.  In one week I will get an e-mail talking about a Korean Artist who makes sculptures out of paper or in another e-mail he will send me something about a new WORD he has discovered that tickles his fancy.  It's all so cool!

I don't get political on this blog, but behind the Internet screen, Graham and I live a very political fueled life.  I am a pro-choice, socialist-leaning, pro-Gay marriage, anti-war, environment-supporting tree hugger.  Up until recently, I took for granted that I came from a line of liberals, who lived the counter-culture history with the best of them, and I was a product of these viewpoints and history.  But after a couple conversations with my mom and my dad, it suddenly occurred to me that these were not the people that I spawned my beliefs from.  

Both my mother and father joined the sixties with enthusiasm and abandon, and although there are still traces of this wild time and stories to boot, they do not still live out the political urgency the way some ex hippies do.   The way, say, Gary does.  If there is one thing I have learned from Gary, it's you can take the man out of the counter-culture, but you can't take the counter-culture out of the man.  I've talked before about Gary's history of being drafted and going AWOL and spending time on the lam, speaking out against Vietnam War and then turning himself in, to spend a year in jail.  He has been a committed politico ever since and what I learned from growing up at his dinner table is that not only is it your responsibility to be informed about the world, but it's your responsibility to CARE.   I treasure that this seed was planted in me so long ago by him, that it continues to flourish in my life, in my marriage, and how I see the world.  If he has given me nothing else--and he has given me so much else--let this be the legacy that will live out not just for the rest of Gary's days, but my own.  Thanks to him, I live in a world I care deeply for.  If that isn't something to celebrate, I don't know what is.

Happy Birthday, Gary.  You are the gift that keeps on giving.